Reluctantly, I handed Pete over. He cried harder, and I grappled with whether I was making the right decision.
“I will bring you something for your headache,” Desi said before leaving.
When he was gone, I finally allowed myself to cry. The moment the door clicked shut, everything I’d been holding together split wide open. The first sob caught me by surprise, folding me forward, and the next one stole my breath entirely. I tried to swallow it down and stay quiet, but the magnitude of my situation shook me to my core.
My hands hit the floor before I realized I’d dropped to my knees. My stomach twisted, and I gagged on a breath. The nausea from earlier had surged. My stomach nearly touched my spine as my knees bore into the hardwood. I vomited until my throat went raw.
Desi returned, carrying a small paper cup and a glass of water.
“What is that?” I croaked, picking myself up.
“For your headache,” he murmured.
“I don’t have—”
“For your headache,” he repeated, easing the cups toward me. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. It could be a trap—one of Todd’s sadistic games, but there was sincerity and pain in Desi’s eyes that couldn’t be imitated.
I took the cup with zero intentions of swallowing any pill he gave me. Something caught my eye as I tapped the pill into my hand. There were five small, neat digits written on the inside of the rim.
8-8-3-1-0
My pulse spiked with anticipation.
Desi’s gaze flicked to mine for just a second.
“Tonight, Mr. Branson wants to meet you in the parlor for a nightcap to discuss your role as first lady. Pete will not be in attendance, but he will be nearby.”
I nodded, pretended to take the pill, and handed the cups back to Desi.
“Don’t think for a second that you’re some saint. You have blood on your hands, too.”
He nodded and left without another word. The numbers raced through my head until I was certain I’d never forget.
I lay back on the bed and stared at the familiar ceiling of my grand cage, mentally preparing for my escape. If Desi wasn’t fucking with me, then I read his message loud and clear.
Leave and take Pete with me.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Kiyah
The lock clicked, and the sound snapped every nerve in my body like a tightrope. I sat up slowly and schooled my face into a neutral expression as the door opened. One of Todd’s men stood in the doorway with a hand firmly resting on his sidearm. He intended to be threatening, but he wasn’t in a position to threaten me. If Todd wanted to take me out, then he’d do it himself, just like he did with his wife.
“He’s ready for you.”
I nodded, pushing myself to my feet. My body felt stiff, and my muscles were sore, but I welcomed the ache because Dad taught us that pain meant awareness, and awareness meant control.
“Try that shit you did earlier, and I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head,” he threatened when I passed him. I didn’t smart off because I needed to appear timid and compliant—only then would they drop their guard.
I walked beside the man without speaking, and a memory resurfaced halfway down the staircase.
The garage.
The five digits belonged to the garage. I’d never had the code because I hadn’t needed it. Todd preferred drivers. Pete and I had always been ushered into back seats with dark-tintedwindows, ferried wherever we were needed. Then, I thought he was hypervigilant about our safety, but now I knew it wasalwaysabout control.
We entered the parlor that glowed with warm lights that were meant to be soothing and calming. Todd was already there, seated in his favorite chair with a crystal glass in one hand and a bottle open on the side table. The bastard looked relaxed—pleased with himself, uncaring that lives had ended and his son had been injured by his own hands.
“Kiyah,” he said, smiling as if we were old friends meeting for a drink instead of captor and captive. “You cleaned yourself up,” he said, motioning his glass up and down my body, admiring the athleisure set I wore. I ignored his assessment and asked the only thing that mattered.