CHAPTER SIX
“YOU OKAY?”
The question comes from beside me and I look away from the fire I was staring at to focus on my best friend. “Well, other than the fact that I was kidnapped last night and brought to the place of my nightmares, and now I’m attending a bonfire party at said place of nightmare, I’m fine.”
Reverie chuckles, and the dark shadows that I’ve been seeing on her face ever since I arrived this morning seem to go away for a bit. “Doesn’t look like the place of our nightmares, though, does it?”
Reverie and I grew up with the same stories, so she’s very familiar with the Rawhide ranch and the decades-long feud between the Turners and the Graysons.
And she’s right. Rawhide does not look like what I expected either.
Instead of dirt and blood and miles of ruin, there are rolling fields with cattle grazing in the distance, a big corral with horses trotting and circling, and of course, picturesque mountains on the horizon.
All this aside from the giant mansion. There’s also a bunch of other buildings surrounding the main house, including stables, barns, and a bunkhouse for the ranch hands.
It’s all very… normal-looking. Which, to be very honest, shouldn’t be a surprise.
I mean, Wildfire is picturesque too. We also have barns with pretty red doors and rolling fields.
Not as big as the Graysons’, but still. And yet, we’re rotten to the core.
So why shouldn’t the Graysons live on a beautiful piece of land?
Where they also throw bonfire parties complete with fabulous food and drinks and their ranch hands playing music.
“No,” I say, shaking my head, eyeing the crowd scattered behind the main house, which overlooks the rows of barns and woods in the distance.
“And that makes everything even more dangerous. Who knows what they’re hiding behind this beauty.
” I sense Reverie stiffening beside me, and I turn back to her.
Studying her carefully, I ask, “Are you okay, though?”
She’s wearing borrowed clothes like me; her pair of jeans and oversized hoodie are basically what she usually wears despite me telling her repeatedly that she should change it up a bit.
She’s got curves; she should own it. But the world is cruel like that and has made my friend wary and shy with its bullying.
Anyway, she’s beautiful no matter what she wears.
Her features are weighed down by unspoken worries now, though.
And while I’ve asked her—again, repeatedly—if there’s anything she wants to share with me, she’s said no.
She throws me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and tries to pull off an “I’m okay.”
I turn to her fully and lower my voice. “Because, Riri, if something has happened”—I lower my voice even more—“if he… did something to you, you know you can tell me. You know I’ll—”
She squeezes my arm, stopping me. “He didn’t do anything. I promise.” Then, “Well, except lie to me and drag me here.”
The “he” in question is the man who pretended to be Bo Porter for six months and then kidnapped her thinking she was me.
Taller than most everyone at this gathering, Arsenal Grayson stands in a corner on the other side of the fire.
His shoulders are broad and every inch of his body is sculpted muscle.
I have no way of proving that, but I can still tell.
I can also tell that he’s one of the most aggressively masculine men I’ve ever seen.
He’s not really beautiful per se, not with his severe features, but his face is striking, unforgettable, and, therefore, handsome.
He’s also a typical cowboy. In his Stetson and that Western-style shirt, he’s what you’d imagine a rugged cowboy would look like.
He also looks like he doesn’t want to be here despite being the guest of honor. His body is tensed and his face seems set in stone. But every time his gaze passes through my friend, something in it changes, brightens. And I’d love to know what that means. To him and also to Reverie.
I start to tell her that when she speaks: “What about you?”
I frown. “What about me?”
She studies me for a few seconds. “You know, you can tell me things too.”
“I do tell you things,” I sort of lie.
“So then tell me about him,” she challenges.
And it’s my turn to stiffen because this time, we’re talking about the man who dragged me here.
He’s at this gathering too. In fact, he is the tallest man here, probably broadest too; and just like Arsen, he stands in a corner, away from everyone else.
People stop by to talk to him from time to time, but for the most part he stays alone.
I get the feeling he doesn’t like people all that much.
He doesn’t like to talk or participate in things.
He’s a loner, and his favorite thing to do is watch.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I say, not being totally truthful.
There’s a lot of things I can say about him, but I also don’t know what to say.
I still don’t know what his name is. I don’t know what his relationship is to the Graysons.
He’s not one of the Grayson brothers. Does he work for them?
That would be my first guess. I’m not going to lie; the fact that his last name isn’t Grayson has eased the tight knot in my belly somewhat.
Even though I know a last name doesn’t mean anything, and I also know that as long as he’s in the Grayson camp, he’s vowed to hate me forever.
All throughout the day, he’s been at the periphery.
Either standing in corners or far away from the hub of things.
He talks less with words and more with his eyes and gestures, his big body too.
And people who know him—and from the looks of things, the Graysons know him pretty well—seem to understand his silences.
Again, I won’t lie, it makes me jealous.
I thought it was my thing. Our thing. Where I could understand him without him having to say anything.
But apparently not. It’s stupid and ridiculous, and I already know I need to shake it off and focus on more important things. But there it is.
I could very easily ask about him, but I haven’t.
Not yet. Maybe I’m afraid to know. Maybe after all these months of dreaming about a lie, I’m scared to open my eyes to the truth.
I know I’m being a coward right now, and I know I’m going to have to change that soon if I and Reverie want to get out of here.
But I’ll keep the illusion going for a little longer.
“Are you sure he didn’t do anything to you?” Reverie asks, breaking into my thoughts.
“Yup, I’m sure,” I lie outright.
She narrows her eyes. “I find that really hard to believe.”
“And why is that?”
“Because he’s watching you,” she says. “Right now.”
My heart thuds. And the goose bumps already covering my skin become painful.
I know he’s watching me. I can feel him, his green eyes tracking my every movement.
Every time I move through the crowd, his stare follows me.
Every time I take a turn, he notices. Every time I even squirm, he catches it.
It’s like he takes note of every breath I take, and it should be suffocating.
It should be choking me, making it harder to breathe, but it’s not.
Somehow, my breaths are easier and faster.
Somehow, the only thing I can think of is how I didn’t know he’d been watching me for six months.
Six months, three weeks, four days, fourteen hours, and thirty-six minutes.
Well, the count is higher now, obviously, but still.
How did I miss it? And if he was only watching me so he could bring me here, then why is he still doing it?
“And God, Peyton,” Reverie continues, “he watches you like…”
“Like what?” I prod.
She looks me in the eyes, her face distressed. “Like he wants to… I don’t know, like he wants to eat you.”
I’d laugh if I could. If I hadn’t just lost my breath, my sense, for a few seconds.
Not because it’s news to me but because it’s confirmation.
Because that’s what I feel when he looks at me.
Like I’m his next meal. The prey he wants to devour.
And I know I shouldn’t let thrill race down my spine or get flutters in my belly at this, not after everything I know now, but I can’t help it. I can’t help how my body reacts to him.
Reverie swallows. “It’s scary.”
Yes, exactly. But also, so lovely.
I ignore my crazy brain, though, and nod to agree with her. “It doesn’t matter.”
She inches closer to me. “But, Pey, I think you need to be careful. I feel like he wants something, and—”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say soothingly, even though there’s no soothing me. “We’re not going to be here that long anyway so there’s no need for you to worry.”
“But—”
This time she stops speaking because we both see Haven approaching us and it’s not the time to discuss our captivity.
But Reverie is right. I do think he wants something from me.
Something more than payback and the land.
Only I don’t know what and I need to find out.
Which is why all throughout the party, while chatting with Haven or getting more drinks, I look for an opportunity.
To leave. So I can dig into things. Or more specifically, him.
He knows everything about me, doesn’t he?
It’s time I found out everything about him.
It’s time I stalk my stalker back.
It takes me twenty minutes to reach the barn I was looking for.
I hope it’s the right one. I’m not very good at directions, but I made sure when Haven gave them to me to remember as many details as possible. For the record, she didn’t know she was giving me “directions”; she thought we were simply making casual conversation.