Page 19 of Speak No Claim

My statement echoed across the clearing, and his face paled.

“I’m twenty years old,” I exclaimed. “I’m not a child.”

His expression faltered.

“If I need to be alone, then that’s what I’m going to do, and you and your family can’t stop me.” I whipped around, staring straight at Onyx. “Especially your lapdog.”

Slowly, Onyx crossed his arms over his chest with an amused expression. It made him look bigger, more defined. One thing was for sure: he was enjoying this.

“Lapdog?” Onyx chuckled, tipping his chin to my tío. “Why don’t you ask your uncle who he answers to?”

Who does he answer to? You?

I didn’t ask my thought out loud. Instead, I spun back to Tío, questioning, “¿En que te has metido?” I investigated, “What are you involved in?”

“Niña,” Tío proclaimed in a stern voice, “Little girl… not only have you ruined your surprise party my fiancé has spent months putting together for you to feel welcome, but you’ve also—” he gestured to me “—made a mess of yourself.” Abruptly, he hollered, “Jones!”

I jerked back when Alfred lurked out of the shadows.

“Take her home,” Tío ordered in one breath.

Alfred nodded, only eyeing me. If he had any feelings toward what was happening, he didn’t show it. It was almost like he was used to all this.

I brushed the dirt off my hands, smoothing out the wrinkles of what was left of my gown.

Sarcastically, I forced a smile before dramatically spewing, “Shows over.” I just wanted to get my point across. No one moved as I exited, executing, “You’re welcome for being tonight’s entertainment.”

I backed away, looking my uncle up and down. His expression lingered, fists clenched. I didn’t let it bother me. He needed to know that I wasn’t falling for these charades.

I walked away that night with my dignity, but I wasn’t entirely sure my soul was still intact.

* * *

Which was exactly what they craved.

Chapter

Six

Onyx: I did my best, and the devil did the rest.

The scarier the man, the fewer words they used, and I learned that at a very young age.

“Close the door,” my father ordered, walking into his office.

I did, then leaned against it with my arms crossed over my chest. There was only silence as my dad poured himself a drink. He didn’t offer me one, meaning he wasn’t pleased. The silence was supposed to be a form of punishment, but to me, it was so fucking satisfying.

“Explain,” he demanded, sitting in his leather chair in front of his huge, rectangular mahogany table.

He was sitting at the head, dressed in his three-piece tux, trying to intimidate me. It was his go-to move, except I wasn’t a kid anymore, and he never acknowledged it. I was easier to control this way, or so he thought.

Except this was where I usually decided how badly to provoke him. I needed some form of entertainment to deal with all the bullshit I dealt with on the daily.

Our conflicts were never really about me, not unless I wanted them to be. Most of the time, our battles were for shit that happened decades before either of us were even alive. It was the consequences of being born into a legacy family.

He tipped his head to the other side of the table.

“I prefer to stand.”