Page 32 of Ready Or Not

I shake my head. “Don’t change the subject.” I don’t care about her opinion of me breaking and entering. Actually, I don’t care about anyone’s opinion, period.

“I don’t have a bleeding heart,” Rachel huffs. “But even if I did, that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

I snort. “Spoken like a true bleeding heart.”

“I’m going home.” Rachel jumps off the couch.

I continue sharpening my knife, the sound of the grinder filling the barn.

“It’s your death wish,” I say over the grinder as Rachel stomps to the door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pause. I won’t let her leave, but I want to see what she’ll do.

“Where’s Manson?”

Oh, so she does have some brains.

“Out looking for you.”

Lie. He knows exactly where she is—with me.

Rachel pauses. “Can you take me back home?”

“Take you back to the place he’s looking?” I snort. “I gave you more credit than that.”

Rachel looks torn.

I shrug.

Finally, she says, “Let me call someone.”

I just turn and raise an eyebrow at her. “Do you know who Manson is?”

Rachel glares at me. She still doesn’t get it.

“Manson has hired guns all over this damn region. You think just staying with a family member will get you out of his reach? Use your brain, bambi. You saw him; you know what he’s capable of.”

Rachel is still frozen, like a deer in the headlights. Probably knows she can’t trust me, but Manson is even less trustworthy. She’s stuck. Because the more I use her emotions against her, the more I seem like the best option. Humans fear the unknown much more than they fear the known.

“Stay with me. I’ll keep you safe from him.” Ironically, I’ve told her more truths than lies in this conversation.

What an interesting predicament.

I hold my hand out to her.

Still, nothing.

Okay, so she’s a lot smarter than I gave her credit for.

“Let me rephrase this.” I stare at her. “I won’t let you risk your life running right into Manson’s hands. You have no choice. You’re staying with me.”

Rachel’s eyes flash with defiance a second before she darts out of the barn.

“Jesus,” I groan. Who knew having a toy would be such work?

I jog after her, only to find her puking her guts out at the edge of the corn maze. She sees me and starts running again, only to double over. She half-jogs, doubled over and hurling.

“Are you quite done?”