Page 6 of Ruthless Redemption

She needs time for her adrenaline to weaken, and I give it to her, allowing her turmoil a chance to settle while we ascend and turn toward the East Coast. I watch her, though. From the corner of my eye, I note the ragged rise and fall of her chest. Her hands rest in her lap, the position seeming like a deliberate show of calm if it weren’t for her constant picking at her fingernails.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

She keeps her gaze straight ahead, unflinching. Mute.

“We’ve got a lot to discuss,amore mio. I know you’re—”

“You know nothing,” she grates. “You don’t know what you’ve done. And you sure as shit seem ignorant to how I hold you accountable, otherwise you’d quit pretending we’re not enemies.”

“I’m well aware of the role I’ve played. I’m only asking for an opportunity to explain.”

“I’m all out of opportunities. You can go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”

I’m already there. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t. Talk. To. Me.” She enunciates the demand slowly. Vehemently.

I clench my molars.Fine. I’ll give her more time.

We spend the rest of the flight in silence, her tense posture unfaltering until we land at a small private airport in South Carolina.

As soon as the copilot opens the door and lowers the stairs, Layla climbs over me like a caged animal finally gaining freedom and exits the jet before I can release my belt.

By the time I step into the sunlight at the top of the staircase, she’s already seated in the waiting Lincoln on the tarmac. There were no protests. No acts of aggression. Only a one-track mind to get as far away from me as possible.

I slide into the back seat with her, the quiet continuing from all parties as Bishop drives us toward the beach, the unfettered sunshine and slight warmth in the air doing nothing to soothe the animosity Layla exudes.

She wants me dead.

Rightly so.

I lied. Deceived. Manipulated. But she did, too.

The wreckage of our relationship lays at both our feet.

“Irene has cleaned the house and stocked the kitchen.” Bishop meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Do you want me to stop to pick up anything else before we arrive?”

“No.” I’m sure there are a million things I need to organize but my priority is getting Layla alone. The longer her malevolence festers, the more impatient I become.

I stare out the window, never more thankful for the partial isolation of my coastal property than I am right now. The closest neighbors are half a mile down the road. Layla can let loose and rail on me all she likes without fear of being overheard.

And shewilllet loose.

I can already feel her building detonation.

“Home sweet home.” Bishop pulls onto a cement drive, pausing before the property gate to tap in the security code, and then we proceed inside.

We stop before the two-story waterfront house with its sleek architectural lines and L-shaped staircase leading to the upstairs veranda. The property hasn’t changed since we last escaped here two years ago. There are no cobwebs or remnants of autumn leaves. Irene has kept the place immaculate with all the curtains now drawn from the massive panes of unfettered glass, ready for us to arrive.

Layla doesn’t react to the multimillion-dollar property.

It isn’t until the car stops and the ignition is cut that she drags in a long breath, releasing it in a heave.

“I have a question.” She gives me a sideways glare. “Only one. And that’s all I want from you.”

“Ask.” I tense, anticipating her interest in the negotiation I had with her brother. I won’t lie to her again. But distancing her from that truth will work in my favor.

“How did you get my things?” She holds my gaze, her eyes narrowed slits. “The items from my purse after I was mugged. How did you get them?Whendid you get them?”

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