All Chapters of THE THIRTY-DAY GAMBLE: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

"Get out of the car, Benjamin."Jonathan didn't wait for the driver. He pushed his door open. The London rain turned his black wool coat into a dark second skin. He stood on the gravel driveway of a sprawling glass-and-steel monstrosity that looked more like a museum than a home."What is this?" I stepped out. My boots sank into the wet stone. The air smelled like damp earth and money. "Why are we here?""It’s yours." Jonathan pulled a heavy titanium card from his pocket. He held it out. "Six bedrooms. A full medical suite. Private security that reports only to me. No cameras I didn't put there myself.""You bought me a house?" I didn't take the card. My hands stayed in my pockets. "After what happened in that boardroom? After I told the world I’m a predator and an extortionist?""I’m rewarding the performance." Jonathan grabbed my hand. He forced the card into my palm. His skin was hot. "You saved the Hayes name. You gave the board the villain they needed to kill my father's career.

"Is that... flour on your face?"Jonathan stood in the doorway of the kitchen. The jagged, red-rimmed edges of his eyes softened for the first time since Lagos. He leaned against the doorframe, his charcoal suit jacket tossed over a chair, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows."Don't look at me." I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand. The smudge only grew. I turned back to the marble island, pressing the heel of my palm into the dough. It was stubborn. Cold. "I found it in the back of the pantry. A bag of T55. Probably older than my scholarship.""You're baking. Now?" Jonathan walked into the room. He didn't smell like the boardroom or the gun range today. He smelled like the rain outside. "The world is ending on the news, Benjamin. My father’s brain is still on the upholstery of the Hayes suite, and you’re making... what is that?""Lemon tarts." I reached for a bowl of citrus. The bright, sharp scent hit the air, cutting through the heavy, metallic smell of the house.

"Don't touch him!"Jonathan’s voice ripped through the humid air of the gym, louder than the barking of the German Shepherd. He shoved past a scout from Manchester. His cleats skidded on the polished wood.The lead officer didn't look up from my neck. He kept his knee buried in my spine. I tasted floor wax and grit. My wrists burned where the zip-ties bit into the skin."Stay back, Hayes," the officer barked. "Your friend here is carrying enough fentanyl to supply half the borough. He's done.""It's not his." Jonathan stopped two feet away. His chest was heaving. Sweat dripped from his chin, hitting the floor in dark, rhythmic circles. "He didn't know what was in the bag.""Jonathan, shut up," I gasped. My ribs groaned under the officer's weight. "Don't.""Shut up, Benjamin." Jonathan looked at the lead officer. Then he looked at the back of the gym.Arthur Hayes stood there. Arms crossed. A charcoal suit that cost more than my father’s farm. He wasn't even hiding the smirk. He was wat

"Sign the confession, Jonathan."Arthur Hayes leaned over the metal table. The fluorescent light hummed, casting a sickly yellow glow over his expensive silk tie. He pushed a stack of papers toward his son. "Sign it, and the 'Butcher' goes home tonight. I’ll make the witnesses disappear. The drugs, the ledger, the video—all of it buried. You come back to the firm. You marry the Sterling girl. We move on."Jonathan didn't move. His wrists were red where the steel had bitten in. He looked at the mirror on the wall. He knew his father was watching from the other side, along with three lawyers and a bought-and-paid-for police chief."You didn't hear me." Arthur tapped the paper. "Benjamin is in a holding cell downstairs. They’re processing him as a lead distributor. You know what they do to scholarship kids in Belmarsh, don't you? He won't last a week.""He's not downstairs." Jonathan’s voice was a rasp. He hadn't had water in six hours. His throat was sandpaper."Don't be stupid. I saw t

"You aren't leaving."Jonathan’s voice scraped against the reinforced glass of the transport van. He pressed his forehead to the cold, scratched surface. His skin looked like grey parchment under the station's floodlights. The cuffs around his wrists clinked. A rhythmic, metallic taunt."I’m staying right here." I stepped closer. The exhaust from the idling van curled around my ankles. It smelled like burnt oil and failure. "I’m not moving until they tell me where they're taking you.""They'll take me to the hole, puppy." Jonathan’s breath fogged the glass. He didn't look like the Prince of London anymore. He looked like a man who had finally met the bottom of the pit. "My father. Price. They won't let me talk. You know that.""Let them try." I gripped the metal handle of the door. An officer in tactical gear stepped forward, his hand hovering over his holster. I didn't let go. "I have the ledger. I have the keys to the kingdom. If they touch you, I’ll leak every single name in that b