"I'm keeping it," I say.
"You better," Gabriel says. "That baby is a Hollis. It’s not going anywhere."
"And the marriage?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.
"That’s not going anywhere either," he says. "You’re mine. Legally. Biblically. Biologically. You can be mad about the method, but don't pretend you don't want the result."
He challenges me with a look. He dares me to deny it.
I can't.
I want him. I want his ring. I want his baby. I want his obsession.
"You're a monster," I say, but the venom is gone.
"Yes," he agrees, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "But I'm your monster."
I turn my head away from him, toward the window where the snow is still falling.
It’s a mess. It’s a disaster.
It’s exactly what I wanted.
My fingers tighten around his because I don’t think I can let go.
There’sa specific kind of silence that follows a declaration of war.
It isn't peaceful. The heavy, suffocating pressure resembles the air before a tornado touches down, sucking the oxygen out of the room until only the threat remains.
The sterile hospital hallway hums with the irritating buzz of fluorescent bulbs. Through the glass window of the room, Blair is visible. She’s awake, staring at the ceiling, her hand resting over her stomach.
She’s my wife.
She’s pregnant with my heir.
And my son tried to kill her because he’s a weak, pathetic waste of life who couldn’t handle that she wasn’t falling apart over losing him.
"Tell me it's done," I say into the phone, keeping my voice devoid of inflection.
"It's done," Cohen answers. The click of a keyboard sounds on his end. "The forensic accounting on the theft is finished. The dossier on his gambling debts is compiled. We’ve got the affidavits from a half dozen of the women he took to the motelin Mulberry while he was dating Blair. And the police report regarding the accident is shaping up exactly how we want it."
"And Thornton?"
"The SEC leak is prepped. The second you give the signal, James is going to be too busy fighting his own federal indictments to bankroll your son’s legal defense."
"Good."
Blair’s profile draws my gaze through the glass. The bruise on her cheek is turning a violent shade of purple. It’s a mark on her skin, but not mine. Ryder put it there.
Rage, cold and absolute, saturates my blood. This isn't the hot, blinding anger I normally feel. This is glacial. This is the kind of fury that destroys everything in its path.
"The Christmas Gala is coming up," I say.
"It is. You looking to hold a public execution, Gabe?"
"Wouldn’t you?” I ask. "If someone did to Emerald what my son just did to Blair?”
I can almost hear his teeth grinding through the phone, and I take his silence as agreement. “Ryder thinks he’s going to walk into that ballroom and charm the board. He thinks he’s going to use Thornton’s backing to challenge me. But when the night ends, he won’t have a fortune or a future. He’ll have nothing."
