Brendon (Alluring Indulgence #8)(90)
Author: Nicole Edwards

“Have a seat, Chey. We’re gonna have a chat.”

The menace in his tone made her belly churn, but she forced her feet to move, and she eased onto the sofa, huddling in on herself, trying to keep herself small.

Victor came to sit on the wooden coffee table directly in front of her as though showing up unannounced at her house was an everyday occurrence. She had to pull her knees back to keep from touching him. He slid his fingers into his pocket and pulled out something flat and folded before holding his hand out toward Cheyenne’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, I don’t think your services are needed any longer.”

Cheyenne’s head snapped toward them, eyeing her father. Frankie snatched whatever Victor was holding out of his hands and then grabbed Paul’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Cheyenne met her father’s gaze and for a brief instant, she thought she saw something akin to remorse. But when he turned and followed Frankie out the front door without looking back, she realized just what he’d done.

“They set me up,” she whispered, disbelief making her voice hoarse. It was a damn good thing she hadn’t eaten, because she was pretty sure she’d have vomited all over Victor’s boots.

“And it was so fucking easy,” Victor told her gleefully. She half expected one of those wicked laughs to follow. “Those people are so money hungry, they didn’t blink when I offered to pay them to find you.” Victor got to his feet, glaring down at her. “Don’t fucking move.”

Cheyenne watched as he casually strolled toward the front door, flipping the dead bolt and twisting the lock on the knob, effectively keeping anyone from coming in.

A flash of movement in the kitchen caught Cheyenne’s eye, but she kept her gaze trained on Victor.

Please, God, let that be Z.

Victor walked through the living room as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet and then pushed her toward the kitchen. “Lock the back door.”

Cheyenne felt something hard press into her back as he nudged her forward.

“Don’t get any crazy ideas, either. It is loaded.”

Rolling her eyes—because seriously, she couldn’t help but feel this entire situation was downright ridiculous—Cheyenne moved to the back door, closed it, and then engaged the locks before returning to stand in front of him. Sure enough, Victor was holding a gun on her.

Her nerves took a backseat to her anger, but she knew she shouldn’t try to provoke him. If he truly was her stalker, he’d spent an awful lot of time and effort tracking her down. She seriously doubted she was going to be able to talk her way out of this. Although she was damn sure going to try.

“I take it you’re the one I’ve been running from for the last year?”

Victor smiled, the move contorting his features and making him look evil. Huh. She’d never have guessed it. Not in a million years.

“I’m famous,” he said, as though that was some sort of high honor.

“Don’t you mean infamous?”

Okay, so she probably should rein in her smart-ass mouth, but she couldn’t help herself. This was nearly surreal. The last time she’d seen Victor had been … Wow. It’d been more than three years now.

“I prefer famous,” he said snidely.

“I prefer stupid,” Cheyenne mumbled as she looked at the floor. “Are you behind the death threats, too?” she questioned, lifting her gaze to meet his. She was tempted to look to see whether someone was crouching behind the island, but she knew better. If Z or RT—or even Brendon, although she prayed it wasn’t him because then her fear would present itself—had managed to get in the house, she certainly didn’t want to give away their position.

“Nice touch, huh?” Victor asked, smiling as though pleased with himself.

Cheyenne frowned. “What’s goin’ on, Victor?”

Taking her arm, he pulled her back into the living room and then shoved her onto the sofa none too gently.

She managed to catch herself with her hands and flip over so that she was facing him. Once again, he took a seat on the coffee table.

“What’s goin’ on?” Victor repeated her question, imitating her drawl like a spiteful child. “That’s a good question, Chey. What’s goin’ on with you?”

Cheyenne managed to hold back the snort of disbelief. This really couldn’t be happening to her.

“Nothin’,” she answered softly.

“Nothin’?” Victor waved the gun around the room. “You call this nothin’?”

Clearly he’d gone off his rocker, but Cheyenne had absolutely no idea what Victor was talking about. Hell, she hadn’t seen him in three freaking years.