“I’m not waiting on her to make my move.”
Ariel raises her eyebrows. “You’re not?”
“I want my son back,” I say harshly. “Go inform Jax and Gaiman of everything you just told me.”
“No need. Jax was with me this morning. I’m sure he’s already filled Gaiman in.”
“Since when do you and Jax hang out?” I ask, unsure about how I feel about that.
She smiles. “A girl’s gotta keep herself entertained. And Jax is nothing if not entertaining. Especially since your head has been turned by the wannabe Bratva princess.”
“Careful what you say.”
She raises her hands in defeat and backs off. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I head back into the room and walk over to the couch where Willow is sleeping. She’s still wrapped in the throes of her dreams, one arm thrown over her head, the other tucked under her chin. She looks peaceful.
I ought to let her stay that way. Reality can be cruel; hers in particular. Dreams can be an oasis for the haunted and the damned.
Unfortunately for Willow, I’ve never been one for running from your reality.
I head into the bathroom and fill a glass up with cold water. Then I walk right back to the sofa and dump it over her head.
She wakes with a gasp. “What the fuck?!”
“Morning,” I say pleasantly. “Have a good sleep?”
“You bastard!” she hisses as she wipes the water from her eyes.
I sit down on the arm of the sofa. “It’s time you start pulling your weight around here.”
She narrows her eyes. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”
“I’m going to make contact with Anya.”
She goes still for a moment, her muscles tensing. “Why?”
I don’t bother answering. She knows why.
She sighs. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re the one who’s going to write the letter for me,” I tell her.
She gets to her feet. “Unless you plan on forging my handwriting, Anya will not get a letter from me.”
“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one making this harder.”
Water is still dripping from the ends of her hair, soaking through the thin t-shirt she’s wearing. The cold water certainly woke her up. She looks fit to pounce.
“I will get him back, Willow. With or without your help.”
“Then you’ll have to do it without my help,” she says determinedly. “Because I’m not about to lift a damn finger to make your life easier. God knows you haven’t done that for me.”
“You’re saying you think he’s better off with her?”
A shadow passes across her face, and I know that her relationship with Anya is not quite as warm and fuzzy she would have me believe.
“I’m saying I want to control this narrative,” she says at last. “And I won’t be able to do that so long as you’re at the reins.”
“You’re compromising our son’s safety because you want to feel like you’re the captain? For fuck’s sake, I thought you were smarter than that.”
She presses her lips closed and crosses her arms. The move only accentuates the swell of her breasts, and the water slowly soaking into the cotton doesn’t help.
“Don’t make me do anything I’m going to regret, Willow,” I say in a low voice, stalking towards her.
Her eyelashes flutter, and she backs away. But I don’t stop advancing. I keep moving, matching her step for step, until her back hits the wall.
“You’re not going to intimidate me, Leo. You may be a big strong Bratva don, but that means nothing to me.”
“No?”
“I’m not her.”
For a moment, I genuinely don’t know who the fuck she’s talking about. Then it clicks.
“No, you’re definitely not Brit,” I agree.
Her eyes flash with anger, but she doesn’t say anything else. Ariel was right—Willow is jealous. She hates herself for it, but every time she looks at Brit, she doesn’t just see her torturer—she sees a threat to whatever she has with me.
I can use that to my advantage.
So I keep going. “Brit may not have been born into the Bratva, but she was made for it.”
Willow tenses. “That’s quite the pedestal you have her on.”
I nod. “She’s an amazing woman.”
Nothing about that statement is a lie. I do have her on a pedestal, and I do think she’s an amazing woman.