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Gazing into his eyes, I glimpse something like torment in their depths.
He grabs my other hand. “Being a spoiled brat isn’t your only problem.”
“You can punish me for being a brat.”
“If I had more time, trust me, I would.”
“So why don’t you? What’s the rush? Can’t a big guy like you make your own time?”
“That’s your other problem, princess. You live in a fairy tale. You need to wake up to reality.”
“What reality?”
I press my hips to him, prompting him to throw me off. I land sitting on the bed.
His frown becomes more grim. “You know what your father does for a living, princess?”
“Sort of,” I reply as I wonder why we’re talking about my father.
“Your father, Liam Callaghan, is a Mob Boss.”
For several seconds, I only blink, trying to process how Jack knows this. Should I deny his accusation or will he see through me? Of course a guy like Jack would have the means to dig into my family background. Is that why he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me now?
Undecided if I should try and dissuade him from the truth, I ask, “Why do you say that?”
“Because, baby, I’m triad.”
He lets that sink in for me. I heard my father mention triad a few times after we moved to California. But what has that to do with me and Jack? Is he suggesting it wasn’t a coincidence or a nice gesture of fate that we met at Club Voyeur?
“And Andrian, he’s Bratva,” Jack adds.
I stare at the floor as I process what this means. Glancing back up at Jack, I say, “Andrian knew about my father.Youknew. From the beginning?”
“From the beginning.”
“Then why…?”
“Your father stole something of mine, so I stole something of his.”
My gaze digs into his. He means…me. So this was never about fulfilling a fantasy or spending time with me because he liked me. It was about a vendetta?
As if reading my mind, he confirms, “Is Princess finally catching on?”
Without thinking, I jump to my feet and slap him across the mouth. I’m tired of the condescending pet name.
“The name’s not ‘Princess,’” I seethe.
Unfazed by the slap, he replies, “Okay, Casey. Is that all you got?”
All this time, the connection I felt we had was just him leading me on. It wasn’t about me. It was about my dad. I was something he ‘stole,’ fucked, and was about to throw away now that he’s done using me.
Angry and scared, I grab the porcelain lamp off the bedside table to hurl at him. He blocks it, shattering the lamp.
I continue hitting him with what remains. “You fucking asshole!”
The door opens and the guard rushes in. “Boss?”
Jack grabs the lamp and wrests it from me. I try to resist but end up stumbling into the guard. I spot a gun beneath his blazer. Holy shit. He has a gun. Without thinking, I grab it from its holster and cock it. They freeze. I’m guessing the gun is loaded.
