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My type was groomed, rich and distant.
And dead, as it was.
Duke was definitely as silent as the dead since he ignored my question. This annoyed me. A lot. Sure, he didn’t like me, he had good reason. I was a superior bitch to him when he’d worked for me, because I’d found him too attractive. It was my defense mechanism. I sensed that he could be dangerous if I let myself be nice to him, if I even opened up the possibility of him liking me. No, the worst thing would be trying to be myself with him—whoever the heck that was—and him rejecting me anyway. It was much safer for him to reject who I pretended to be rather than who I really was.
But he was also being paid by me. Handsomely. He took this job. This was his choice. No one was holding the proverbial gun to his head, he could’ve said no. He didn’t. Therefore he might not have to like me, but he did have to answer my questions.
“You really need to stop acting like I’m you’re captive,” I snapped. “I did not force you to be here, I did not drag you away from your gym, from your infidels you have been no doubt beating into submission, or your no doubt soft, kind, and loving girlfriend.” I ignored the pang I got thinking about some faceless woman I was instantly jealous of. “I get you don’t like me. The feeling is mutual. But I witnessed a murder. My life is being ruined. I think I deserve to know where the fuck we’re going.”
I hadn’t meant to say all of that. No, I had. Because I was angry. At Duke, sure. But at the world mostly. At this whole fucking situation. At me for deciding to stop by Salvador’s house for a fucking orgasm instead of going straight home.
Having cameras follow you around constantly, people sending me hatred on social media, other people in “real life” being rude or condescending, I was well versed at keeping ahold of my temper. Keeping ahold of everything, in fact. I’d gotten an Oscar plus two Golden Globes for my work in movies, but I should’ve gotten them all for my acts in life.
Duke had stopped looking at the road. He was now staring at me. No more professional distaste on his face. He was irritated, but interested. He was likely considering whether he’d still have his job if he just dumped me on the side of the road.
I was fixated on him. His eyes. The connection between us that was annoyance and dislike. I was also ashamed at how deep it cut, his dislike. How much I longed to be the soft, strong and loveable woman like the one at the table who had stared me down. Like the one who he’d have waiting for him at the end of all this.
As quick as my anger had appeared, it fizzled out. I was too tired to fight this man, who was looking at me, daring me to say more. The air was thick with aggression, and something else. Something else I had to be imagining. Duke kept my gaze for a couple more beats then looked to the road again, professional distaste firmly in place.
“We’re going to my family’s ranch.”
He was annoyed he had to tell me this.
I got over the fact that he seemed so put out at telling me where I was going to hide out from murderers because I was too focused on the specific.
“Your family’s ranch?” I repeated.
He nodded once.
My stomach swirled with unease. “Why aren’t we going to some rental in the middle of the mountains, or a motel?”
I’d been so sure I’d rather be anywhere than that shitty motel room with two beds and no clean bathroom, but the idea of going to his family’s ranch was nauseating. That Duke’s family had a ranch was interesting to me, in the middle of all the other feelings. I didn’t peg him for a cowboy. I hated how much that image pleased me.
The whites of his knuckles were evidence of just how tight he was holding on to the steering wheel. Just how pissed off he was at me.
“Because all of that leaves a record,” he bit out.
“Don’t you have a designated safe house?” I asked, refusing to let him intimidate me into silence.
“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s in use right now. And I’m not risking shit by taking you somewhere I’m not familiar with. I know every inch of that ranch. Trust everyone there. I know what I’m doin’. You’ll stay alive long enough to testify, put this fuck away, and this will all be a distant memory.”
The way he said it cut through me. He was already preparing to forget me. And yet I knew this man would be a ghost, following me around for the rest of my life.
