Damon’s fist came down so hard on the table that Micah’s plate rattled. He didn’t dare look at the man, but he knew it couldn’t be good when he saw Jason pale out of the corner of his eye. “Jason, take your wife, and leave.”

Caprice, however, didn’t seem cowed at all. She shot out of her chair. “Seriously, Damon? You’re taking his side” – she jabbed her finger at Micah – “over your own sister’s?”

“I don’t see any sides,” Damon snapped at her, standing from his own chair, and shoving her fingers out of Micah’s face. “All I see is you bullying Micah, a guest in my home – a guest who I warned you not to disrespect. You’re lucky the only thing I’m doing is throwing you out.”

“Come on, Caprice,” Jason said, standing and taking her by the elbow, “let’s just go.”

Caprice shrugged him off. “Did I say something untrue?” she demanded. “Or does the truth – that he’s nothing more than a whore – just hurt? Are you really going to deny you’re paying him for the ‘pleasure’” – the air quotations around the word were obvious – “of his company?”

Damon said nothing.

“That’s what I thought,” she said nastily.

“Like Damon doesn’t pay you,” Joelle snapped.

“That’s different; I’m his sister,” Caprice shot back.

“But I’m more than just your brother, aren’t I?” Damon’s voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes were swirling with anger, and so dark they almost looked black. You’d have to be blind not to see the danger that lurked beneath the surface. “Or do you need a reminder that I’m also the food in your belly and the roof over your head? The designer dress on your back, and the commas of your bank balance?” He sneered. “You live a very comfortable life, Caprice, but it’s at my behest. The more you speak, the more quickly you fall out of favor. For your own sake, I suggest you listen for once in your life, and get the fuck out of my sight.”

Micah was impressed Caprice managed to hold Damon’s gaze for as long as she did before her eyes finally fluttered to the ground. Spinning on her heel, she fled.

Micah didn’t know if was possible to look graceful while stomping out of a room in a fit of ill-temper, but somehow, she pulled it off.

“I’m so sorry, Damon,” Jason said, grabbing the blazer he’d slung over the back of his chair.

“It’s Micah who deserves your apology.”

“Of course.” Jason nodded eagerly before turning his sights on Micah. “Please, forgive my wife, she’s hormonal, and it’s been a long week-”