Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 152710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 509(@300wpm)
Chapter 4
Damian
The men around the table stare at me, their expressions varying from angry to downright murderous. I’m offering to buy them out, the price well below the current value of their shares. They’ll accept. I have dirt on both of the fat bastards who’d sat at Dalton’s table the night he condemned me.
“Stone.” I push a stack of photos of him with his cock in a stripper’s mouth across the table.
Women are his weakness. His marriage won’t survive this particular weakness, and his wife owns the wealth. The very investment in Dalton Diamonds, the money that helped bring this corporation off the ground, came from Mrs. Max Stone. She’ll strip him naked and throw him to the wolves.
He glares at me, rebelliously refusing to look at the photos my industrious private investigator provided.
Warren’s turn is next. His weakness is getting high while having his ass pummeled by his masseur during his weekly appointment. Said massages he claims back from his medical aid fund for health reasons. The high-res images are a colorful array of him on his hands and knees, butt naked with his stomach hanging on the floor. It only gets more colorful as oily dicks join the picture.
“Jesus.” He flicks the images over and puts a hand on his forehead. His face has gone from white to red.
“You son of a bitch,” Stone says.
“Careful with the insults, Stone.” I distribute the files. “Your contracts, gentlemen.”
They both sign, agreeing not only to sell out to me, but also giving me their votes for acquiring my portion of the shares.
“Nice doing business with you,” I say as I collect the signed contracts. “Keep the photos. Consider it my parting gift.”
“Fuck you,” Warren says.
“I don’t think so. From where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s fucked.”
“You don’t know it yet, buddy,” Stone says, spit flying over the table, “but that mine is dead. If you think you’ve struck the jackpot, think again. You’re going under.”
I clip my satchel closed. “We’ll see.”
Fuck, yes. It feels good to stand on the other side of the table. If I’m playing dirty, Dalton only has himself to blame. He set that wheel turning.
Lina
The nightmares are less frequent now, but I have a particularly bad one that night. It’s so terrifying, I wake not only myself, but also Zane who comes charging into the room in pajama bottoms, looking like a bull fuming from the nose. Handcuffed to the bed, I’m unable to escape his fury.
He shakes me until my teeth chatters. “Shut the fuck up. You’re waking the whole damn house.”
Meaning him. Jana doesn’t stay on site.
I refuse to apologize. I can’t help my dreams, and even if I could, I’ll never say sorry to him.
“You’re high maintenance, you know that?” Mumbling, “Stupid, rich bitch,” under his breath, he walks from the room to return with a glass of water and a pill, which he holds out at me.
“Take this.”
I turn my face sideways. “No. What is it?”
“If you don’t drink it, I’ll shove a suppository up your ass. You choose.”
He grips my face and turns it back, applying enough pressure to force my jaw open. When my lips part, he pushes the pill onto my tongue with his thumb, making me gag. I have no choice but to dry swallow. The pill gets stuck in my throat, the bitterness lingering, but he doesn’t offer me the water.
“What did you give me?”
“A sleeping pill.”
“I don’t take sleeping pills.”
“You do now.”
“I could be allergic.”
“I know you’re not allergic to food or medicine and that you get a rash from cheap brands of sun cream. I know you don’t have STDs and that your period is irregular. I know all of this because Dami left me with a medical file the size of an encyclopedia.”
Oh, God. He read the file. I feel the blood drain from my face, because it’s hard to act tough when your enemy knows your worst humiliations.
“Yes, Lina. I know about your eating disorders and suicide attempt. I know about your exhibitionist tendencies and persecution syndrome. I know you married your ex-husband for money and kept it all to yourself after driving him to suicide. I know everything there is to know about you, so don’t you forget that.”
“You know nothing about me.” It’s a cliché, and it sounds flat, but it’s the truth.
“Dami deserves better than you.”
“I’m not the one who forced him to marry me.”
“He didn’t have a choice. He needed the money to get back his mine, and the only way was marrying you.”
Damian didn’t tell him money isn’t the only reason. Sex is apparently also high on his list. “Are you justifying what he did?”
“He’s a good man, the best I know. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
I snort.
His face contorts with fresh anger. “No one knows Dami like I do. Now put a cork in it, or I’ll gag you.”