Chapter 5

The heavy, suffocating silence in the VIP suite was broken only by the sound of Jackson’s ragged, pathetic breathing.

He remained on his knees, surrounded by the shattered crystal of his celebratory champagne, staring intently at the gleaming silver scalpel in my hand.

"Alynna, please," Jackson begged. "You can't do this. I'm your husband. I loved you."

"You loved what I could give you," I corrected. "You loved my blind devotion. You loved my inheritance. And you loved my healthy organs."

I took a slow, deliberate step toward him. Beside me, Brendon stood like a towering shadow of death.

"Someone is paying the price tonight, Jackson," I repeated. "You ordered a harvest. You wanted to carve me open on a butcher's block. Now, the debt is finally due. Choose. Her, or you."

On the heavy steel operating table a few feet away, Taylor thrashed wildly. She fought against the leather straps binding her wrists and ankles. Her crimson robe twisted tightly around her struggling body.

"Jackson!" Taylor shrieked. Her voice tore through the room in pure panic. "Tell them no! You promised me! Please, don't let them do this to me!"

Jackson didn't even look at her.

"Take her!" Jackson screamed.

His voice cracked with pure, desperate hysteria. He pointed a violently shaking finger at the woman he claimed to love.

"Take her heart! Cut her open, not me! I don't care what you do to her, just let me live! Take her heart!"

Taylor froze instantly. The frantic thrashing stopped. A look of absolute, world-shattering betrayal washed over her tear-streaked face.

"You bastard!" Taylor wailed.

She let out a bloodcurdling scream of pure agony and despair.

"I did this for you! I faked everything for you! You said I was the only one you loved!"

"Shut up!" Jackson yelled back at her, his face pale and slick with cold sweat.

He looked back at me, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Alynna, listen to me. It was her idea. All of it. She wanted your money. She wanted your organs. I was just going along with it because she threatened me. Please, you have to believe me. She was always jealous of you, so she seduced me."

I stood there, looking down at the man kneeling in the spilled champagne. The sheer, absolute disgust rising in my throat was suffocating.

I had spent three years of my life worshipping this pathetic creature. I had cooked his meals, nursed him through fevers, and carried his innocent child. I had been willing to die for him.

And he was absolutely nothing. He was a hollow, empty shell of a man who would throw anyone to the wolves just to save his own skin.

"You truly are a monster, Jackson," I whispered.

"Just let me walk away. You can have her. You can do whatever you want to her. Just let me go."

I looked at the scalpel in my hand. My fingers were trembling. It wasn't from fear, but from the overwhelming, intoxicating rush of absolute power. I could do it.

I could drag this blade across his chest and watch the life drain from his eyes. I could carve out the heart he had just offered up so easily.

But as I stared at his sniveling, tear-stained face, the ice in my veins began to thaw, replaced by a cold, calculating clarity.

I would not stoop to their level. I would not let their darkness consume my soul.

I opened my hand. The silver scalpel slipped from my fingers. It clattered loudly against the marble floor, landing right beside Jackson’s trembling knees.

Jackson let out a massive, shuddering gasp of relief. He slumped forward, pressing his forehead against the cold floor.

"Thank you," he sobbed uncontrollably. "Thank you, Alynna. I knew you couldn't do it. I knew you were too good to be a killer."

"I am not good," I interrupted. "I simply refuse to ever dirty my own hands with your worthless blood."

I turned my gaze to the massive, suited guards standing at attention near the walls.

"Strap him down," I commanded.

Jackson’s head snapped up. His eyes widened in fresh, primal terror.

"What? No! You said—"

"I said I wasn't going to cut you," I corrected smoothly.

I stepped back, moving closer to Brendon's protective warmth.

Before Jackson could even scramble to his feet, two of Brendon’s guards lunged forward. They grabbed Jackson by the arms, hauling him off the floor with brutal, unforgiving efficiency.

"No! Get off me!" Jackson kicked and screamed.

He thrashed wildly, but it was absolutely useless. They dragged him across the room. They slammed him onto a second steel operating table that had just been wheeled in from the shadows. Thick leather straps were instantly buckled over his wrists, his ankles, and his chest. He was secured right next to Taylor.

"Alynna, please!" Jackson shrieked.

He pulled violently against the heavy restraints.

"Don't do this! You can't do this!"

Taylor turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were filled with venom and hatred.

"Welcome to hell, Jackson," she spat.

I walked over to the narrow space between their tables. I looked at Taylor, who was sobbing uncontrollably, and then at Jackson, who was hyperventilating in pure panic.

"You wanted a harvest," I said coldly.

My voice was completely devoid of any human mercy. I looked past them, nodding to the team of private, corrupt doctors Brendon had brought into the suite. They stood in the shadows, waiting for my final word.

"Leave it to the doctors for the operation," I ordered. "Take their kidneys. And take their bone marrow. Drain their blood. Do whatever you want. Make sure they feel every single second of it."

I turned on my heel and walked toward the heavy oak doors of the suite.

Brendon fell into step beside me.

As the heavy doors opened, the agonizing, bloodcurdling screams of Jackson and Taylor echoed behind me. The sound vibrated off the marble walls, filling the corridor.

The sound of their absolute destruction should have brought me a profound, triumphant satisfaction.

But the moment the doors clicked shut, sealing them inside their own personal hell, the fiery adrenaline that had been keeping me upright completely vanished.

The entire world tilted violently on its axis.

A sudden, blinding wave of absolute agony ripped through my lower abdomen. It was a vicious, tearing cramp, a thousand times worse than the pain on the butcher's table. My breath caught in my throat. A fresh rush of warmth soaked through the thick bandages beneath my silk gown.

"Alynna?" Brendon’s voice cracked with a sudden, sharp alarm.

My knees buckled. The glittering chandeliers above blurred into a chaotic smear of light. I was bleeding out. The physical aftershocks of the devastating miscarriage were finally dragging me under.

"Brendon," I gasped, my vision going completely black.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't speak. I collapsed forward, the darkness swallowing me whole. But before I hit the cold floor, strong, muscular arms caught me.

I fell directly into Brendon’s chest, my fingers weakly clutching the lapels of his bespoke suit as the pain tore my world apart.