Page 65 of The Wrong Monster

What I don’t want is Matilda wandering around up here, getting more than ankle-deep into my business. Or at least, the side of the business she doesn’t need to be entirely aware of, aside from that it exists.

I’m exhausted. Kevin is still recovering, with a plan to move him to his mother’s house this evening. Mikhail is still sitting in a cell. Yuri is somewhere in the Adirondacks, and Semiyon remains invisible, which means our information was correct and he is the reason that teenager in my guest room was beaten to a pulp.

And apparently my defense attorney has decided my orders are suggestions.

I thought last night that we’d reached some kind of understanding. There was a shift in her the way she softened in the hallway. But somehow she’s hardened at the same time, a rock when it felt like everything around me was fraying at the edges.

Now she’s back to grinding my gears.

“She was told to wait,” I say.

Art gives me a look. “I know.”

“Then why is she coming? And who the hell agreed to bring her here?”

A muscle in Art’s jaw ticks. “I’m not happy about it, but I can see how some of my men might be, uh, intimidated into obeying her.”

I glare at him. He wisely looks away.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, fog headlights appear through the trees. One of my cars rolls to a stop near the temporary construction office. The rear door opens.

Matilda steps out. She looks furious. Somehow, that makes everything worse.

Her hair is slightly damp from the rain, loose strands curling around her face. She’s wearing dark jeans, a fitted jacket, and boots that sink slightly into the wet ground as she starts toward me.

Gorgeous, angry, and completely unreasonable. Already I can feel the beast rising up in me. It takes everything in me to tamp down the desire to march toward her, wrap a hand around her jaw, kiss her into submission.

The drizzle clings to her lashes as she approaches. Something inside me feels ready to burst.

Every time I see this woman, my ability to remain rational seems to deteriorate another degree.

She stops several feet away. “You’re welcome,” she says.

I stare at her. “For what?”

“For coming when you apparently didn’t want me to.”

I look toward Art. He suddenly finds the surrounding forest fascinating. I look back at Matilda.

“Zvezda...”

Her eyes narrow. I already know this is going to be a long afternoon, and turn away from her.

“Mr. Bennet,” I call to the real estate agent standing beside the two cars we took up. “Make the offer.”

He straightens immediately. “Today?”

“Today.”

He nods and begins gathering his papers. I don’t bother looking back at Matilda. If I do, I’ll probably say something I regret.

Instead, I start toward the vehicles.

“Vasily.”

I keep walking.