Page 150 of Corrupted Heart

“Kratos?”

I stop at the door, turning my head partway around to catch his eye.

“You may be big, but I’m very close to your size. If you ever come into my home and threaten me again, I’ll cut your fucking head off.”

“Asshole!”

I let the final word of Ares’ tirade sink in through the phone before I exhale.

“I should have checked in with you first.”

“Oh, you fucking think?!” he hurls back. “Drazen is a fucking ally, dipshit!”

I scowl as I get out of the G-wagon, phone to my ear. “Maybe he’s not an enemy, but do you still want to call him an ally after everything I’ve just told you?”

“What I want to do after everything you’ve just told me is have a fucking conversation!” he roars back. “All of us! Together! Not barge into his fucking home, guns blazing!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose tiredly as I walk around the corner to my brownstone. It’s almost dinnertime, and after this shit-show of a day, all I want is to sit down with Bianca and eat.

Well, that’s not entirely true. After this shitty a day, what I want is to abduct her from our home, drag her blindfolded and tied up to the old church, and then chase her through the dark before I fuck her until she can’t walk for a week.

…Actually, that’s what I might do when I get home in about seven seconds.

“Ares, I’m almost home. Let me call you back after?—”

“Oh, fuck off,” he snaps angrily. “I’ll call you back, jackass.”

He hangs up sharply.

Shit.

This will take some repairing. But I stand by what I did. Yeah, maybe Drazen’s influence and money get that development built and our pockets lined. But I fucking loathe being someone else’s pawn.

The front door to the brownstone swings shut behind me. I exhale the tension of the day, and slowly, a smile spreads over my face.

This place hasn’t been my house for long. It also never felt like home until recently.

Until Bianca became a part of it.

My mind replays the feel of her sliding into my lap earlier as I turn to glance up the stairs.

“I’m home!” I call out. “Is it too cliche if I do Greek for din?—”

My words stutter to a stop when my eyes land on the suitcase and backpack sitting at the bottom of the staircase.

“Bianca?”

My brows knit as I go to walk up the stairs.

“Bianca—”

“Is it true?”

My head whips around at the sound of her voice. Bianca’s sitting in a chair in the living room, so still and quiet that I never even noticed her when I walked in. I frown as I move toward her.

“What’s with the suitcases?—”

“Is. It. True.”

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