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“I swear to God, if you don’t put my daughter on the phone right now I’ll—”
“Jesus, would you relax? I was only kidding.” Favreaux snaps his fingers, speaking quickly to someone else in the room. “It’s not like you’re going to get much out of her. The little brat hasn’t said a thing since she got here.”
“Put her on the fucking phone,” I snap.
With a disgruntled huff, there’s a bit of shuffling. Muffled voices, the sound of a metal door creaking open. Tight, frightened breaths of a panicked child.
“Papa?” My daughter’s voice is tiny.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m here, ma chérie. I’m here.”
Odette sniffles. “Wanna go home,” she says around a soft sob.
“I’m doing everything I can, I promise. Are they taking care of you? They haven’t hurt you, right?”
“I’m okay,” she mumbles, her voice tight and heartbreaking. “Miss you, Papa.”
“I miss you, too. I swear I’m going to get you out of there. I promise I’m coming to get you.”
I don’t get a response, though I know my daughter’s still on the line because I can hear her crying. I feel fucking awful. My little girl shouldn’t have to go through any of this. I hate Favreaux for doing this to her. She’s too young to understand what’s going on. She’s an innocent, dragged into the middle of a conflict she has nothing to do with.
“I love you, Odette,” I tell her firmly. “I love you with all my heart. I’m doing everything I can to get to you. Be brave, ma chérie. Can you do that for me?”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles. “Love you, too.”
Somewhere in the background, I hear Favreaux let out a frustrated sigh. “Alright, enough.” More shuffling, along with Odette’s indignant whine of protest. “God, fatherhood’s made you a fucking sap.”
Anger grips my throat. “If you lay a fucking finger on my daughter, I will tear you limb from limb,” I snarl into the receiver.
“Relax, Lacroix. I’ve been treating her like the little princess she is. She has three square meals a day and a room all to herself.”
“Am I supposed to find that reassuring?”
“What you should find reassuring is that I always follow through on the deals I make. I won’t harm a hair on your daughter’s head so long as you do everything to get me the McHale Fortune.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m making progress.”
“I’m very glad to hear it.” I can practically hear Favreaux’s smile in his voice. “Anyways, I just wanted to give you a call to remind you what’s on the line. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
The call ends, leaving me to glare a hole into the carpeted hotel room floor.
The rage coursing through me is indescribable. I want to put my fist through the wall and my head along with it. Nothing pisses me off more than being powerless. Favreaux has me in a chokehold and heknowsit.
“Gabriel?”
Raquel stirs, rolling over in bed to face me. She blinks sleepily, the golden morning light washing over her lovely bare curves. She looks like a damn Renaissance painting, the thin sheet draped over her hips with her hair a wild mess of curls.
“Who were you talking to?” she asks around a yawn.
“Penelope,” I lie. “I was just checking on Odette. Did I wake you?”
Raquel nods, but she doesn’t look upset about it. I make my way over to her and sit on the edge of the bed, casually combing my fingers through her hair. Her smile is even brighter than the sun filtering in through the window.
“Last night was…” Raquel sighs contently. “Thank you.”
I chuckle, my tension quickly dissolving. “Told you you’d thank me.”
Raquel rolls her eyes. “Cocky bastard.”
