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“Well…” I pause and take a deep breath. “I heard you’re selling me to the Bowers for Warrick. Is it true?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, why would you think I would do something like that?” he rumbles, and I hear the squeak of chair legs, realizing my mom is quiet now. I throw a prayer up into the universe in hopes he hasn’t done something to her because of my outburst.
“I’m sorry, Dad, it’s been a weird—” The line goes dead and I’m left staring at my phone, what the fuck was that?
I drop my phone on the counter and head upstairs, opening my closet and scanning the dresses and every other item in this place. My wrists throb, reminding me they’re still bright red and painful from the bindings. I grab the Versace corset dress, eyeing it up. The sleeves are long enough to cover my wrists and it’s perfect. I hang it on the viewing rail and grab my black heels, with a clutch to match.
I turn on my toes, walking to the bathroom, immediately switching on the rainfall head before stripping down and stepping under the now steaming water. My thoughts turn to Lux as I scrub at my body, and a sob escapes. My movements become frantic as my brain lists all the things that could have happened to her.
Twenty minutes of frantic scrubbing has my skin so red and painful I’m surprised I’m not bleeding. I grab a white towel off the hook, wrapping it around my body, the soft material making me wince as it brushes against my skin. When it’s secured, I grab a clip off the vanity and twist my hair up out of my way before wiping the condensation off the mirror. My eyes still have thick dark circles under them, and they’re hollow, all the brightness that was there is gone. I look at the lingering aftereffects of the healing process of my last beating. The bruising is almost gone now with patches of discoloration left behind after the swelling disappeared two days ago.
I grab my makeup bag, pulling out my foundation, and get to work on making sure my skin is flawless, because I have to. If I don’t show up to a meal or any sort of meeting with my father, dressed and looking like the perfect version of myself, the consequences are hell. I’ve tried to rebel and just take his beatings, but he knew after a while to hit me where it hurts— and he turned his anger on Mom. I don’t bother with any eyeshadow, just a quick swipe of mascara on each eye and then my strawberry Chapstick. I pull out the clip and towel dry my hair, the waves are more prominent now as I fluff the texture to give it a lease of life—instead of the limp, lifeless hair I’ve had for the last couple of weeks. I’ve always found it fascinating how your whole body changes when you’re low.
I walk back into the closet, pulling the dress on, growling when I realize the dress has a zip up the back. When I see the contraption my mom gave me saying it was a godsend for us, I smile, hooking the zip onto the little anchor at the end and pull it up in one swift movement. I put on the shoes, taking my time to make sure I get the thin strap secure, before grabbing my clutch and putting my trench over my shoulders. I look in the full-length mirror at my reflection and I shudder internally, I look like a carbon copy of my mom.
I love her, I really do, but I don’t want to be her.
I make my way out of the room and down the stairs, when I hear my phone ringing in the kitchen. I pick up my pace, trying my hardest not to kill myself on the fake marble staircase. It’s slippery as fuck and all I’d need is to fall and end up dead at the bottom of the stairs while it takes forever for someone to find me. Nope, hopefully how I die is much cooler than that… ya know, like sky diving or some shit.
A text comes through just as I grab the phone.
My own demon:
The town car is outside to pick you up. No, you can’t drive yourself, and remember you need to be on your best behavior.
I can’t drive myself?
The dread I had earlier ramps up as my mind whirls with what the fuck is going to happen now. I drive myself everywhere, it’s the only independence I have and he’s just taken it away from me. The urge to pack my shit and run is heavy as I look to the front doors and back to the stairs, the indecision like an axe being taken to my heart. I long to get away from this shit show of a family, but I know what he’d do to my mom and I can’t let him hurt her. He didn’t do it as much when I got big enough to stand in his way and take the beatings for her, the first time I did was when I was seven.
I found my mom curled up in a ball on the floor, trying her best to protect herself as he threw blow after blow wildly. He was screaming about a contract that fell through being her fault and she was a useless bitch as her eyes met mine from under her arms. She pleaded with me with her eyes to hide, but seeing the broken look on her face, I ran forward and laid over her back to comfort her. I thought he would stop with me being there, but he didn’t. That was the day I found out how truly cruel my father could be. From that day on, instead of seeking out my mom, he came for me. I wipe the tear off my cheek as I head to the front door. The town car is waiting, as he said it was, and the driver is already holding the back door open for me. With a deep breath, I climb in.
* * *
On the wayto the restaurant, I nearly jumped out of the car several times. The only thing stopping me from doing it is my mom. I know if Jace was here, he would tell me to leave. He never understood what it was like to be on the receiving end of Father’s rage, he was the golden boy. The one set to rule it all. But even he wasn’t as happy as I thought he was. The valet opens the door for me, offering his hand to help me out, and I take it. Climbing from the car, my eyes meet with a gorgeous guy with bright green eyes. He looks to be a couple of years older than me, but, Jesus, he is gorgeous.
I give him a coy smile as I make sure my trench coat is still on my shoulders. He smiles at me, and I take a deep breath, gearing myself up for whatever is about to happen. I stride through the doors confidently, the hostess rushing over to me as she sees me.
“Right this way, Miss Whitlock,” she says, ushering me through the main dining room to the back of the building. A huge, thick black curtain separates the main room from the VIP area, but even with it in place, you can still hear the chatter from the other side. My eyes widen when I spot my parents sitting at the head of a huge table, with Warrick and his father on their right. My mom sits on my dad’s left, and there’s an empty chair on his other side. The hostess takes my coat with a smile, and her eyes dart around the room.
Clearly, she’s anxious, but the question is, why?
I take my seat on his right side and my eyes connect with Warrick’s, who is smirking at me with a knowing look written all over his face.
“Warrick,” I say with a friendly acknowledgement. “Mr. Bowers, pleasure to see you again,” I say, and he nods his head with a pleased smile on his face. My brows furrow as I turn my attention to my father as he nods his approval, and I see the sigh of relief from my mother.
“So, Whitlock, are we going to get this show on the road, or what?” Bowers says, reaching under the table and pulling out a briefcase.
My eyes narrow further as he places it on the table. The click of the locks is loud in the air, causing my heart to race. This feels all kinds of wrong, and I feel like I’ve just walked into the lion’s den. As I look at my mom who’s close to tears, he pulls a file out of the case and quickly closes it, placing the case back on the floor.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bowers, we’re waiting for a couple more guests to join us,” my father snaps, cutting the man off. He grabs his glass, taking a drink of it as Bowers throws daggers at my father, and Warrick shifts in his seat uncomfortably. The hostess comes back through the curtain, holding it open and my eyes bug out of my head.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I demand, jumping to my feet, my whole body shaking as I watch Frost and two others take their seats at the table. I look him over, and I’m still in disbelief at how identical he is to Kylo. If they were standing side by side, the average person wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. I know though. It’s in the way he holds himself and the look of superiority he has shining in his eyes.
The horrified look on Mr. Bowers face at Frost’s arrival has me fighting back a smirk, chewing the inside of my lip as I watch his face pale.
“Sit down, Samantha, and stay quiet,” my dad snaps, and I drop into my seat, my teeth grinding together. Frost’s eyes meet mine, and he smirks as his gaze flicks between me and my father.
“So, she knows how to be obedient, good to know,” the tall, tattooed one chuckles like it’s the funniest thing ever. I’ve heard of him, Aiden Knox, the brawler of the group.
