Page 77 of Weston’s Treasure

“Bullshit.”

“What do you mean, bullshit? You’re not in my head. You don’t know what I’m thinking about.”

Here we go.

“You’re hiding, Silver. The mask is firmly in place. Drop it and tell me what’s got you freaked out.”

“You know, it’s supremely annoying when you say shit like that. I’m not hiding. There was nothing wrong. Now there is because you’re acting like an ass.”

Stubborn.

“Drop the fucking mask, Silver,” he barked.

Weston felt the air in the cab crackle and he did not need to look at her to know she was pissed.

“I’m scared,” she blurted out.

Relief washed over him. He was getting somewhere.

“What are you scared of?”

“Of you.”

What the fuck? Weston’s relief was short-lived, his gut twisted and his chest hurt.

“Baby.” He softened his tone, no longer annoyed now but extremely concerned he’d done or said something that would frighten her. “I’d never hurt you.”

“Your job is dangerous.”

“Sometimes.”

“Not sometimes, all of the time, Weston. It’s always dangerous.”

He was confused. Silver had had a front-row seat to everything his job detailed the day he’d rescued her from the Dora B. And before that, she’d sat through briefings where the dangers of the operation had been laid out for her, all of the reasons he’d recommended her being sidelined. It was no secret what Weston did for a living and it had never seemed to bother her. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t batted an eye when they’d discussed the deaths of three drug dealers who’d held her captive.

“Where’s this coming from? None of this is new.”

Weston waited. Knowing they were running out of time, he pulled into the next gas station and parked, needing to get this straight before they showed at his parents’ place.

“Silver?”

Her head snapped toward him, eyes squinted, anger clear.

“Why can’t you leave this alone? Why do you always have to push? I don’t want to talk about this right now. Just let it be.”

“I wouldn’t have to push if you’d stop fuckin’ hiding and start being honest with me. When shit’s eating at you, we talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

Her arms crossed over her chest and she set her eyes toward the windshield and huffed.

Jesus Christ, the woman drove him crazy when she was being hard-headed.

“I take it you didn’t learn a damn thing about keeping shit bottled up. So I’ll remind you, Silver, you lock it down, it festers. And when it finally makes its way out, it’s too late. It's eaten a hole inside you. That’s not a place I’ll allow us to go. Straight up, shit’s bothering you, we talk. Whether you want to or not, I’ll dig and I’ll dig until your stubborn ass caves.”

“So it doesn’t matter what I want? It’s Weston’s way or no way?”

“With this? Yes. Because my way means you get pissed, you burn hot, then we work it out. Your way means you sweep it under the rug, it burns for a long fucking time, making you miserable and making my job a fuckuva lot harder when you finally break and tell me what’s wrong. And, sweetheart, we haven’t scratched the surface of fixing all the poison your bitch of a mother left inside of you and now I see we got some work to do in regard to your dad. What we do not need is you having issues with my job. Which leads to you telling me you’re fucking scared of me.”