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Stone
Alfie was in a celebratory mood. He had clapped and cheered himself hoarse as he watched his daughter parade around on stage like an uncomfortable greyhound at Crufts. Her awkwardness and discomfort went unnoticed as Alfie applauded his daughter’s victory.
I couldn’t tear my eyes from her.
Isabella Moore.
The only difference between Alfie and me was that I didn’t care if she won or lost. I saw her discomfort and awkwardness. I saw everything, and nothing distracted from her loveliness. I liked every single sigh and tremble. I more than liked it.
I wanted it.
I wanted Isabella Moore for myself.
It was the first time I’d wanted someone for myself in longer than I could remember.
They drove home after stopping at a cheery diner for celebratory milkshakes. I watched Alfie pour cheap bourbon in his when his daughter wasn’t looking. Considering she insisted on driving home, I guessed his drinking problem was no secret.
I took a shortcut and beat them home. Isabella Moore was a safer driver than I was. I entered the Moore house through the backdoor, with its laughably flimsy lock. A swift kick from my boot bust the door wide open. Alfie Moore should be more careful with his stunning daughter. Any kind of monster of the night could creep in and take her.
It was too late for that now, though.
I was the monster, and I was already here.
I took my gun from my holster and a knife from my boot and sat in the creaking armchair to wait. I wasn’t going to carve up Moore. I had some morals, but sometimes a shock to the system is needed for a man like Alfie. The man was taking his life and his daughter for granted, and that was a mistake.
When they came in, the effects of Alfie’s Irish milkshake were already making themselves known. He stumbled, sighing and hiccupping, while Isabella tried to guide him. Though her weight and strength were no match for his bulk, she was an expert at directing his drunken stagger. I wondered how often she’d had to do so.
This was a man undeserving of his precious daughter.
Thankfully, I was here to relieve him of her.
They made it to the living room, stopping only meters from me but not seeing me until Isabella switched on the light.
“Good evening, Alfie,” I said quietly.
He let out a startled grunt while Isabella spun around and stared at me. She didn’t scream. Interesting.
“What the fuck? Why are you here?” Alfie blundered, pushing away from his daughter so hard that she nearly fell.
Anger built in my chest at the pathetic display. “You know why I’m here, or you would if you’d answered any of my many calls.”
“Pa, who is he?” Isabella asked, her eyes never moving from mine.
“The devil, that’s who. Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it. Go upstairs.”
“No, I’m not leaving you alone with an armed man,” Isabella said resolutely. Her eyes dipped to my hands. The gloved one held the pistol, and my other the knife.
Alfie tutted and turned to her. “Go, I said!”
“No. Tell me what business you have with my father,” Isabella said, approaching me as her shock wore off, replaced by indignant anger.
I stood, straightening to my 6’5 height. Isabella wasn’t short. She was above average for a woman. She fit me perfectly. However, given my giant stature, I towered over her.
She craned her neck, her olive skin flushing lightly pink. “You were at the pageant,” she said stiffly.
“I was. Congratulations on your win. My name is Stone Preston,” I said, fighting the maddening urge to kiss the back of her slender hand like I was in a fucking period BBC adaptation. This woman, with her quiet strength and intriguing eyes, was sending me spinning.
“What do you want with my father, Mr. Preston, and how does it entitle you to enter our home without our permission?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Oh, my girl was feisty. She might be quiet and reserved on stage, but if looks could kill, my skin would be flayed from my bones. “I believe your father can explain.”
“Please–just tell me. Does he owe you money?” she demanded, her brave girl act faltering. Her voice cracked, just enough to give her away. Isabella Moore wasn’t fooled by her father, not one bit. She’d dealt with his mess before. “How much?” she asked, stepping forward so Alfie’s grasping hand fell as he attempted to force her away.
“Perhaps I should speak with him alone first,” I suggested, feeling an uncharacteristic pang of regret for the damage I was about to do to this girl’s relationship with her father.
“So you can use one of those on him?” Her eyes were on the weapons in my hands.
Hell, I could hardly tell her that the kit was mostly for intimidation. I hadn’t shot someone in the knee in a long time, but the fire in her eyes and the building tension in the room didn’t suit the confession. Let Isabella Moore think I was about to stab or shoot her father, and then we could see what she planned to do about it.
“Our agreements had terms. He’s ignoring them,” I said mildly.
“How much does he owe?” She pushed again.
“$10,000, principle, without interest.”
She paled, her eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. Sure, it was a hefty sum, but surely not that grave. For me, it was more about the principle of the thing, added to the fact that it pissed me off when Alfie didn’t answer my calls.
“He doesn’t have it, and neither do I,” she muttered and gestured around the house. “As you can tell.”
I looked closer at the furnishings. Now the light was on, I could see the sad, faded quality of the room, the aging curtains, and shabby furniture I hadn’t noticed before.
“That’s not my problem,” I heard myself say. Being cruel was almost a reflex for me lately, and I had to attempt to stop it. But tonight, I wasn’t punching down for no reason. I needed to exert careful pressure on Isabella Moore and see where she cracked. “He’s beyond late. He owes me a debt, and one way or another, it has to be paid.”
Isabella turned to look at Alfie, who was staring at the gun in my hand, his face pasty and unpleasant to observe. He turned anguished eyes to his daughter. Fucking twenty-two years old, and her father had settled the weight of the world on her shoulders. Asshole.
“Do you accept means other than money for the repayment?” Isabella finally asked, turning back to me.
My entire body stiffened at her soft question, like a lightning strike hitting my head and passing through my body into the earth. I tried to remember how to breathe. “Such as?”
“Labour… manual labor. Cooking, cleaning, whatever you need…” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and chewed on it as she waited for my verdict.
“I don’t know that I want food cooked by Alfie,” I started.
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Not him. Me.”
“Bella, no! I won’t let you work for that man—” Alfie began, moving toward her.
I could see his actions for what they were—a token resistance. The man was practically salivating at the thought that his beautiful young daughter was going to make his problems disappear.
“Take the debt from me, instead,” Isabella said, raising her chin defiantly and meeting my eyes finally.
I closed the gap between us. I couldn’t help myself. “From you?” I repeated, knowing the front of my pants was tenting at the words. Fuck, there was a whole host of depraved things I wanted to visit upon her willing, supple flesh. “In what ways am I to take it?”
“In whatever way satisfies your need for your pound of flesh,” she said, her eyes showing more fire and excitement than when she was onstage winning her title.
I savored her offer and her resistance. She was perfect.
I was so close to her that the skirts of her gown brushed my pants. If I reached out, I could cup her jaw. I stared at her for a long moment, letting time play out, waiting to see if she would elaborate on that tantalizing offer. She held firm and let my imagination do the work for me, and fuck if it didn’t run wild.
“Fine. Manual labor, cooking, and cleaning at Thorn Hill. A live-in housekeeper until your father’s debt is paid.”
As much as the idea of this woman sinking to her knees before me at my command appealed to me, I wouldn’t force Isabella into anything. I wanted her to want me, as I did her. I wanted to be her savior and ruin, all at once. Keeping her close was a start. Hell, it was practically a necessity, given my growing obsession with her. In only a few hours, she had consumed my attention like nothing else.
“Oh, Bella,” Alfie muttered.
I could hear his relief, and Isabella could, too, from the flash of annoyance that lit her beautiful features. She nodded decisively and stuck her hand out to shake on it. I stared at that small hand, unwavering in the air between us, before engulfing it in mine. Thankful it was my unmarked one, I shook her hand and enjoyed the feeling of her soft, unblemished flesh against mine.
“We have a deal, princess,” I told her, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand. She raised an eyebrow at the nickname, and I looked pointedly at the crown on her head. “Now, get ready. We’re leaving.”
“Tonight?” She suddenly sounded panicked.
I released her hand. “Of course, tonight. I’m not giving you the chance to skip town.”
“I’d never,” Isabella protested, not even trying to cover for her father.
“Excuse me if I don’t believe the word of thieves,” I said curtly.
She flushed, her dark eyes boring into me. “I’m not a thief,” she ground out.
“Maybe not, but you’re on the hook for his debt now, as you wished. Get ready. We’re leaving.”
