Chapter 8

The rain was coming down harder now, turning the city into a blur of lights and water. Sterling carried Desiree into the underground parking garage, his jaw clenched tight. He dumped her unceremoniously into the back seat of the Rolls-Royce.

"Gus, her apartment. Fast," Sterling ordered, sliding into the seat beside her and slamming the door.

The car pulled out into the chaotic Manhattan traffic. The wipers beat a frantic rhythm against the windshield. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating.

Desiree was still gasping, her hand clutching her chest. But when Sterling turned his head to look out the window, her gasps stopped. Her face smoothed out. The fear and pain vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory calculation.

Up in the VIP suite, Kenzie was pressed against the glass, her tiny hands leaving prints on the window. She stared down at the black car disappearing into the city. She closed her eyes and pushed her mind out, stretching her telepathic abilities to their absolute limit.

Static crackled in her brain. The distance was making the connection fuzzy. Then, like a radio tuning into a station, Desiree's thoughts blasted into Kenzie's mind, loud and clear.

"You idiot," Desiree was thinking, a triumphant sneer in her mental voice. "You actually fell for it. You're taking me right where I want you to go."

Kenzie's heart dropped. She listened in horror as the plan unfolded in Desiree's twisted mind.

"The GHB is in the liquor cabinet. Just one drink and you'll be putty in my hands. The cameras are already rolling. 360 degrees, high definition. By morning, every board member of the Coleman Group will have a copy of you in bed with me."

Kenzie broke out in a cold sweat. GHB. The date rape drug. It was colorless, odorless, and completely destroyed a person's ability to resist or remember.

"Once the video is out, you'll be begging to marry me to save the family name. And half the trust fund will be mine," Desiree's thoughts gloated.

Kenzie snapped her eyes open. She screamed in her mind, a desperate, piercing warning. "She's setting you up! It's a honey trap! GHB in the drinks! Cameras in the bedroom! She's going to film you and blackmail the entire family!"

Devin was standing by the window, lighting a cigar. The lighter flame paused an inch from the tip. The words "GHB," "cameras," and "blackmail" hit him like a physical force.

He let the lighter snap shut. He didn't doubt the voice. Not anymore. But the implications were staggering. A sex tape involving the Coleman heir would be a disaster of nuclear proportions.

"You have to stop him!" Kenzie yelled, her mental voice raw with urgency. "Once he drinks that, it's over! The stock will tank! The board will revolt! You'll lose billions!"

The mention of the stock price and the billions was the final push. Devin's eyes went cold. He crushed the unlit cigar in his fist, grinding the expensive tobacco into dust over the carpet. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sterling's number.

It rang. And rang. And went to voicemail.

In the back of the Rolls-Royce, Desiree smiled. Her hand was in her purse, her finger resting on the button of a small, portable signal jammer. She always kept the jammer with her when meeting Sterling, a precaution to ensure their private conversations remained private and couldn't be tracked by corporate spies. Tonight, however, it served a much darker purpose. She had come prepared.

Sterling looked at his phone, seeing the "No Signal" icon. He tossed it onto the dashboard in annoyance. "Dead zone," he muttered.

Devin tried again. And again. Nothing. The calls weren't even going through.

"She's jamming the signal!" Kenzie realized, panic clawing at her throat. "She's not taking any chances! Devin, she's going to destroy him! You have to go! Now!"

Devin didn't need to be told again. He turned on his heel, his coat flaring out behind him. He strode out of the room, his face a mask of lethal intent.

"Arthur!" he barked as he hit the hallway. "Get the car. The fastest one. Now!"