Page 80 of Under His Control

The goons glance at each other. They're waiting, watching. Seeing if things escalate. And I realize with horror it isn’t Chris they’d be stepping in for.

I smooth my blouse with trembling hands and glance at Damas. He looks amused, maybe irritated. Perhaps a little of both.

I lower my voice and step closer to Chris. “Come upstairs and just talk to me.”

He stares at me like I’m asking him to walk into a trap. His jaw works, teeth grinding together. My handprint still blazes across his cheek.

“Forget it,” he mutters. “I’d rather get kicked in the nuts than go anywhere near your sugar daddy.”

“Chris—”

“No.” He shakes his head, lips curled. “You don’t get to play big sister now. You don’t get to pretend you’re better than me just because you married a guy that wears a six-figure watch.”

I flinch.

Then he twists the knife.

“I don’t even know why he wants you,” he says. “You can’t even give him a kid.”

My breath catches so fast, my lungs hurt. The blood drains from my face.

He obviously didn’t see the sonogram.

Tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them. I blink fast, trying to stay upright.

Chris’s face falters. For a moment, a flicker of regret passes through his eyes before vanishing.

The taller of the goons says, “Let’s hit the Flamenco. Tables are hotter.”

Chris hesitates, then walks away.

No apology. No second glance.

I press a palm to my belly, heart aching.

When I raise my head, Damas is watching me.

“Are you alright?” He places his hand gently on my shoulder, steadying me.

“I’m fine.”

It takes several seconds before my knees stop wobbling. I drop to the floor and gather my purse, fingers fumbling with the strap. The sonogram lies face-down beside a spilled poker chip.

I pick it up with shaking hands, brushing a smear of dirt from the glossy paper.

He almost stepped on it.

I shove it into my purse quickly, hoping Damas didn’t see it.

A sob punches out of me, sharp and breathless. I blink hard, willing my expression back into something resembling composure.

Damas stands just a few feet away; his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. Watching.

Always watching.

“Sounds like there’s something you need to tell my brother.”

CHAPTER 32