Page 19 of Cold Bastard
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You were up late.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said with a shrug. “Jet lag or something.”
“You rode from South Dakota, Alex. That’s not jet lag.”
I took a sip of coffee, using the moment to gather my thoughts. Oscar had always been perceptive. It was what made him a good enforcer. He noticed things. Patterns. Inconsistencies. Lies.
“Bad dreams, then,” I said. “Happy?”
His jaw tightened. “What are you running from?”
His question hit like a punch to the gut, but I kept my expression neutral. Bored, even. “Nothing. I told you.”
“Bullshit.” He set his mug down with enough force that his coffee sloshed over the rim. “You show up here after four years and you expect me to believe some sob story about a bad breakup and needing time to figure things out.”
“It’s not a story.”
“It’s bullshit,” he repeated, standing up. He was tall, six-four, all muscle and ink and barely contained violence. The kind of man who made people nervous just by existing. “I know you, little sister. I know when you’re lying. And you’ve been lying since the second you got here.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee mug. “I’m not lying.”
“What did you do?”
His words hung in the air between us, heavy and accusatory.
I met his gaze, forcing myself not to look away. “Nothing.”
“Alex.”
“I didn’t do anything, Oscar.Jesus Christ!Can’t I just come home without getting the third degree?”
“Not when you show up looking like you’re about to bolt at any second. Not when you’re jumping at shadows and checking your phone every five minutes like you’re expecting bad news.” He took a step closer. “Not when Zeus is asking me questions I can’t answer because my own fucking sister won’t tell me what the hell is going on.”
Zeus is asking questions.
That was bad. Really bad. Zeus didn’t ask questions unless he already suspected the answer. And if he were asking Oscar about me, it meant he had noticed something. Seen something that didn’t add up.
“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, hating how defensive I sounded. “I just needed to get away for a while. Clear my head. Is that really so hard to believe?”
Oscar stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then he sighed, running a hand over his face. “No. I guess not.”
But he didn’t believe me. I could see it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. He knew I was hiding something. He just didn’t know what.
Yet.
“I’m going out later,” I said, changing the subject. “Thought I would drive around, see what’s changed since I left.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Around. Maybe grab lunch somewhere.”
“I’ll come with you.”
