I clear my throat. “Take her to the basement.” A plan is already formulating in my mind when it comes to the bitch, one that will see her in the ground but not before justice is served. Exactly how my father likes to serve it.
Excruciatingly.
Chapter Fifty-One
Hevan
I’ve spent over a month in the penthouse apartment of one of Azrael’s business associates, and in between, I’ve barely seen him, or anyone for that matter.
At night, I swear I can smell his scent in the bedroom, but when I open my eyes, he’s never there, nor is he on the pillow that I sniff and the sheets that I inhale desperately. He’s like a dream that haunts me.
He’s practically moved the entire library to a spare room with Jensen’s help, and while I’m grateful for his efforts, I’d much rather have his presence.
I’m burning with hatred inside, and the rejection from Azrael is always at the forefront of my mind.
He’s had the same female doctor, Jessica, who tended to me on that fateful day, give me daily check-ups and pain medication at night, but the pain no longer exists, only in my heart.
Jessica is convinced the move to place her as mycaregiver was strategic, to give me a friendship as well as medical care.
She says she’s never seen a man look at me the way Azrael does, that it’s both unnerving and passionate. That the love that binds will be our strength during our darkness.
But inside, bitterness festers like poison. The fact I’ve been practically dumped in a building without his support while I grieve the loss of a baby Azrael hasn’t so much as mentioned to me, like they never existed at all, breaks my heart.
When I cry at night, I want him to hold me—everything wrong in my world only seems right with him by my side.
Our darkest days will become our armor to wield when the next war begins. Because something is brewing, I can sense it.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Azrael
I’ll be the first to admit that holding a baby in my arms with a grenade in my hand to get assistance from someone with deep connections may come across as extreme, but it was completely justifiable. There’s absolutely no way in hell Jensen could reach out and ask Owen Stevens for his help, not when my father’s men have eyes everywhere.
So, I concocted the perfect plan: kidnap his woman and child under the guise of needing a memory card with evidence of our human trafficking and auctions on it. I silently thank Carlos Andreas for being a sneaky bastard and gathering evidence against us of our misdeeds and handing over that evidence to Owen before he died.
I can only hope Owen shows up at my warehouse as I demanded. Alone.
If he’s come with a plan to overthrow me, then he’s sorely mistaken. I’d happily go to war; in fact, with the way I’ve been so full of rage since Hevan’s assault, I welcome thethought of launching retribution. Ideally on the right person, but I’d happily take either at the minute.
The baby coos, and I eyeball him. People choose to have these slobbering things?
It’s the first time I’ve held an infant, and not something I’m fond of, not in this life at least. Maybe in one of Hevan’s dream worlds I would have been a good father, a caring one, and she would have become a schoolteacher, but that’s not our reality, nor is it mine. Though she still has the ability to have all of that. Just the thought of her doing it without me makes it feel like my chest is being crushed.
One of my men lifts his chin in my direction, letting me know Owen has arrived, so I lift the baby, walk into the warehouse, and lean against the wall while I wait for him to enter.
Laya, his woman, is gagged and tied to a chair, and I take in the sight before me, as I would if I were in his position. And I’d happily kill myself for it. A smirk toys on my lips.
“Az…” Owen’s mouth moves, but he clamps it shut, his eyes locked on the grenade I placed in the baby’s hand.
He’s powerless and at my mercy, and while normally that would excite me, I feel empty, going through the motions of my plans in order to achieve my aim.
To protect the woman I love.
“Take your shirt off.” I nod toward him, and he narrows his eyes. Then he glances at the baby and moves quickly, pulling his T-shirt over his head, wincing from the gunshot wound he got outside, before dropping it to the floor.
One of my men steps forward and circles him with a scanner, then he lifts his chin in my direction, giving me the all-clear.
He’s not wearing a wire, not that I expected him to, but we can’t be too sure.
