by Mason, V. F.
“Giselle Walker.” He sweeps his gaze over me from head to toe, and goose bumps break on my skin from the way he tasted my name on his tongue.
Forget about this man being dangerous. He is sinful, if the heat blazing from his eyes is anything to go by. “Why are you not there”—he points at the terrace—“inside, celebrating with your family?”
And just like that, my mood sours, breaking the bubble around me and reminding me of my present circumstances. For a moment there, I forgot about it, engrossed in the conversation with a stranger.
“Disapprove of your sister’s choice?” he asks again, since I stay silent.
This pushes me to murmur, “Of course not. Kevin is perfect for her.” I don’t even try to lie on this one.
He chuckles, leaning forward. “Like he was while being your fiancé?”
I still, my stomach flipping while his hawk-like stare fixes on me.
Oh my God, how could I have been so stupid?
Stepping back, I narrow my eyes while my voice turns icy cold. “Nice play. I almost believed the act.”
He rubs his chin. “What act is that?”
I dislike these kinds of people, because they use every weapon in their arsenal for their deception. “The tabloid kind. Searching for a juicy story to write in the papers?” I should have known someone would follow me. Who’d pass up the opportunity? I just assumed he was a guest by his expensive attire.
“Is there a juicy story to write?” Something akin to fury flashes in his gaze, and I blink in surprise. “Just right now, he was perfect. You changed your mind?” He waits a beat before adding with a smirk, “Or is Lucy”—he almost spits her name—“not worthy enough of his perfectness?”
“I don’t know who you are, but you are insane,” I reply, wanting to walk around him, but my heel catches on a crack and I yelp.
His hands are there to catch me, swiftly pressing me to his side, and my arms rest on his elbows, trying to push him away. “Let go of me.” Even though I hate this guy, my body reacts differently to him, wanting to explore all his rigid muscles.
He doesn’t let go though. “If I do that, you’ll fall on the concrete. And such beauty”—he runs his eyes over my neck before raising them to mine—“shouldn’t be tarnished.”
We stand there, locked in an embrace while the fountain’s cascading water is the only sound echoing through the garden besides our shared breath.
Then he straightens my position and lets go, turning me toward the terrace. “And I’m not a paparazzi.” He winks at me, and I want to smack him right in his face so it will wipe away the cocky grin.
And I’ve had enough for today.
I want to go back home, slip on my pajamas, and munch on pizza while watching some show online. This charade has lasted long enough.
“Whoever you are, stay away from me.”
I spin around, darting toward the terrace, and in a way… running away from this stranger in the night.
If he is capable of awakening such a myriad of emotions within me in the span of ten minutes, then he is too dangerous to keep in my life.
Because he will be able to hurt me.
Callum
She throws her hair into my face, and lifting her chin high, she walks back to the ballroom as the train of her navy blue dress trails after her, giving her an even more magnificent look than usual.
Ah, what a beauty my Persephone is.
Having her meek would have been such a bore. But a challenge?
A challenge, I love and accept.
Once I step onto the terrace, I see the man moving like a shadow through various guests and saluting me as he passes by the terrace, but not before he says, “You owe us.” I should have expected that the most curious of the horsemen, Remi, wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of coming here and checking out my woman.
Grabbing champagne from the nearby waiter, I raise my glass in his direction and warn, “Admire but do not touch.”
“We will come to collect.” He decides to dish a threat himself, but I only chuckle, finding the whole situation amusing.
We both know we all can’t kill each other; otherwise, it’ll create chaos in the underground between cities.
And who needs chaos, when there are so many victims to hunt?
“As you always do.” I finish my drink in one gulp, and go back to the ballroom.
The show is about to start.
Chapter Six
Giselle, 21 years old
Three loud knocks on the door snap my attention from the botanical book splayed on the table. With a sigh, I remove my headphones and nod at my roommate, who drums something in the air, probably listening to one of her rock songs.
It’s not enough I have to endure her love for this music through the radio or her playing it, she also displays posters of all her favorite bands.
Only classics for me, but somehow, she always manages to remove any poster I have.
“Do you mind getting it?” I address her, but she studies her nails instead, blowing on them.
“I do. It’s probably for you.”
Why she reaches this conclusion is beyond me, considering no one ever shows up here. I’ve never shared my address with them besides Lucy, and plus… they’d die before coming to this neighborhood. “I’m studying.”
She shrugs, adjusting the tablet on her lap. “Tough.”
I grit my teeth at her breezy attitude, because she has been acting like this for freaking months now, but the knocking comes again. “I will change roommates,” I warn her, and she freaking shrugs again.
“Fine by me.”
That’s what I get for jumping at an opportunity to share a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn for a small price. Isla and I both showed up for the offer, gave the guy money only to find out he scammed us, and we had nowhere to go. Luckily, the lady next door took pity on us and rented her one-bedroom apartment to us.
Needless to say, living with a chick who loves everything bohemian and operated at night, while I was a morning person, was a challenge.
Thank God we rarely see each other, since I wait tables during the day and study during the night. She does the opposite, working as a bartender while studying at the police academy in the morning.
Still, all this is better than living on Walker money and keeping up with their charade.
Independence never tasted so good.
“Well, what are you waiting for? The door won’t open itself.”
Huffing in annoyance, I open it wide, ready to yell at whomever decided to visit me during finals, but I stop dead. My mouth almost drops open when I see Lucy standing on the doorstep, tears pouring from her eyes while she hiccups my name. “Giselle.” Before I can even blink, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes tightly, all while sobbing into my neck.
Isla sits up on the bed, worry crossing her face, and lifts her chin to silently ask me what’s going on. I shake my head but hug my baby sister close, rocking her in my arms. “Shhh, everything is going to be all right.” Did she get into a fight with Dad? I groan inwardly at the prospect of facing him again, especially with his freaking campaign close.
He’ll do nothing but shout and then throw insults my way too. Unless it’s the time to show off to the press that I live on my own and pay for my studies too. Then he is all over me.
“I screwed up,” she mumbles.
Isla snorts, muttering, “No shit.” She shuts up under my glare. Now is seriously not the time for jokes, and I lean back, pushing Lucy to sit on my bed.
She continues to sob into her hands, so I cross my arms and demand, “Talk.” She starts whining harder, but I don’t budge, just stand there waiting.
If I give her an opportunity, she’ll get into her usual hysterics and I won’t hear a coherent thought from her for hours. “I just got back from Houston.”
My brows furrow at his. “Why? Don’t you have midterms soon?” Lucy chose to study interior design in New York, and even though she got bored with it, she is
a good student.
Her cheeks heat up, and she whispers something barely audible.
“What? Speak up so we can hear you,” Isla shouts, grabbing a pack of chips and settling more comfortably on the couch.
I count mentally to ten, because I so don’t need the bullshit right now, but nevertheless she’s right. “Why were you in Houston?” I repeat.
Lucy sighs heavily, before saying, “I met a guy two days ago.”
Silence greets her statement for a second before Isla says, “Forget the chips. We need booze for this.”
“Isla, you want to take a walk?” I suggest, but she shakes her head and pops another chip into her mouth.
“And miss this? No fucking way.”
Arguing with my roommate is impossible. I turn my focus back to Lucy. “I still don’t see the connection between meeting the guy and flying to Texas.”
“We met at the club. He seemed nice. Well-rounded and all.” I say nothing, waiting for the rest of the story. Every boyfriend of hers seemed nice and well-rounded, only to pull an asshole act later. “We went to his apartment and—”
“Had sex,” Isla concludes, and Lucy narrows her eyes, tears gone for a second. “Excuse me, but who are you?”
“I’m renting this apartment with your sister.”
Lucy blinks at that, opens her mouth, closes it, and then a sigh slips past her lips. “Yes, we had sex, and then he became weird.”
I frown at this, and now even Isla becomes more serious, pushing back chips and concentrating on Lucy. “Weird?”
“Yeah, like cold. He told me that I had to leave, and then he went to the shower.” She huffs in distaste. “As if I’m dirt or something that he needed to wash away.”
I hold back the desire to scream. She became this dramatic, because her one-night stand didn’t extend into a romantic proposal?
“So I started getting dressed. But then I saw photos on the table.” Her lips tremble, but she pushes out the words. “Photos of chopped bodies, with weapons,” she whispers the last part, as if in a trance.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my palm while Isla stands up and walks closer, clarifying, “Like several of them?”
“Yes. That’s a serial killer, right?” she asks me, like I’m supposed to know this shit, but Isla nods. “So I ran away. Anyway, I didn’t know what to do, so I called the police and Darius.”
“Grandpa Darius is in Houston?” Last time we spoke, he told me he’d go there during the summer to check on the ranch, because Grandfather Alfred forbade him a vacation.
“Yeah.”
“So did the police catch the guy?” Isla questions, and that’s when Lucy’s cheeks heat up.
“Turned out he was a movie director and those were the shots from a scene.”
“Oh fuck, nothing interesting,” Isla mutters and walks back to the couch, collapsing onto it.
But something about her earlier words strikes a chord with me. “Darius. You said you called him.” Her eyes fill with tears and my stomach flips as fear slowly creeps over my skin.
Exhaling heavily, she finally says what she came here for. “On the way to me, he got into a car accident. They are operating on him now.”
And that’s when fear overwhelms me, sending me into a frenzy of panic and desperation.
* * *
I rush inside the hospital, spotting the reception desk and asking breathlessly, “Darius Desmond?” The reception lady adjusts her glasses on her nose while watching me curiously. “And you are?”
“Giselle Walker, I’m his granddaughter.” I place my ID on the counter, and she snatches it up, inspecting it. My heart beats violently in my chest as I wait for her to scroll through some files before she nods. “Yes, he is in the intensive care unit. Fourth floor, room 401.”
“Thank you,” I say and then run to the elevator, pressing on the button hard.
The doors slide open and I get inside. They are about to close when a man steps in next to me, pressing the same floor. I zero my gaze on the flashing number, mentally praying for Grandpa to survive this.
And thank goodness for my roommate who lent me money and then drove me to the airport so I could catch the next flight to Houston.
Maybe we’ll be able to become friends after all, since she has a heart under all that don’t-give-a shit attitude.
Finally on the floor, I speed-walk to the room, only to be stopped by a doctor wearing blue scrubs. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I need to see Darius Desmond.”
His brows lift in surprise, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t allow that.”
“I’m his granddaughter.”
“You could be the president and I wouldn’t care. He needs rest now. I will allow visitation in the morning.”
Even though everything in me wants to argue, I decide to set my priorities straight. “How is he?”
“Several broken bones, the wheel dug into his stomach, not to mention a concussion. At this point, we can only hope he gets better, but I will have more information for you soon. We have to wait for the morning.” He squeezes my shoulder and I nod, accepting it.
I don’t want to jeopardize my grandpa’s safety.
Running my fingers through my hair, I exhale heavily and look around for a chair to sit in as the doctor walks off.
That’s when the guy from the elevator joins me and clears his throat, and I shift my attention to him. “My name is Ron Smith. I’m from the accounting department. There is also a problem with his insurance.” He must see my blank stare, because he adds, “He has none.”
A cold sweat breaks out on me, and I rasp, “How is that possible?”
He straightens uncomfortably, checking something on his tablet again before wincing. “They found his documents, but the insurance company said it expired three days ago. So as his family member, you need to—”
“Pay.” I finish for him while I lean on the wall, almost dizzy from the prospect of the hospital bills.
I have no savings or trust fund. All the money I make from waitressing and gardening barely covers school and everyday expenses. The half-tuition scholarship my university has granted me is my saving grace. I wouldn’t have been able to study without it.
The guy opens his mouth, but then someone calls, “Ron, could you please come to room 405.” He squeezes my shoulder like the doctor did. “We can talk about options once I’m back.” And he goes to the room.
I find a chair and drop onto it, resting my elbows on my knees and pulling my hair, wracking my mind for any solution.
There is no one I can ask for help either.
I’m not sure how long I’m rocking on the chair, back and forth, going through every contact in my mind—even my boss—when I hear the familiar sound of the cane echoing off the floor.
My heart stills in my chest and then beats wildly when black leather shoes appear in my vision. I slowly raise my eyes to the perfect suit and wrinkled face of Alfred Walker.
“Giselle.” And with just my name on his lips, he has the power to transform me to that little girl who trembles under his orders.
You grew up, Giselle, and no longer have to answer to him.
He officially disowned me, claiming that if I wanted to be rebellious, I could forget about their fortune. As if I gave a shit about that. I wanted my freedom and peace, which his money could never buy.
“Grandfather,” I greet him back and get up. “Grandpa Darius can’t be disturbed now.” He never liked me calling Darius “Grandpa,” so it’s a pleasure seeing fury flashing in his eyes, especially since he can’t do anything about it.
I’m no longer a little girl who he can punish.
“I’m aware of that. I came here to see you.”
A hollow laugh slips past my lips, and I make a move to walk past him, but he grabs my elbow, digging his fingers into my skin. “I don’t like the attitude, Giselle.”
“Let go of me before I scream,” I warn, not even wanting to waste energy to explain to him I do
n’t listen to his orders anymore. For a man like him, the world revolves around his desires.
His hold on me loosens, and I snatch my elbow back, throw my hair over my shoulder, and resume my walk toward the elevator, when his words stop me dead in my tracks. “He will lose his ranch.” Satisfaction laces his tone, along with distaste. “He likes to gamble. Always has. On top of medical bills and his health, how do you think he will handle it all?” My back is still turned to him, but fear settles in the pit of my stomach. “He has a weak heart. It might give up. And I don’t need useless help, so as of today, he’s fired.”
How is it possible for a person to be so cruel yet stay so calm?
I was raised by my grandfather, and I know how he operates. So with a heavy heart, I spin around to face him while his cold eyes scan me from head to toe. Even though each word tastes like acid in my mouth and I physically have to push the question from me, I finally ask, “What do you want?”
Grandfather won once again as he forced me back into his world.
Giselle
I place my hand on my chest, which beats wildly after the encounter with the stranger, and do my best to get a grip on my emotions.
What the hell was that?
I’ve never met a man who awakened such conflicting emotions inside me in the span of ten freaking minutes. Nor the way he talks—arrogantly, as if the entire world belongs to him, and we are merely his pawns to do with as he wishes.
“Asshole,” I mutter, but then I’m almost knocked to the ground when my sister jumps on me, plastering herself to my body like an octopus. “Lucy.”
“Giselle, you came!” she murmurs and squeezes me tighter in her arms, until I gasp, struggling to breathe. “I knew you’d forgive me,” she whispers, leaning back and palming my cheeks. “My older sister always forgives me no matter what shit I pull.” There are traces of something in her voice, alerting me a little, but I push it back, not wanting to dwell on it.
Instead, I focus on her huge grin and shining eyes that practically spill happiness to every passing person. Before I can reply on her laughable conclusion or remove myself from her arms, I catch Grandfather’s drilling stare on us. He darts his gaze from us to several women standing a few feet away, watching our exchange carefully and no doubt waiting for some gossip to spread in high society.