I stride away from the house, putting at least a mile and a half between her and me before I pull out my phone. I'm not chancing that she'll overhear what I'm about to do next.
I pull up my contacts, selecting a number I didn't think I'd call again. After all, Ryker's debt was paid to me. I’m still irate about how badly that whole thing had turned out, but I am a man of my word. He'd settled up with me, like a man of honor should. His number is the only one I have that can get the message directly to Cruz. It's a Wednesday night, so they'll be assembled for a club meeting. It's the perfect time to make my ultimatum.
The phone rings twice before Ryker picks up. He already sounds pissed, which makes a small smile curl on my lips. There's nothing I like better than spiting the Spades.
"We're square," he hisses, keeping his voice low so he can't be heard over the pulsing beat of a rap song in the background. "I thought I told you to never contact me again."
"I need to speak to your fearless leader, Ryker. Where's Cruz?"
"None of your fucking business."
He's going to hang up and ignore subsequent calls. I have only a few seconds to catch his attention.
"You could hang up," I muse. "But that would have dire consequences for Penelope, I'm afraid."
A beat of dead silence. Then Ryker spits a string of expletives so foul it would make a normal man cringe. I can almost see him trying to marshal himself and formulate a response. His breath is a shallow, angry rasp on the other end of the phone, and I wait.
"You're a fucking liar," he hisses. "Cruz says she's been gone to visit Kase."
Ah. So is that the reason darling little Cruz hasn't leaped to his sister's rescue? She's pulled the old switcheroo, with each brother believing she's safe with the other.
"I'm afraid not. Though now that I know that she knows how to find him, the rest of the night will get interesting."
"You don't have her." He's rationalizing, trying to cage the fear by believing this is a trap. Can't have that.
I queue up my phone's photo gallery and skim the snapshots I've taken recently. Almost all of them are of Penelope. Taken during odd moments, when she's not aware she's being observed, or when she's curled half-naked in my bed after I've finger fucked her to orgasm. Creepy, perhaps. But I've never claimed to be a good man and being a peeping pervert is perhaps the least of my crimes.
"You need proof, then?"
I select one I particularly like and have gotten off to a few times during the month of painful abstinence, waiting for her capitulation. It's Penelope laid out on my bed, turned onto her side, legs curled in an almost modest position as if even in sleep she's trying to hide herself from me. She's wearing the newest purchase I made for her, a royal blue bra that sets off the golden cast to her skin perfectly. Her hair is mussed in that I've-just-fucked way, and a beautiful flush of color stains her cheeks. Her eyes are closed, which is a shame. They are one of her best features, deep and smoldering and able to capture a man at thirty paces. I hate that I've been snared so easily.
It takes a few moments to load and another few to send, and I wait again until I hear his phone ding on the other end of the line. He opens the attachment and releases a sharp, shocked exhale.
"Oh, God...Penny. What the fuck have you done to her, Gardel?"
I don't respond. I know what conclusions he and Cruz will draw from this photo. No chance in hell they'll believe that everything done with Penelope has been consensual and enthusiastically so. They already believe me a murderer. I might as well let them slap the appellation rapist on.
"Tell Cruz I expect his call within the hour. And that if he wants his sister back alive, he'll be ready to meet my demands in three days."
I hang up the phone, ignoring Ryker's bellowed follow-up questions. I shove it into my pocket, expecting a call within ten minutes. Cruz is smarter than his father, I'll give him at least that much. He's not coming at me half-cocked, knowing it could get his sister killed. He's planning a double-cross first, and then he'll contact me after.
She's still out cold when I reach the house. I pick her up, sliding a hand beneath her head and beneath her knees, hoisting her up as easily as a child. I remember doing this a thousand times with Brooklyn over the years. It should disturb me more that she's Brooklyn's age or younger. In different circumstances, she could have been mine. Instead, she's a reminder of the clusterfuck that went down so long ago.
And I can't look at her objectively. I haven't been able to since the moment she turned up here, so beautiful and stupidly brave. I should see her as a child, but I only see a woman. A woman who needs a man like me to match her, to challenge her, to dominate her. She needs someone who can protect the vulnerable interior she hides when her defenses inevitably crumble.
But I can't be that man for her. Our history is too loaded, even if she doesn't know the half of it yet. I will only keep hurting us both by keeping her here. If I want to be smart, I'll load her into the car and drive her to the line this instant. But I know I won't. I'm selfish. I want to keep her a little longer. I'll tell her tomorrow.
Eyes follow us as we walk through the foyer. I school my face to be impassive. No one can know what Penelope is becoming. I can't afford a chink in the armor at this juncture.
I set her down onto my bed gently. She turns her head, burrowing her face into the pillow. I drape the duvet over her, tucking her in and turn to leave.
"Calamity."
I cock my head over my shoulder, expecting her to sit up. But she's muttered it only in her sleep. A smile ghosts across my face, and I wipe it away quickly. This can go no further. One more day under my care. If she likes, we can fuck one last time. But that's it. After this, it's business as usual.
I step out of the room, shutting the door with a quiet click. My phone chimes, and a more feral grin replaces the happiness at hearing my name slip from her mouth. I need not look at the display to know who it is. I let the phone ring a few times, just to make the bastard squirm before answering.
Cruz's voice is full of barely repressed fury when he speaks, not even waiting for my greeting.
