Chapter 2

The room goes dead silent.

Every head drops. Nobody breathes.

Kane's mouth pulls into a slow smile.

He pulls the gun from his waistband and presses it into my hand. Wraps his arms around me from behind. Guides my hand up. Drags the barrel across every face in that room, one at a time.

"Baby. See anyone you don't like? Pull the trigger. Daddy'll clean it up."

Every man the gun touches shakes like a leaf. Not one of them moves.

On this island, Kane Locke runs one of the two biggest crews in Saint-Marin. Nobody crosses him. Nobody even tries.

The barrel lands on Quinn's forehead.

My hand freezes.

Quinn's face twitches. Every drop of blood drains out of it.

But all I can hear in my head is his voice from that study. I'm the one who picked every guy in that video by hand.

I grind my teeth. My eyes burn red. My finger tightens on the trigger.

Kane pushes the barrel down.

"Easy, wife. The doctor just called. IVF took. Let's not spook my son with all this blood."

He kisses my forehead. Soft. Slow. Looks at me the same way he's looked at me for three years. Like I'm the only woman on earth.

If I hadn't heard what I heard behind that door, I would have believed every second of it.

I don't say anything.

His eyes drift to the empty wine glass on the coffee table.

He starts playing with my fingers. Lazy. Casual.

"You been down here long, baby? Come looking for me upstairs?"

I swallow the fear.

"No. You boys were up there talking business. All that smoke. Not my thing."

He stares at me for two seconds.

Then he smiles. Pats my head. Tells the maid to bring me a cup of tea to sober me up.

The maid walks over. Hands the cup out to me.

Kane lifts the gun and blows her head off.

Blood sprays across my face. Warm. Thick. My whole face locks up.

The maid is still holding her hand out. Eyes wide open. She crumples at my feet.

Every muscle in my body shakes. Something inside my stomach twists into a fist.

Kane doesn't blink.

He grabs a tissue. Wipes the blood off my face slowly. Carefully. Like a husband taking care of his wife after a bad day.

Then he picks up the tea and holds it to my lips.

I swallow. One sip. Another. My eyes drift sideways. Two of his boys are dragging the maid out by her ankles. A long red streak trails behind her across the marble.

"My wife is pregnant and this woman still poured her wine. Trying to hurt my son. She didn't need to be alive anymore."

He strokes my pale cheek like it hurts him to see me this way.

"Daddy's sorry, baby. You've been through so much. We finally got our new baby. No more drinking. Not one drop. You hear me?"

"This baby has to come out healthy. No matter what. Got it?"

I force a smile. "Got it."

My heart drops into ice.

Three years of marriage. Eight pregnancies. Every single one gone. No reason. No warning. Just gone.

Six months ago, the doctor sat me down and told me my body couldn't do it anymore. Too many miscarriages. I would never carry a baby the natural way again.

Kane held me that night. His eyes went red. He kept saying it was okay. That he didn't need a baby. He just needed me. Alive. Healthy. His.

I hated myself. I hated my body. I hated that I couldn't hold on to a single one.

So I said yes to IVF. I let them stick needles in my stomach until it looked like a pin cushion. I choked down hormones that kept me awake all night, sick and shaking.

I thought I was walking toward something beautiful. A family. A future.

Turns out, every needle, every sleepless night, every dead baby—was for Cecily Vale.

She wanted to be Mrs. Ford. So I had to be ruined in front of three hundred people.

She was too scared of pain. So I had to lose the right to be a mother. Turned into a womb for hire.

Kane reaches over. Brushes his thumb across my forehead.

"What's wrong, baby? You look sick. Something hurting?"