Page 103 of Under His Control

“You want a second to talk to him?” the detective asks.

I stare at my brother.

He looks up, lip split, one eye already swelling shut.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask him. “You throw away blood, loyalty, everything for a shot at theHospitium?”

“I threw away nothing,” he mutters. “You were always going to win. I just made sure I didn’t leave empty-handed.”

“You’re leaving with nothing.”

He smirks. “We’ll see.”

The drive to the hospital is a blur.

By the time I reach the emergency room, Taylor is pacing the corridor, still in her bloodstained clothes, hands wringing.

I pull her into my arms.

“He’s in surgery,” she whispers. “They said he’s strong, but they don’t know yet.”

I press my lips to her hair, silently vowing that I will never let anyone threaten what’s mine again.

Not my family.

Not my wife.

Not our child.

It’s over.

CHAPTER 42

TAYLOR

Four days later…

There’s something about the Vegas skyline at night that puts you in a certain kind of mood.

Every building is lit up, blinking and glowing like it wants your attention and your soul.

But all I want is a damn nap.

I’m curled up in the armchair near the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, legs tucked under a fleece blanket I stole from Anatoly’s office. It smells like his cologne and old books—comfort in textile form. I haven’t moved in a while. I have no idea what time it is.

Between the lack of sleep and the pregnancy, I’m all kinds of loopy. Dizzy around the edges, heavy behind the eyes, like someone pressed pause on my body but forgot to hit stop on my brain.

Chris is still in the hospital, now stable and healing. I’ve been there almost nonstop since he was checked in—sleeping uprightin waiting room chairs, surviving on vending machine coffee and whatever food Anatoly brought me. For the first two days, I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I was terrified that if I blinked too long, something would go wrong.

But the worst has passed.

This morning, the doctor finally looked me in the eye and said, point-blank, “You need to go home. You’re pregnant, and your body needs rest just as much as he needs recovery.”

So I kissed Chris’s forehead, tucked his blanket up to his chin like he was five again, and promised I’d be back in the morning.

Now here I am.

Home—but not quite resting.