Good.
That’s good.
That means he’s not thinking.
Not paying attention.
That’s always been his weakness.
Too confident.
Too sure of himself.
The lock clicks.
Door opens.
And there he is.
Benji.
Standing there like he owns the world.
No shirt. Just boxers.
So fucking classy.
So goddamned entitled.
Like he didn’t take something that was never his to begin with.
He barely looks at me.
That’s his mistake.
His fatal fucking mistake.
“Room service,” I mutter, keeping my head down, pushing the cart forward.
He steps back automatically.
Letting me in.
Inviting me in.
Just like that.
Too goddamn easy.
The door shuts behind me with a soft click.
We’re inside.
My hand slips beneath the tray.
Finds the weight I’ve been waiting for.
I straighten.
