Page 190 of A Vicious Love

Reeves shifted slightly beside me. Probably because threatening the host within five minutes of arrival was considered socially premature.

I was showing growth by not doing it with a gun in hand.

Sienna’s father held my stare. “And what exactly do you think we will discuss?”

“Terms.”

Anger burned clean through my panic.

“We can speak privately after dinner.”

“No. Tomorrow.”

“Jamison—”

“If one word reaches Sienna before I speak to her, I will turn this retreat into a case study.”

Sienna’s father looked at me for a long second. “You came here to threaten us?”

I looked toward the east trail, where trees gathered thick against the sun.

“I came here to find her.”

Then I walked away. No one stopped me. The estate path to the waterfall was offensively picturesque.

White stones with low hedges trimmed around wildflowers. Wooden signs with burned lettering. Birds making noise like they had been paid. The summer heat pressed against the back of my neck, unbearable.

Fucking nature.

Fucking summer.

Fucking retreat.

There were insects. Actual insects. One tried to land on my sleeve and I shook it off with the kind of disgust usually reserved for bad debtors and men named Weston.

The path narrowed under trees.

They had built an entire family ritual around sweating outdoors and called it tradition.

I would have preferred being shot.

That was not a joke.

A clean bullet through the shoulder would have communicated care with less walking. Sienna could have looked at the blood, realized I had suffered.

I slowed when the sound of water grew louder.

Practicing would help.

Probably.

I stopped on the path beneath a tree and exhaled.

“Sienna,” I said.

Too hard…like a summons.

Again.