Page 116 of House of Payne

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re still willing to offer yourself to me even after I rejected you?”

I assumed she had more self-respect and pride.

Katia tilts her head and studies me. “It’s what I’m here for. What I’vealwaysbeen here for,whateveryou need.”

I stare at her for a few seconds before I reach for my drink again, and I imagine myself taking what Katia is offering.

She knows how to satisfy me, so why should I deny myself?

London doesn’t own me, and I owe her nothing.

Not my time outside the bedroom and certainly not my loyalty.

Besides, fucking someone else might be just what you need to remind yourself of who you are, and what London means to you.

Except I know I’m walking a tightrope with my assassin, one I can’t afford to walk.

Realizing how deep the family has its hooks in Katia shouldn’t surprise me, but I’ve seen her strike men down for a lot less.

I’ve seen her lash out without blinking.

I’ve seen her give herself to me without question, without fail, and with abandon.

I’d prefer her anger over the measured look she’s giving me now.

I shouldn’t feel guilty that she still wants to serve me, but I do.

Even when I know I don’t owe her a damn thing.

What the hell is going on with you? Katia is right. You can’t afford to lose your edge, and if London is the reason, you need to nip this in the bud.

I can’t bring myself to cut her loose, not just yet.

I’m Mason fucking Payne. I can stop whenever I want, and I know what I was doing today.

I want Katia to be wrong.

She moves her fingers farther up my thigh, and when I don’t react, she inches closer, a familiar smile spreading. “Let me help you.”

I shift away from her and cross one leg over the other. “I don’t need your fucking help. What I need is for you to do your job, so I can do mine.”

Katia keeps her hand for a moment longer as if daring me to change my mind, but I don’t budge.

Slowly, she withdraws it, and we spend the rest of the ride back to the mansion in silence. Once we get to the main doors, Carlisle gets out first, and Katia follows soon after. Someone opens the door for me, and I stride inside, ignoring the blur of shapes and colors around me.

With single-minded determination, I walk until I reach the office.

There, I slam the door and pace the room.

I’m on my fourth drink when I receive another angry text from my father. Scowling, I switch off the ringer and throw the phone onto the brown leather couch in the corner. Then, I stroll over to the bar, one hand holding the glass, and the other curls into a fist at my side.

Katia isn’t wrong.

My father’s text kept me from doing something uncharacteristically stupid, but for the first time in a long time, I find myself questioning my decisions.

Even in the early days, I knew what needed to be done to get us far, and I’ve never hesitated.

I like knowing what to expect and being ten steps ahead of everyone in the room.