Page 62 of Twisted Knight

Almost as if he’s trying too hard.

“And from there, the printed aluminum sheets are moved to the press where they are then stamped and molded,” Porter says, his chest puffed out like a proud papa.

Either that or Rhett has told him about Holden’s plans to diversify suppliers and he’s trying to make a point.

By the unamused look on his face, I’d say Holden’s thinking the latter.

“And what part of this manufacturing process includes kickback checks to Rhett Rothschild?”

Porter all but chokes on air. He coughs out a laugh as his round belly bounces with the movement and his unshaven face turns red and then pales. “I was warned you were to the point,” he says when he regains his composure. And I have to hand it to him, he didn’t cower at Holden’s question like everyone else that I’ve seen.

“Subtlety isn’t my forte.” He lifts his brows. “And you’re not answering my question.”

“I think it was more of an accusation than a question,” Porter says, not backing down.

The smile Holden offers him sends chills down my spine and only reinforces the new information I’m struggling to process and dying to confront him over.

Holden steps closer and lowers his voice, his gaze a laser of distrust. “I’m not from around here, Porter. I don’t have to play by whatever fucked-up rules everyone else does. You have one of two choices. Keep going how you’re going and see how that ends up. Or step the fuck back and realize you’re skating on thin ice.” Holden sniffs and his smile turns more than mocking but I think Porter is too busy not pissing his pants to notice. “Either way, it seems you’re kind of fucked, so I’d proceed accordingly.”

Warning given, Holden nods and then walks off the catwalk toward the exit.

Porter looks at me with wide eyes and a bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

I never much liked him and even less so now that I know there has been some unsavory conduct going on—so I might just take a little glee in seeing him sweat. Literally.

“Rowan? Our driver is waiting,” Holden says, eyebrows raised, and tone implying we’re leaving and why am I not following.

Which I do, but only because I have no choice. We drove the short distance to Greatland together and in silence—his eyes on mine as I held my ground and didn’t cave. Juvenile and petty but so satisfying for him to realize that I don’t tremble every time he looks at me.

Plus, I was still processing what I’d uncovered and trying to figure out how to broach it.

He is about five paces ahead of me as we cross the parking lot to the waiting town car. Apparently, Holden Knight is too cool to drive himself anywhere.

“I know what you’re doing,” I call out to him, the information that has been eating a hole in my gut burning to get out.

“What’s that?” he says without stopping.

“What, are you too chickenshit to face me?”

His feet falter, as do mine, until he stops completely. When he turns to face me, he’s wearing the same chilled smile he gave Porter. “Hardly. Is whatever this is the reason you’ve been glaring at me all day? I’m not the Wicked Witch of the West, Sunshine. I don’t wither away.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Has something caused that stick to be shoved farther up your ass or is that just a new accessory I need to get used to? Because … you don’t scare me, Rowan.”

“I should.”

“Your confidence is admirable, but you don’t exactly know who you’re dealing with.”

“But I do.”

His eyes spark with fire. “Googling me yet again? And here I thought you couldn’t stand me.”

It’s all fun and games with him. It’s all quick comebacks and little quips. It’s clearly all smoke and mirrors.

“Let me guess, you uncovered the choir boy and Cub Scout shit. Shhh.” He winks as he jokes. “Don’t tell. It’ll ruin my image.”

“You’re buying TinSpirits to dismantle it and sell it off piece by piece, aren’t you?” I say, cutting to the chase, my eyes trained on his every motion, waiting to see a flicker of hesitancy to know I’m right.