Chapter 8
Marceline let out a piercing shriek of rage, slamming her hands violently against the iron bars. "You stupid little bitch! You're going to get his son killed! Evander, don't listen to her! If you storm that boat, Leo dies!"
Evander stepped closer to the bars, his towering, powerful presence forcing Marceline to instinctively step back. The dim cellar lighting cast sharp, jagged shadows across the angular lines of his face. The loose strands of hair on his forehead gave him the look of a merciless predator staring at caged prey.
"If Graham trusts you so deeply, Marceline, why didn't he give you the disarm code?" Evander asked softly.
Marceline’s breath hitched. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words completely failed her. Her eyes darted wildly in the dim light, realizing her bluff had been called.
"Did you really believe I would let you board a plane while my son was still sitting on a rigged vessel?" Evander asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "Did you think I was that desperate, or did you think I was that foolish?"
"Evander, please!" Marceline sobbed, sinking to her knees on the freezing stone floor. "I didn't want this! I just wanted you!"
"If you wanted me, why did you sell my blood?" Evander asked, turning his back on her without an ounce of pity. He looked at the heavily armed guard stationed at the door. "Marcus, will you keep her secured until I return?"
"With pleasure, boss," Marcus growled, looking down at the weeping woman.
Evander walked past Daisy, gesturing with a slight nod of his head for her to follow him back upstairs. As they climbed the stone steps, leaving the pathetic sounds of Marceline's weeping behind them in the dark, the mansion above felt eerily, unnaturally quiet.
They reached the grand foyer. The polished marble floors brilliantly reflected the moonlight pouring in through the massive arched windows. Outside, the guttural roar of heavy, armored SUVs starting their engines echoed through the estate grounds. His private army was mobilizing for war.
Evander paused by a tall gilded mirror, checking the fit of his tailored suit, a habit born of absolute, cold composure. He looked at Daisy’s reflection in the glass. She stood small but incredibly resolute in her black and white uniform.
"Why are you still standing here, Daisy?" Evander asked, turning to face her directly.
"I have nowhere else to be, sir," Daisy replied, her expressive brows knitting together. "The staff quarters have been evacuated for security. And I... I want to know that the boy is safe."
Evander reached out, his tattooed hand hovering for a second before he gently adjusted the crisp collar of her white apron. The touch was completely unexpected, sending a jolt of electric warmth through her chest.
"Are you brave enough to ride with me to the docks, Daisy?" Evander asked.
Daisy’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. "To a firefight? Sir, I don't know how to use a weapon."
"Did I ask if you knew how to shoot, or did I ask if you were brave enough to accompany me?" Evander asked, his perceptive eyes deeply searching her softly tapered face.
May you like
Daisy swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. She looked at the man who commanded an army, a man who had lost everything and was about to tear the city apart to get it back.
"I'll come with you," Daisy answered softly.
