The Blood of a Baron - K.J. Jackson Page 0,50
skewering Wes, disbelief palpitating in the crinkle of her brow.
“You know—you know who is behind this—who killed my brother—and you didn’t tell me?” Her words sputtered out, bitter accusation in each sharp syllable.
Rune stepped between them, looking to Wes. “I will retrieve the horses.” A quick nod to Laney and he started back to the village.
“Check the girths before you gather them.”
Rune waved his hand in the air, not answering him, not turning around. Of course he’d check the straps to make sure they hadn’t been tampered with. Rune was more than competent and he didn’t need Wes telling him what to do.
He also knew Wes was about to use him as a buffer and was having none of it. Smart man.
With a deep inhale he held in his chest, Wes looked to Laney. She’d caught her breath enough to move her arms and they were now crossed over her ribcage, her look skewering him.
“You need to tell me right now who is behind this, Wes. Who killed Morty? You know, don’t you? You know exactly who it is and you didn’t—wouldn’t tell me.”
Wes shook his head and caught the sight of the dead man’s boot. Dammit.
In three strides he swallowed the space between them and grabbed Laney’s upper arm, dragging her away from the body.
“Wes.” She tried to yank her arm away.
“I’m not talking to you when you’re inches away from a dead man.”
“Fine.” She jerked on her arm again and he released it. She kept walking toward the village along the bank of the swollen river. “You could just say that instead of manhandling me everywhere you want me to be.”
“You don’t always listen to me, Laney.”
“Maybe if you would tell me information I have every right to know—like who killed my brother, who tried to kill me—I would trust you enough to listen to you.”
His mouth pulled tight, his teeth bit his tongue for several minutes until they were well away from the dead man, but still a distance to the village. They passed a small grove of elm trees at the bank of the river. As private as he was going to accomplish in the moment.
Instead of grabbing her to stop her, he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Not subtle, but at least he didn’t grab her arm and yank her to a stop.
Not halting quick enough, she bumped into the front of him, then quickly fumbled her hands upward to push herself away. A step backward and she looked up at him, her eyes still daggers. “You know who killed Morty and you didn’t tell me.”
She was pulling away from him.
Whether he’d wanted it or not—whether he deserved it or not—he’d had her back. Had her in his arms, her smile upon his face, her heart cracked open to him last night. It’d been so much more than the carnal coupling in his townhouse—that had been their bodies raw with need and too much energy between them. Last night had been more—he’d had the tiniest bit of her soul back. His again.
But now she was pulling away, fighting it.
Probably because she knew, deep down, there were still truths she didn’t know.
He couldn’t lie to her.
Not anymore.
She needed to know. Needed to know this from him before she learned it later and it destroyed everything.
His hand ran across his face. “Aye. I do know who is behind it. Only since yesterday, but I do know.”
Her hand went to her forehead, her forefinger and thumb squeezing the bridge of her nose. “Why? Why—after last night—last night I thought you were finally telling me what I needed to know. I finally thought you weren’t lying to me anymore. You had me believing and now I’m right back to where I can’t trust you. I never could.”
She stepped to the side, starting to move around him.
Wes jumped in front of her, stopping her motion. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter.”
“How could that possibly not matter?”
His jaw set hard, his words went wooden in his mouth. “I didn’t tell you because the truth is I killed Morton.”
Her jaw dropped, yet no words escaped.
His breath held, stinging his lungs and she staggered a step backward. Another. Another.
Her hand moved, slow, trembling as it landed on her chest. One more step and she stopped, horror contorting the lines on her face. “You what?”
“I killed him.”
She gasped a breath. Started to talk. No sound and she had to gasp another breath. “Wes—no, you couldn’t have.”
His veins froze, his