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It’s all I can do now—wait.
With Callista safely locked away in the library.
Turning that key and sealing her inside felt like taking a massive step back for us, like returning to that first night and morning when I was forced to do the same while I reeled over having her here and tried to make sense of the game Wendy was playing.
Now I understand it.
And I’m more than ready to make the final move.
All I need is for the queen to appear.
But Wendy is too smart to come up Barker Mountain before her men are in place, giving them time to advance and surround the house before the SUV turns off the highway and starts making its way up the road.
Taking a sip of my scotch, I watch it take the switchbacks, moving closer while anticipation thrums through my blood.
My eyes dart to my axe leaning against the fireplace hearth. Not far out of reach. But I don’t trust myself not to try to use it on her if it were in my hand right now.
Not after all these years.
Not after what she did to Callista.
It’s going to take every ounce of restraint I possess not to bury the blade into her the moment she makes her appearance, and this drink is the only thing helping keep The Beast placated, for the time being.
The SUV finally reaches the peak and pulls to a stop in front of the house. It remains running, lights on, illuminating the clearing and the trees lining it on that side, and one of the rear passenger doors swings open.
Wendy steps out like she’s on her way to a government meeting or press conference, not to have this confrontation.
I knew she wouldn’t come up here guns blazing to take Callista by force, not if there is any civilized way to handle the situation. The politician in her will always try to negotiate, to argue her side, to try to sway me to her thinking.
And the fact that she’s here, straightening the front of her skirt and standing in that uneven gravel in her heels, suggests she needs something, something far greater than a blond bargaining chip.
The men in the woods are merely her backup plan if everything else goes to shit, which means there might be a chance of my plan actually working.
If I can keep The Beast at bay.
I remain seated in my chair, sipping at my drink, letting the smoky, peaty flavors dance across my tongue and burn in my belly while I wait for the showdown that’s about to come.
The front door opens and closes, and I send a quick text before I slide my phone back into my pocket. There’s no point in watching anymore when I already know what’s waiting out there.
The click, click, click of her heels across the wood as she makes her way into the room echoes like a drumbeat, a battle song from an incoming army of one, until she finally reaches my side of the room and stands between the fireplace and me, staring me in the eye for the first time in years.
Wendy doesn’t come to Barker Mountain.
Not only because of the memories it holds for her, too, but also because she doesn’t want to be associated with The Beast, doesn’t want any nosy media or locals to start talking about how much time she spends up here with her gangster, dangerous brother.
She can’t have that, not while she is always smiling for the cameras and laying out the story of being what’s best for Montana, despite her horrific family legacy.
No one can ever know how hard she embraced that legacy and ran with it.
Gray eyes so similar to my own shine in the firelight, her dark hair not touched by the silver that overtook mine at such a young age, sleek and hanging down to her shoulders, her suit perfectly tailored.
She looks every bit the politician she is, but I can see beneath that perfect façade.
I know what lies there.
A cold-blooded killer—one just as dangerous, if not more so, than The Beast because at least people have a warning with me. They know to stay away and what’s coming for them if they cross my path. With her, it’s a smile to your face and a stab in the back.
I take a sip of my drink and wait for her to start.
