I stand over her for a moment, just watching the rise and fall of her chest. My hand goes to my pocket, touching the lace panties I took from her.
I’m a sick bastard. I know this.
But seeing her in my bed, knowing my seed is likely taking root inside her right now… it settles something in my chest that’s been jagged and broken for decades.
I pull my phone out again.
I scroll to Jaxon’s number. My head of security picks up on the first ring.
"Boss."
"I need you to send the boys to Blair Ashby’s apartment," I say, my voice low so I don't wake her. "Tonight." I stare at Blair’s sleeping face. "Pack everything. Clothes, toiletries, documents. If it looks important, box it. If it looks cheap or broken, trash it. Have it all here by dawn."
There’s a pause on the line. Jaxon has worked for me for ten years. He knows not to question me. "Consider it done."
"And Jaxon?"
"Yes?"
"Change the locks once you’re done. Leave the keys on the counter. She won’t be going back."
I hang up.
I walk to the window, surveying the dark grounds of my estate.
Earlier tonight, before I picked Blair up, I sat in a booth at Red Rum with Cohen and Cole.
Cole just sat there, sipping his bourbon, studying me with that knowing smirk of his. He knows what it’s like to build an empire from dirt. He knows you don't let rot spread in the foundation.
Ryder is rot.
I failed him. I know that. I gave him too much, protected him too much, and created a weak, entitled man who treats people like disposable toys.
But I’m fixing it.
I’m cutting the rot out.
And I’m starting over.
Cohen had the papers ready. The disinheritance documents are drafted. I’m still not sure I’m ready to sign them.
I turn back to the bed. Blair shifts, kicking one leg out from under the blanket. Her dress rides up, exposing the smooth skin of her thigh.
I walk to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with warm water.
I come back to the bed and sit on the edge.
Gently, I wipe the smudged mascara from under her eyes. I clean her face. Then I lift the hem of her dress.
I clean her thighs. I clean the evidence of what I did to her, wiping away the dried fluids.
It’s intimate. Domestic.
It’s the most possessive thing I’ve ever done.
She sighs, her hand finding my knee in her sleep.
"Gabriel," she whispers.
