“That’s it?”
I lift a brow. “You expecting a goodbye gift?”
“No, I just…” Her face screws up with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.”
I won’t explain that her father will be dead before her flight lands back home, or that I plan to gut his sad little trailer for the last of his belongings, and then torch the thing.
It’s not about money anymore. Never was. I’ll never get back a cent of what he borrowed, and that’s fine.
What matters now is the message: If you take from me, you pay me back, or I take something from you. Your house, your life, your family; I don’t give a fuck. You will not walk away clean.
“You’re serious? You’re really letting me walk away?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She didn’t expect it to be this easy. Maybe part of her thought I’d chain her to a fucking radiator and play out the worst-case scenario in her head.
And maybe that’s exactly why I’m not.
She’s not worth the trouble. She can’t be trained or learn to be obedient. She won’t stop pushing until one of us snaps, and that’s not how I do business.
She made her choice, and now I’ve made mine. She might be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, but she’s not worth all this.
I study her one last time, committing her to memory before stepping toward the door. “Artem is waiting outside.”
I pause in the doorway. I could turn around. I could say something cruel or kind. I could tell her she’s lucky I let her off the hook. I could tell her she has one more chance.
But I don’t. Because that’d mean she matters. And she doesn’t.
“Goodbye, Sienna.”
And I walk out.
15
Sienna
Sunday Bingo night always smells like peppermint and polyester.
The room is filled with elderly women shouting at each other about the price of gas and whether the nurse stole their tray of banana pudding.
My grandmother waves at me from her usual table near the front. She’s a dainty little thing in lavender, but with plenty of sass packed into her five-foot-two frame.
She already has our cards set out—two for me, and four for her, just like always. If there is anything my grandmother takes seriously, it’s Bingo.
“There she is!” she greets when I slide into the chair beside her and lean in to give her a hug. “I was starting to think you got kidnapped.”
Yeah. About that.
Thank God she couldn’t see my face when she said that.
“Just had a busy week,” I lie, taking a spot in my cushioned chair.
“You didn’t answer your phone for three days, darling?”
I reach for a neon pink Bingo blotter and shrug like I haven’t been recovering from a hostage situation.“Bakery’s been slammed. Extra orders, extra hours.”
