Page 54 of Roped

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ME?”

In response, he flips the knife in the air and throws it at me. This one is aimed lower and lands somewhere at my hip. I don’t look, though. I’m more fascinated with his prowess. With how deftly he handles the weapon. How I’m so scared, but I don’t want to cower. I don’t want to run and hide. I want to stand here like he said and not move. I want to let him take shots at me, straddle the line of danger and insanity. I want to savor this… feeling that he evokes in me. An intoxicating kind of fear that makes me high.

“You,” he confirms.

“Why?”

Instead of answering me right away, he goes for another knife on his desk. Without looking away from me, he picks it up and flips it in the air before catching it and replying, “’Cause I told you not to make me do things I don’t wanna do.”

“But—”

He sends the knife sailing at me, shutting me up. This one also hits somewhere down below, but again, I don’t look. I couldn’t look away from him even if the world was on fire right now. He has my entire attention. His large, tense body. His sharp features, his thick scar and those shining eyes of his. Then he speaks, and I’m done for because his voice is the roughest it’s ever been.

“You like roses?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply simply, without knowing where he’s going with it.

Something flashes through his eyes, making them shine even more, if possible. “My ma did too.”

I go still. I don’t even breathe for the next several seconds as I watch him fist and unfist his hands at his sides. Then, “White ones. She had a big garden. Out front. She’d spend hours out there, tendin’ to her roses, clippin’ leaves, turnin’ soil. She was always complainin’ about the soil. Too hard for her roses, not wet enough. Drove my daddy crazy, but”—he swallows hard—“he’d put up with it, take her to the garden center in town whenever she wanted…”

A few seconds tick by, but he doesn’t pick up the thread. He stands there, his eyes unfocused and glassy, as if in a trance, and I so badly want to touch him in this moment. I don’t even care if he seems too dangerous tonight. If he appears unpredictable, unhinged almost. As if something is going on with him; something is thrumming just under the surface, something dark and hard. I just want to go to him.

Because this is the first time.

The first time that I’ve seen him like this. Struggling for words. He keeps swallowing, clenching his jaw. Breathing sharply, his chest jerking with it. At last he speaks, his voice a long grunt. “They weren’t supposed to go into town that day. But my ma wanted to, said she couldn’t wait, her roses were dyin’. Our truck was actin’ up again. It was a piece of shit my daddy wouldn’t let go of. So they took the Graysons’ car. I was drivin’. Not because I wanted to go to the fuckin’ garden center but because my daddy’s back was fucked up from workin’ at the ranch and he needed help carryin’ all the shit my ma was gonna buy. We hardly made it to the main road when a truck came rushin’ past and I had to swerve to avoid collision. Only when I went to hit the brakes, I realized they weren’t workin’ and suddenly, there was a fuckin’ tree in front of me. Didn’t even have the time to panic. To realize what was gonna happen.”

He grits his jaw, his nostrils flaring. “My ma died on impact. Didn’t know that, though. My daddy told me to save her first so I did. But first I pulled the glass outta my face. The windshield shattered and a piece of glass lodged on the left side. I took it out before I pulled her from the car but she was already dead. Went for him next. One side of the car was on fire and his leg was stuck under the seat. He was burnin’ alive; he was in so much pain but he hardly made a sound, bit on his own arm while I was helpin’ my ma. He was still breathin’ when I got him out, but…”

He shakes his head, his throat moving jerkily. His chest shudders, shakes, really, and I see the tendons of his forearms stand out. Again, he manages to gather strength from somewhere and continue, “For days, I thought it was me. I caused the accident. Been drivin’ since I was eleven but I was only fifteen, didn’t have a license or nothin’ yet. Thought it was me who couldn’t get the brakes to work, but… Then we found out the truth.” His eyes focus on me at last, the green in them glinting violently, murderously. “The truck that made me swerve belonged to the Turners.”

I flinch, my hands curling into fists, my heart slamming in my chest as he goes on, “And it was meant for the Graysons. It was meant to send a message. Only the wrong people got it. Everythin’ gone. Just ’cause they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. My family, my life. Me.”

I only realize I’m crying when I open my mouth to tell him no. That he isn’t gone. He’s here. His life isn’t over. I won’t accept that. I won’t let it be.

But he speaks, his eyes, his demeanor threatening once again, dangerous. “So it should be easy, shouldn’t it?”

I swallow down the lump of emotions and whisper, “What?”

He takes in my tears, my drenched cheeks, my trembling mouth. “To let you go.”

“I—”

“To hurt you.”

My breath breaks along with my patience and I have to go to him. I have to. But when I try to move, he sends another knife sailing at me, making me stop. It hits somewhere by my left shoulder with a thump and he growls, “Told you to stay put, yeah?”

“Radisson—”

“You wanna know why I can’t sleep, Princess,” he goes, his voice rough, his “Princess” back to sounding like a curse. “It’s not your daddy; it’s you.”

My breaths are choppy and my knees are shaking as I stare at him.

“It’s ’cause tomorrow, I gotta let you go,” he says, his jaw clenching. “After seven months, three weeks, two days, eight hours, and twenty-six minutes, I have to watch you be taken away from me, and all I can think about is how fuckin’ sweet you are.”

My heart skips a beat. “Radisson.”