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Every little frustration, every bit of pressure, all the sadness and anger and fear that’d been weighing on her over the years spilled over in one big wave.
She jumped up off the couch and stared down at her mother. “I’m not a whore. Yes, I’ve been fucking my security guard. I like fucking. And I like him. I’m a grown woman. I can fuck who I want.”
Her mom’s eyes went wide as she sputtered a response.
“I’m not done yet,” Ophelia snapped. “You’re nowhere near broke. You drive a Lexus and you own a yacht. A fucking yacht in the middle of a landlocked desert! So you’re sad I’m not selling the company to make you richer? Cry me a fucking river. Those are hundred dollar bills you wipe your tears with, thanks to my father. Who, I might add, is the one who raised me. Not you. It’s time for you to grow up, Lorna. Grow up and get over yourself.”
She vaguely registered Priya and Chloe’s gasps before she stormed out of the living room and headed straight for the front door.
A walk. She needed a walk to calm down and think things through. Her face felt sunburnt and her fists were clenched. The cool night air that hit her when she walked outside helped deflate some of her anger.
Had she been too harsh with her mom? She’d meant everything she’d said, but maybe it’d been rude. Not that her mother hadn’t deserved it after calling her a whore. God, what kind of mother called her only daughter a whore? Ophelia vowed if she ever had children, she’d raise them completel
y opposite to how her mother had raised her.
She almost laughed at herself. As if she was put together enough to have kids. It would be a long time before that could happen.
She still couldn’t believe they’d actually tried to stage an intervention. And drugs? What the hell was wrong with them? Priya and Chloe knew damned well she didn’t do drugs. Was she really acting that different? She had been spending large amounts of time in her father’s office. She’d skipped every party invitation since she’d been home. Still, that made her busy, not on drugs.
When her dad had died, nothing had changed for Priya and Chloe. It’d only impacted Ophelia. Life had gone on for them—the parties, the social affairs. They didn’t understand how much responsibility was on her plate now. Maybe they wanted the old Ophelia back.
As she meandered from the driveway out onto the quiet road, she thought about the old Ophelia. The one who partied, gossiped, and didn’t have a care in the world. She could go back to that. All she had to do was sell the company and she’d have enough money to last a lifetime.
She and her friends could go back to playing dress-up and posing for pictures outside the nightclubs. Life could be easy.
But . . . she didn’t want that. It’d been fun for a while, but it wasn’t who she was anymore. Her mother was right about one thing. It was time to grow up, but she already had. She still didn’t know what her dad would have wanted for her or his company. He wasn’t here to tell her and she had to come to terms with that. But she knew what she wanted.
She wanted to keep it. To keep a part of him alive.
The sound of a car rolling behind her made her step off the road to let it pass. It stopped alongside her and she wondered if the driver was lost and needed directions. But a window didn’t roll down. Instead, the passenger side door opened and a man dressed all in black stepped out.
Her stomach dropped. He walked toward her. Instinctually, she knew this was bad. Her muscles tensed, but before she could run, he grabbed her. His enormous hand locked across her mouth and an arm as hard as steel curled around her chest.
Adrenaline kicked in. She tried to pull away, to scream, to tear his hand away from her mouth, but he was too strong. Despite her fight, it only took a minute for him to get her into the car.
A second man was in the backseat, holding a gun.
Chapter 16
Between the leather jacket, black T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses, Luke had to admit he looked intimidating. In the mirror, he set his mouth in a grim line, but it wavered, and then he laughed. It was hard to stay serious to keep up the appearance of being Ophelia’s bodyguard. Maybe if his “new boss” was an uber bitch it would help, but between the hot sex and the relationship that kept growing no matter how hard he fought it back, it was difficult to maintain a sinister demeanor when he looked at her. It was even harder not to grab her ass when there were people around.
It didn’t help that Priya, Chloe, and the cook had all caught them in compromising situations on multiple occasions. They already knew Ophelia was messing around with her new bodyguard, so there was less and less incentive to be discreet, at least at her place.
She was slumming with him, he knew, and eventually things would end, but for now . . . Now they were having too much fun.
He added the heavy motorcycle boots she seemed to be developing a fetish for, then threw a few of his newer kink acquisitions in a duffel bag. They were just supposed to hang out tonight, but one glimpse of the bag would turn her curious and eager. Such a dirty girl, his Ophelia.
His Ophelia for now. For as long as he could keep her.
Her meeting was probably over by now, and knowing her, she’d probably sent him a naughty picture or a sweet text. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked it.
Nothing? Weird. Was her meeting running long?
A missed call though? Even weirder. Who the hell actually called people nowadays?
For a couple of minutes, he fumbled around, trying to remember his newest voicemail password. When he finally got it working, the voice sounded strained.
You don’t fucking listen, do you? I have your little bitch. If you want to see her alive again, you need to pack up and get the fuck out of Vegas. Tonight. No cops or she dies.
