Page 30 of Ruthless Redemption

“My apologies.” He snickers. “What can I do for you? Is my sister’s fury more than you can handle?”

“I can handle her just fine, along with the men you sent to spy on us. I just wanted to give you prior warning that I don’t treat trespassers kindly.”

“There’s been no trespassing.” His superiority is potent. Sickeningly tart. “They’ve remained outside your property. Out of view. Layla won’t see them.”

“They left a fucking business card.”

“Out of respect.”

“Bullshit.” I keep my voice low. “It’s out of insecurity. Your men are here because you’re second-guessing our agreement.”

“My people are there because I’m not hanging my sister out to dry.” The correction is multilayered, not only reaffirming his commitment to his sister, but confirming it’s not onlymenthat are here.

Bishop was right. There’s a woman.

“And don’t worry,” he adds. “They’re skilled enough to remain safe despite any threat you might pose.”

“This wasn’t part of our agreement. Tell them to back off.”

“Confining my sister to a bedroom wasn’t part of the agreement either.”

I wipe a hand over my mouth and pace in front of the bed. This asshole is inching me closer toward the edge of rage. Or maybe it’s just my compiling failure. Layla’s opened me up to vulnerabilities because I can’t function until I win her back. “Your sister is free to do what she likes.”

“But she prefers to stay away from you for the most part?”

“I’m giving her space because sheprefersto tend her wounded pride in private, seeing as though her brother cut her off.”

“Listen here, you disillusioned Grim Reaper wannabe. I told her she was cut off foryourbenefit. This wouldn’t be a fair fight otherwise, and I intend toownyoufairly.”

He’s deliberately provoking me, and I have a hunch the timing is deliberate. All of this—the taunts, the blatant proximity from his people—it’s because they were watching last night.

Does he think I’m winning her over?

I fucking wish.

“The only ownership will be mine over your sister. I won’t fail, Torian. I can promise you that. I’m sure you’ve already been informed I made substantial headway at dinner.” They wouldn’t have known Layla sat at the table naked out of spite. They would’ve seen her fucking my hand and thought I was on the home stretch. “That’s why your spies left a business card. You want to throw me off my game.”

“All’s fair in love and war.”

The line disconnects, turning my blood to lava. I won’t let those assholes ruin this for me. The threat alone is enough to send me manic.

Cole has no idea how close I am to breaking point.

I stalk to the hall, then straight to Layla’s closed door to yank at the handle.

It’s fucking locked.

My frustration detonates with my foot launching at the barrier before I can rein it in.

The doorjamb breaks, the door flings wide, and there she is, lazing on the queen-sized bed, hands behind her head, ankles crossed as her face turns to mine with a raised brow.

She’s back in her jeans, but it’s Bishop’s grey T-shirt resting against the curves of her breasts that acts as a starting siren for another skirmish. She fakes calm, rolling her eyes before shifting her attention to the ceiling, pretending I don’t fucking exist.

“It’s time for breakfast.” I glare. Lock my jaw.

“I’ll eat later.”

Like hell she will.

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