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“Your house, your rules. Right, Beasty?”
He flinches again at the use of his nickname.
I grab a few more berries and walk past him out to the living room and up the stairs, forcing myself not to look back.
Weston certainly knows where to find me if he changes his mind about how we’re going to pass our time. It isn’t as if I’m going anywhere.
I’m stuck in a never-ending limbo, one controlled by that man, at least partially. Someone else is involved, and something far greater is happening.
It might take time, but I’ll crack The Beast.
I’ll tame him and get him to reveal his secrets.
Chapter Eleven
CALLISTA
Ihave every intention of heading straight for the stairs but barely make it past the fireplace when the shrill ring of a cell phone cuts through the typical silence of the house. Freezing, I press my back against the stone hearth and listen.
He has a phone?
In all my time up here, I haven’t seen him on it or heard him talking with anyone. I even began to wonder if a cell would have service up here and how he was making contact with the “sources” he uses to bring things to the mountain.
But apparently, that’s an issue Weston has resolved.
The sound comes again.
Ring after ring after ring.
Whoever is calling is certainly insistent.
And Weston seems reluctant to answer; otherwise, he would have already.
I peek around the corner and find him staring at the screen, his knuckles whitening around the small phone. Whoever’s calling him, he looks pretty damn pissed at the interruption.
Another ring brings an annoyed growl before he swipes across the screen and brings the offending device to his ear. “What?”
His tone makes it clear to whoever is on the other end of the line that he doesn’t want to have this conversation.
He listens for a few seconds, his free hand fisting on the armrest. “It was not cozy…”
Cozy?
What the hell is he talking about?
I wrack my brain for anything that might give some context to his words as he goes silent again. Nothing about this house or the situation I’m in exactly screams cozy, nor would anyone use the word to describe The Beast or what he does as the head of the Barker organization. So, its use truly baffles me as he releases a long sigh.
“No.” The timbre of his voice lowers, like he’s trying to convince whoever he’s speaking with of his seriousness on the matter. “I’ll handle her.”
Handle who?
And what the hell does “handle” mean to The Beast?
Without even knowing what they mean, his words send a chill through me, replacing the heat I felt pressed up against him only moments ago. But his tense posture, annoyed huff, and seeming frustration with the other half of the call are not giving off warm and fuzzy vibes.
Certainly not cozy…
He’s silent for a moment, listening intently as he shifts forward and slams his fist onto the table, the sharp sound reverberating to me and rattling the glasses on the sideboard along the wall of the dining room. “You know this isn’t what I want.”
