“You will.” He glances up at me, hazel eyes glossy with indifference. “He’s not happy.”
“Neither am I.”
“You’re making this harder on yourself.” I tsk because I didn’t do anything to myself.Hedid. “You sure you wanna do this?”
I give him a curt nod, prompting Artem to turn on his heels, stride through my door, and softly close the door shut.
3
Benedikt
She’s testing my patience.
That’s not new, though.
I expected Sienna to fight me tooth and nail; that’s her nature. She was never going to make this easy.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised by just how fucking difficult she’s being.
Hanging up on me?
Showing her teeth every chance she gets?
She doesn’t realize what could’ve happened to her if someone else had come to collect the debt. What I did—what I’m still doing—is mercy. I’m letting her keep her dignity, her name, and her fucking heartbeat. That should be enough.
But she wants more.
Fine.
Let her want.
I’ve learned a long time ago that wanting and deserving are not the same thing. She may want to feel in control, but she’s not. She may want to feel safe, but that depends on me. And if she wants to keep her father alive? Then she follows my rules.
Even if she doesn’t like how I play.
I park outside her apartment building, still irritated that I had to come here myself. Artem should’ve had her in the car over an hour ago, but she’s like a feral cat.
Skittish.
Sharp.
Pretty, but with claws she doesn’t mind using.
I lean back in the seat, drumming my fingers on the wheel, waiting.
It’s not long before the front door opens and there she is, storming down the steps like she’s ready to swing at the first man who so much as blinks with Artem on her heels.
I don’t know how he got her down her without her kicking and screaming, but he’s not my right-hand man because he’s good with a gun.
My door opens before I can even get out. She yanks it open herself and glares down at me like she’s the one owed an apology.
“Get in,” I say before she starts. “I’m not in the mood, your Highness.”
“Neither am I,” she snaps, but climbs in anyway with a graceless plop. She slams the door, arms crossed, spine stiff, and her eyes out the passenger door window.
I pull away from the curb without another word. The tension between us is choking. Heavy. She smells like frustration and whatever she baked at work today.
Her eyes flick to me every few seconds like she’s gauging whether I’ll explode.
