“I’ve taken care of them,” he says.
It does nothing to comfort me. It could mean anything.
“Who is she?”
“Who?”
“You know who,” I snap. “The blonde bitch. His creature… or maybe she’s yours. I don’t even know at this point.”
He eyes me carefully, but his expression is completely impassive. “Brit,” he says, his lips curling around her name like a caress. “Her name is Brit.”
“Brit,” I spit. “Right. Who is she to you?”
“She’s the woman who freed you from that prison,” he says, as though I could ever forget. The walls have eyes. That phrase has lived in my head rent-free for eleven long months. I scour every room I walk into now.
“Am I supposed to be grateful to her?”
“If you were smart, you would be. She saved you.”
“My mother that saved me.”
“Your mother intercepted what was meant to be my mission,” he snaps. “I had a car outside waiting for you. Anya just got to you first.”
This is news to me. And it matters more than it should. Not that I let any of that show.
“It doesn’t really matter though, does it? She’s the one who got me out.”
“She wouldn’t have been able to if it hadn’t been for Brit. If it hadn’t been for me.”
I’m tempted to take another swig of whiskey, but he was right about the strength. I’m already starting to feel the buzz, and I can’t afford to lose sight of my inhibitions where Leo is concerned.
“So she is your creature?” I ask, needing to hear the confirmation from his lips.
“One of many.” He speaks with a possessiveness that makes my blood boil.
“Is that all she is to you?”
I hate myself for even caring, much less asking the question. But my jealousy is at the wheel, and I can’t stop the question from escaping my lips.
He smiles. “You care?”
Fuck it, I say to myself. The only way I’m going to get through this is with a buzz in my veins. I take another swig of whiskey. “I owe that bitch a debt, and I would like to pay it back soon.”
“What kind of debt?”
“A debt of blood.”
His eyes narrow. “You’ll have to get through me first.”
I push myself off the seat. If the stools weren’t cemented to the floor, mine would have toppled over. “I guess that’s my answer.”
“Assumptions are a dangerous thing, Willow,” he says calmly. “You don’t have all the information.”
I ignore that. “No wonder she was so cruel to me. I married her man. How silly of me.”
“I’m her don,” he says. “Not her man.”
I walk around the two barstools that separate us and put myself right between his spread legs. “Too bad I don’t believe a fucking word out of your lips, Leo.”
His eyes burn with a quiet satisfaction that makes my heart feel like it’s going to burst into flame. I want to kill him as much as I want to kiss him.
Fuck me.
I jerk away from him before things get out of hand and walk towards the living room. I stop at the edge of the burgundy carpet. The chandelier hanging from the high ceiling gives and refracts light, casting rainbows around the room.
I swing around, aware that the alcohol has set my tongue free but unable to rein myself in.
“Did Brit decorate this place?” I taunt.
“Does it matter?”
“Fuck you.”
He smiles. And it unravels me.
I’ve spent eleven months’ worth of nights dreaming of that smile.
And eleven months’ worth of days trying to forget it.
Now, it’s in front of me, reminding me of everything I’ve lost. Of everything I’ll never get back.
“You’re dangerously close to drunk, Willow,” Leo says, taking a step towards me. “Go to your room before you do something you’ll regret.”
I walk right up to him. “You may be able to order that blonde bitch around, but not me. You don’t control me.”
He lifts his hand to my face. I brace for a slap that never comes. Instead, slowly, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek.
I freeze, mostly because if I move, I’ll reveal everything. My facade will shatter, and he’ll know how much this is affecting me.
But in the end, it doesn’t matter.
He leans in close, his words a whisper across my skin. “Then why do you tremble when I touch you?”
5