Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,82

won’t be any baby. Do you think I didn’t plan for that?”

“What?”

“The shot, Ivy. It was a birth control shot.”

“Dr. Chambers gave me a birth control shot?”

He nods.

“But you said it was vitamins.”

“Christ.” He shakes his head like I’m the stupidest person he’s ever met. “That was for that fat fuck Holton’s sake.” He steps closer, brushing my bangs forward to cover my eye. “Hide that. It’s off-putting.”

“You had Dr. Chambers give me a birth control shot? Then why agree to let Santiago have me in the first place if you don’t like him?”

“You don’t say no to a Sovereign Son, do you? Not if you want to have any standing in The Society. I have to go. You let me know who Holton talks to. I’m not asking for much so try not to fuck it up.” He’s almost to the front door when I think of something.

“How long?”

“How long what?” he asks, sounding exasperated.

“Birth control. How long is it good for?”

“Two or three months.”

“And Dr. Chambers knew?”

“He gave you the shot, didn’t he? Honestly, Ivy, some days, I wonder about your cognitive ability.”

I push a hand into my hair. Why would Dr. Chambers give me a birth control shot when he knows Santiago wants sons?

“Ivy?” Abel calls out.

I look up at him.

“Do I need to tell you not to mention the birth control to your husband?”

I shake my head.

“Good. Remember, Holton. I want to know anyone he talks to.”

28

Santiago

My eyes blur in and out of focus as I try in vain to study the monitors in my office. A constant stream of numbers inundates me. Patterns emerge. Money ebbs and flows. This is the one sanctuary I have in life. The one area I know without a doubt I can find solace. Yet it seems to evade me this past twenty-four hours.

I have spent all day holed up in this room, trying not to think about my wife and what she might be doing. Antonia has entered several times to offer me anything my black heart might desire, but her menus for the day lack the sustenance I truly crave.

I reach for the bottle of scotch, twisting the cap in my hand before I think better of it. This restless energy building up inside me is unfamiliar. I don't recognize it, and I don't know what to do with it.

"Fuck!" I growl, swiping my hand across the desk and scattering the contents around the room.

The scotch bottle shatters on the floor, and papers rain down like my fragmented thoughts. I am tempted to call Antonia back for yet another report on the current status of my wife. But I fear even she is exhausted with my constant requests for information, which so far have proven fruitless.

She tells me what she thinks I want to hear. Ivy has eaten. She has showered and dressed. She has rested. But those aren't the details I need, and in my exasperation, I find I don't know how to express what I need because I can't even identify it myself.

"Feel better?" Mercedes enters the room, eyeing the evidence of my tantrum with an arched brow, her red heels crunching over the broken glass littering the floor.

"What do you want?" I snap.

She flinches at my tone but recovers quickly as she often does, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms as she pins me with her gaze.

"What is the matter with you?" she demands. "You've been sulking around in here all day. It isn't like you."

"I'm busy," I answer shortly. "It's a concept you might understand if you had any other motivation in life besides devouring the souls of the innocent."

A dry laugh erupts from her lips as she shakes her head in disbelief. "Really, brother? You of all people are going to lecture me on morality?"

I don't know why I'm being such an asshole to her. But it can't be helped, and I'm not in the mood for a confrontation with her, which is exactly what she came here for.

She takes a seat in the vacant chair opposite my desk and crosses her legs, cocking her head to the side as she studies me. Mercedes has always had the ability to stare at you like she can see into your very soul. It's an unnerving quality, and she has used it to bring many men to heel and plead for her attention. But hell hath no fury when it doesn't work.

"I hate to break it to you, Santi." Her lips curve into a