“What do you want,Torin?” Emilio grinds out, his scowl almost as powerful as the ones Torin hands out. “Is this about The Landing’s seat? Because I never once set the expectations up that you’d ever land on it.”
“I don’t want your piece of shit chair,” Torin refutes simply. “I just want you to look me in the fuckin’ eyes when you tell me you want me dead.” Emilio’s blue eyes are quick to maneuver over to me. “She didn’t tell me. Ozzy did.”
Whoa.
I’m not up to speed on Torin’s play here, but this is starting to feel familiar.
Like Nessa familiar.
All the cards are laid out. All the words spoken.
My body buzzes with a bit of anticipation because the air suddenly feels thicker. Torin’s words and the things he wants to express today don’t sit well in my stomach.
Stomach.
Baby.
I’m pregnant.
My skin crawls because the father of my child could be standing right behind me, and he doesn’t know it yet.
Only Cairo and Oz.
But Torin…I don’t trust him. He already believes he can touch me after everything. All the events we haven’t hashed out, all the pain and hurt, thinking I could be carrying his child is the last damn thing I want to do.
And I’m still on the fence about exercising my rights as a female or getting used to the idea.
To be frank, I haven’t allowed myself to do that just yet.
My sperm donor’s jaw flinches as he continues to bore daggers into his son’s head. “You’re reckless. You bringeverythingdown around you. And if it wasn’t for Cairo, you would’ve done it sooner. But…you got attached. To a beautiful young lady who justhappensto be my fucking daughter. And that’s where I’m going to draw the line with you, boy.”
“You mean, the last month or two, you let slide and now since I almost offed your heir?—”
“It’s about you being a waste of space and additional energy, Torin,” Emilio snarls. “I always told you your negligence would get you killed one day.”
“Well, let’s try for that day right now.” He slowly spreads his arms wide at his sides. “Pull that Ruger out of your drawer and take your opportunity, old man.”
And here enters the male egos, ladies and gentlemen.
Thoughtlessly, I turn and face Torin, giving my back to the man who allegedly has aguninside his desk.
If Torin has suicide on his plate, for the sake of the boys, I can’t stand by and watch.
“Don’t be stupid,” I chide under my breath. “I think we’ve both been throughenoughover the last several weeks, don’t you?”
His lucid amber eyes descend on me, but he couldn’t put more effort into not giving a fuck than he does now. “I’m settling shit, Wildfire,” he claims. “Move.”
“You’re being an idiot. And I don’t have time for this.”
“Then leave.”
My face skews at his implication I would take off and have whatever happens in this room happen, but I’m not fully immune to Torin Wildes.
I’m not.
The realization is as annoying as it is the current state of affairs and how my brain has been acting. I could still be off my shit. It more than likely could be hormones—I don’t know when those start poppin’ off, never been pregnant before—but I am well-versed in the conflicted emotions Pretty Boy gives me.
I want him to hurt, but I don’t want him buried.
