Heart of the Devil (The Forge Trilogy #3)(21)

“As grumpy as a lion with a thorn in his paw, but he’ll be fine. The doctor was already here to check on him, and said he’ll recover just fine. Mr. Forge got a clean bill of health too, and he has the doc on standby should Goliath need anything. He also called Donnigan, Koba, and Bates’s families,” she says with a sad expression etching lines around her mouth.

This time the guilt doesn’t come as a rush, but a stab to the heart. “Oh God. I should’ve . . . I should’ve been there. It was my fault.”

Dorsey’s chin snaps up, and she stares at me in disbelief. “They were doing their jobs, ma’am. They all know the risks they face.”

“Still . . .” I wrap my arms around my torso. “I wish I could take it all back.”

“Are you looking for Mr. Forge?” Dorsey asks, changing the subject before the tears shimmering in my eyes can fall.

“Yes, if you could point me in his direction, that would be great.”

“He’s in his office, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Dorsey.”

She gives me a polite nod, and then disappears into the kitchen. I assume she’s heading out through the back of the house to bring Goliath his supplies in his small house that’s part of the employee compound at the rear of the island.

I make my way to the office and find the door closed. When I knock, I’m met with silence.

Okay . . . maybe Dorsey was wrong?

I back away to continue my search, but I don’t make it two steps before the heavy wooden door swings open behind me with Jericho filling the threshold. I spin around to face him, and he doesn’t look like he slept at all. His eyes are bloodshot and his dark hair is a wild mess, like he’s been jamming his hands into it over and over.

“Are you okay?” I ask him quietly.

“We need to talk.” The grim tone matches Jericho’s appearance, and my stomach dips as I follow him into his office. He shuts the door behind me with an ominous click.

“Okay. Whatever you need.”

He doesn’t look at me until he rounds his desk and sits behind it like he’s purposely putting distance between us. But why? Apprehension swirls in my chest.

Jericho pulls a manila folder out of the drawer and slides it across the wood toward me.

“What’s that?”

He nods at the folder. “You need to sign it.”

“Okay . . . what is it?”

Jericho flips it open and spins it around to face me.

I take two steps closer on unsteady legs and look down at the document.



Petition for Divorce





I blink three times, but the title of the document doesn’t change.

I jerk my head up to stare at him. His haggard appearance has a completely different meaning than it did only seconds ago. Disbelief tears through me as my hands go clammy and my stomach lurches, sending acid burning up my throat.

“What . . . why . . .”

“Because I want a divorce.”

I choke on the sour taste in my mouth as he says the words. This isn’t happening. I’m still dreaming. Right? I pinch my arm, and the sting tells me I’m wide awake.

“I . . . I don’t understand. Why?”

His gaze turns flinty. “I never should have married you to begin with. It was a mistake.”

A mistake.

My lower lip wobbles as I try to speak, but no words come out. But Jericho—no, this is Forge—doesn’t need me to respond. He keeps going.

“I promised you a hundred seventy-five million, but I’ve doubled it to three fifty. Half will be deposited into your account as soon as you sign. The other half when it’s final.”

I search the harsh planes and angles of his face for an explanation as to how he could do this now, but there’s nothing there except his rigid jaw and eyes like the sea at midnight. Fathomless. Bottomless. Completely empty.

“I don’t understand. What the hell is really going on here?” I shake my head, like it’s going to help me come up with a rational reason. Then one hits me.

The deal with my father. Jericho only needed me as long as it took for him to close the deal.

My stomach twists, and I stumble back. “You signed it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Now you need to sign.” Jericho shoves the papers toward the edge of the desk and tosses a pen on top of them.

“You used me, and as soon as you got what you wanted, you’re throwing me out.” I choke on the words, and my voice is thick with tears. Frozen fingers wrap around my heart and rend it in half. But my devastation has no effect on him.

He stares at me from behind his desk, his hands gripping the arms of his leather chair, like I’m nothing. “I told you, I made a mistake. I’m fixing it.”

I jab a finger at him. “You’re an asshole. A fucking asshole. You get my father to sign the deal, and then you just—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, bending forward. “I didn’t sign the deal with your father. We haven’t done shit with it since before Prague.”

Blood roars in my ears as I try to put the pieces together. “Then . . . then why . . .” I look down at the papers in front of me.

He didn’t sign the deal, and he still wants me gone. It makes what’s happening a hundred times worse.