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“You…” My brows furrow when he unhands me, and I wander away toward a rack of clothes, running my fingers over them. “How…”
“Our union was inevitable,” he says, leaning against a center island with drawers and a shoe rack making it up.
“Inevitable?” I ask, swallowing hard. “What do you mean?”
“You were always meant to be ours, Journey West. It was written in the stars. The universe knew who you belonged to. So, I prepared your spot by our side.” His eyes wander the closet with pride, taking in the clothes and shoes.
I blink several times when he shrugs and rummages through a drawer, pulling out the smallest pair of underwear I’ve ever seen. I don’t even have the time or the energy to ask questions. So, I bite my tongue.
“Wear these.” He tosses them at me, but I refuse to catch them, letting them fall before me. He rolls his eyes, digging through another drawer and grabbing a deep, purple, silky nightgown.
“You’re awfully fucking bossy,” I growl, letting them drop to the ground. “I can dress my fucking self.”
For a beat, I don’t hear anything from him, and then he chuckles.
“Put the fucking clothes on, Little Chaos.”
“Or what?” I huff, watching his predator-like movements as he grabs another piece of clothing from a hanger and comes toward me.
“Or you’ll regret ever defying me. Play with me. I play back harder. I’ll spank your ass so red, your blisters will have blisters. Then you’ll recognize your king.”
I blink several times when he falls to his knees in front of me, grabbing the tiny pair of panties.
“Fight me, and I’ll punish you like you deserve. Submit to me, and I’ll treat you like the queen you are,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against my bare thigh. “Now, lift your leg so I can dress you.” It’s a small demand, tinged with exhaustion. Hell, it’s even in his eyes when he stares up at me. So, I give in, deciding clothes would be nice.
I can fight him tomorrow.
Journey West will be the only woman in history to bring me to my knees. Not that I mind. There are a lot of things I can do in that position with my tongue and hands. I’m finally getting the girl I’ve been obsessed with for years. Since that fateful day when I saw her punch a boy. Then, much to my dismay, I had to walk away from her altogether. I’ll never forgive my bodyguard at the time for squealing to my father. Thankfully, I got him fired a few months later, but the order still stood: Journey West was off-limits.
It only made me want her more.
I rub my temple, standing above her as she restlessly sleeps. She’ll be the death of me one day, driving me into the arms of my final resting place. But, in the same breath, her fighting spirit is the oxygen to my lungs.
Everyone around me bows their heads, scuttling off to do my bidding. I may not be the king of the city, but I am the dutiful prince in waiting.
Dutiful.
I scoff. I haven’t been dutiful for years. Not when the memories of his torture live behind my eyes. At any given moment, they prepare to show me what I lived through.
Alcohol wafts off my father’s breath when he finally ceases his movements. No light resides in his eyes when I look up at him from the floor, shivering from the cold cement.
“One day, you’ll thank me for this, boy,” he slurs, shoving me into a tiny closet near the back of the open basement. “One day, you’ll say thank you, Father, for preparing me. You’re my heir. My only boy. One day, my kingdom will be yours. You’ll rule it like me. I’ll make sure of it.”
I blink rapidly, calling out to my father when he shuts the closet door and locks it from the outside. Like he’s planned this torture all along. I swallow hard, pulling my knees into my chest, whimpering when his footsteps retreat upstairs. Then… Nothing but static fills my ears, and the silence beats down on me.
I’m his heir—his only child. I’m the one who will carry on his name and the family. At least, that’s his excuse. He probably got off on watching me suffer alone in the darkness, chuckling as I begged for him to let me go. But begging never stands a chance against Gabriel Viotto. He’ll gladly throw you to the wolves.
My father may not have laid a hand on me physically. Not like Shepp’s father. Psychological torture was his game. Locking me in closets, leaving me in the damn dark. He didn't care what he did to me as long as it made me stronger in his eyes. Sure, he got the results he wanted after years of mental and emotional torture. But not fully. I'm still me. Only a slightly bent and broken version. One I'm improving on every day.
“Watch as I make him squeal, Jericho. He’ll tell us anything he knows.” I swallow hard, holding back my gag when my father plunges the knife in between his captive’s ribs.
The man’s screams echo off the basement walls. Oh, what these walls have seen. If they could talk, our family would have been in prison many moons ago.
The man’s crime? Knowing too much. Not a single thing more. My father used to live by a code. Our entire crime family did. But he has slowly pushed that aside, making room for new plans—his own.
I blow out a breath and focus my eyes on the beautiful woman attached to my best friend lying in bed. Her curly hair is splayed like a halo around her head on the pillow. Occasionally, she twitches in her sleep, her brows furrowing and tiny groans escaping. Getting her relaxed enough to fall asleep in a strange place was a feat in itself. Nevertheless, we coaxed her under the covers, and then she fell out. According to Arrow, our resident stalker, sleeping is difficult for her. She requires pills and music to nod off. Not tonight, though. She doesn’t need any of that when we’re here.
Soon, she’ll see.
