His Twisted Game: A Dark Assassin Boss Romance by Audrey Rush

Author:Audrey Rush [Rush, Audrey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Fiona

I slowed the car as I approached the address. Grassy pastures. Metal fences interspersed with wooden beams. White pine trees stretched out as if guarding the place. My sister’s sunflower yellow hair fluttered in the afternoon breeze. She adjusted her tank top and waved to me. She seemed so comfortable here. She was never like this at home.

Inside the car, she squealed: “You’re here!” She leaned over the console and hugged me. “All right. Down the dirt path. You see that gravel area? You’re going to park there.”

I moved the car forward. “Go through the dirt?”

“If you get stuck, we’ve got plenty of people who can get you out.”

Luckily, we made it through. As I killed the engine, Maise turned to me. “You know you’re the first person I’ve invited here?”

“Bambi?” I asked.

“I didn’t invite her,” she smirked. “That girl invited herself.”

That seemed like Bambi. But the same could be said about me. I had spent the last day begging Maisie to let me see the place, claiming stuff like—it would get our parents off of my back, it would ease my conscience, that I needed a break from graduate school and the library. But in reality, I wanted to understand Sawyer. I wasn’t even sure if it had to do with our game or the library anymore. I just wanted to know him better. To find something that told me if my attraction was either good or bad, so that I could find a way to eradicate it. Because I needed to put the library first. It was my only dream.

Because I didn’t understand my attraction to Sawyer, but I couldn’t deny it either.

A classic barn, complete with red paint and white beams, was across from the parking area, as well as some smaller, similarly painted storage sheds.

“You got married here?” I asked.

“It was really pretty,” she said. I had seen the pictures, though we had both lied to our parents about it. Maisie had told them it was a small affair at the courthouse since she felt guilty about not inviting them. But I understood. At that point, when she got married, we hadn’t spoken to Maisie in five years. Why would she have invited us?

Men in long-sleeved shirts and jeans traveled gruffly across the property, bowing their heads at us as they led the cows and calves in and out of the barns. An owl hooted from the trees. Down a way, there was a huge house: two stories with yellow paint and white trim. Bright and fiery, like Maisie.

My jaw dropped. “This is your place?”

“Wilder had another house, but we’re using it for supplemental housing,” she explained. “This house, we designed together. And I decorated the inside. It was fun.”

And it was so much more grown-up than I expected from Maisie. Rugs over the hard floor in some rooms, lush and clean carpet in other areas, a quaint kitchen with a round table, a metal dish drying rack, and a turquoise toaster on the counter, a flash of bright color amid natural, muted tones.

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