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“We’ll see. Don’t push your luck.”
“Luck.” I snort.
“Yes, luck.”
“I want a job,” I say, standing up a little taller, one hand still on the doorknob behind me.
He chuckles. “You already have one. Don’t you remember?”
Oh, I remember. To please him.
“Go to bed, Isabelle. Tomorrow will be a taxing day for you. In.” He takes a ring of keys out of his pocket, and I know he means to lock me in.
“I’m not fucking you.”
“No? Because you came pretty hard earlier, and I barely had my hands on you. Imagine what I can do with my dick inside you. Imagine how hard you’ll come.”
“Stop it.” I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge.
“Are you imagining it?” he taunts.
I fumble for the doorknob at my back and finally get the door open.
“Good girl. In you go. I don’t want you running off anywhere before the big day.”
“I hate you.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’ll wait until tomorrow to prove just how much you don’t, Isabelle. My mark on your back. Your blood on my sheets. Sleep well tonight, my virgin bride.”
With that he’s gone, the sound of the lock turning loud, and me left wondering about his words. Knowing the only chance I have is for Carlton to somehow stop this. But then what? Even if he was able to stop Jericho St. James, what then? Let him sell me off to that old man? No. I can’t do that, either. My options are limited.
No, that’s not true. My options are non-existent.
25
Jericho
Carlton Bishop is disheveled, to say the least, when he walks into the courtroom of The Tribunal building at a few minutes past our arranged meeting time. Actually, he looks like he hasn’t slept for a week. It puts a smile on my face seeing him like this.
Hildebrand makes a point of checking his watch. “Mr. Bishop,” he starts as he and his two counterparts glare down at the offender. “It is highly inappropriate to arrive at a Tribunal proceeding after we’ve been seated. Your disregard will be taken into consideration as we make our decision regarding this highly unusual matter.”
The courtroom has been modified from its usual setup. The three Councilors still sit on the highest-level looming over us in their wigs and robes. The gallery is empty but for Judge, who serves as advisor to me. Not that I need one. And the dais where the defendant would stand trial has been replaced by a single, rectangular table that must be several hundred years old. I wonder of the fates that were decided upon it as I glance at the many markings where deals were made, promises broken, betrayals avenged.
“Yes, well, it could not be helped,” Bishop dares to say as he adjusts his cloak and glances at me with an evil look in his eye. He forces a smile when he turns back to the councilors. “It is my dear sister’s wedding day and there was much to do.”
It irks me that he can pull it off. That he can sound so fucking casual when I know he’s anything but.
I shouldn’t care, though. I’ve won. My victory is in the words he just spoke.
The Councilors glance at one another and it’s Hildebrand who raises an eyebrow. “You will not refuse Mr. St. James’s request for your sister’s hand? Considering our conversations, I assumed, well, why don’t you explain it to me.”
“Yes, Councilors, my apologies. I admit, I had other plans for dear Isabelle, but it is true that Mr. Manson is quite advanced in age and, well, given her nature,” he pauses, looks to me. “She may require a more firm hand than the poor old man could wield.”
“Hm,” Hildebrand mutters. “It is highly unusual.”
I clear my throat and speak. “Unusual or not, as both parties agree, it only remains for The Tribunal to give my betrothed and I their blessing.”
Hildebrand studies me. He then drags his gaze to Carlton Bishop who is seething beside me. Do they sense the animosity coming off him?
