43. Blake

CHAPTER 43

Blake

G lancing at my watch, I groan. How is it only nine in the morning? I’ve been up for hours, yet every time I look at the clock it’s only been five minutes since the last time I looked. One o’clock this afternoon, when I’m meeting Gin, seems like forever away.

I lean back in my chair, stare at the ceiling, and go over all the things I want to say to her in person. She thinks we’re meeting to settle the divorce, but first I’m going to get on my knees, confess my feelings for her, and beg for a chance to make this work between us. One chance is all I need, now that I realize what an astronomical fool I’ve been. All of my excuses to not fall in love with her aren’t important anymore.

She’s too young and sweet for me. That’s what I love most about her. How much she cares, how she treats me like she really sees me and not just my money.

She’s a gold-digger. She’s spent twenty-two point four million dollars of my money and I don’t give a fuck. In fact, she can have it all, if it makes her happy. All I want is her happiness.

I always thought I was better off alone, but a month without her has been agony. I buried myself in putting Yve behind bars, not fully acknowledging the aching emptiness in my chest until I went to get my wife, only to find her not there.

Now I have to make a fucking appointment to talk to her? Abruptly, I push to my feet. That’s bullshit. I’m not waiting another goddamn minute. Selfless, nice Blake can die a slow death for all I care because this isn’t working. This isn’t who I am. I can’t be a better man for Gin, she’ll have to take me as I am, flaws and all.

I’m going to get my wife back. Right. Now.

My phone rings and I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration before answering. “Baron.”

“Blake,” Yve voice purrs on the other end, and I stiffen. She’s in prison, what the fuck does she want? “I’ve reconsidered what I told you at the courthouse, you can have your mother’s possessions. However, you’ll have to get there in thirty minutes or everything goes up in flames.”

She gives me an address in Long Beach on the bay, an hour's drive from Manhattan.

“That's impossible,” I tell her.

“Well, you’re the all-powerful Blake Baron, if you break a few traffic laws and the speed limit, you might be able to make it. Though I’d personally love to see it incinerated.” She hangs up and I have the sudden urge to pay off her cellmate to murder her. Actually, that’s not a bad idea.

But first, I have to make it to that warehouse in Long Beach by nine forty-five. Wasting no time, I sprint to the garage and grab the keys to my cherry red Ducati. I’m out on the street in seconds, racing to my destination.

Running several lights, I weave around vehicles in the 495 tunnel, where traffic is a clusterfuck, before emerging onto the freeway. I’m halfway to the 678 exit when my phone rings, another unknown number, and I answer it through my helmet’s speaker system.

“What?” I bark, out of patience with Yve’s fucking game playing. I wouldn’t be driving like a maniac, risking my life and the lives of others, if I didn’t want the few things of my mother’s that I saved after my father tossed everything he could, right before her funeral. They’re my last connection to her after her death—besides Liam. I’ve never told him this, but he looks so much like her it’s gut-wrenching at times.

“Baron, why the rude greeting?” Oz’s smug voice comes through my helmet’s headset.

I keep my eyes on the road. “What the fuck do you want? Prison not to your liking?”

“It was fun while it lasted. Kind of a short stay though. You see, you’re not the only one with resources and powerful friends. Now I’m breathing the fresh air of freedom.” He deeply inhales. “It’s so good.”

Motherfucker! He broke out of prison. How did I not know about this?

“What do you want, Oz?”

“I assume you’re on your way to a warehouse in Long Beach, probably racing to get there in time. But you didn’t think we’d make it that easy for you, did you?”

“What the fuck do you want?” I yell at him.

“I’ve got something precious to you. Ginny’s out cold at the moment, but she’ll come round soon enough. Stupid bitch keeps putting up a fight when she should know better by now.”

Son of a bitch.

“So, Baron, I’m going to give you a choice. You can either get to that warehouse in time, or you can come save your little slut. We’ve just pulled up to her parents’ house. The decision is all yours.”

The call ends and I shout in frustration. My chest clenches at the loss of my mother’s last remaining worldly possessions, because it already knows the choice I’ve made.

No one touches my wife and lives. Not anymore.

Cutting across traffic, I get off at the next exit, turn my motorcycle around, and head back the way I came. The sooner I get to the Pontrelli house the better. Who knows what that psycho has done to my wife. I can’t wait to kill the fucker.