I suck in a breath and stare at the chipped paint on the fence in front of me. “Then what do you want?”
I thought I got out.
I thought I was free.
But now I know I never was. Benedikt Volkov doesn’t let things go. He collects. People, power, and debts.
And now I don’t know who’s next.
My father?
Me?
Both?
“You.”
Then, the line goes dead.
16
Benedikt
I don’t move or speak.
I just stare at the scratched linoleum floor of this foul trailer and let her voice settle in my head. Sienna sounded terrified, confused, and desperate.
Good.
I might not have disciplined her actions in L.A. by locking her up in a dark space to think about it, but this will do.
Artem stands behind me, his arms crossed and his mouth pressed into a line that says he’s two seconds away from sharing his opinion, whether or not I asked for it.
He waits for me to say something, and I don’t. But it doesn’t stop him.
It never does.
Silence stretches between us before he finally breaks a few seconds later. “You told me to put her on a plane.”
“I did.”
“And that we were done with her.”
“We were.”
“And now you’re on the phone with her?” He gestures toward the cracked burner phone in my hand. “What are we doing, Benedikt?”
I turn to him. His expression is a mixture of irritation and concern.
He knows better than anyone that I don’t explain myself. That’s one of the perks of being who I am.
I didn’t call her; she was already on the phone. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like hearing her voice.
It’s been two days since we parted company, and less than forty-eight hours since I knew I was coming here to kill John Graves, her father.
That was the plan.
But then she fucked it up again.
