While the answer made sense, while it was logical, I knew it was bullshit.
I stared at her for a second, tipped my head to the side, and demanded, “Get out, and don’t come back.”
Her eyes flared wide, reminding me of a deer in headlights, and she whispered, “Until you call me, baby, okay. I won’t let you down again.”
“No,” I countered firmly. “Don’t come here again. Get the fuck out and don’t come back for good.”
“But—”
“No fucking buts,” I growled.
“What about my stuff?” she whined, making me frown at her.
“What stuff? You never brought any shit with you.”
Her brow puckered. “Some make up. In the bathroom.”
My mouth pursed into a tight line.
Sabotage.
That was all this could be.
Walking home to her naked, then her bringing shit with her that she stacked in my bathroom? A bathroom I had to figure Inessa was using right about now?
Someone was behind this, and while Leticia wasn’t a total dumbass, she wasn’t smart enough for this shit. If she was, she’d have figured that starting off married life with a mistress in my home wouldn’t have been at the top of today’s to do list.
“Fuck. Off,” I growled, pissed beyond reason that my fucking mistress had been weaponized against me.
She was a good actress, so I wasn’t surprised by the crystalline tears that began to roll down her cheeks at my anger.
Maybe a few years ago, I’d have believed that, believed her sorrow was real. But I was older, and I had Finn’s Aoife in my life. Aoife was a real woman. She cried, and when she did, her face turned pink and splotchy because everything she did was genuine.
This bitch?
The exact opposite of genuine.
Shit like that hadn’t mattered to me before, especially not with the women where the only things we shared were sweat and a rubber, but now? It irritated me.
In fact, it did more than that. It irritated the fuck out of me.
Finally unfolding my fists, I scrubbed a hand across my chin as she stared at me, not goddamn moving like I asked, and when I released a grunt, that had her jerking into action and scurrying away like the snake she was.
I didn’t twist around to watch her go. Instead, I followed her movements in the mirror over the mantelpiece.
I never trusted the sluts I fucked, but Leticia had just lied to me.
About accessing my fucking apartment. My home.
How the hell had she done that?
Who the fuck was she working for? Not only people who’d given her the key to my place, but who’d sent her here on today of all days.
As the doors began to open, I didn’t flinch, because I knew the elevator hadn’t been called since Inessa and I had exited from it, but I moved to grab my weapon just in case someone was waiting in there. Crazier shit had happened, and I didn’t intend on having my head blown off—not today, at any rate. The notion that Inessa was there, twenty or so feet away, potentially in danger, didn’t sit well with me either, but I wasn’t about to let the slut scurrying away like a frightened mouse think I was scared about showing her my back.
The elevator was empty, and she scuttled inside, flipping me a bird she didn’t know I could see before the doors closed again—only then did I turn around and move.
The dashboard in the entranceway allowed me to change the code to my apartment, and I had to admit to growing lax. After Finn’s home had been infiltrated a couple of years ago, Conor, our resident whiz kid with everything tech, had put all kinds of protocols in place to save our asses from ourselves.