Page 40 of The Sculptor

Suddenly, everything is silent.

There are no cries.

Not from me.

Not from her.

Not from our newborn son.

Everything is just silent.

“Duke?”

She says my name as a plea, and I jump into action, placing the baby on the floor, using all the knowledge I learned to prepare for our baby and the delivery. I start CPR, clearing his airways, blowing into his tiny mouth, watching for his chest to rise.

Seconds pass, but he still doesn’t cry. “Ray,” I say between breaths. “I need you to reach for my phone and call an ambulance.”

“No,” she starts crying. “Don’t say that. He’s okay. Duke—”

“Duke—I mean, Dr. Potter.” A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jerk to attention, smothering the lingering screams in my head.

“Yes?” I flash the woman carrying a tray of drinks a smile. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

She offers me a drink, and I take it, downing it in one go before grabbing another and repeating the process.

“I asked if I could bring you anything else?”

I guess I look like I need a hug, and honestly, I do, but not from her.

A fiery redhead is the only thing I long to hold right now—the very one my host is marrying in a matter of hours.

“Anyway,” Langston continues, speaking to his hoard of soulless colleagues, “once I’m back from the honeymoon, we’ll discuss.”

I have no idea what they were discussing, but I don’t need to know.

I’ve heard enough.

He plans to “tame” my Sunny Ray.

And whatever Ray has gotten herself into, it’s my duty to get her out.

I owe her that much.

Better yet,I love herthat much.

Pulling out my phone, I open her unopened texts, not bothering to read any. I’m sure they are all variations of pleas and threats. Everything that will make my cock rock-hard in seconds. Best to let those texts stay a mystery.

Me: How are the strippers over your way?

It takes maybe two seconds for her to open the message before the chat bubble appears.

Sunny Ray: They’re great. Mike has been very generous with his hands.

I smile. She’s so full of shit I can smell it from here.

Me: Really? Did you tell him not to go close to the backs of your thighs? The pig snort when you laugh may scare him. He has a family to feed. He doesn’t need a sprained ankle or months of therapy because you forgot to warn him of the danger zone.

Sunny Ray: I do not snort like a pig when I laugh.

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