Page 124 of Anton

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

The reins bite into my palm as my fingers close around them. “I’m not a child.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” My laugh comes out brittle. “Because everyone in this family treats me like I need to be managed, and I’m damn tired of it.”

Her expression hardens. “You’re welcome. We give a shit about you, Thora. We protect each other. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being protected.”

“You have no idea what Anton is capable of.”

“No more than anyone else in this family.”

Her jaw sets as understanding dawns across her face. “You really care about him.”

A ragged breath leaves me. “Yeah, I do.”

Greer lets out a deep sigh. “Then I’m even more afraid for you.”

“Well, don’t be.”

I gather the reins and nudge my horse forward, letting her carry me away before Greer can say anything else to piss me off.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THORA

The next morning, Mama finds me in the kitchen checking emails and drinking some coffee. I hope Greer didn’t open her mouth and tell her and Daddy about the conversation we had. I think that would make a justifiable excuse for murder.

I purposely skipped breakfast with the family and pretended to be asleep. Thankfully, no one questioned it.

“Did you sleep well?” Mama asks.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“That’s good.” She pats my hand. “I’m actually glad I caught you. I left some handbags and shoes in my closet that I don’t want anymore. Why don’t you take a look and see if there’s anything you want to bring home with you?”

The last thing I need is more shoes, but I don’t want to insult Mama.

“Okay, I’ll go check them out.”

“You do that. I’m going to make more coffee.” She pushes her dark hair away from her shoulders and heads toward the coffee pot.

I make my way upstairs, already knowing I’ll probably end up taking something home. Mama has always had a good sense of fashion. As soon as I enter the walk-in closet, I notice stacks upon stacks of shoeboxes and ten different handbags hanging on a portable rack.

Okay, this is definitely more than I thought.

I start going through everything, finding a few pairs I absolutely love, and after picking three, I move on to the designer bags. My shoulder accidentally bumps into the stack of shoeboxes, and one of them slips.

“Crap!”

I catch the first box before it hits the floor, but the one under it tips forward. When I grab it, the lid swings open, revealing something that catches my eye. Beneath the shoes and crumpled tissue, the corner of a paper peeks out. When I pull it out, I realize it isn’t a piece of paper, but a photo.

Why would Mama put a photo inside a shoebox?

At first, I don’t know what I’m seeing. It’s a little girl, maybe a year old, grinning in the arms of a woman who resembles her.