Chapter 29 #2
The older one lifts a hand, silencing the one named Ford. “We’re only saying what you already know. If she says, she needs to understand the stakes. She needs to know who she’s living with.”
My heard hammers so hard I’m sure they’ll hear it.
Colter doesn’t answer straight away. The silence stretches heavily. Then, finally, “That’s my call. Not yours.”
Something twists in me at his words. Possessive. Final. A claim I never agreed to, spoken like it’s already written in blood.
I linger in the shadows, hidden but not really.
The older man exhales heavily, tired but resigned. “Just don’t wait too long. Secrets rot from the inside out.”
His words slice through me, sharp and uncomfortably true.
I grip the end table beneath my hand, my knuckles white. I don’t belong here. Never did. And yet—Colter keeps dragging me closer, threading me into a world I don’t understand. A world that whispers about stakes, risks, and my mother’ sname like it’s poison on their tongues.
Colter shifts then, like he senses me. My breath catches when he turns slightly, head tilting. His gaze cuts toward the doorway, straight through the shadows where I hover.
“Peyton.” My name on his lips, rough and certain, makes the other two men go still.
My throat goes dry, but my feet move anyway, carrying me into the kitchen like I’m walking straight into a trap. The air is different here; charged and dangerous. The smell of coffee mingles with woodsmoke and something sharper I can’t name.
Colter doesn’t move from where he is leaned against the counter, broad shoulders framed in the glow of pendant lights. He looks steady, grounded, like the whole damn world revolved around him. Maybe it does.
The two men are another story.
The older one straightens politely, though is sharp eyes rake over me like he’s weighing and measuring every detail. The one named ford doesn’t bother to hide the frown pulling at his mouth like my very presence confirms everything he was saying.
I tug at the hem of my sundress and force myself to meet their stares.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
Colter’s gaze softens. “You didn’t.”
Silence presses down for a beat too long. The older man clears his throat, lifting his coffee up in a mock-toast. “So. This is the infamous Peyton.”
It’s not a question, and the way he says it makes my skin prickle.
Colter pushes off the counter and closes the space between us in three easy strides. His hand finds the small of my back, warm and solid. “Yeah,” he tells them. “This is her.”
Something flickers in Ford’s expression. Annoyance, maybe? Disgust. I can’t tell. But he turns away, muttering under his breath before knocking back the rest of his drink.
The older man studies me a little longer, unreadable, then inclines his head. “Interesting.”
The word hangs there. Sharp and deliberate.
Colter’s grip tightens on me, fingers pressing through the thin cotton of the dress like he’s reminding both them, and me, who I belong to.
I swallow hard, caught in the tension, my mind spinning with all the things they weren’t saying before I walked in. My mother’s name still echoing in my skull like a ghost I can’t shake.
“Sienna,” Colter calls. A young woman, not much older than me, pops her head in from what looks to be a pantry. “Fix her a place.
The girl, Sienna, steps fully into view, her dark braid swinging against her shoulder as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. She gives me a quick once-over, not unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming either. More like she’s cataloguing me the way the men did.
“Yes, sir,” she says, her voice quiet but respectful.
I open my mouth to protest that I’m not hungry. Not after overhearing everything they said, but Colter’s hand presses into my back, urging me forward toward the table. His touch is deceptively gentle, but I know better. It’s not a suggestion.
My pulse thrums in my throat as I lower myself onto one of the high-backed hairs, the cool leather biting through the thin cotton sundress. The two men shift subtly, like wolves adjusting around a stranger in their den.
Sienne disappears and reemerges a minute later with a plate, fluffy biscuits, thick-cut bacon, scrambled eggs flecked with herbs. She sets it in front of me with neutral expression before retreating again, as if she knows better than to linger.
“Eat,” Colter says. Just one word, a command.
My fork feels heavy in my hand. My appetite is gone, but the weight of three men’s stares—his protective, their assessing, makes pushing food around my plate impossible. I force a bite of eggs past my lips, chewing even though it tastes like ash.
The older man sips his coffee, his gaze sharp as a scalpel. “You’ve brought her into your house, Colter. You laid a public claim.”
Ford makes a disgruntled sound of agreement.
Colter doesn’t answer. Not at first. He leans against the table instead, arms crossed, body angled toward me like he’s daring them to try and reach me. When he finally speaks, his tone is clipped. “You let me worry about it.”
Heat crawls up my neck, but I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or the way he says it in his trademark territorial growl.
The older man studies me a moment longer, then pushes away from the counter. “Fine.” His gaze flickers between the two of us, lingering on Colter. “Sooner or later, she is going to need to understand exactly what kind of family she’s sitting at the table with.”
Family. The words drip with something heavier than blood, and it roots me to the chair like lead.
They leave together, Ford muttering under his breath but the older one silences him with a look. The sound of the door closing echoes in the cavernous space, leaving me alone with Colter.
Only then do I let the fork clatter onto the plate. My hands shake, and I curl them into my lap before he notices.
“What the hell was that?” My voice comes out hoarse, but sharp enough to cut. “Who were they? And why were they talking about my mother?”
Colter watches me in silence, his jaw tight, a muscle ticking beneath his morning stubble. Then he steps closer, bracing his hands on either side of me, caging me in with his body.
“You ask too many questions,” he murmurs. His breath ghosts over my cheek, warm and steady, and his eyes burn with something that looks like warning and want. “And you don’t want all the answers.”
“You don’t get to tell me what I want,” I snap, tilting my chin up to meet his stare even though my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest. “You don’t get to just…hide things and expect me to sit here smiling like some stupid little—”
His hand clamps around my jaw, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shut me up.
Damn. Why is my pussy so wet from this? I should be seeing red flags not yummy green ones.
His thumb strokes along my cheekbone, causing my skin to goosebump.
“Careful,” he says softly. Too softly. “I don’t take well to being yelled at in my own house.”
The words land like a threat, but underneath something else simmers. A warning to him as much as me.
I swallow, my pulse drumming against his fingers. “Then stop treating me like I’m too fragile to hear the truth. What’s going on, Colter? Who are they? Why do they talk about you like you’re…untouchable?”
His gaze darkens, unreadable, the silence stretching long enough that I think he won’t answer. Then finally, “People like to talk.” He releases my jaw and steps back, rolling his shoulders like he’s shrugging off the weight of the question. “They see power, they invent stories. That’s all it is.”
“Bullshit.” The word is out before I can stop it.
His eyes cut back to me, sharp as a blade.
I push anyway, anger and fear tangling in my throat.
“You think I haven’t noticed? The way people look at you.
The way they look at me when I’m with you.
Like they’re afraid, like they know something I don’t.
You say one word and people move. You snap your fingers and it’s done.
That’s not just money or respect, Colter. That’s—”
“Enough.”
The word cracks like whip, and I flinch.
For a moment, the air between us is a battlefield—me daring him to admit, him daring me to stop digging. His chest rises and falls, steady but sharp, like he’s holding back something dangerous.
He leans in close, his voice low, his mouth brushing against my ear. “All you need to know is this: no one touches you. No one even looks at you wrong. Because you’re mine. And that’s all the power you’ll ever need.”
A shiver ripples down my spine, equal parts fear and something else I can’t name.
Bit isn’t not enough. Not anymore.
I force myself to meet his eyes, even though it feels like staring into a storm. “That’s not an answer, Colter. That’s a cage.”