Page 7 of Twisted Tate

“I see something I’m going to take.”

The words hang between us. Her smile falters. I watch her reassess—watch the moment it lands that I’m not just some rich asshole asking questions about her daddy. Her eyes drop to my hands on the steering wheel, then back to my face. She’s looking for something. Trying to figure out exactly how much danger she’s in.

She’s a smart girl.

“You’re not going to hurt me.” She says it like she’s trying to convince herself.

She holds her fingers against her mouth, parting her lips like she might suck on them, which would push me over the fucking edge. But then rests her hand back in her lap.

“Not in the way you might fear. But I’m going to get the information that I need.”

She’s quiet for a long moment. When she turns back to the window, her shoulders are tighter than before.

She might think she escaped something—whatever the fuck that was—by getting in my car. But she has no goddamn idea.

I’m going to peel back every layer of that control she wields so well until she tells me what I want to know.

And if she willingly gets on her knees in the process, even fucking better.

But something tells me this woman isn’t going to break easily.

Good. I’ve been fucking bored anyway.

Chapter 2

REESE

The last streetlight disappeared behind us ten minutes ago, and I still don’t know where the hell this man is taking me.

“Where are we going?” I ask for the third time.

“Somewhere private.” The same nonanswer he gave me before.

I want to slam his head into the steering wheel. I want to claw his fucking eyes out for being so calm while my entire life implodes. But I don’t do any of that, because I’m not stupid. I’m trapped in a car with a man who could snap my neck without breaking a sweat, and the only play I have right now is to figure out what he wants and use it against him.

The roads are getting darker. Trees crowd in on both sides, and I haven’t seen another car in at least fifteen minutes. My phone is in my purse, but I’ve already checked—no signal. Of course there’s no fucking signal.

I watch Tate Sinclair’s profile in the glow of the dashboard. He’s got a sharp jaw covered in dark stubble, and strands of his dark hair fall over his forehead. His hands on the steering wheel are big, and I catch myself wondering what they’d feel like wrapped around my throat.

That thought should scare me after everything I’ve experienced in my fucked-up existence. It doesn’t. And that’s a problem.

But I’ve seen his type before. I’ve fucked and been fucked by the same kind of men. Rich, powerful, used to getting whatever they want. But those men are easy to read, easy to manipulate, and easy to leave behind when I get what I want from them.

This one is different, regardless of how gorgeous and powerful he is. He’s got to be at least six-four, all muscle and broad shoulders crammed into the driver’s seat of this ridiculous car. When he glances at me, I catch a flash of green eyes that seem to see through every lie I’ve ever told. And I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had to tell.

And when he looks at me, I feel it in places I shouldn’t.

I still can’t believe I got into his fucking car. I’ve never looked at a man and thought about anything other than how I was going to survive him or use him to forget. But something in my body screamed at me, and I let it drown out every bit of my good sense.

I keep replaying the moment I made that choice. I fucked up. Michael’s driver was waiting for me in that car, like he always does when Michael wants me. And I just . . . couldn’t. My whole body locked up, and when Tate Sinclair stepped into my path, I chose the devil I didn’t know over the one I did.

That was stupid. That was so fucking stupid. I’ve survived this long by following the rules, and I threw it all away because I couldn’t stomach one more night of Michael Collier’s hands on me.

Michael is going to tell my father. My father is going to be furious. I broke the rules. I showed defiance. I got in a car with Tate Sinclair instead of letting Michael beat and rape me.

Let’s just call it what it is. That’s what was going to happen. I still have bruises from the last meeting with him.

But there will be consequences for not being “Daddy’s princess” and doing what I am told. There are always consequences.