by Mason, V. F.
Lydia, the housekeeper, rushes down the stairs and ushers us inside. “Everyone awaits you at the dinner table.”
“They started without us?” Darius asks with disbelief, and I wonder why he’s surprised.
Before I can comment on it though, Lydia says what I have in mind. “You are ten minutes late.” Her cheeks turn red, and she stammers a bit, clearly embarrassed, and Darius sighs in distress.
Just imagining though how it angered Grandfather Walker and how he probably paced back and forth in his living room, spitting insults to everyone about us, has me amused. A chuckle slips past my lips, and Callum joins my amusement, sharing a smile with me.
Then we both burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the silent night, and I notice how Lydia and the doorman, Clark, hide their grins.
“Enough, kids,” Grandpa chastises us, but chuckles himself before he orders Lydia, “Notify them we’re here.” Then he addresses Clark, “Help me, kiddo.” Clark extends his elbow so Grandpa can hook his arm in it, and they slowly walk up the stairs to the massive oak doors.
“I know it’s wrong, but I’m so glad your driver took a wrong turn and we hit traffic on the road,” I whisper, and Callum winks at me.
“I aim to please.” The way he says it, so proudly yet mockingly, stops me on my way, and I nudge him a little.
“Did you do it on purpose?”
“He hurt what’s mine.” Callum’s hand lightly caresses my hair before tugging on one of the locks. “I can’t kill him, but I can annoy him.” The word kill has a cold-water effect and I step back when reality hits me.
For a second there, I forgot about Callum and slipped back into our usual banter, like a normal couple.
Except there is nothing normal about us anymore, is there?
“Let’s get this over with. I have things to do later.”
“Do you?” He lights up a cigarette, and I frown.
“You can’t smoke inside.”
“Watch me give a fuck.”
“Suit yourself,” I say to him right before we enter. The sound of our shoes on the floor echo as we make our way to the dining room, where the spacious table is lit with candlelight.
It’s laid with the most expensive cuisine, from the salmon to caviar served on gold-rimmed china with red monograms. Grandfather’s perfectly aged wine from his French vineyard is on the table, and the people eat silently, forks scratching against plates. Two members of the staff stand by, ready to attend to every command.
Grandfather is sitting at the head, of course, with Dad on his right and Kevin on his left, while their women are by their sides.
All in all, a standard dinner at his house.
Grandpa clears his throat. “Alfred,” he says, slowly walking toward him while nodding to other members of the family who raise their heads at us.
Martina’s mouth spreads in a smile as she wipes it with a napkin and rises to hug him. Despite all the odds, she’s always loved my grandpa, even though I found it strange. Shouldn’t she feel resentment toward the father of the woman who her husband had an affair with?
“Giselle!” Lucy says, sliding her chair back and wanting to dart toward me, with excitement practically pouring from her.
The last time we saw each other was during their wedding, which I attended with Callum for exactly twenty minutes, and we left to his penthouse where he made love to me for hours. Ever since, I’ve dodged all her calls, because I have nothing to say to her.
“Sit down, both of you,” Grandfather barks, and the two women freeze midway, hanging over their chairs, and then drop back, casting their gazes down. “Darius, take your usual seat.” As always, Grandpa complies with the order, and my hands fist in anger and then relax a tiny bit when Callum’s hand wraps around me, bringing me closer.
I’ll examine all those emotions later, but for now, we need to present a united front here, and I don’t want to face my grandfather alone, even if it makes me a pathetic human being.
“Good evening to everyone,” Callum says boldly, and Grandfather’s eyes narrow as he points at the seat next to Lucy.
Is that supposed to be a silent command or something?
Callum pushes me forward but then stops me at the opposite end of the table, lifting his chin to his right. Furrowing my brow, I follow as he slides back the chair for me to sit.
Then he drops into his own, facing Grandfather head-on, and I motion for the staff to fill my drink, because this is about to get ugly.
Serves Callum right for dragging me here and arranging it behind my back.
“You are late and then dare to disrespect me?” Grandfather bellows, and I sip the wine, resting my back against the chair.
“Am I?”
“It’s fifteen minutes past eight. I told you dinner would be at eight.”
Callum picks up his glass, winking at Lydia, whose cheeks heat up, and he takes a large sip, all while Grandfather’s face becomes redder and redder, and everyone else stays silent.
“I said we would come to the dinner. I never specified the time. You did.”
“All right, everyone,” Grandpa Darius says. “We apologize for being late, Alfred. But let’s not have a fight two days before the wedding.”
Grandfather squeezes his glass but nods. “Fine.”
My jaw almost hits the table when he retreats so easily. I expected another shouting match for Callum’s smartass remark.
Grandfather snaps his fingers. “Serve the main dish.” The staff start hurriedly moving, placing the silver-covered plates with steaming food inside. “Callum, as the new member of this family, you need to learn certain rules.”
Callum looks at me, lifting his brows, and I shrug. He never gave any rules to Kevin.
Oh my God, this dinner and entire situation are so ridiculous… I can’t even.
“My granddaughter gets twenty-five percent of the family business when I die.”
I spit the wine, choking on it as shock paralyzes me for a second.
“What?” Martina and Dad both murmur, surprised as hell. So they didn’t know about the will either?
Lucy, though, gives me a thumbs-up, winking. She’ll be getting the same amount, I assume. After Grandfather took away my trust fund, I thought I shouldn’t expect much from him.
Grandfather gives me a side-eye before continuing. “She was not aware of that. Generations and generations of Walkers have signed prenup contracts. You have to do the same. Those are the rules.”
“And if I don’t?”
Martina gasps at that while Grandfather grunts. “Then there will be no wedding.”
Callum leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Shouldn’t this be Giselle’s decision? We hardly live in the dark ages where I need your approval on anything.”
He snorts at that. “She’ll do as I say. She is a Walker and I raised her.”
Those words confuse me, because there is strange note to them. As if I should be grateful he did that.
He waits a bit before adding, “Plus, marrying you against my wishes will mean being disowned.”
“I’m not sure it’s the right time to—”
Dad cuts off whatever Darius wants to say though. “Do we have to discuss it now?” There is a weird edge to his tone, as if he is afraid of something.
“In two days, she will be a MacRae,” Callum says, ignoring everyone else as he drills his stare into Grandfather. “She won’t need your money. I think everyone at this table knows my net worth.”
Grandfather slams his fist on the table, rattling the dishes, and I jump on my seat, looking between them. “How dare you talk to me like that in my house?”
“How dare you disrespect my bride like that?” Callum fires back.
“I’m taking care of her.”
“Oh, like your son did? I paid for his campaign, so he gave me his blessing. I believe, according to the contract you drew up, as long as one family member agrees… Giselle doesn’t lose her shares.” His voice is nothing but mocking, and my
heart pangs painfully, because Dad’s pale face confirms Callum’s words.
He sold me to the highest bidder? “Dad, how could you?” I whisper, because now nothing stops Callum. By marrying me, he will get access to all my company shares.
According to the rules my great-great-grandfather placed, all husbands who marry into the family get voting rights and access to shares.
“You went against me?” Grandfather bellows, and Dad huffs.
“Please, like it means anything. You don’t allow anything to change in the company, period. Callum was marrying her anyway. Why not agree to it?”
“And run your campaign smoothly,” I whisper again, and he nods in satisfaction.
“I knew you’d understand.”
That one statement though proves to me once and for all what kind of family this is.
Grandfather shouts again, “There will be no wedding!” He breathes heavily, and Martina gets up to fetch some water for him, but he slaps her hands away, spilling the liquid on her. “Get away from me.”
Callum laughs, although it lacks any humor. Instead, danger lurks around the edges of it. “Oh, there will be a wedding. Now, you have two choices,” he announces, flexing his index finger. “You can either accept it and be part of our family. Or—” He flexes another finger. “—you can get the hell away from my future wife. The choice is yours. But a warning.” His tone drops, and his ruthless expression chills even me. “Whatever upsets her… will reflect on the company.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“No, I’m simply telling you what will happen.”
“You little—”
Picking up the plate in front of me, I raise it high and drop it on the floor, where it shatters, silencing everyone. I get up, placing my splayed hands on the table. “You sold me to him for your campaign?” I address my father first, fed up with all the frustration that has built up inside me for years.
Enough is enough.
“And you, Grandfather, you never asked Kevin to sign anything. Why are you asking Callum?”
He looks to the side when Lucy blinks in confusion. Apparently, only now it dawns on her no one asked her husband for anything. “You didn’t sign a prenup?” she asks Kevin, and he shakes his head.
Not that I needed this confirmation anyway. I accuse, “Because you knew they were having an affair.” Martina gasps, but I don’t care. “And no one needs to sign a prenup if he marries the right granddaughter.”
“Giselle.”
My hand stops Grandpa Darius from speaking, because he is not part of this. “But I’m a bastard, and whoever I bring is a danger to this family. No, it’s not even that. You think he might marry me only for the money.” A hollow chuckle slips past my lips. “It’s a foreign concept to think someone might want me for me and not because the Walker surname is attached to me.”
“Enough with the dramatics.”
“You’re right. Enough.” Shifting my gaze to Callum, I announce, “I’m marrying him in two days. Like it or not.” I straighten and send an apologetic glance to Grandpa before focusing back on Callum. “I’m done here. You can stay and enjoy the dinner you planned.” I hiss the last part and stride toward the exit, fury rocking me while I can’t believe my stupidity through the years.
I thought they could never sink lower in my eyes, but they’ve managed to do that.
All of them killed any tender emotions I felt toward them.
Stepping outside, I inhale the fresh air and exhale, noticing Callum’s car waiting for us with the driver shooting the breeze with our doorman.
I proceed down the stairs, and they both straighten when they notice me. The driver runs around the car, opening the door. “Miss Walker. Is Mr. MacRae coming?”
“No.” I’m sure his sadistic nature enjoys the show, and even my pain.
I hop into the car, and Henderson closes the door after me. The minute Henderson sits, I order, “Drive.”
“To where, Miss?”
Somewhere far away from here preferably, is on the tip of my tongue, but I have no such luxury.
Not until I end this once and for all.
“To Callum’s penthouse.”
With him enjoying the show, I will have enough time to find evidence, and then I can move on with my life, away from the people who have used and abused me.
Away from people who have never loved me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Callum, 19 years old
The music is blasting from the speakers when I put on the boxing gloves and knock my fists against each other. I deliver a few blows to the punching bag dangling from the ceiling, right in the middle of the ring.
Hit. Hit. Hit.
I jump back and then spin around, kicking it, and turn again, only to kick it harder this time.
I resume hitting it back and forth, until sweat is dripping down my forehead and my breath becomes raspy, but I block everything away, concentrating on the rock music filling the space.
Swaying to the side, I stand in a fighting position, ready to finish this fucking bag and call it a day, when the music dies and the sudden silence halts my movements, freezing me on the spot.
Breathing heavily, I glance to the side to see Sociopath leaning on the ropes while holding a remote to the stereo. “I see you’re still trying to destroy my property,” he says, as I yank off the gloves.
“What are you doing here?”
His brow rises. He dips under the ropes and hops in the ring, motioning at me. “Luke told me you’ve lost your mind.”
Yeah, no loyalty from that man for me. But then, did I expect anything else? In a choice between me and Sociopath, he’ll always choose him. “I prefer to call it research, but suit yourself,” is my only reply before I grab the nearby towel, wiping away the sweat and then hanging it over my neck. “Besides… I can do whatever the hell I want.” Even though the words leave my mouth, I know they’re not true.
Not so much because I’m afraid of him, no. But because I owe him, and I will always pay my debts.
Sociopath nods, slapping the folder in his hand over his hip. “That’s true. I’m surely not here to babysit you.” He sweeps his gaze over me. “You need to work on your technique,” he announces, and I roll my eyes, picking up the bag.
Life with them has been… eventful, to say the least.
After Sociopath listened to my story, he allowed me to stay with Luke, who happened to be his father’s friend. That’s the only explanation I got on his life, or whatever the fuck happened to him. He warned me not to ask any questions, and I didn’t, because I couldn’t care less what he did.
After I healed enough to work, they hired teachers who taught me how to read and write, as I had forgotten everything. Enrolling me in school was out of the question, so the teachers did their best to prepare me for college while Luke helped me obtain my high school diploma.
Once again, their only reply was “don’t ask.”
I had no fucking clue why they decided to help me, but I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I chose business administration as my degree and studied botanical gardens in my spare time, as mesmerizing nature still held an appeal for me. Besides, I needed to support myself, and I could only achieve that with the right investments.
Sociopath even put some money in an account, allowing me to use it for any business start-up I’d want.
Also, Luke made it his mission to train me to fight, weapons skills and other shit that might help me protect myself.
Sometimes I wondered why my story inspired such generosity in Sociopath, who was a rich fucking guy from the elite. What does he know about what it’s like to live a life like mine?
“I’ll do that.” I stroll toward the end of the ring, ready to hop down, when his question stops me dead.
“Can you explain to me something… Hades?”
My back is still facing him while I dwell on how he found out. Sociopath spends most of his days in New York, plotting shit I have no clue about. I’m not even
sure why he has such a nickname, considering he is a lawyer… or why it’s a no-no to speak his real name.
“Well, no explanation?”
I turn to him, hooking my thumbs on my pockets. “None.”
He opens up the folder and then throws picture after picture after picture on the floor, each of them showcasing blood and torture and victims galore. Chopped limbs. Smeared brains. Empty scalps. “You’ve been killing people once every four weeks for the last ten months.”
I stay silent when he throws down the last picture of the guy I killed two days ago.
My mouth curves at remembering his cries of pain, but Sociopath’s face stays immovable. “So I repeat, are you out of your fucking mind?”
“No, I’m sane,” I reply and lift my chin. “Do whatever you want with that information.” Even if he decides to send me to the cops, I will run away and no one will find me.
They taught me that well, how to operate.
“You even got nicknamed Hades, because you take so many souls to the underworld.” He ruffles his hair. “Un-fucking-believable.”
He can think that… but the truth is—I choose that name as a signature, because I want to be the Hades who frees people from the assholes I kill. From the people who are constantly present in children’s nightmares.
Hades didn’t help me, but I sure as fuck will help those cases I know of.
I can hunt, kill, dispose.
Everything.
No child on my watch will be begging for mercy while I’m around to kill those fuckers.
“They deserved it.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I do.”
He moves closer, stomping on photos scattered around us. “You have no control and leave traces of DNA.” My eyes widen in surprise. “Yeah, fucker, you are not that smart.”
“My fingerprints are not in databases, so—”
“They will be soon.” He exhales heavily, dropping the file. “You are reckless in your need for revenge. I’m not even sure all those people deserved your wrath.” His raised palm shuts up whatever I want to say to defend myself. “The cuts you make, everything is amateurish. You will bring trouble to Luke. Do you want that?”