“I swear… I’m being honest. I don’t know why.” The expression on her face is both pain and confusion.
“You didn’t have a fight?” I continue to press on.
“I didn’t even know him.”Lie. She’s lying. She has to be.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” I sneer, my grip on her throat tightening.
“It’s not! Why are you doing this?” The words escape her lips on a wheeze, and I know if I don’t release her soon, I might actually kill her.
Leaning into her face, I grit through my teeth, “Because a man who treats his daughter the way you described doesn’t turn around and put ten million dollars in a trust fund for her.”
She was trembling, but now she’s not. Now her entire body is still in my arms. “That can’t be true.”
“But it is. I have the documentation from the account. I have proof.”
I squeeze her throat. “Do you want to tell me why it was opened the same day Aspen was kidnapped?”
She gasps. I tighten my grip on her throat, squeezing until she starts to squirm in my grasp. Her eyes fill with panic, and I release my hold just a little. “I swear to God,” she croaks. “I don’t know.”
At that moment, I have to remind myself that she’s no good to me dead, even if a small part of me wants to be the man to deliver that blow.
“You’re lying to me again.”
“I’m not. I don’t know anything about it.”
“Bullshit!”
“But it isn’t. What do I have to do to prove it to you? I didn’t know about any money until now. Until right this very minute.”
Our heavy breathing is the only sound coming from either of us for what feels like an eternity. Why should I believe her? Especially when this entire situation is convenient to the point of straining credibility.
“It just so happened the man gave you ten million the day your brother kidnapped Aspen? You mean to tell me it’s all a coincidence? And you had nothing to do with it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you. I know it sounds crazy, but I don’t understand it any more than you do.”
I can’t tell if she’s lying or not. One thing I’ve always been able to do is spot lies. Am I losing my touch? Or is it my grip? Is it that I’ve let her get too close to me?
“Please,” she whispers with tears in her eyes. “You have to believe me.”
I release her hair and shove her away from me. She hits the bed but remains upright, rubbing her tender scalp.
“There are a lot of things I have to do, but that’s not one of them. What I have to do now is make sure you don’t leave my sight.”
She rubs her tender throat, still breathless. “Ever?”
“You’re sure as fuck not going to the dorms now. There I was, about to let you go and have some freedom, and I find this out.”
“So I have to stay here?”
“You’re pretty sharp at three-thirty in the morning.” I jerk a thumb toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” she whispers.
I lunge at her, thrilling at the way she cringes. How did I think I could get rid of the part of me that wants to make her do it again? “Where the fuck do you think?” I grunt in her face. “My room. You’ve lost guest room bed privileges.”
“Oh, please. I didn’t do anything.”
For the first time, I don’t hear defiance in her voice. There’s no anger, no sharpness. The smart-ass is gone. Now she sounds tired. Weak. Genuinely helpless. I’ll chalk it up to the time of night and the fact that she was sleeping soundly before this happened. “Let’s go. You wouldn’t want to see me when I don’t get a good night’s sleep.”
Her soft whimper makes me laugh as I pull her from the room. It’s better this way. I must be losing my touch—the old me would never have considered trusting her to sleep alone. This is how it should be. She needs to be reminded of who she is and who she’s dealing with.
I throw her into my bedroom, where she hits the bed and lands awkwardly across it. She’s wide-eyed, flushed, and completely at my mercy.
When I advance, she throws an arm over her face in an attempt to protect herself. “Please,” she whimpers. “Don’t hurt me.”