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He pauses. “Is that any way to greet your father?”
Ten years ago, I might have snarled a rebuttal, but Crius enjoys animosity and despises indifference. I won’t even give him the satisfaction of demanding that he get to the point.
The silence stretches out between us for longer than necessary. I would roll my eyes, but the bastard might hear an accompanying huff.
“I called for a progress report,” he says.
“On a Sunday morning?” I reply. “It’s doubtful that the target attends church.”
“Very droll, my boy.”
I clench my teeth, wishing I hadn’t fed him the sarcasm.
“It’s a self-contained campus within a sleepy seaside village that offers little to a person under the age of thirty,” I say, sounding bored. “Even if the target wanted to leave its secure walls, his security pass wouldn’t allow it.”
“What about nightclubs?” he asks.
I shake my head, wondering if he’s being deliberately obtuse. “The university provides everything a young miscreant could desire.”
“I expected you to find an opening by now.”
“It’s only been a week,” I say, my brows rising. “What happened to this being a long-term mission? Is your need for leverage against his family escalating?”
“You haven’t inquired about your mother,” he snaps.
The mere mention of her is a punch to the gut. Adrenaline surges through my system, putting me into a heightened state of fury. I must have hit a nerve with that question if he’s striking such a low blow.
“I trust you will keep her in good health,” I say from between clenched teeth.
“Of all my mistresses, she’s the only one who has produced such a worthy son,” Crius says with an air of feigned nostalgia.
My lip curls. Mother was his prisoner. A victim long before I was even born.
If he thinks I have Daddy issues, he’s sorely mistaken. “Is there anything else?”
“Keep me apprised of the Bestlasson boy. The moment he leaves the campus—”
“I will let you know.” I hang up.
The sound of someone clearing their throat makes me whirl around.
Phoenix stands in the doorway, dressed in her raincoat and stilettos. It takes every ounce of willpower not to demand what she overheard.
Instead, I run through what I said to Crius. It was guarded. A habit I developed from the stretch of time I had to kill people to buy our freedom.
She heard nothing.
At least I hope not.
My gaze travels down from the upturned lapels of her coat, to the triple knot on her belt, and down to her bare ankles.
I have no idea if she’s naked beneath it or found a way to repair her knickers. More importantly, it looks like she’s on her way out.
“Leaving already?” I ask. “I planned on applying arnica gel to your bruises.”
She lowers her lashes. “I have an assignment due on Monday, so…”
Disappointment shoves my heart into my gut. Not that I’m in the mood for company or sex. After that conversation with Crius, all I want to do is tear something apart.
