CHAPTER FIVE
MY EYES BLINK open, and I realize I’d fallen asleep.
My head is resting against the window of the truck and my shoulders are almost smooshed between the seat and the door.
There’s a crick in my neck and my shoulders are throbbing with pain.
I’m still tied up, but at least my gag is gone.
Makes sense; it was there to shut me up and I can’t talk when I’m sleeping so there’s no need for it.
I will acknowledge, though, that being gagged somehow felt worse than being tied up.
Maybe because as horrific as taking away my freedom to move is, it’s even more violating to take away my ability to use my voice.
In any case, I’m relieved I can speak again if I want to.
Lifting my eyes, I glance out. We’re driving on a lonely stretch of road with open fields on both sides, mountains on the far horizon.
Out in the distance, I notice a herd of cows in a pasture.
Classic Montana and everything that I hate about it.
I don’t know how much time has passed but the sun is strong, making me think we’re well into the morning as opposed to just after dawn when I’d woken up before.
As I watch the fields go by, I know I need a plan.
If this is about my father and his long list of enemies, then I’m going to need one.
Especially if my best friend has somehow gotten caught up in all this.
I need to make sure the sins of my father don’t touch my best friend.
I won’t let him ruin another life. He’s already taken too much from too many people, from me.
Just then the truck takes a turn onto a dirt road.
I see a sign up ahead, and all my thoughts, all my determination, disintegrates just like that.
It’s an arched sign, made of wood, old in appearance, weathered and splintered.
That’s because it is. I know that for a fact.
This sign has been around for decades, for over a century.
It reads “Rawhide Ranch.” It’s the biggest ranch in the town of Black Rock; the biggest ranch in the whole of Montana.
Rawhide is the only ranch that’s bigger than Wildfire, my family’s ranch, and it’s owned by the Graysons.
I’ve heard stories about this place, see.
I’ve heard stories about the Graysons. The kind that made them and Rawhide seem like a part of some other world.
A world where bad things happened and cruel men lived.
Men who killed and destroyed. Who made things, people, disappear without a trace, without repercussions.
Danger follows the Graysons everywhere. Danger and power and money and influence.
They’re the richest family in the state.
They may be the richest family in the whole of the Wild West. These men are ruthless.
They have no morals. They live by their own code, and… Jesus Christ, it all makes sense now.
Why I’m here. A Turner. I knew it was about my father, but dear God, this is so much worse.
My father has many enemies. He has business rivals, competitors, foes; people out to destroy his empire, steal it, take it over, kill him even.
But none of them are like the Graysons. They are our family’s biggest enemies, mortal enemies, and have been for generations.
Given the chance, a Grayson would kill a Turner without hesitation, without remorse, and they have.
I know that, too, because in addition to telling me stories about the angels, my mom would also tell me about the Grayson–Turner feud.
She’d tell me how the Graysons were the bad guys, the devils, the heathens.
They wanted our land. They wanted to steal it from us and keep it for themselves.
And the Turners did everything they could to defend their territory, their birthright.
But then I grew up.
And I saw with my own eyes what a Turner was capable of—what my own father was capable of—and I realized my mother had lied to me.
Either she didn’t want me to know or she was protecting herself by making the Turners the good guys.
But the truth is that both the Graysons and the Turners are the same.
They’re both bad people. Both families want each other’s land, and they’re willing to do anything for it.
They’re willing to fight for it, argue, go to court, shed each other’s blood, even kill each other, and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process.
We’re quickly approaching the sign marking the start of the Grayson territory, and I tear my eyes away from it to look at the man beside me.
My heart slams in my chest as I stare at him, at his thick and muscular body.
That black leather Stetson on his head with dark hair curling from under it.
I don’t know when he put the hat on, but somehow it makes him look even more sinister.
A cowboy who’s a hunter too. He’s so tall and large that he dwarfs the interior of his own truck.
He’s so strong that he could take this machine apart with his bare hands.
It wouldn’t even matter that one of his hands is injured and his makeshift bandage is completely soaked with his blood now.
It wouldn’t matter if I somehow found a way to run from him, if I somehow got myself untied and jumped out of this truck right this second.
He’d catch me. He’d rope me again and drag me to the place of my nightmares, kicking and screaming.
How could he be anyone other than a Grayson? Cold and beautiful, ruthless.
“You’re a Grayson,” I breathe out, my throat dry and my breath choppy.
He doesn’t seem surprised to find me awake.
Even though he’s kept his eyes on the road this whole time, I’m sure he knew the moment I opened mine and became alert.
He also doesn’t seem surprised that I’ve finally put all the pieces together.
I bet he enjoyed that, enjoyed watching me struggle with confusion.
Just like he enjoyed stalking me, toying with me, hunting me all these months.
I fist my roped hands behind my back. “You hate me. You were born to hate me.”
A muscle jumps in his unscarred cheek in response.
“And I was born to hate you,” I finish.
Again a muscle jumps in his cheek, but that’s his only response and it makes me so angry.
So fucking furious. All this time, all this fucking time, he knew.
He knew what he was doing. He knew that because of who he is and who I am that he’s the biggest threat to me, to the Turner Princess.
He knew everything, and I was the clueless one.
I was the one left in the dark, and like a naive idiot, I used the darkness to dream.
To weave stupid girlish fantasies rather than realizing I was in danger.
That instead of simply watching me through my bedroom window, he could’ve climbed in at any time and grabbed me by the throat.
And I would’ve gladly offered him my neck without realizing he could kill me if he wanted to.
“So this is…” I can’t seem to catch my breath; it’s as if he’s strangling me right this second. “So this is really about the land then? About… about my father?”
He of course doesn’t offer any help.
I should shut up now, but I can’t. I’m too afraid, too restless, petrified. “Are you… are you going to kill me?”
Nothing. Not even a twitch on his face or in his towering frame.
“Answer me,” I demand.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance.
My chest is heaving now. “Answer me, asshole. Are you going to kill me? Is that why you’ve brought me here?
To your ranch.” When he still looks like he hasn’t heard me, I lean forward, despite my shoulders screaming in protest. “Listen to me. If I’m going to be murdered at the hands of a fucking Grayson, I need to know.
Do you understand that? I need to fucking know that I’ll die because men like you exist in this world.
Greedy and evil and fucking power hungry with dicks so small—”
My words come to a halt because the truck jolts to a stop, and I snap my eyes away from him to take in my surroundings.
We’ve stopped at a circular driveway in front of what could only be called a mansion.
The front is constructed of horizontal wooden logs, and there are wide steps leading up to a wraparound porch, complete with rocking chairs and potted plants.
A giant picture window looks into a massive living space that houses a ton of leather furniture.
For a few seconds, I don’t really get it.
I don’t really grasp the existence of such a huge, sprawling, well-kept mansion when we’re supposed to be in a place of my nightmares.
When there should be run-down cabins and barbed wire everywhere.
Is this where the Graysons live?
I don’t get time to process that, though, because once again, the truck jolts.
This time because the man who brought me here climbs out and slams the door shut.
I watch him round the hood and come for me.
And God, I don’t want to show any fear, not to him, not now when I know who he is, but I can’t help but scoot away when he reaches the door at my side.
I can’t help but flinch when he opens the door and his eyes lock with mine.
All green and stunning, cold and mean. Just like his face.
Just like the scar on the left side of it.
I’ve dreamed of him for so long, of his eyes, that scar; I’ve felt him for so long, watching me, following my every move, seemingly keeping me safe, that as I look at him in this moment, I can’t quite believe it.
I can’t believe that he’s someone I’m supposed to hate.
That he’s someone who hates me. That this was all a ploy against my father.
“What’s your name?” I whisper, my heart slamming in my chest.
His nostrils flare.
“Are you really a Grayson?” I keep whispering.
He clenches his jaw before rumbling, “You’ve got three seconds to get outta this truck before I pull you out myself.”
“Is my f-friend in there?”