Chapter 27
Welcome to the Wolf’s Den
Asher
Violet stands just in front of me, frozen in place.
Her wide eyes darting from the grand piano near the window to the glass-walled library on the far end, then to the floating staircase leading to the second floor.
She seems like she is already overwhelmed, and we haven’t even made it past the entryway.
She glares at me, arms crossing over her chest in that stubborn little way of hers. “This is insane. Shouldn’t you have an army of men in dark suits for this kind of thing? Maybe some intimidating guy named Boris lurking in the shadows?”
I step forward, closing the distance between us, smirking. “Boris? Funny you mention that. My personal chef’s name is Boris. He makes a mean filet mignon.”
She doesn’t respond, just watches me with those sharp, and suspicious eyes, the kind that cut through bullshit but are still hopelessly na?ve when it comes to the world I live in. We live in.
I gesture for her to follow, leading her through the penthouse.
“Kitchen’s here, not that I expect you to use it, but Boris can make you anything at any time of day.
Living area, obviously. The pool and spa are on the rooftop—heated, of course, with a perfect view of the city.
And upstairs…” I start up the staircase, my voice turning smug when I hear her hesitant steps behind me. “That’s where the bedrooms are.”
I don’t miss the way she swallows hard as we reach the top. Her discomfort is practically palpable, but she’s trying to hide it. Cute.
I lead her down the hall stopping in front of a doorway that opens into a private sitting room. “This is yours.”
She steps inside, eyes widening again as she takes in the massive room—Beyond the sitting area, a king-sized bed dominates the space, walls of glass that showcase the endless city below, and a walk-in closet bigger than her current apartment.
I lean against the doorframe, watching her reaction. “It’s the largest of the guest rooms and situated farthest from the master. I figured you would want some privacy.”
“Yes, because kidnapping someone and forcing them to stay in the same house as you is plenty of privacy.” She rolls her eyes, and I find myself wanting to bend her over my knee right now.
I step into the room, arms crossed. “I don’t do anything half-assed, Kitten. Now, are you done with the tantrum? Or do you need a minute?”
She stomps her foot like a toddler and scowls.“I am not throwing a tantrum.”
“Right.” I pull her phone from my pocket, dangling it between my fingers. “Then I suppose you’re ready to act like an adult?”
Her eyes flick to the device, the temptation clear, but she hesitates. Good girl. Learning already.
I smirk. “Say ‘thank you, Asher,’ and I’ll let you have it back.”
She glares. “Go to hell, Asher.”
I chuckle, sliding the phone back into my pocket. “Suit yourself.”
She huffs, clearly debating whether her pride is worth her access to the outside world. I let her stew in it for a moment before moving toward her, tilting her chin up with two fingers.
“The police won’t help you,” I murmur, my voice a smooth, dark promise. “They already think you’re responsible for the overdoses. There are eyewitnesses who saw you at the party, and there’s enough evidence to sink you for good. If you try to run, you’ll be running straight into a prison cell.”
Her breath catches, and I see the exact moment the weight of my words crashes down on her.
“I, however,” I continue, my thumb brushing over her jaw, “am your best chance at walking away from this. So, accept that.”
Her lips part, as if she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Smart girl.
I step back, pulling her phone from my pocket again and placing it on the dresser. “You can have this back now. Congratulations on being reasonable.”
She snatches it up immediately, gripping it like a lifeline, but she doesn’t speak.
Who is she even going to tell? Her sister in the UK, who can’t do a damn thing from across the ocean?
Or Cami, who might care but has no real power to help?
She must realize this too as her shoulders sag, and she lets out a heavy sigh.
I grin, slow and satisfied. “Good girl.”
Then I turn and leave, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click, knowing damn well she’s cursing me under her breath.