“Well, please keep your voice down,” she says stiffly. “This needs to be a short visit, Lana.”

Short visit, my ass. I wait for her to shut the door. Watch her turn to me and gesture toward the closest chair.

I have underestimated this woman. Faced opposite her for three years but I haven’t known the level of her deceptive abilities until now. Now, in a situation where I know the truth yet am almost persuaded by her acting. I sit in her home, listen to her lie, and feed her rope. I feed her foot after foot of rope and watch her, seated in a plush red upright chair, tie a complicated noose around her neck and hang herself.

It is a masterful act. One that goes through irritation, then sympathy, then a full-breakdown of tears over ‘where our boy may be’. Her worry for him. Her terrified portrayal of a loving aunt. Played to perfection. I watch her performance with dead eyes, horrified by the ability of this woman, one who has orchestrated Brant’s life for two decades. Ran BSX during that time. Protected secrets while spinning lies of her own. I sit before her, grip the arm of a chair, and wonder where in the home Brant is.

Once the noose is tied.

Once I know her selfish loyalties.

Once I understand my enemy.

I stand.

Throw back my head and scream Brant’s name as loud as humanly possible.

Chapter 61

Jillian shoots to her feet, confusion in her eyes, her gaze darting to the right, and I take off running, up the staircase, my Uggs taking me faster than a high-heeled senior citizen can even think about moving. I scream for him, scream his name over and over as I tear down a marble hallway, my feet slamming to a halt when I hear my name, called from a few doorways back, and I whip around, bursting into a bedroom as my eyes catch sight of Jillian’s entry from the top of the stairs.

I don’t at first understand the scene. A man I’ve never seen, standing at the edge of a bed, the thrashing figure before him a tangle of sheets and movement. I come to a stop, the stranger and I staring at each other for a brief moment, then my eyes are on Brant and he smiles and it feels as if my heart will explode. “Lana,” he gasps. “Get me out of here.” Then he jerks his hands and I see restraints and my entire world goes red.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” I whirl, Jillian’s entrance into the room skirted by two employees, three flushed faces who stare at me as if preparing for battle.

“Layana,” Jillian starts, her hands patting the air in a calming fashion.

“WHO THE FUCK HAS THE KEYS TO GET HIM OUT OF THOSE?” I point to the shackles *ohmygod* that hold Brant down. Hold him down, as if he is f**king dangerous. Or insane. Or anything other than Brant, my gorgeous brilliant man, currently tied down like an animal.

“We had to restrain him. He was violent.”

“No I wasn’t,” Brant speaks from behind me.

“You don’t know what you were!” Jillian snaps.

“You,” I snarl. “You don’t have the right to f**king talk to him anymore. I’m taking him with me right now.”

“Language,” Jillian clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “It’s nice to see the trash that lies beneath that blue blood smile, Layana.”

I look at her in disbelief. “My language? That’s what you want to discuss right now? While you have Brant tied down?” I look from the strangers face to her employees, all who look unsure. “WHO THE FUCK HAS THE KEYS?” I scream, my own hold on rationality questionable.

“I do.” The man in the room steps forward. Pulls a key chain from his pocket and looks to Jillian. I move in between them, blocking his view, and point to the bed.

“Untie him.”

“Don’t move, George,” Jillian’s voice rings out.

I step forward, snatching the key ring from the man and move to the bed. Meet Brant’s eyes while freeing his right hand. “I love you,” I breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he responded.

“Shut up baby.” I turn to his leg strap and come chest to chest with Jillian, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with an iron grip.

“Please call Duane and Jim,” she says crisply to the women behind her. “I need them to get over here immediately.”

I jerk my hand back, twisting it until her fingers lose their grip. I place both hands on her chest and shove, the woman letting out a cry as she stumbles back, her legs giving out and falling to the floor. “Stop!” I cry at the uniformed women, their exit paused as two pinched faces turn to me. “Right now,” I gasp. “You have a decision to make. You are, I assume, both BSX employees. If you have any interest in future job security, I’d get over here and help me free the owner of your company.”

My car burns rubber on its Nobb Hill exit, Brant’s groan from the passenger side causing my foot to ease slightly, my eyes leaving the road for a moment to assess his condition. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just get us away from her.”

I press a button on my steering wheel, speaking when the tone sounds. “Call Home.”

I reach over and grip Brant’s hand, my fingers looping through his. An interlocking squeeze that I don’t want to ever lose.

The ringing through the speakers ends, replaced by the efficient voice of one of our security personnel. “Sharp residence, this is Len Rincon. Good morning, Ms. Fairmont.”

“Len, I’m with Brant. We’ll be arriving home in about ten minutes. I want the house on lockdown. No one coming in or out unless you talk to me. Especially not Jillian Sharp.”