Page 95 of Under His Control
He chuckles. That smug, slithering sound that used to get him out of trouble when we were kids. I hate how practiced it is.
I inhale deeply, pushing down the surge of fury crawling up my spine. My mind snaps into place like a weapon being loaded. Anger won’t save Chris. Strategy will.
I glance at Taylor. Her face is pale, eyes glassy with tears she won’t allow to fall.
I lift one finger to my lips.
She nods, trembling.
I drop my voice. “You’ll get your wish, Damas. In time, and without the theatrics. Taylor can’t have children. You know that.”
Silence.
“I’m not divorcing her,” I go on, each word steady despite the ache behind it. “But there will be no children. TheHospitiumgoes to you, after all. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
It’s an imperfect plan. It’s not like I can hide her pregnancy from him for too much longer. But hopefully, we’ll get Chris back before it matters.
There’s another beat of silence. Then Damas lets out a loud, mocking laugh.
“Oh, brother,” he says. “I didn’t call to negotiate. I wanted to tell youmyterms, and to invite you to a family meeting.”
I glance at Taylor, who sits frozen beside me, her hand clamped around my forearm like a vise. “Where?”
“The house on Smith,” Damas says casually, as if he’s inviting me to brunch.
My stomach tightens. “What house?”
“I figured you wouldn’t know about it,” he says, sounding delighted. “It’s new. Quiet. Off the books.”
Of course it is.
“I’ll text you the address,” he adds. “Come soon. Chris would really appreciate it.”
“Don’t hurt him!” Taylor screams.
But he’s already hung up.
I toss the phone onto the bed, already yanking a shirt over my head. Taylor’s half-dressed, hands shaking as she fumbles with her jeans. She grabs her phone and punches in 911.
“No.” I reach for her phone and end the call.
She jerks back. “We have to call the police! Before he kills Chris?—”
“He won’t,” I cut her off. “Damas is a greedy son of a bitch, but he’s not a killer.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s dangerous! You heard Chris. He’s hurt. You really think this ends with a polite handshake?”
She’s near tears. I know she’s right. Damas is unhinged, and he’s pushed things too far this time.
“I have a friend,” I tell her. “A detective. Owes me a favor. If things go sideways, we’ll have backup.”
“Then I’m going, too.”
“The fuck you are.”
“I am.” She’s already pulling on her boots. “He said a family meeting. I took that to mean both of us. And if you walk out that door without me, I’ll be right behind you, anyway.”
“You’re pregnant.”
