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“There’s nothing you can say.” She tipped her head back, mumbling under her breath. “I’m getting ready for work and you’re not going to stop me. You can come along, but I’m not halting my life for anyone. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand.” He nodded several times. “And do you understand you have no choice? I’m going to be with you whether you like it or not.”
Destiny set her drink down with a hard thud. “I can’t stop you.”
“I need to know about Michael’s father. You will tell me the details, won’t you?”
“Patient doctor privilege.”
“Your damn morals could be your death.”
“So be it.” She left the kitchen after giving him a harsh look.
He exhaled and pounded his hand against the wall. The shit was getting deep.
* * *
Christopher gripped the steering wheel with both hands. Going to Destiny’s house had been ridiculous. Flowers? Even more so. He was off his game. She was his submissive, his prize, not his love interest. Then there was the detective. He gunned the gas pedal, flying through the intersection. There was no denying he’d seen a vision when he’d touched the officer’s hand. Perhaps he’d been hallucinating. Either way, the detective had a professional interest in the club. What did he want? He’d read about the murders. Hints tied the horrific events to the BDSM community. He certainly couldn’t allow himself to get caught in the web.
He brushed his hand through his hair and had to face the fact that Destiny was close to the man, but how much so? He wasn’t used to having a rival, not in business or in pleasure. Steven Drummand could certainly ascertain. He laughed as he headed for the office. He was going to find out everything he could about Detective Montana Givens and everyone had a secret. He refused to lose her to another man.
The recent threats from Stephen’s attorney had left him on edge, but he declined to succumb to the man’s tyranny. The project was continuing. He couldn’t afford to go into the winter months without having the facility under roof. He was going to end the bullshit today. No man was going to attempt to blackmail him into reversing the Decision Committee’s decision. Every future acquisition depended on every one of his actions from now on. He would show no mercy. The very thought brought him back to reality. Today was all about crushing his opponent. The rest would have to wait.
He drove into the parking garage and into his private spot. Cutting the engine, he sat quietly as he thought about Jade’s comments. There was more to the story behind Destiny and her involvement with the cop. Jade’s warning he would heed, if not for himself, for the woman he would own soon enough.
After grabbing his briefcase, he headed for the elevator. A sudden rush of adrenaline was followed by a sharp pain in his head. Doubling over, he fell against a car as his heart rate increased. His vision blurry, he tried to control his breathing, but the effort only increased the anguish.
Die! You will die…
The images were startling, an all-consuming fire, flames eating through wood and tapestry, flesh and bone. He could hear echoes of screams and smell the acid smoke filling his lungs. Petrified, he slid down to the ground, panting as the crackling and hissing sounds increased in volume. He dropped the case and covered his ears, but the noise, the screams and pitiful wails became enhanced.
He heard the sound of his own heartbeat, thumping rapidly against his chest. Closing his eyes, the vivid colors morphed, undulating figures begging for release. A bitter taste rose from his throat, the copper taste creating bile. Blood. The sound of laughter assaulted his ears and within seconds he realized he was the one laughing hysterically. Get a grip. Calm down.
“Fuck you. You won’t beat me.” Were the words being said to a ghost or the demon living deep within?
One shallow breath became several as the images slowed down. He was unable to grasp faces, only forms and haunted eyes. Voices. He heard voices, sing-songy jargons and words, nothing making sense, but he knew they were waiting to strip him of all he had. Jerking up his head, he squinted. In the distance he could make out forms in the fog. Demons. A cold chill was replaced by rage consuming every cell. The bullshit was going to stop. He dropped his head, counting to ten. When he lifted and blinked, he could make out several figures approaching.
“No, we beat him fair and square in court.”
“If you think he’s not going to appeal, you’re nuts.”
“Why don’t we go to lunch and try and forget about the corrupt system?”
The voices became whispers, finally disappearing in the vast space.
Chastising his ridiculous behavior, Christopher wiped his eyes and used the car for leverage as he rose to his feet. He brushed off his suit and grabbed his briefcase. Whatever he’d seen had vanished. After scanning the perimeter of the garage, he exhaled and adjusted his tie. He wasn’t losing his mind. He was channeling his own darkening fears of losing all control. Clearing his throat, he took several tentative steps away from the vehicle. When there no other floating images, no ghosts attempting to drag him into hell, he rolled his eyes and walked toward the elevator.
Perhaps he needed a vacation. Plastering on a smile, he pushed away the insidious occurrence, instead turning his attention to the day’s business. Finalizing the takedown of Stephen Drummand was in order. He would take immense pleasure in ruining the man who’d become his enemy.
Click!
Hearing the single sound, he stopped but remained facing forward. He sensed there a presence but resisted moving or appearing concerned. “What do you want?” He’d give the asshole credit for attempting to make good on his threats.
“What do I want?” The laugh was bitter. Footsteps moved toward him.
Christopher exhaled and checked his watch, the moves exaggerated.
“You know what I want. Justice. I want what is mine.”
