Chapter 6 Benedikt
Benedikt
They came at me outside the club, three cars deep.
Black SUVs. No plates. No hesitation.
Nikolai’s men.
They didn’t bother with warnings or messages—just bullets. The first shattered the passenger window; the second missed my head by an inch. The third found my shoulder, and that’s when the real fun started.
I ducked behind the car door, returned fire, and dropped two before the third got out of his seat.
They were loud, sloppy, and too confident. Idiots. They came for blood, but they weren’t prepared for me to still have some bite left.
The last one tried to run, but he didn’t make it past the curb.
By the time I got back into the car, smoke was rising from the hood, and my clip was half empty. I drove anyway, bleeding into my jacket, teeth gritted, and adrenaline doing its job.
So now, as I pull up the driveway with the taste of metal still in my mouth, I’m running on fumes from the charge of energy.
My jacket’s soaked through. The blood is starting to dry stiff, but I’m alive.
And that means I won.
The gate shuts behind me. Inside, the house is lit up as I take out my gun out of habit and check the corners anyway.
No shadows that don’t belong.
No movement.
Just silence.
For a second, I let myself believe she’s asleep. She doesn’t need to see this. But that’s wishful thinking, and I stopped believing in that a long time ago.
As soon as I hit the top step, her voice finds me.
“Benedikt?”
I stop dead in my tracks when I find her standing in the hallway, barefoot, hair mussed, and one of her baggy shirts hanging off her shoulder. Her eyes drop to the blood on my side like she can smell it from where she is, and whatever she was about to say dies in her throat.
“What are you doing up?”
She blinks at me, then studies me with suspicion. “You were out late.”
“So?”
“So…” She takes a step closer. “Where is your entourage?”
“I decided to pull a you and do things alone.”
I expect Sienna to glower, but she continues to observe me until she finds what she’s looking for.
“Jesus,” she whispers, erasing more space between us. “What happened?”
I don’t acknowledge or play dumb. I’m bleeding, and there’s no need to deny it. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“That’s not nothing. You’re hurt.”
I should walk past her, but I freeze.
“I said it’s fine.”
“Ben—” Her voice cracks a little, and I hate that it gets to me. That part of me—the part that used to feel—still reacts when she is scared. “You’re bleeding.”
“Not the first time.”
She grabs my arm, firm and steady, and I feel that stupid pull in my chest again.
She’s shaking, but she doesn’t let go. “Sit down in the living room. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
I laugh. “You planning to fix bullet wounds now?”
“Shut up and sit, Benedikt.”
Her tone’s sharper this time, enough to make me stop arguing. I enter the living room and drop onto the edge of one of the couches, pulling off my ruined leather jacket with a hiss.
It’s just a shoulder graze, but it’s ugly—torn skin and blood smeared down my side.
Sienna returns with peroxide and gauze. Her hands tremble as she opens the bottle, and the smell stings my nostrils.
“You called me Ben,” I say.
She freezes. “It was an accident.”
Her calling me that hits harder than any bullet I’ve ever taken.
“Didn’t sound like one.”
Color rises in her cheeks. She twists the cap off harder than she needs to.
“Who did this?” she asks quietly.
“You already know, princess.”
Her honey eyes flick up to mine. “No…”
“Excuse me?” I see her jaw tick before she begins unraveling gauze. “You didn’t think he exiled me and then just let me come back, did you? That’s what exile is.”
Sienna is quiet for a beat before she says, “You need to end this before it kills you, Ben. You need to sit down and talk—”
She calls me Ben again, and I feel it in places I shouldn’t.
“He tried to end me tonight, Sienna. There’s no talking after that.”
She bites her lip and shakes her head. “You men in power have problems.”
I stare at her. She’s close enough that I smell the faint trace of coffee on her skin and feel the warmth of her breath. Her eyes are wet, and for a second, I wonder if it’s for me or for the idea of me.
“Why do you care?”
Her fingers still. “What?”
“You helped them.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “You handed me over to the same people who just tried to put me in the ground. So, tell me, why the sudden concern?”
The hurt that flashes across her face almost makes me regret saying it.
Almost.
“That’s not fair,” she says softly.
“Neither was exile.”
She drops her gaze. “I didn’t know they’d go that far. I thought if I got you to step back, maybe I’d have my life back, and you’d finally be safe.”
“Safe?” I let out a low laugh. “You think there’s any version of this that’s safe?”
She doesn’t answer. She begins cleaning my wound, focused as tears gather along her lashes.
For once, I don’t stop her.
And I sure as hell don’t console her.
Sienna took me out of my position and made me vulnerable. She set me back ten steps and gave everything I built to my brother.
I should kill them both.
However, I can’t stomach even the idea of harming my future wife.
Sienna carefully dabs alcohol on my wound, her hands lingering longer than they should. She looks up at me like she’s trying to memorize the shape of the damage, but it won’t take away what’s been done.
“I didn’t want this,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“Neither did I.”
I reach out without thinking and touch her wrist. She doesn’t pull away, and I feel her pulse jump under my thumb, fast and uneven.
“You’ll never trust me,” she murmurs. “Ever.”
“As you can see from past and current transgressions, princess, I can’t afford to.”
Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “But you want to.”
That one lands too close to home, and I don’t confirm it, but I also don’t deny it.
Sienna is testing the waters to see where she’s at with me, but I won’t give her that power. This woman needs to prove she’s on my side. That she won’t side with anyone but me.
“What you did was unforgivable,” I say. “Trust is the last thing on my mind when it comes to you.”
“You can hate me—”
“Don’t play victim, princess,” I seethe through clenched teeth. “I didn’t ask you to patch me up. If you want to play doting wife, shut up and do it. Otherwise, go to bed and leave me alone.”
Sienna’s gaze drops, focusing on my wound and the consequences I’m reaping for her taking my kingdom away.
“That was the point,” she mutters. “I didn’t want to be your wife.”
I could strangle her right now.
She’s a debt.
She’s the woman who will carry my heir.
She made this arrangement with me and then tried to get out of it.
She cost me my kingdom and tonight, almost my life.
And, most importantly, she made me believe that she was coming around.
That she might have felt something for me.
“Would you rather be my prisoner instead?” I solicit evenly, catching her eye again and holding her stare.
“I could lock you up, princess, fuck you, and make you give me what I want. You broke our deal, and you’re still walking around freely and without punishment, but I’d love to give you some.
Just opening your mouth reminds me of what you’ve done and taken from me. ”
“Ben, I—”
“Remember when we sealed our deal? From now on, the only time I want you to open your mouth is for my cock—” Sienna presses the cloth that’s cleaning my wound harder into my open flesh, and I let out a sharp hiss.
“You might as well force yourself on me, Ben,” she grinds out with malice. “I’ve made my stance. You’re cruel to believe an innocent woman should suffer at another’s hands for crimes they didn’t commit.”
My patience finally snaps, and I grab her wrist before she can pull away. “Innocent? Your father sold you to me like property, Sienna. And instead of hating him, you take it out on me. You’re alive because I accepted the deal.”
“Alive?” she spits, wrenching her hand back, but I don’t let go. “You call this living? You think a gilded cage makes it better because it’s lined with marble and a bakery you bought me?”
“You’d prefer the alternative?” I bite out. “He would’ve let the world tear you apart with whomever else he might have owed, and you know it.”
“I would’ve figured something out.”
“You didn’t even know he owed me money.”
She goes still. I can tell that landed, but not in the way I want. Her jaw tightens, and when she looks up again, her eyes are glassy.
“You think that makes it right?” she asks softly. “That my father sold me and you just… collected? You became no better than him the second you said yes.”
I drag her closer, forcing her to look at me. “Don’t mistake mercy for weakness. I could’ve taken your life instead of your body. You want to talk about right and wrong? This is as close to fair as your world gets.”
Her lip trembles, but she doesn’t look away. “Then that says everything about you and your world.”
I stare at her for a long moment, my blood burning hot under my skin. She doesn’t understand. She never has.
She wasn’t raised in this. She doesn’t know what it costs to be king, or how quickly mercy turns to a knife in your back.
My grip softens, almost against my will, and I release her wrist. “You think I enjoy this?” I grumble. “You think I wanted a woman who flinches every time I come near her or discuss our arrangement?”
“You don’t scare me, Ben.”
“Then give me my heir.”
Her nostrils flare, but she doesn’t answer. I need her to ensure my legacy, something I’ve worked hard for.
Finally, I drag in a breath, and gently release her wrist. “You’re done patching me up. Go to bed before I remind you what obedience looks like.”
She doesn’t move. Her eyes flick to the wound one last time, then back to me. “You can threaten me all you want,” she says firmly, “but you can’t make me stop hating you.”
I almost smile.
“Good.” I step closer. “Hate keeps you alive. Love would ruin you.”
Her breath catches, and I don’t miss it. She unwraps the gauze and places a few large bandages on my shoulder before wrapping it up.
When she’s done, she gathers what she brought and stands, hesitating for a moment, but I refuse to take the bait.
Then she leaves, and the sound of steps underneath her weight tells me she’s going to do what I asked of her.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. The pain in my shoulder is nothing compared to the one she left in me.
No number of stitches will fix that one.
The adrenaline is fading now, leaving only the burn in my shoulder. The air still smells like her, soap and sugar and something faintly floral. It’s a stupid thing to notice after getting shot, but my brain isn’t concerned with logic right now.
I reach for my phone on the coffee table and hit Artem’s name. He picks up on the first ring.
“Jesus Christ, Ben,” he says, voice gravelly with sleep or whiskey; probably both. “You alive?”
“Barely.” I lean back, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. “Three of Nikolai’s men outside the club.”
“That’s all?”
“Three that I counted.”
“Well, that’s insulting.”
“Nikolai wasn’t always the brightest.”
There’s a pause on the line. “You’re making a mess.”
“I’m cleaning one up,” I counter. “He started it.”
“Doesn’t matter who started it. You’re still bleeding on your own floor. That’s not power; that’s vulnerability.”
I stare at the glass table in front of me and the faint smears of red across it. He’s not wrong.
“He’s testing me,” I say. “Wants to see if I’ll crawl.”
“I’ll call Dr. Weston—”
“No. Sienna cleaned me up for now. I want to talk about our next move.”
Artem hesitates for a moment. “We’re in deep, brother. Nikolai isn’t going to lie.”
“I know.”
“You think she’ll run again?”
My brows furrow at the sudden change of subject. “Not if she knows what’s good for her. Nikolai won’t stop until he’s taken everything that’s mine.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We move first.”
“You want me to pull the crew we have?”
“No. Quiet moves only. I want eyes on Nikolai’s men, his routes, and his new buyers. If he’s trying to rebuild, I want to know who’s bankrolling him.”
“Understood.”
“Call the Italians. I want a meeting.”
“I thought we were going to keep them out of family matters.”
“I don’t want to wait a few months to obtain what’s mine.”
“Understood. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I hang up, ready to steel myself for the days to come. Instead, I find myself looking toward the doorway where Sienna disappeared.
I should clean up. Rest. Something.
Instead, I pour a drink and let the burn chase the thought of her mouth against my skin.
She’s trouble.
She’s betrayal.
And she’s still the only thing that makes me feel alive.