Page 185 of Property of Whiskey

Whiskey’s voice stays quiet. “You’re in her bedroom making her cry. Feels pretty fucking close.”

“I’m not crying.”

Both men look at me.

Whiskey lifts both hands and immediately shuts up.

Cal shakes his head. “This is exactly what I mean. You don’t need another man telling you what to do.”

Something in me finally snaps.

“Would every man in my life quit deciding what I fucking need?”

Silence takes the room.

I point at Cal. “You wanted to decide what kind of wife I should be.”

My finger swings toward Whiskey. “You decided kidnapping me was safer than letting me make my own damn choices.”

Whiskey doesn’t argue. Smart man.

“My father decides which cases I can work, where I can go, who I can date, and what kind of danger I’m allowed to face. Everybody loves me so fucking much they keep building walls.”

Cal’s expression softens.

Wrong move.

“Twila.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“Get out.”

His face changes. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Your dad asked me to check the house.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’ve been coming by every day.”

The words hit differently now. I look toward the hallway. Then toward the front of the house. The door I locked when I left.

“You still have a key?”

Cal hesitates.

Fury burns away everything else.

“Why the fuck do you still have a key?”

“You never asked for it back.”

“I forgot.”