Page 22 of Good As Hell

“I came to say, Good Night, but I see he’s already asleep. May I look in on him?” The plaintiveness of her tone strikes me.

Not having my mother around was a choice I purposefully made because I wanted Rob no where near my son. The longing I see in her eyes is something I’ve never experienced before for me or my baby.

“Sure.” Moving to stand, I give her room to look in the toddler bed Hassan procured.

“He’s so beautiful.” Touching the soft down of his curls she looks on at him lovingly.

After a few moments of silently gazing on him, she turns back to me. “We did not mean to offend you. It’s evident from just looking at Ayaan that he is Hassan’s child. The reason we are insisting on the DNA is so there will be irrefutable proof and he will be protected. It is important that you understand the machinations that go on in a royal court. We must stand as a united front.”

Slipping back into the mantle of queen, she crosses her hand over her middle, stating all this.

“I am not your subject. I didn’t agree to marry Hassan. He’s never even spoken to me about any of this beforehand. Which he could have done at anytime.” Pulling myself up, I match her energy if not her much taller height. Empress mode is fully activated.

“I would like to speak to my country’s ambassador,” I tell her smoothly.

“Of course, you are free to speak to whomever you wish. But know this, young lady. You are here as a guest at the benevolence of my son. You have no rights in this country. If Ayaan proves to be my grandson, which I am assured he is, then he is his father’s sole heir and will be afforded the protection of the crown prince. So, if you demand to leave and not follow through with Hassan’s wishes, I’m not sure what will happen.” Her words hit me like a blow to my chest.

“Y-you’re a mother?—”

“Yes, I am. That is why I am telling you to think about your choices very carefully and don’t act rashly. I have never seen Hassan this out of sorts. He was the calm twin. His actions today are anything but calm.” Her eyes dart to the door and I see two figures standing there.

“His Majesty must be ready to retire.” Stepping away from me, she goes to join her husband who also seems to have that same look of longing on his face.

“He’s sleeping but you are welcome to look in on him, sir.” Knowing my son couldn’t be in safer hands, I go back into the adjoining suite. Food has been laid out on low tables. More than enough for just me. Hassan is over by the doors, speaking in hushed tones to the guy who took Fi.

I watch them until I hear a gentle clearing go the queen’s throat. There’s an admonishment there as if I’m eaves dropping. Surely she knows I don’t have a command of their language yet.

Turning, I quirk an unapologetic eyebrow and her and the dispassionate king.

“We will take our leave. I will have my secretary contact Aliah to schedule visits that are amendable to you.” Queen mode again. I wonder if it’s for her husband who clearly doesn’twant me as a daughter-in-law or if she’s trying to bully me into letting them spend time with my baby. I’m not petty. I would never keep my child from his family as long as they aren’t abusive, which is why my mine are out of the question.

“That’s fine.” There’s a visible relaxing on her shoulders when I smile my answer. The king nods a little too grudgingly. He’s lucky my baby softened some of my feistiness.

Now they are gone and I’m left with this deranged motherfucker who thinks he can control my life.

“I will not marry you, Hassan.” Shaking my head at him, I move away from him before I do something evil like smash this silver carafe against his big head.

“You may of course, refuse.” Gaze tracking me like a panther. He takes a grape from the platter popping it into his mouth. “But the consequences of your refusal I’ve already told you. You’ll never see Ayaan again. If the tour means so much to you, then do what you will. I, for one, can’t wait for you to go.” A cruel smile spreads across his face.

Slap after the vicious slap his words pummel me. Like I’m some dead beat who didn’t want anything to do with my baby. Just like Rob made me believe about my real dad until I learned the truth. He died in Iraq. He was coming back for me and my mom after he deployed, but never got the chance.

Heat flames my face as I charge over to him, shoving his chest. He doesn’t budge. Frustration licks at me. Hopelessness laughs in my face as I shove this unmovable monster with all my might.

I haven’t even thought about the tour. I’ve missed two dates already and haven’t spoken to FADE. The fallout is going to be enormous.

“It’s not about that. You kidnapped me, you maniac.” I shove and shove again until a heavy hand whips out and grabs me bymy throat. Slowly, he lifts his arm, stretching me to the tips of my toes.

“You will watch who the fuck you’re talking to woman.” Squeezing, he traps my arm. Clawing at his hands, I draw blood, trying to stop him, but he doesn’t let up. Losing breath fast, I flail, seeing stars dart behind my eyes. He gives me a little shake before tossing me on the sofa behind me.

Straddling me, he leans in, crowding me in on all sides, eyes blazing a rage of green fire. Smoothing my hair back from my forehead, his gaze searches my face as I gasp for air.

“Hear me when I say this, Lyric. I will honor you in all things as the mother of my sons.” He strokes my hair again before grabbing a handful of my ten grand bussdown, tugging my head back. “If you ever disrespect me again or seek to lay hands on me in any fashion but one of pleasure and adoration, I. Will. Break. Your. Fucking Neck. I’m not a little boy, or one of your himbo friends. I’m a fucking prince.” Sliding off me, he stands looking down with contempt, his body rippling with unspent aggression.

I don’t look away. I can’t. With every breath he seethes, the more riveted I become. He could have crushed my windpipe, but all he did was capture my breath for a few seconds.

Inadvertently, my eyes rake across his body. He’s breathing like he’s run five miles. Then my eyes snag on the heavy protrusion distorting the smoothness of his trousers. His dick is thick and hard pressed against the fabric. Wetting my lips, I watch it stretch further under my gaze as if in answer to the need wracking my body. My muscles clench at the memory.

“You need something, Lyric?” His voice is sensuous and mocking.

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