“Yes, for Stella we will start a war,” Jay replied. “To get her back, I’d go to war with the whole damn world. I’d burn everything down. Kill every last man, woman and child. Do you have a problem with that?”
Hector met Jay’s gaze evenly. Hector was married. With one kid. Had as far as Jay knew—and Jay knew almost everything—never stepped out on his woman, though he was an attractive motherfucker and had some of the finest women in the city coming on to him.
“No, sir, I do not have a problem with that.”
Jay nodded curtly. “Then go and burn down the fucking warehouses.”
Two Hours Later
Jay took off his jacket and laid it carefully on a chair. He squeezed his left sleeve where Stella had sewn a heart made of ruby.
She had done it to every single one of his suits, of which he had many. She’d sewn them all herself. He’d found her in their closet, her fingers bleeding. Of course, he’d pulled her up, grabbed her by the wrist and forbade her to make herself bleed for him every again.
She smiled. A soft, open and loving smile that was a punch to the stomach. He’d squeezed her hands so hard they’d bruise later. She didn’t make a sound of protest. “I’ll bleed for you, Jay,” she whispered. “I’ll bleed for you endlessly to show you that you wear my heart on your sleeve. That you have it with you always. I’ll bleed for you so you know that you don’t have to walk alone in this world thinking that there is nothing but darkness and hurt for you there.”
The memory of that almost brought him to his knees.
Jay steeled himself, finding the part of him that wasn’t human. It was smaller now, felt foreign, but that was what he needed. To be with Stella, he needed to hold on to his humanity. To find her, he had to abandon it all together.
But something stopped him.
Some people.
They came in threes.
The women.
First, Wren called.
Jay had no idea how she’d found out what happened, being in Nepal of all places, not speaking with Karson and—as far as he knew—not being a part of a criminal organization. What mattered is that she found out and that she was on the phone. Jay did not want to talk to Wren. He did not need to hear the ghost of what had been killed inside her that day. It filled him with too much regret and terror. Terror that he might find Stella distorted and empty like Wren was now, if he found her at all.
But he couldn’t bring himself to hang up on Wren either.
“I’m getting her back,” he said firmly when Wren made it known she was aware of Stella’s kidnapping.
“Of course you’re getting her back,” she agreed.
That stunned him. Stunned him mute. The blind faith in her voice. The confidence. The trust. Wren actually trusted him to get her back. After everything he’d done to Wren, she still trusted him.
Fuck.
“She’s pregnant, Jay,” Wren’s voice was small, but it was roar in Jay’s ears. He couldn’t hear a single thing beyond his ruined heart beating, thundering, cracking at his bones.
“She didn’t tell me because she didn’t want to hurt me. Didn’t want to share her joy in the face of my sorrow,” Wren sucked in a breath, and Jay marveled that he could still hear her since it seemed his entire body was shutting down.
“But I knew. A good girlfriend knows. We all knew.”
Jay still didn’t speak. He couldn’t fucking speak.
“Okay, I’m guessing you’re in some kind of waking coma because despite your badass alpha male skills, you didn’t notice that she was pregnant,” Wren continued. “But you’ve had shit going on, so don’t be too hard on yourself. Our girl is strong. She’s going to be okay. Until you find her, she’ll be okay. I’m on the next flight home. If she’s not back in your house eating pork rinds by the time I get home, I swear to fuck, I’ll go and get her myself.”
And then she hung up, leaving him with all of that.
Leaving him paralyzed.
The second came not long after the phone call. After he’d stared at the walls of his office in shock and fury, trying to digest what Wren had told him.
Pregnant.
Stella was fucking pregnant.
Jay went over every moment of the past three months. Then he cursed himself. Would’ve found a whip and fucking flagellated himself if he’d had the ability to move. Almost three months. And she hadn’t had her period. And he hadn’t fucking noticed. One month, perhaps, considering what had been going on.
No.
Even one month was unacceptable. There was no excuse for him losing focus, for him not noticing every single thing about his wife. He’d let himself become so consumed with losing her that he’d begun losing her in an entirely different way.