CHAPTER 5
Carter.
Knox Carter, to be exact, well at least that’s going by the letters in the desk drawer in his office. The big red stamp reading overdue had caught my attention. The man is in a shitload of debt.
Not sure how he’s even got this place still open.
The pain in my body didn’t allow me to rest, though I tried.
The house groans and creaks with age, the walls themselves seem to tick, and a persistent drip from a leaky faucet somewhere inside adds to the pulse the house seems to have.
I keep going through the paperwork until a familiar logo appears.
Rossi Enterprises.
The letter is dated six months ago.
An updated offer of six point three million dollars for the land and titles of Carter Cattle Ranch.
So he’s one of the ranches that refused to sell when Rossi bought up all the farmland in the area some years ago. Guys got balls not to budge, I’ll give him that, especially with the state of this place. He’s going down, and he’s bringing this place with him.
I mean, Rossi wouldn’t be where he is without the money my father gave him. They took over the market for the state quickly once they had the financial backing. It just took them selling their soul to the mafia to get there.
I fold the letter and put it back in the drawer, heading for the cabinet where several full and half bottles of whiskey are lined up behind the glass case. They’re covered in dust, having not been touched for months, if not years.
Opening the doors, I pluck one from the shelf and blow off the dust. I don’t recognize the name, but it looks old and good quality, so I pop the cap and take a swig.
It burns all the way down, but maybe it’ll help me get some sleep.
Knox wants me out by morning, but he’s going to be in for a surprise.
Sure, he could kick me out, or try to, but I’m not leaving here just yet.
I need the shelter and I’m sure I can work out some kind of deal with him.
Taking the bottle back to the bedroom, I get back onto the bed and look at the melted flesh on my thigh, the burned in C, red and angry. I should dress it, but that only makes it hurt worse.
I need to recover before I go back and challenge my uncle.
He’s probably already claimed the throne, thrown out some bullshit story about my death, and carried on like I didn’t exist. He won’t tell them about the ambush or his treason.
He’ll have his men, and I’m left with trying to figure out who’s on my side and who’s on his.
Who has he turned against me and my father?
Because ultimately, that’s what it is. My father appointed me his heir.
And every single one of them is going to regret ever making an enemy out of me.
I settle against the headboard and drink from the bottle, letting the alcohol work through me.
I have my gun at my side, loaded and ready should I need it.
Knox’s dog is curled up on the floor beside the bed, seemingly attached to my hip.
I always wanted a dog, and this one is cute.
Maybe I can take him with me when I eventually leave this place.
The whiskey works through my veins, numbing the pain just enough that I can relax onto the pillows. It’s fucking hot in here though, there’s no cool air and the heat presses to my skin, making it damp. I don’t know how anyone can live like this.
But sleep comes, and it comes heavy, taking me under so strongly, not even a tornado could wake me.
“Are you fucking shitting me?” His deep, gravelly voice jolts me from my sleep, and I pry my eyes open to see him looming over the side of the bed. And he looks pissed.
I scramble and reach for my gun, but it isn’t there.
“Where the fuck did you get this?” He growls, waving the bottle of whiskey. I spot my gun in his hand in the next minute.
Fuck.
His hands are covered in soil, there are smudges of it on his face, but his eyes are shadowed by the rim of his dark brown cowboy hat.
He’s a hardened man, but handsome, with a thick beard and piercing blue eyes framed by low set brows and a mess of dark hair.
Broad shouldered with wide thighs, his skin tan from the hours he spends out in the brutal sun.
“Your office,” I force myself to play it cool, like an angry man pissed over the fact I stole his whiskey doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t, but the gun in his hand does make me a little nervous. Wouldn’t take much for him to finish the job my uncle started the day before.
I’ve no idea how much time has passed or how long I was sleeping, but by the look of him, he’s worked a whole day, and the sky is lit up in fiery oranges and reds, suggesting the sun is setting.
“The fuck you sneaking around my house for, woman?”
Shuffling to a sitting position, I wince when my whole body alights with pain, my leg being the worst, the ribs second, “Call it curiosity. Tell me, Knox Carter, how long before your entire world falls apart?”
His blue eyes narrow. “Where’d you see the name?”
“So many questions and yet you’re not asking the right ones,” I tut, “Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in debt against the ranch, another hundred thousand on medical… I give it six months.”
The gun in his hand twitches, the temptation to use it working through him. I do love getting under a man’s skin.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” He snaps at me, tucking my gun into the back of his pants before he storms away, his steps heavy, furious.
I’m slower to go after him, the pain making it nearly impossible to move as quickly as I’d like. I can’t leave, so it’s time to bring out those negotiation skills my father taught me young. Fighting against my uncle this way is a sure way to lose. I need this place.
“Why would I leave when I can work something out that benefits the both of us?”
He chuckles darkly, “You think a city girl like you has anything I want?” His eyes lick down me in a way that has goosebumps rising, a heat uncurling in my stomach.
There’s so much venom there, but there’s desire too.
I see it, feel it even. I wouldn’t mind working off some tension with the cowboy either, fucking and fighting go hand in hand, and everything tells me this man can fuck.
“Not even a little curious, cowboy?” I saunter toward him, stopping until I’m an inch from his huge body.
He’s at least six foot four, could even be five and I’m not short by any means, but I still have to tip my head back to look him in the eye.
I lift a hand and run the tip of my red painted nail down his flannel shirt, the top few buttons left undone to show hard muscle and tan skin, a smattering of hair peeking out the top. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
He captures my wrist, halting my hand just above his naval. I feel the hard planes of his abs, smell the sweat on his skin, the soil on his hands. His eyes flick around my face, first my eyes and then my mouth.
“All I know, darlin’, is that you’re trouble, and I ain’t got time for your kind.”
“Elena,” I whisper my name, “De Luca.”
He goes entirely rigid, my name settling into him like a weight. He knows the name, knows who I am and what I can do.
He drops my wrist like it burned him and steps away from me, reaching for the gun.
He has it pointed at me with my next breath.
“You can shoot me.” I turn around and head to his fridge, though I know it’s empty save for a carton of milk, a couple eggs and some leftovers that I wouldn’t even feed the dog. “Or you can hear me out.”
“You’re the reason this town is dying,” He growls behind me, his thick accent weighing down every word. “There is nothing you could offer that I would want.”
I pull the eggs from the fridge and place them down, feeling the weight of the gun pointing at my back.
I put on a good show, but my heart is pounding inside my chest. Reaching into the cupboard, I pull out the bread I saw in there yesterday and then set a frying pan on the stove and turn on the gas.
“Then shoot me, cowboy,” I glance over my shoulder, “But if that were true you would have done that already.”
He remains a quiet, threatening presence behind me.
“You could too,” I go on, “It would solve a lot of other people’s problems if you did. Will you place flowers on the grave you dig for me?”
“Your kind isn’t welcome here, Elena.”
“That’s a little hurtful.” I turn and rest on the counter, giving him a pout. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t need to.”
“Ah, I see how it is,” I nod, pushing off the counter to walk toward him again, leaving the stove on behind me. I can smell it getting hotter, the oil in the pan heating. “You’re painting me to be the same as my father.”
Behind me the pan snaps and crackles, oil spitting out and hitting the steel top. The burning smell increases.
“But I am not him,” I keep strolling toward him, trying to keep my gait normal but my leg smarts with every step.
A hissing sound begins followed by the familiar whoosh as flames lick up the sides of the pan, catching the oil on fire.
“Fuck!” Knox booms, dropping the gun to tend to the fire on the stove. I’m right behind him, taking back my gun so I can wedge it to the underside of his ribs. He gets the flames out and braces his hands on the side. “Just get out of my house, Elena.”
“Let’s just talk, hm?” I suggest.
For a man of his size, he sure moves quick. My back hits the table with a thud, pain flaring through me as my ribs jolt and my thigh throbs. He forces my legs apart as he wedges himself between them, hand around my throat, the gun somewhere on the floor.
His hips press me down, the bite of his belt buckle pressing against the most sensitive part of me. “For a little thing, you sure as fuck have balls.”
“I just want to talk,” I swallow against his hand, the size of it engulfing my entire throat. He could crush my windpipe in a second. It should not turn me on the way it is. “I can help you.”
“A De Luca?” He laughs. “You’re the reason I’m in this fucking mess.”
“No, my father is, and he’s dead.”
“So what?” His fingers flex on my neck. “You’re in charge? How’s that working out for you, darlin’?”
I glare up at him. “I just need time.”
He huffs a humorless laugh and pushes off me, putting distance between us, but I will not pretend I don’t see the obvious bulge in his pants though he hides it well. “We all need that, but it waits for no one.”
“My uncle,” I sit up, pressing my palm to my ribs to apply pressure in hopes it’ll stop the ache, “He turned on me. Took me out into a field and shot me. I ran.”
“I never doubted your will to live,” He grunts, “Doesn’t mean I want something to do with it.”
“But you had something to do with it,” I point out. “And now we’re here.”
“Reluctantly.”
“I just need time,” I repeat, “To get my strength back, heal and gather my resources. I can then take it back from him. He probably thinks I’m dead out in those woods somewhere and when I take it back, I can restore all of this. I can end Rossi, give back the farms.”
“You want to stay here?” His dark brows lift beneath the rim of his hat.
“Yes.”
“I don’t do company.”
“You’ll just let it go under?” I shake my head, disappointed. “Stubborn fool.”
He points his finger at me. “Your family put me here!”
“And I can make it right!” I snap back.
“For a price.”
“I never implied to be good, Knox, or a hero.”
He sighs and hangs his head, his mouth moving, but I don’t hear a word.
“I’ll give you two months,” He offers. “You can take the guest room, but you live here, you pull your weight.”
“You want me to work!?” I gasp incredulously.
He smirks. “Welcome to the ranch, darlin’.”