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My father doesn’t tell me the ins and outs of his empire, the sticky, dirty secrets that weave through the complex webs they create, but I hear things. I’ve learnt it pays to be one step ahead and to know what’s coming before it hits you between the eyes.
The only thing that matters is building alliances.
That’s all I am—a bargaining chip. Giving me to Jeremiah will ensure strong ties between the Easton and the Wood syndicates. It will secure both families’ futures while in turn destroying mine. I will become the ashes of the fire they light. Caught in the crossfire of whatever war they are cooking up.
Jeremiah’s greedy gaze roams over my body, as if he already owns it. He’s imagining the ways he’s going to rip my virginity from me, I’m sure. The thought makes panic cling to my veins.
I resist the urge to recoil, knowing it will anger him and inflame my father. My clothes hide the evidence of the last beating he gave me, but the ache in my chest reminds me he has the power to hurt with more than words.
Jeremiah cups my face, turning my head this way and that, trying to get a good look at his purchase. He may not have bought me with money, but he owns me nevertheless, and I can’t ever forget that. My life is not mine. I belonged first to my father, and now to Jeremiah.
I keep my expression neutral even as I scream internally. Every inch of my body feels like it’s burning.
I want to retch.
Instead, I steel my spine, lift my chin a little higher and try to disappear into my head. I try to find sanctuary in the memories of my mother, of the days when my father wasn’t a monster—to me at least. On some level he’s always been the devil in a suit and tie, but his cruelty towards me only started when our dirty little secret was exposed. One my mother carried with her for years.
I’m not his daughter.
Declan Easton could deal with almost anything, but knowing his progeny didn’t have a drop of his own blood within her shredded the last piece of humanity he had left.
He’s hated me every moment since.
This is a secret he will take to the grave. No one will ever know the truth. It would weaken him if people knew he is not my father. It would make his crown slip off his head a little. How can a man rule if he can’t even keep his wife in his bed?
So we perpetuate this lie. Him, to save face. Me, because it’s safer to be under his care than outside of it.
“She will do,” Jeremiah says finally, as if he’s passing judgement on an ornament and not a person. He dips his head and presses his lips to mine.
It takes everything I have not to push him away. I endure the act without protest, but I don’t reciprocate it. I’m frozen in terror that things could go further and that my father would not stop it.
Jeremiah collars the back of my neck possessively, his fingers digging into my nape so hard it makes me wince. He’s claiming ownership, letting me know I am his and there is nothing I can do about it.
He deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding along the seam of my mouth, pushing, demanding entry. I don’t want to give it. It’s more than I can stand. I pull away, ripping my lips from his and turning my head to the side.
I feel violated.
Dirty.
And this was only a kiss.
My father moves towards us, his expression conciliatory. “She’s just shy,” he tells Jeremiah even as he grabs my wrist and squeezes it so hard tears want to form in my eyes. It feels like he’s trying to shatter the bone. Shatter me. “Give her a little time, and she’ll warm up. The girl hasn’t been around men much.”
The anger clouding Jeremiah’s face dissipates a little at my father’s assurance that I’m not defective and that I am pure. That I do want him. Another hard squeeze to my wrist has me forcing a smile. It’s a mask I hide behind. I feel the bars of the cage surrounding me, fencing me in as Jeremiah returns his attention to me. He grabs my chin, his grip bruising.
“You will be the perfect wife. I don’t like to be embarrassed.” I hear the unspoken threat clearly.
Be good. Toe the line or face the consequences.
I lower my eyes and nod. I hate myself for doing it. I hate the weakness I’m showing, but this is not a situation I can survive without being submissive.
Jeremiah leans into me, his mouth going to the shell of my ear as his hand cups me between my legs. My dress does nothing to protect me from his touch, and I can’t stop from drawing in a breath as his fingers stroke me through my underwear. I want to shove him away. I want to make this intrusion stop, but I freeze, my brain unable to compute the violation taking place, unable to believe my father is standing there allowing this to happen.
He’s not my father…
He may make you call him that, but Declan Easton is nothing to you, and you are nothing to him.
Jeremiah tears through my thoughts as he speaks into my ear. His breath is heated against my skin and it makes me tremble with terror. “Your pussy belongs to me. I’m going to enjoy being the first man in your cunt.” He rubs me harder and a thousand thoughts collide in my brain. Nausea climbs up my throat and I feel rooted to the ground. This is a dream. A bad dream.
