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“Victor,” he gasps, “you’ll start a war with another country?”
Bugger me!Silas strides aside me, fidgeting with his pebbles.
“No, I do not desire to start a war with anyone. But do not be mistaken, by any means, Silas, by any means.” My deadly tone irritates him more. Before my father gets a word in, I cut him off. “My sole intent is to recover what belongs to me. My lady and my . . .” The arduous word won’t extract itself from my mouth.My child.I have lost love before. There will be no return to that place again . . . that mindset where death is welcoming.
If I go back, there will be no return.
“Lethergo. They already have her. They win! You’ve lost.” Silas throws the rocks and gestures with his hands. “Marry the ugly one. Fancy a fucking family? Then start a fucking family and be done with this mess. Have whores up and down the fucking continent. Scottish. Asian. Black. Just not the one Al Rafi now owns!”
Fury burns my dry eyes.
Days ago, I’d have torn a bloke’s head off for saying someone other than me owned Luxury Whitson. She was always meant to be mine.
Mine to own.
Now all I own are my bloody tears, and I’m not ready to let those fall yet. By now, we’ve ventured blocks away from the palace. Although on edge, thetosserhas captured my interest without a commandment.
Aggrieved, I gasp, “How do I concern you?”
I fucking await his response.
Shock widens his eyes. “Youaremy son.”
At that, I continue walking. The only love I know from Silas comes with a black eye. The only guidance was to measure my breathing at age eight while peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. Albeit impeccable advice, it’s utterly useless in this scenario.
I duck down when I see Madeline’s Mini Cooper surrounded by guards.
That cunt is going on the list with the other cunt who is dead to me.
My mother.
Father ducks down, too.
“Give me your keys,” I tell Silas.
“I’ll not aid your suicide mission.”
“I’ll will everything I own to you. You fancy all my riches?”
“You’re my first son,” he whispers harshly.
“And you are thelast-bornson to the Queen,” I quip.
His eyes turn a stormy green. Silas stands up and shouts, “Hello!”
The pedestrians and tourists look in our direction. A few gazes brighten, familiar with our royal lineage, and soon a couple of busybodies have shared our status with the masses. I offer a stiff nod, strolling toward the guards. Their tense faces relax at the notion I’m presenting myself in a civilized and noble manner.
“Aww, you could’ve played the wanker, Victor. You’re too soft,” Silas whispers to me before taking steps toward a few onlookers. His tone pitches in a congratulatory manner. “I’m bloody chuffed to bits! My son’s engaged!”
6
Luxury
The door to my room springs open. Hadiyah’s eyes connect with mine in a stern reminder for me to remain silent. She moves into a flawless curtsy as Al Rafi enters, her prideful eyes falling to the gilded marble flooring. He’s replaced the suit with a vibrant red silk robe. The cord barely makes it around the width of his belly. He steps toward her. Since he comes from behind, it takes Hadiyah a second for her disgust to evaporate. His fat hands know every inch of her body. The back of his knuckles caresses her cheek. It prompts warmth from the whore’s brown cheeks, a simple delight that she had to have learned.
The gesture causes Hadiyah to bow once more and back toward the front door of my apartment.
“Have you chosen your role, Luxury? I pray you thought long and hard.” His eyes lock on mine. My skin begins to crawl with the infestation of a trillion tiny ants. Might as well be flesh-eating. “See your surroundings? I enjoy treating my women with the best of everything. You care for me. I care for you.” He pauses, and I remain quiet. “Speak!” he shouts, making me jump.
