Page 107 of When Hearts Ignite

But a heaviness sits on top of my eyes, the sweet scent of her lulling me into safety, her warmth cloaking me in love, and slowly, I succumb to a deep, restful sleep, oblivious to the maelstrom.

Gripping Grace’s hand tightly in mine, I stride down the quiet hallways of Voss Industries. The office, a sea of dark suits and dresses, very much like Pietra, is deadly silent, the employees’ mouths agape, and they stare at us as we follow the receptionist to see their boss.

They can smell the blood in the air.

Grace gives my hand a firm squeeze, as if reminding me she’s by my side, that I’m never alone, but I don’t need her physical touch to know she’s here. The air always shimmers and changes whenever she enters a room. The hairs on my arms would stand up as every cell in my body awakens.

My soul can sense her presence.

I glance at her, noting her brows furrowing, a determined glint shining in the purple gems. She’s dressed in a dark red dress hugging her curves in just the right way, her shoulders hiked back, her stance tall.

A warrior heading into battle.

My lips twitch as pride slams through me like a tsunami. This woman never ceases to amaze me.

She’s putting on a brave face to see the one person who caused her discomfort at Trésor. The person who harassed her time and time again, who made her feel like a piece of meat, who made her feel dirty.

She has never told me the details, but from the time I saw him pawing Grace at the casino night, I sensed it wasn’t an isolated incident. The fucking asshole.

The thought makes my blood boil, along with what he’s doing to TransAmerica—I should’ve strangled him that night at The Orchid, spectators be damned.

I told her she didn’t need to come with me today, that I’d deliver his proverbial head on a platter for her later, but she shook her head. She squared her shoulders and told me, her eyes flashing, it was time to make the bastard pay for his sins, and she wanted to see the conclusion to the epic battle, to see him fall to his knees. She needed it for closure, to prove to herself that she was the one remaining standing. That despite everything he made her feel, he didn’t win in the end.

I’ll fucking slice him at the knees in front of her, so he’ll kneel beneath her feet.

The secretary raps her knuckles in a furtive knock then opens the door, revealing the asshole sitting behind his large oak desk, his mouth splitting into an obnoxious grin, like he has already won the battle.

He locks his beefy hands behind his head and leans back in his chair. Victorious. Ridiculous. His eyes take on a heated, lascivious glint as his gaze rakes over Grace and a growl gathers in my throat as heated fury singes my insides.

Grace squeezes me. A reminder to calm down, and I let out a ragged exhale.

“I see you’re with your whore. Are you going to trade her to me to save your father’s company?” He sneers as my body stills, his words ringing in my ears.

“Timothy fucking Voss,” I hiss, the rage which abated from Grace’s touch seconds ago surges back with a vengeance. I hurl toward him, wanting to tear his limbs off for his insults, for the way he’s making Grace flinch next to me, but she holds me back in a tight grip.

Voss laughs, his face flushed as he turns to Grace. “You should’ve chosen me, honey.” His eyes harden and his voice takes on a clipped edge. “I never forget a slight.”

Grace straightens and blows out a deep breath. “I’d never choose you. And we’re not here to pander to you. You’re vile and despicable. We want to see you in person as we deliver this news.” She looks at me and clenches her jaw, reminding me of our purpose here.

To deliver the death blow. To watch the enemy fall onto his knees.

A new calmness enters me as I lead Grace to the chairs on the other side of his desk and we take a seat. My lips flatten before curving up into a smile.

“You’ve lost, Voss.”

He freezes, confusion flittering in those beady eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“As of three hours ago, a mysterious package arrived at the FBI white-collar crimes division. In the package is a dossier of emails between you and your CFO regarding bribes and blackmail sent to McGinnis, Hancock, and Townsend regarding the hostile takeover of TransAmerica, and includes bank statements from Cayman Islands accounts and a voice recording of you discussing with your CFO the blackmail details and your illegal sabotage and corporate espionage of McGinnis’s and Hancock’s companies to acquire their shares in TransAmerica.”

The color drains from his face. He leans over the desk, his hands thumping the surface and he snarls. “You have nothing on me. None of that evidence is admissible. You’re bluffing.”

My lips twist into a sneer, and I cock my brow. “Am I? Or am I just playing the game your way? Your CFO is now a star witness sitting at the FBI headquarters, pouring his heart out for leniency and he’s providing his copies of those records to them—very much admissible, I’m afraid. And New York is a one-party consent state. Anyone in the conversation has a right to record…legally.”

I stand up, and Grace follows suit. Leaning forward, I growl, “You’re done, Voss. Your greed has finally caught up to you, and you’ll end up with nothing and will be rotting in jail instead, where you should be. No one will lose any sleep over you. This is my final present for you after everything you’ve put my woman,” I glance at Grace, “and my father through.”

I slam a copy of his bank statement from the Cayman Islands in front of him, along with printouts of his emails between his CFO and him talking about blackmail and espionage. “I’m not bluffing.”

Voss’s eyes widen in shock as sweat beads on his forehead. He shakes his head in disbelief. His face grows mottled as his heavy frame shakes with anger.

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