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“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.