Page 71 of Twice as Forbidden

Fuck. Not long after I kicked her out. “Where did the Uber take her?”Please don’t say home.

“Dropped her off at a hotel seven and a half miles from your house. The Continental Plaza. Per hotel staff, she hasn’t left her room since she arrived. No room service, no bed service.”

“Send me the information on her stepfather and the text thread from Hallstead.”

“Will do.”

“I’ll have my assistant cut you a check today. Thanks for your speediness.”

“Always a pleasure.”

I disconnect the call. My email dings, and I scroll, needing to read the texts from Vince.

1-555-524-9963: Time’s up, whore. You have what I want?

1-555-524-9963: Stop trying to stall. Unless you’re trying to get fucked one last time by daddy. Feel free to tell him to send you my way. I’m always up for sloppy seconds, or should I say thirds?

1-555-524-9963: Don’t fucking ignore me. I’ll tell Noah everything. Just imagine what will happen when he finds out his ex whore is fucking his daddy.

1-555-524-9963: Stop messing with me, cunt. Get that ledger or I’ll fucking gut you. Blood turns me on. I’ll use your guts to lube my cock while I jerk off to your corpse.

1-555-524-9963:Playtime’s over. You have one hour, bitch.

By the last one, I can’t contain the fury burning inside my chest.

That piece of shit is going to pay.

God, I fucked up. The prick was holding serious shit over her, and I left her to deal with it on her own. She tried to tell me, but I wouldn’t listen, too consumed by my own anger.

I storm through the office. “Mr. Blake, where are you going? You have a nine o’clock with the Winster—”

“Cancel my meetings. I won’t be returning today.”

I punch the hotel into my GPS. Tracking down Vince and tearing his throat out should be my first priority, but I need to get to Georgia and fix the damage I’ve caused.

If it’s not already too late.

I make it in record time. Leaving my car with the valet, I hurry to the room number Craig supplied. My heart pounds as I approach her door and knock. The echo of my rap stretches on forever. No answer. I try again, harder this time, my urgency climbing with each passing second. Still nothing. I slam my fist against the door again, harder, louder—

“Jesus, hold on.”

I exhale, releasing the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I’m suddenly nervous. Fuck, I don’t get nervous. I scramble to find the words to say when she opens the door. Her eyes lock on mine. They’re red and swollen. She’s been crying. Her shoulders sag. She looks utterly defeated.

“Wha—What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.”

“I think you said enough.” She shoves the door to shut it, and I plant my palm against it, blocking her. “Jackson, you need to leave.”

“Peach, please.”

It kills me to watch her lip quiver. “Don’t call me that.”

“Let me in. Please.”

Her eyes close, a single tear slipping down her pale cheek. It hits me like a punch to the gut. I want nothing more than to wrap her in my arms and make all the pain I caused melt away. Shaking her head, she says, “I can’t. I’ve accepted what I’ve done. I’m not going to relive it—”

“I was wrong.”

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