Page 118 of Desperate Games

“You motherfucker.”

Julio shrugs, all fake casual.

“Of course, you’re free to pay. Give me what’s mine and I’ll let you have what you think is yours. Settle things between men.”

“How much?” My voice is flat. Deadly.

I’m already picturing my hands around his throat.

He licks his lips, enjoying himself.

“Half a mil. But what is that to your wife? I understand she has more than that. So let’s start there. And in return? I’ll let you keep the little bitch.”

The world narrows. My vision tunnels, rage pouring through me so thick I can taste blood in the back of my throat.

I want to end him. Right here. Right now.

It would be so easy. A snap. A twist. His body crumpled in this hallway like the garbage he is.

But not yet.

Not in front of the judge’s chambers. Not with lawyers and marshals ten feet away.

So instead, I nod. Slow. Deliberate. Like I’m swallowing his bait whole.

And Julio? The dumb bastard grins like he’s already won.

That’s the thing about men like him. They think they’re playing chess, but it’s checkers at best.

Loud. Sloppy. Predictable.

He has no idea I’m already ten moves ahead.

And by the time I’m finished, Julio Castillo won’t just lose the game.

He’ll lose everything.

Chapter Forty-One-Andrea

The house is quiet. Too quiet.

Twinkle lights glitter in the background, all the decorations my cousin and the kids, sweet Callie, hung around the house.

The scents of cookies and hot cocoa linger in the air, and it should feel homey. Pleasant. Warm with the promise of joy the holidays always seem to bring.

Instead, I feel anxious. And it has nothing to do with the pain in my back or the twins—soccer players I’m sure—I have growing inside me.

Callie is asleep, tucked in with her favorite stuffies surrounding her and the nightlight glowing soft pink against the walls.

I lingered by her bed longer than usual tonight, smoothing her hair, listening to her even breaths, almost unwilling to leave her side.

But I couldn’t ignore the sound of Remy moving through the house.

Heavy footfalls, the creak of the floorboards under his weight, the metallic clink of glass as he poured himself something in the kitchen

When I finally step into the doorway, he’s there.

Broad shoulders tight with coiled violence, his green eyes dark and stormy as he lifts them to mine.