Page 61 of Forced Pregnant Bride

It’s happening.

Chapter 24 – Timur

My brother kicked his legs up on my desk, leaning back on the seat with an unlit cigar in hand, a frown on his lips, and his brows drawn. I could tell what was going through his mind:every intention to fucking piss me off, that’s what.

Two hours and counting, and it was fucking working.

The sharp rustle of papers cut through the steady, cold silence between us when I flipped the pages of the logbook. My feet danced on the new Persian rug I had Arlo install two days ago, and I lost count of the number of times my teeth grated against each other.

“If you have something to say….”

I didn’t look at him but caught his shoulders’ swift movement while he flexed the Zippo lighter between his fingers. Pursing his lips, he played with it, opening and closing the lidwith maddening attention; the constanttickingbecame fucking irritating.

“I don’t think I do.”

Closing the logbook, I gave him a full glare, and he yawned. If there was one person who wouldn’t blink an eye at my rage or would rather trim a cigar while I had a barrel pointed at the side of his head, it would be Rafayel. He’d always been able to wear that air of nonchalance and indifference like a fucking coat, and it was as annoying as fuck. Growing up, I thought he turned out to be that way because we were broken and damaged, but I’d learned better over the years; Rafayel did shit only Rafayel wanted to do,whenhe wanted to do it, andhow.

He wasn’t going to speak

“So, you’re just going to sit there and pretend like you’re more interested in watching that goddamn flame flicker than speak?”

He moved his shoulders again, and the Zippo ticked. “I’m not saying anything because I don’t have to.Youshould be doing all the talking. The last time someone thought they could escape you, I caught them.Iwas more vigilant. The last time before that, you gave the fucker a bloody pedicure. But here you are, fucking hunched over a logbook when Enzo’s on the loose.”

“And that’s been your fucking problem?”

“It’s been four fucking months since. Why the fuck are you not bothered?”

And he’d said it like someone who was anything but bothered. Whatever it was about that fucking orange and yellow flame had my brother hooked by the balls. He could have been self-reflecting, for all I cared; I just didn’t appreciate his careless emotion directed toward Enzo’s disappearance.

While we released Jayden back into the world of civilization one month after the kidnapping, we kept the Don locked up in one of our facilities downtown. An old building,a stripper’s club. One of Rafayel’s many failed business establishments from his early days of training and handling responsibilities. Four months since, and the only thing we had to trace Colombo was a note written in a poorly scribbled handwriting, with a very glaring “FUCK YOU” on it. I’d had my guesses on how the Don managed what appeared to be a craftily masterminded escape, but we’d never ridden on assumptions before and weren’t about to act out on desperation to capture him again.

I convinced Rafa, and we opted to patiently wait until Arlo recovered the CCTV footage, which had been unsurprisingly fucked up beyond recognition. Again, I’d been painfully reminded that patience was not one of my brother’s strongest virtues—if he had any at all, besides honor.

“Arlo’s working on it.”

He scoffed, now shifting his gaze to the butt of the cigar which was hovering above the flame. “You know, we had a golden chance to finish off the old geezer and seize control over his empire. I wondered why you kept him for so long.”

“Forgotten torture techniques, dear brother?”

“For four months, and he still had the strength to move out of that damned cell.”

I couldn’t tell why he was being so annoying about it. “Tell me, what do you suggest I do then? Go on a fucking wild goose chase.”

“No one’s asking you to do that.”

“You say you aren’t but are sure as hell acting like you want me to dedicate my entire fucking life to search for Enzo fucking Colombo. Well, here’s news for you, Rafa: Fuck that, and fuck this conversation. I have better things to do than chase someone who’ll drop dead soon, anyway. But if finding him is that important to you, I’ll gladly give an order I’ve given before: Go find him yourself.”

“No need.”

We stared at the door to find Arlo making himself comfortable on the chair beside Rafayel’s. Neither of us noticed when he’d walked stepped—not him or his cologne, which was stronger than usual today. He was grinning from ear to ear and dropped a laptop on the desk and a gun beside the laptop. His fingers were all bloody.

I sighed, dragging my hand over my hair. “Do I want to know why that’s there so early in the morning?”

“It’s past noon,” Rafayel grumbled under his breath and arched a brow at my underboss. “You could have used fucking soap to wash that off before coming in here.”

Arlo chuckled. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

I ignored my brother. “Who?”

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