My body shifts subtly, just enough to widen my stance, just enough to prepare.
Calculate.
Distance.
Time.
Angle.
He’s pacing.
Talking.
Always talking.
Same as before.
Same smug, twisted bullshit.
“They lied,” he goes on. “Or more like they hid me.”
“Who?” I snap, keeping him engaged, keeping him focused on me.
“My mommy,” he says, like it’s a joke. “Money. Influence. You remember.”
Yeah.
I remember.
Paul was a rich kid.
Connected.
Untouchable.
My teeth grind.
“Didn’t want her poor, troubled son ruining the family name,” he continues. “So when they found my little collection?—”
My gut goes cold.
“Collection?” I repeat.
“Plans,” he corrects, tapping his head. “Ideas. A future.”
Something ugly crawls up my spine.
Because I know what he means.
I know the kind of shit he’s talking about.
“You were going to kill me,” I say flatly.
His grin widens.
“Was?” he echoes. “Oh, Benny, I still might.”
Yeah. I know.
