Page 74 of Owen (Storm Enterprises)

“No?” Tate’s eyes flit over my face.

“No. It has software embedded in it that will show that we have a copy.”

“The police commissioner, Owen. That’s the fucking police commissioner.” Mase’s voice becomes higher as he paces. “This is bigger than us. So much fucking bigger. We’re meant to deal with advertising and shit, not traffickers.”

I roll my eyes as he unravels.

“I know people that can help,” I try to reassure him.

Tate scoffs, and I turn my attention back to him. “You know people. Just what the fuck kind of security does our company provide, Owen?” He crosses his arms over his chest as he glares at me. “We never signed up for this shit when we invested.”

Anger boils my veins. “So, let me get this straight. You’re okay with me handling the security aspect of the business when it suits. When your girl needs rescuing”—I point toward Tate with fury—“I can use my contacts then, and not to mention, when your sister needs help. But now you’ve decided this is all too much and you’re questioning me?”

Tate lowers his head and shakes it, his shoulders deflate. “You’re right.” Then he tips his head up toward the ceiling. “Fuck. You’re right.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “It makes me wish I could have killed him myself, ya know?” He nods toward the screen, and the emotion in his tone has my anger diminishing, and I agree.

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Then I scrub a hand over my head. “When I ordered him to die, I should have made it more brutal.” Regret floods me, knowing how I could have done things differently and could have slaughtered the piece of shit who hurt Laya with the most brutal form of torture, yet I let him die so easily. It was Nico Garcia who assured me he deserved a quick death, that he treated Laya and Romeo well. The man practically pleaded with me to grant it.

Death was a privilege for a monster.

LAYA

A chill washes over me, and I tug the bed sheet tighter around me as I roll my lip between my teeth, missing the feel of his soft skin. Rolling over, I move to snuggle against him, but the bed is cold, and the feel of his loss makes me sit up in awareness and search the room for a sign that he slept here. Not once since being home has he ever not fallen asleep next to me, and I hate whatever pulled him away.

Maybe he’s with Romeo?

I turn to face the baby monitor and flick the switch up to hear the soft snooze of our son, and a smile creeps over my face as warmth fills my body at how blessed I am to have such a good little sleeper. My hand finds my stomach as longing fills me. To have a pregnancy with the support of my husband and being surrounded by my family and friends feels like a dream, one that could actually happen.

Reaching over again, I flick the switch on the monitor, but like an idiot with sleepy eyes, I misjudge it, sending it crashing to the floor. “Shit.”

With a heavy breath, I swipe the sleep from my eyes and roll out of bed. Bending down, I shove the batteries back into themonitor and static fills the monitor. “You’re an idiot, Laya.” I give it a sharp tap, and when voices come over the monitor, I listen in.

Tate’s voice fills the room. “You’re right.” He sighs. “Fuck. You’re right.” There’s a pause, and I narrow my eyes while my mind whirls at what they could be discussing. “It makes me wish I could have killed him myself, ya know?” His words make my blood run cold, and my body freezes.

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Owen’s voice is thick with aggression. “When I ordered him to die, I should have made it more brutal.”

And like that, my world crumbles into a million pieces.

My heart shatters on the spot as I kneel.

He ordered him to die.

Please, no.

My lungs feel like they’re collapsing as my airways tighten to the point of pain.

Please. He couldn’t have.

I gasp for air, dazed by the tears landing on my knees.

It feels like I’m becoming detached from myself, like I’m unable to function.

He wouldn’t do this to me.

To Romeo.

Then his words come back to haunt me.“Anything to keep you.”I rush toward the bathroom in time for my stomach to expel the contents of our dinner.

He did this.

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