All Chapters of Daddies Taste Better : Chapter 431 - Chapter 440

His words rested against my ear like a cold blade pressed to my throat. I tried to hold my tongue, to keep my composure intact, but panic beat my pride to the draw. My mouth opened before I could stop it.“Please.”It came out raw. Ugly. The kind of sound I hadn’t made since I was a kid watching my mother swallow pills like they were candy and my father look through me like I was furniture. Begging wasn’t in my blood. Begging was for men who still thought the world might be kind if they asked nicely enough.Delgado let the silence stretch, enjoying it.“That’s more like it,” he let out, almost pleased. “See? This way we both know who has the upper hand.”I clenched my jaw so hard I tasted blood. “It’s a good thing,” Delgado continued, “that you have information valuable enough to exchange for Saraphina.”My pulse kicked. The metallic taste of blood filling my tongue.“I’ll send you an address,” he said. “You have three hours to get there.”Three hours.A cold sweat broke across

“Don’t worry, you fucking won’t.” I grabbed a scrap of paper off the dresser, my hand shaking with something between rage and adrenaline, then snatched a pen and started scrawling across it, the ink bleeding through in jagged, hurried strokes. When I was done, I folded it once, hard enough that the crease cut into my thumb, and shoved it against James’s chest so forcefully he had to catch it or let it hit the floor. “You care about me too fucking much to actually put your hands on me. We both know it.”“Noah—”“Don’t look at it,” I snapped, cutting him off before he could say whatever useless, careful thing he was about to say.James’s fingers closed around the paper on instinct, muscle memory kicking in before his brain caught up, but he didn’t unfold it. He just stood there, staring at me like he was trying to memorize my face in case this was the last time he’d get the chance.“If I don’t make it back,” I went on, “then you should know it yourself.”James was a man of few emotions,

I turned toward the mansion and climbed the steps two at a time, pushed through the front doors hard enough that they nearly slammed.The entrance hall was too bright after the dark of the driveway, all that light stinging my eyes, and I’d barely started for the stairs when I saw her.Celeste.She was awake. Wide awake, actually, standing there like she’d been carved out of the shadows near the staircase. A dark robe was tied at her waist, cinched tight, her hair loose and messy around her shoulders like she’d been running her hands through it for a while. She looked like she’d been waiting without wanting to admit she was waiting, that particular brand of bullshit composure people put on when they don’t want to look as scared as they actually are.The second she saw me, her eyes cut past my face and straight to the door I’d come through, searching for the rest of the story.“What happened?” she asked.I opened my mouth, but before I could fumble together some half-assed version of

Then the trees broke. A clearing opened up in front of a sagging, rotted-out cabin, a single light spilling across the grass like Delgado wanted me to see every ugly inch of what he’d staged — every detail of his sick little production. And there she was. Saraphina. Tied to a single tree, ropes cutting into her arms hard enough to bruise. Mouth taped, muffled sounds tearing out from behind it. Eyes blown wide and wet, streaked with tears and terror, locking onto mine the second I broke the treeline. The device strapped to her chest was impossible to miss even from the edge of the clearing — wires, a black box, a countdown staring back at me in hard red numbers, ticking down like a goddamn heartbeat. Two minutes. Two fucking minutes. I didn’t remember crossing the grass. One second I was at the tree line, the next I was in front of her, hands shaking so hard I almost couldn’t make them work. “I’ve got you,” I said, or I thought I said it. It came out wrecked, cracked down the m

The clearing held its breath.I looked at her instead of him. The dirt on her palms and the red burning across her face. That stubborn glare still burning like she hadn’t just been slapped down in front of me for sport. She was shaking and she was furious and she was alive, and that last part was the only thing I had left to protect.James’s voice tried to crawl up my throat. Thousands of lives. Wrong hands. Don’t do this.Then Delgado’s grip tightened a fraction on her wrist, and James could go to hell.“Fine,” I hissed.The word tasted like rust.Delgado’s eyes sharpened. “Say it.”“Four.”“Six.”“One.”“Nine.”“Three.”“Seven.”“Zero.”“Eight.”“Two.”“Five.”“Four.”“One.”“Six.”“Nine.”“Zero.”“Seven.”“Three.”“Five.”“Eight.”“Two.”“One.”Twenty-one digits, torn out of me one by one, each number its own small, filthy betrayal, and I hated myself more with every syllable, especially with the way Delgado’s smile widened, hated the way his men eased their grip like the fight had