Page 49 of Roped

And then, like the asshole he is, he keeps on walking while I have to stop and turn around.

She’s walking down the hallway we just came from, heading straight toward me. As soon as she crosses over, she narrows her eyes. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Well, she’s right. So I stay silent.

“Don’t try to deny it. I know you are,” she says, studying my face. She’s one of the few who do that, treat me like I’m normal and not damaged. That my ugly scar doesn’t offend her or scare her. But then again, I haven’t given her any reason to be scared of me, nor will I.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t let my annoyance show. “What do you want?”

She keeps her eyes narrowed. “Follow me.”

Before I can protest, she spins around and starts walking. I sigh again and do as she says, following her into the hallway I just left. The sooner I find out what she wants, the sooner I can get out in the open air. Maybe riding Milly and losing myself in work will help me ease this tension, this constant pounding in my temples these days. I need to keep my head clear so I can find out who’s behind all this. So I can pull them out of the goddamn hole they’re hiding in and explain to them exactly who I am. I’m Radisson King, and playing games by someone else’s rules is not something I do. I make my own rules, and if someone breaks them, at best they lose a limb, and at worst they lose their life. And by the time I’m done with them, they’re going to understand it in their very core.

But as I round the corner and follow Haven into the kitchen, I realize what a fucking mistake it was to not put up a fight. Because sitting in the little dining nook, with the sun streaming through the glass window, is the girl I’m supposed to deliver.

She has her head down and her hands are holding what I’ve heard Haven call a piping bag. Her hair’s tied up in a ropelike braid—an unusual occurrence during the day—and her brow is furrowed as she focuses on the task of, apparently, decorating a fucking cupcake. Her cheeks are flushed with the heat of the oven, and despite the sugary scent in the air, I can smell her lotion underneath. But then again, I can smell her anywhere. Sniff her out like the hunter I am.

She’s wearing a yellow dress, and paired with the thick braid down her shoulder, she looks like a good little princess sent to torture me. Sometimes when I look at her, I can’t decide whether I want to hurt her for making me feel this way, scare her for making me feel so feral and possessed, so deeply entwined with every little thing about her; or wrap her in my arms like I did up on that cliff so no one ever gets to hurt her or make her cry; no one ever gets to look at her or touch her.

This ain’t sane, Rad. Her daddy killed your parents and turned you into a monster.

That’s true. Only I don’t know how to stop looking at her like she’s mine. Mine, mine, mine. Not that she has a clue, like always. She doesn’t know that I’m standing only a few feet away, watching her. Like I’ve been watching her for months. Like I watched her last night and the night before that. On the camera feed. Although a screen has never been able to do justice to her.

I can’t smell her through the screen, for one.

I take a whiff of the air now, and this fucked-up connection between us—again, if I believed in bullshit like that, I’d call it fate—lets her know I’m here, and her little hands freeze. Maybe that’s why I did it, smelled her like the prey she is, to let her know I’m watching. To see her plump mouth part and her cheeks go pinker. Her delicate throat moves with a swallow and her eyes skitter up.

My fucking breath freezes at how goddamn beautiful she is. How she never flinches away from me. No matter how much I scare her, make her quake and shiver, she never, not once, looks away or cowers. Like the others. Back when I didn’t know she was who she was, I’d wonder about that. I’d wonder what she’d do if she ever saw me, saw my face, my scars. Would I scare her? Would my princess be disgusted if she knew a monster, scarred and ugly, watched her like he was trying to search for the meaning of his life in her?

She surprised me when she didn’t. Not the night I saved her when she could partially see the thick scar that I’m never able to hide no matter what I do. Not even when she saw my full face in the woods. And goddamn that makes me go hard. Hard and aching and hungry for her.

“Here.”

I hear Haven from beside me, but I don’t take my eyes off the only girl I want to watch until the end of time. Not until she straightens up, gives me a peek of her heaving tits in that pretty dress, and looks away. What the fuck was she talking about when she called her tits small? They’re perfect. Perfect little handfuls. Perfect little mouthfuls, too, if I put a little effort into it. Not that I’m going to, but still. Breathing through my nose to calm down my raging hard-on, I turn to Haven. She gives me a look like she knows what I’m thinking. But I highly doubt it. My thoughts about the Turner Princess would scare her and she’d never look at me the same. In any case, I ignore her look and glance down between us. She’s holding a little pouch in her hand, offering it to me. Instead of taking it, I look back up at her.

Sighing and rolling her eyes at me, she goes ahead and, grabbing my hand, puts it in my palm herself. Then she smiles at me all sweetlike and I grunt.

Her smile widens. “Aren’t you going to ask me what this is?”

I curl my fingers around the tiny sack. “Reckon you’ll tell me anyhow.”

She rolls her eyes again. “It’s yarrow.”

I frown in response.

“For your headaches, Rad,” she explains.

My gut tightens and my fingers flex around the pouch.

“Last time, I gave you the prairie coneflower, but you said it didn’t work. So try this. I saw it in my grandma’s journal. She said to steam at least five leaves in hot water for instant relief.”

I clench my jaw as I feel her watching me. “Don’t need it.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Why not?”

“’Cause I’m cured.”

“Oh, really?” Haven widens her eyes. “So your headaches that you’ve had on and off for over fifteen years, that don’t let you sleep most nights and for which I’ve been trying to find a perfect remedy for the longest time, are just gone?” She gasps in mock surprise. “That’s a miracle, Rad. Please share your secret with us.”