Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“I threatened him.”
“You threatened him, but did you punish him?” he says flatly.
I glare.
“Exactly. That’s not punishment.”
I bare my teeth. “Careful.”
He doesn’t back down. “Interesting how you don’t spiral over territory. Yet you’re spiraling over a guard.”
I slam the knife into the table, and the wood cracks. Rafe doesn’t even flinch. The silence in the room stretches thick and heavy.
Finally, I straighten. “Find me Patricks location.”
“I said I’m on it.”
“Work harder,” I snap. “I want an address asap.”
Rafe nods once. “And when we find him?”
I hesitate for a fraction, then turn away. “I guess only time will tell.”
Since there’s nothing useful to kill here, I leave. That was a giant waste of my time. Unfortunately, these things sometimes take time.
I’m back at the estate. It’s quieter now. I don’t ask where she is. I don’t need to. I already know. I move through the halls without direction, steps guided by instinct I don’t want to examine too closely.
The sitting room is empty. No surprise there. The library lights are on. Bingo. I stop outside the doorway, but I don’t enter.
She’s in there, curled into one of the chairs with her legs tucked beneath her, book in hand. She looks . . . calm. Hair loose. Face intent. Lips moving faintly as she reads.
I stay in the shadows and watch. She turns a page, frowns at something, then mutters under her breath. I can’t hear the words, but her expression tells me everything I need to know. She’s annoyed.
Good.
I want her annoyed. I can deal with her more easily when she’s like that.
I shift my weight, and the floor creaks.
Her head lifts instantly, eyes snapping to the doorway. For half a second, she looks like she expects a fight. Her spine straightens, and her chin lifts in defiance.
I’ve got to hand it to her, it’s impressive. There is no fear. Just a challenge.
We are at a standstill. She’s waiting for me to step inside, but I don’t.
I also don’t speak. I just watch.
Her gaze flicks over me, and she smirks.
Just a little.
Like the victory is hers. Something ugly coils in my chest. I turn away before she can say anything. Before I do something I can’t undo. I walk back down the hall, my pulse loud in my ears.
This is a problem.
Her.
Because after everything, I shouldn’t want to know what she’s reading, what she’s doing, and certainly not what she’s thinking. But I do.
I shouldn’t feel this restless need to go back and finish something that hasn’t even started. I step into my study and shut the door, then lean my palms against the desk.
Breathe. “Get a grip.”
The reflection in the window stares back. Hard eyes. Tight jaw. A man who used to be in control but now isn’t.
I straighten slowly.
Fine. If she wants to play games—
I’ll let her.
But I won’t be the one who loses.
I reach for my phone. The war in Boston will need to wait. Because the more important one has already started . . .
In my house.
44
Victoria
I’m halfway down the hallway with the stolen burner when I hear a noise.
What is that? It’s not a doorbell, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a phone either. It sounds . . . I’m not even sure how to describe it, maybe like a metal door opening?
I stop so fast my bare feet squeak against the polished wood.
A second later, the security panel near the stairwell flashes once. A red blink that makes my stomach tighten.
Shit.
Somehow, I know he’s coming . . .
Then I hear him.
Well, I hear heavy steps, most likely from boots. But I’m sure it’s Lorenzo.
My pulse spikes because my body is stupid. I’m going to need to do something about my reactions to him.
As if he can hear my inner ramblings, Lorenzo appears at the end of the hall.
His phone is pressed to his ear, voice carrying low and sharp. “Sure.” He strolls toward the stairs without looking at me. “I’ll handle it. I’d hate for you to strain yourself by doing your job.”
He pauses at the top of the staircase, eyes flicking down to the foyer. There’s a moment of silence. I wait for him to do something, but no words come, only his lips curving up.
“Yeah,” he drawls into the phone, fingers tightening around the railing. “I’m aware it’s a problem. I’m also aware problems can stop existing.” He listens again, jaw ticking. Then, almost like the world stops spinning on its axis, a strange laugh escapes his mouth.
It’s quiet and ugly and makes a chill run down my spine.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, voice smooth. “I won’t leave a mess. I know how much you hate a mess.”
My stomach flips. I start down the hall without thinking. An idiot moth to a flame . . .
I deserve to be burned.
Lorenzo’s gaze snaps up and locks on me instantly.