Page 82 of Brutal Heir

They both bowed and left silently, slowly backing out of the room as if they were afraid to turn their backs on me.

I stared at the exit sign, its red neon glow pulsing.

Just below it, a security guard loomed, his tailored suit doing little to hide the bulge of a gun at his hip.

Running wasn’t an option—I wouldn’t make it two steps past him.

Sebastian was always five moves ahead, his plans an intricate spider’s web.

There was no way he hadn’t instructed his staff to keep me contained onboard the plane until he decided to deal with me.

The guard’s eyes locked on mine, sharp and assessing. My pulse spiked. Panicked, I looked away, focusing on the band of my ring, twisting it.

I hated feeling powerless, waiting for Sebastian to make the next move.

My skin prickled, and a suffocating sense of inevitability settled over my chest.

Whatever Sebastian had planned, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to like it.

CHAPTER 22

SEBASTIAN

Impatient to conclude my business and return to Sabrina, I pushed the door shut with deliberate force, the click of the latch cutting through the stale tension in the room.

Sabrina’s scent, rose with a hint of clove, still lingered on my skin, a constant, maddening distraction.

I was so close to seeing my plan come together I could taste it.

I could taste her.

Fucking her at the hotel was not enough.

I had an unsettling idea that I would never get enough of her.

She was just so beautiful and sweet.

It made me want to corrupt her in dark and twisted ways. I wanted to watch as that naive innocence left her eyes with each thrust of my cock inside her tight body.

I turned to the assembled men, their polished exteriors unable to mask the sweat glistening on their brows. Power hung thick in the air, but so did the unmistakable tang of desperation. I leaned back against the door, arms crossed, letting the silence stretch until it scraped raw against their nerves.

“Gentlemen, do you have the money?”

Each man placed a silver briefcase on the polished cherrywood table. After removing the handcuffs, they opened the cases and turned them toward me.

Their leader spoke. “Ten million in U.S. dollars, as requested.”

Maintaining an air of calm, I flipped a gold frame containing a charcoal sketch of Agnolo Bronzino’s An Allegory with Venus and Cupid to reveal a concealed safe. Entering the fifteen-digit code, I retrieved a black velvet bag filled with cut diamonds. After restoring the frame, I poured the contents onto a cobalt-blue pad and pushed it to the center of the table.

One man took out a jeweler’s loupe.

I raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean to insult me?”

The men exchanged nervous looks. “No, sir, our apologies. The diamonds are surely of the finest quality.”

One man pointed to the gems. “There are only fifty.”

I sat and threaded my fingers in front of me. “And?”