The Billionaire's Christmas Bride (Big Bad Billionaires #3) - L. Steele Page 0,95

growing the family name. I’d do anything for it."

"Including getting married and producing an heir, no doubt?" I scowl.

"If that’s what’s needed of me, I won’t shirk my duties." Liam wipes the edges of his lips with his napkin.

"You’re getting married?" Amelie leans forward, her gaze sparkling. "Who’s the lucky woman?"

"Someone I haven’t met yet," he says coolly.

"So, you don’t know her, but you're marrying her?" She frowns.

"Until he does, he doesn’t get to take over the family business," Kirsten explains. "Nor, for that matter, can Weston."

"Huh?" Amelie scowls across the table.

I stiffen, nudge Kirsten with my knee. She shuffles away. Fuck! Why do little sisters always have to be such a pain?

"Explain," Amelie insists.

"Until both of my brothers marry, and specifically for Liam, until he produces an heir, they cannot get access to the family business—"

"—Or to their trust funds," my mother completes the sentence. "It’s tradition," she elaborates. "Something decreed by my husband’s grandfather, and which I hope my sons will honor."

"And Kirsten?" Amelie asks.

"I don’t count," she smirks. "Only a woman, after all, and all that."

"And you know your father changed his will to ensure that you inherit your share of the money," Mother retorts.

"I don’t get access to the company," she protests.

"Do you want access to the company?"

"Guess not," she admits. "Still, it would have been nice if Dad had given me the choice."

"He made sure you'd be taken care of—"

"Not that Kirsten would have lacked for anything, as long as I am here." Patrick folds his arm around her and pulls her close.

Amelie’s features grow wistful and she glances from Kirsten to me. I glare at her, she bites down on her lower lip, and damn it, of course, my cock instantly notices.

I hold her gaze. She looks away, raises her glass, "A toast to Kirsten and Patrick." She smiles.

I glance over to my mother, who seems surprised. Then she surprises me, by raising her glass. "A toast." She coughs, rubs at her chest.

"You okay?" I frown.

"Never been better," she smiles, the skin stretching around her mouth. A gleam of sweat glistens on her forehead. She raises her glass in her left hand, her dominant hand, which trembles. All of my senses pop. My visions, tunnels. Even before the glass slips from her fingers, I rise, then rush over to her. I catch her as she sinks into her chair, her breathing ragged, her skin pallid.

"Liam," I snap at my brother, "call an ambulance."

He jumps to his feet so fast, his chair topples over with a crash. He pulls out his phone, walks away as he dials.

I hear the sound of Max barking. Phe begins to cry, then is hushed. More chairs being shoved back, the slap of footsteps on the floor, then Hunter and Patrick crowd me. "Move back," I snap, and they comply

"Weston," my mother whispers as I lower her to the ground. Sweat beads her upper lip, "Weston." She coughs again.

"Don’t talk," I say.

I reach for my mother's wrist to check her pulse and glimpse the steel band attached to her watch—the bloody watch that my father presented to her when they got married; the one she’d put away after the incident, when she’d found out about my trigger. Why the hell is she wearing it? My heart begins to race, the blood thundering at my temples. I stare at the watch—the hands on the face, the big hand moving fast, so fast, the small hand following pace, the countdown for my life as my kidnapper had hauled me into the small room across the corridor from where I had been imprisoned with the rest, as he’d tied me to the chair, attached the rigged clock to my chest. "Will you survive it this time? Follow the countdown, the ticking of the clock as it edges closer to the end."

He’d ripped off my blindfold—the light had cast his face in shadow so I hadn't been able to get a good look at him—then left me with only the ticking for company, and I had screamed against the gag, tried to pull free. "If you move, the bomb goes off. If you disturb the clock, it goes off. If you so much as breathe too hard…it goes off. Hell, if you so much as live…it may go off… Will you survive this round?" His voice echoes through my head. I stare at the moving hands of the watch.

"What do you think, Weston?" my kidnapper asks. "Will you live or will you die this