Groaning, Gideon rubbed at his unshaven face, his hands aching from the three hours he’d spent that morning beating his knuckles bloody against the punching bag.
His neglected cell rang again, this time it was Adrian’s ringtone. As much as he wanted to ignore his brother, Gideon knew that if he didn’t answer, the little asshole would just come to the penthouse uninvited to check on him.
Swearing, he grabbed the cell from his desk, and answered, “This better be life and death.”
Adrian’s dry chuckle preceded, “Mine or yours.”
Gideon growled. “Just tell me why you called—I have things to do.”
He had an empire to run, billions of dollars to manage, three brothers to lead, and a marriage to?—
No…he couldn’t think about that right now, not with those words—those ugly, poisonous words—still oozing through his soul.
You were the most naïve and desperate choice….
You honestly think I married you because I loved you?
You fucking failed, wife, at the one thing women are made to do….
“Just calling, asshole, because Cora is worried. Kendra was supposed to watch the kids tonight so Cora could some errands, but she never showed and she never called. Cora’s been trying to get a hold of her.”
That’s because she left her phone behind when she walked out last night.
Kendra left.
Lefthim.
An invisible hell horse kicked Gideon in the chest, and he grunted at the staggering blow.
Swallowing, Gideon said, “I’m sure she’s fine,” or as fine as she can be after learning her own husband only saw her as a broken baby-making tool instead of his wife.
There was silence, then Adrian remarked, “That doesn’t sound like you’re certain.” He wasn’t. “Did something happen?”
Loaded fucking question—somethingdidn’t happen;hehappened…to Kendra, and he had no idea where she went, if she was safe, if she was okay, if she even had someone to help her.
Did Kendra have friends other than Cora?
You’d know that if you’d actually taken the time and energy to learn about your wife outside of the nights you fuck her. Like it takes an act of God to just ask her about her day.
It was too late for that, though…right?
Last night, by the time he’d shaken off his shock at her departure, she’d been gone. He’d noticed her purse was on the foyer table where she often left it, which meant she didn’t have money, and he found her cell on the kitchen counter, next to her iPad, so he knew she didn’t have her phone.
Clearing his throat, he answered, “She isn’t home, and I don’t know when she’ll be back.”
Matter of fact, he didn’t even knowwhere she was. For the first time in the three years they’d been together, he was out of communication with his wife. Usually, he could reach her whenever he wanted, because she’d always answer.
Because she loved you and wanted to speak with you whenever you pulled your head out of your ass and deigned to call her.
Now, without her cell, he’d need to use drastic measures to find her. Hell, she hadn’t even taken her credit cards, so there was no way to trace her through her spending or even know if she used her cards to get a hotel room or take a taxi or even buy a fucking coat, since she’d left hers behind.
It was fucking winter, for fuck’s sake, and she’d just walked right out the door into the frozen world without even the basic protections against the weather.
Like you give a fuck; she’s just a convenience, right? Just an empty womb with a “broken” sign on it, right?
“Honestly,” he bit out, hating how powerless he was, “I have no idea where she is.”
Again, silence, then, “Gideon, what the fuck is going on?”
