Jason took a seat on the coffee table directly across from Micah, gun still in hand, but it was fairly relaxed by his side. “Because if Damon ever procreates, his children will automatically inherit the family business,” he spoke slowly, like Micah was dense. “If, however, Damon remains childless, his sister’s sons are first in line to inherit. Caprice is the oldest. Why do you think I married such a frigid bitch in the first place?” Jason shook his head. “Of course, if I had known the useless whore would take so damn long to get pregnant, I probably would have passed her up for Joelle. But what’s done is done. She’ll have my son eventually.” Jason eyed Micah pointedly. “Not that any of that will matter if she’s cast off before the boy is even conceived. Thus, the source of my problem – the cause of her feud with Damon – needs to be eradicated.”

Micah needed to be eradicated, is what he meant.

Micah was stuck between feeling bad for Caprice because she was married to a manipulative, power-hungry psychopath who obviously didn’t care about her beyond her reproductive organs, and annoyed with the woman that her irrational hatred of him had put Micah in the guy’s crosshairs to begin with.

“If you’re so convinced that I need to be ‘eradicated’, then why haven’t you shot me already?” Micah asked sharply, because, apparently, he was an idiot.

“Don’t think that I won’t,” Jason snapped back, fingers tightening noticeably around the gun. “But I prefer not to. Shooting people… it’s a messy business, and there are plenty of other ways to off someone without spraying the evidence of the crime all over your house.” With that, Jason stood, pulling something out of the pocket of his suit jacket and placing it on the coffee table.

Micah stiffened when he recognized the items. A small vial of clear liquid and a syringe with a needle.

“You’re a prostitute,” Jason said, tone indifferent. “They overdose all the time. Hookers live harsh lives, after all. I imagine they’re constantly haunted by all the things they’ve been forced to do to survive – even those being pursue by surprisingly soft billionaires. Heroin provides a tempting temporary escape. Though, of course, it won’t be so temporary for you.”

Micah took a deep breath in through his nose, knowing he would have to make his move soon if he wanted to get out of this alive. “Damon will never believe it,” he protested, carefully rotating his hands as much as the zip ties allowed, attempting to gradually shift the locking mechanism of the makeshift cuffs so that it was positioned exactly in the tiny space between his wrists. “He knows I don’t do drugs.”