Page 56 of Jordan

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “If it’s easier to replace, replace it.”

I turn on my heel to head back upstairs, but Bernice speaks, causing me to stop.

“Is she worth it?” I close my eyes and take a breath.

Is she worth it? No fucking idea. Probably not. Maybe. If my brothers and I want to keep our family the way it is, then yes. That isn’t why I took her in the first place, but it’s why I need to keep her now. Besides, how much worse can this get? I suppose that will depend on how my reaction is. Fighting her only seems to fuel her on. Perhaps I should try another angle. She gets pissed when I ignore her. Mad when I force her.

I glance at Bernice over my shoulder. “That is out of line.”

Though it is a valid question, there is no way in hell it should come out of her mouth.

Her eyes widen and she ducks her head. “Of course, sir. My apologies.”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

I leave the room, unsure what to think of all this mess. It’s clear Jordan is trying to make a point. And the point has been made and taken. Fine. But if she wants to play hard, I can play hard too. Maybe I’ve been giving her too much freedom. Maybe I’m not taking enough away. A firm hand may be exactly what she’s after.

I head upstairs to the closet, enter the six-digit code into the keypad, and pull the door open when it beeps. She’s lying on the floor facing me, curled into a ball, in front of the door—sleeping soundly.

I’ve the urge to dump ice water on her to wake her. Childish, yes, but I think it’ll prove a point. If only a small one. I push the door open wider to step in, and I notice she’s paler than usual. I crouch down in front of her.

“Jordan.” She doesn’t move. I repeat her name, and when she doesn’t budge, I shake her shoulder, noting she’s chilled but clammy. I push her onto her back, causing her body to sprawl out, which is when I notice the large bloodstain on her pants. Right between her legs.

A million thoughts run through my head. The first that someone harmed her, but no. Impossible. Antonio was watching her, and he wouldn’t allow that to happen. And he certainly wouldn’t do it, not even with how angry he was.

The next thing that makes sense is her period. Miscarriage goes through my head, but it’s unlikely. Unless she’s been pregnant for a while. But I don’t think so. I recall the club checking for that.

There’s only one way to know.

I scoop her up and glance over the balcony railing. Rocco is downstairs, staring into the kitchen.

“Call the doc!” I tell him. He nods and I continue on the way to Jordan’s room.

I lay her on the bed, not a care in the world for the sheets getting bloody. She doesn’t move when I lie her down, but she is at least breathing. I check her pulse. It’s slow, but not dangerously slow.

I tear her pants down, spreading her legs, breathing out a sigh of relief when I find a string.

Period. That’s relieving.

“You should know better than this,” I mutter as I grab the string and pull. It comes out way too easily, courtesy of the wetness, and with it comes a heavy flow of blood. One of the many reasons I’m grateful to have been born with a cock.

Moving into the bathroom, I lose my tie and shrug off my jacket, dropping them to the counter. I turn on the shower, leaving the glass doors open, and kick off my shoes as I move back into the bedroom. I take her shirt off and bring her into the shower with me, sitting in the corner with her in my lap.

The cool water splashes down on us and I brush it over her skin, hoping this is the right thing to do. I’m not a fucking doctor. I don’t know what she needs, but she doesn’t feel right.

She groans, her head flopping to the side. I run a hand through her hair, anger and concern coursing through me. If she were a man, she’d be dead for what she pulled tonight. Harming one of my men like that? Especially Antonio? That’s not something many people would live over.

“Jordan?” I call her name. Her eyes flutter open, mist droplets catching on her long lashes.

She’s confused as she stares up at me, her eyes unfocused. She blinks a few times. They widen. Her body tenses, lips parting.

“I have you in the shower,” I say softly, running my knuckles down her damp cheek.

She looks around for a few seconds before her gaze settles back on me. “Why?”

The lack of fight speaks volumes.

“I found you passed out in the closet.”