Page 13 of Trailer Trash

Way too far.

I set down my book and stride to his bedside.

“You want to know why I don’t like drug users? Because I see you, Killian. I see all the ugliness, and it has nothing to do with your new scars.”

He smirks, unaffected.

To me, that’s just proof that the only serious thing to him is his next fix.

“I see how manipulative you are. I see how you pulled strings to get me here.”

He smiles, just barely. His smugness only gnaws at me more.

I grip the guardrail so he can’t see my fingers tremble. I lean closer. He doesn’t flinch, challenging me. I almost back down, but I feel it again — that painful knot from the two years I spent trying to help Evan while he took everything from me. I won’t let Killian push me around, too.

“I see how you use humor to draw people in, so you can use them. Like me for your entertainment.”

He isn’t smiling now.

But the coldness that replaces his smirk feels worse. Darker.

“Harlow, I wanted you here, and you’ll learn, I get what I want.”

“Not with me.”

“Yes, with you—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt, determined to put an end to this for good. I need to make it clear that I am an employee and not a girl he can conquer. “I am not interested in being your friend, your entertainment, or anything else.”

“Is that so?” he says, his eyes searching my face for any trace of weakness. “We had a connection.”

“A connection? So you thought you would smooth-talk me? Probably thought it would be easy because you’re rich and used to getting girls. Well, guess what? Not this girl.”

Unfortunately, he gestures for me to continue, clearly unimpressed.

I force a laugh, hoping it sounds cruel instead of weak.

You can do this, Harlow.

“You’ve probably fooled everyone in your life, but it’s impossible to fool me.”

He doesn’t bite back.

Yet, it brings me no joy.

For some reason, this isn’t as cathartic as I hoped. I’m the bad guy. Especially since he isn’t fighting. He’s studying me, thinking — which is probably worse.

I lift my chin anyway, forcing a victorious pose.

“I am going to read my book, and I want you to leave me alone. Thank you.”

He moves to speak, but I spin on my heel before he can.

Oh, no.

A man and woman, probably in their fifties, stand by the doorway, watching. The man, dressed in a fancy suit, walks in first. He wears an amused grin.

“Fantastic,” he says, eyeing me. “It isn’t every day someone tells my son what he needs to hear.”