It takes everything I have to hold back my naturally engrained vicious tongue when India shakes her head at my silent approach. She glares at me like I have no right to look over my flesh and blood before she presses her finger to her lips.
Stupidly believing she’s in control around here, she gestures for someone in the room next to Fien’s to enter before she attempts to stand to her feet.
I work my jaw side to side when she shunts away my endeavor to assist her to her feet with another brisk shake of her head. It’s clear she’s pissed. I guarantee she isn’t the only one. I basically skipped out of Roxanne’s room since my mood was so carefree and light. Now I won’t be able to take one fucking step without waking the entire continent.
“Can I speak with you outside.” Anyone who doesn’t know India would assume she’s asking a question. I don’t face that issue—regretfully. She isn’t asking for a quiet word. She’s demanding.
I should tell her to fuck off before reminding her who’s running the show around here, then I should put plans into play to change our hideout location to anywhere but here, but since India is Audrey’s best friend, and Audrey will need her support when I advise her I don’t believe couples need to stay together purely for their children, I hold back the urge—barely.
It’s a fucking hard feat. The strain is heard in my voice when I ask, “What is this about?”
India splays her hands across her hips before arching a brow. “Seriously? You’re going to act clueless as to why I’ve spent the last four hours comfortingyourdaughter.” I’m about to tell her to cut the theatrics before I do worse to her vocal cords, but she continues talking, stealing my gamble, “Your wife is in a hospital bed fighting for her life, your daughter just came out of a life-threatening ordeal, yet you spent the last four hours fucking your current side-dish whore of the month.”
I try to keep a cool head. I tell myself time and time again that I don’t give a fuck what India thinks, but I lose my cool when the word ‘whore’ rings on repeat in my ears.
Just like she did in the limousine all those months ago, India freezes like a statue when I pin her to the wall outside of Fien’s room by her throat. “Who I fuck is none of your business.” My words are as cold as ice, but as quiet as a wilted leaf blowing over a frozen pond. “It wasn’t anytime you tried to weasel your way into my bedafterI married your best friend, and it wasn’t the many times you encouraged me to move on when you thought she was dead, so why the fuck do you care now?” I don’t wait for her to answer me. I just hit her where it hurts. “Because you know Roxanne is more than a side-dish whore, and you’re worried—”
“Of course, I am. Audrey is my best friend.” She shouldn’t be able to talk through the brutal clutch I have on her throat, but as Rocco has said previously, bitches don’t stay down even when they should. “She deserves to be treated better than you’re treating her, and so does Fien.”
I compress her throat a little tighter, ensuring I get across my point before snarling out, “This hasnothingto do with Fien.”
I squeeze and squeeze and squeeze until her pulse is nearly nonexistent, and then I let her go.
A smart woman would shut the fuck up before licking her wounds in private.
India clearly isn’t smart.
“She bludgeoned herself to secure your attention, but it still wasn’t enough for you, was it? What will it take for you to pay her an ounce of attention, Dimi? Her life? Fien’s?” My hands firm into tight balls during her last question. “She fought with the strength you said she’d never have, maintained it for almost two years, yet you still ignore her.”
“You’re lying.” My short statement is an overall generalization of what she said.
I agree, Audrey is stronger, but I don’t know what to think about the first half of her statement. Audrey is a meek, shy woman who’d prefer to die a painful death than face any type of angst head-on, so it seems odd for her to use brutality as a way of demanding attention. She didn’t want my attention for the first few weeks of our ‘courtship.’ I had to show her otherwise.
India waits for our eyes to lock and hold before she shakes her head, assuring I see the truth in them. “That’s why Ollie has been trying to reach you all night. Audrey’s wounds were self-inflicted. She used the knife you dropped when you couldn’t take your eyes off Roxanne because she kneweverythingshe had strived for the past twenty-two months wasn’t going to happen. You had moved on.” When the honesty in her tone stumps me of a reply, she uses my unusual quiet to her advantage. “Prove her wrong, Dimi. Chase her like you did when she was the one rejecting you.”
“It isn’t that simple. Things have changed.”
India pulls a ‘duh’ face. Considering the intensity of our situation, her response is ridiculous. “Yeah, they have. You have a daughter together. A family—”
“And I’m going to have a child with another woman.” I almost say to a woman I love but realizing our raised voices have gained us an audience harnesses my reply. It’s barely dawn, but India’s home is brimming with people. Most are staff, but I don’t give a fuck. I hate having my personal business aired. Why do you think I’ve been so quiet about Fien’s birth? Most fathers shout their triumphs from the rooftop. I kept it under wraps because I knew it was the best way to keep her safe.
I plan to do the same now that she is freed. I’m not hiding her because I believe I am incapable of protecting her. I’m doing it so she can grow up without needing to prove she isn’t as grubby as her surname. My father shrouded our family name with so much controversy, I can’t even say it without tasting dirt.
My brows join together when India whispers, “She hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what?” I hate falling for her tricks, but I’m tired and overwhelmed, so my change-up can be easily excused.
After rising to her feet, India straightens out her nightwear before moving to stand in front of us. Her breath, which is awfully minty for the early hour, fans my lips when she says, “Roxanne isn’t pregnant. She never was.”
Now I know she is lying. I saw the test myself. From Roxanne peeing in the cup to Dr. Bates dipping the test into her urine, I saw every step—just as I did Audrey’s.
“Spurting lies will get you killed,” I spit out in warning. “It’ll do you best to remember that.”
I anticipate for India to come out swinging—she’s worse than Theresa when it comes to retaliation, so you can imagine my shock when her eyes soften a mere second before she scoops my hand into hers. “The sedative Smith gave to numb the site of Roxanne’s tracker had traces of the HGC hormone.”
She’s losing me with the technical talk. I’m a father, but I have no clue about anything related to pregnancy and hormones.
“An increase in the HCG hormone in both blood and urine usually indicates a pregnancy, but in Roxanne’s case, that isn’t what happened.” She steps back, folds her arms in front of her chest, then adds, “If you don’t believe me, ask Smith. Or better yet, the real mother of your child.”
