Page 100 of Taking What's Ours

“What? Sorry, I can’t fucking hear you?” he barks.

“I don’t want Desiree. Goddamn it. I wantElaina,” I scream at my president.

A big grin forms on his face. “’Bout time you fucking admitted it, brother.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Darko prods.

“He’s going after her, or he’s no Royal Bastard,” Rock answers for me. “Mount up. We’re makin’ a road trip to Denver.” He pauses. “Unless that is, you’d rather let your fucking lowlife brother have her?”

That stiffens my spine. I shake my head and stalk toward my bike.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Baja—

We pull up at my father’s company, backing our four bikes to the curb in front, taking up the handicapped spots. Wouldn’t matter. My father doesn’t hire handicapped people, because he’s an asshole.

Rock stands from his bike and stares at the building. “Impressive.”

“Not so much. I can’t tell you the number of people he stabbed in the back to get where he is.” Glancing around, I spot Elaina’s car, and my heart sinks.

She went back to him. It’s like a gut punch.

Rock follows my eyes. “That Elaina’s?”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

His hand lands on my shoulder. “Doesn’t mean what you’re thinkin’, brother. Could be another explanation. And if there’s not, then it still doesn’t mean this trip was a waste.”

He’s right. I can still crack some heads. I stalk up the walk to the glass entry, my brothers at my back.

We’re dressed in head-to-toe leather; our cuts clear as day. Not exactly the usual type of clientele the receptionist sees.

The girl behind the desk looks up, and her eyes widen, then she hangs up on whomever she was speaking.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“My father is Bill Whitmore. I’m his son, Dylan. Where’s his office?”

She hesitates, and it’s obvious she doesn’t want to tell me.

I lean on the counter and give her my best smile. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Autumn.”

“Autumn,” I repeat. “That’s a real pretty name. Where’s my father’s office?”

“You’re really Mr. Whitmore’s son?”

“I was my brother’s best man. Were you at Elliott’s wedding?”

Her eyes suddenly widen, and she points at me. “That’s where I’ve seen you. Boy, that was a disaster, wasn’t it?”

“Sure was.” I wink. “What floor? I’m guessing the top?”

“Suite 400.”

“Thanks, doll.” I lead the way to the elevator, and it opens just as we get to it. Two men in suits step out, each giving us a strange look. We get in and ride up.

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