“I always want the fucking truth.” She suddenly seemed angry.
“I might have helped stage the crime set up, but I promise, the overdose was before my time,” I admitted.
“I don’t get it,” she said after a long silence followed my admission. “How can you have an appealing personality, be attractive, and still be such a fucking monster?”
“You think I’m attractive?” I picked the most complimentary part of her statement and focused on it.
“I think you’re impossible.”
“That may be true.” I considered it for a second. “But, Bianca . . . I’m still a King.”
My statement—reminding her that although she had her freedom, I was still in charge of the situation—was met by the click of her phone and the dial tone in my ear.