From A Harlot To A Princess

by Cage Thompson

  Panic flashed through her eyes, as a chill crept up her spine; what had she gotten herself into? Was this man mad?

  Too late to question that, a voice spat.

  “What are you talking about?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper, as her eyes took in the silent, but overwhelming fury, on his face. The skin was stretched taunt over the hardness of his cheekbones and she swallowed shakily. Violent men she was used to, but normally, someone had always known where she was; this man could kill her, and no one would have a clue.

  He wouldn’t; not the man that made slow tender love just hours ago to you, her heart reasoned.

  “He doesn’t look too tender now,” she murmured beneath her breath.

  Carter drew a ragged breath, as fire rushed through his veins, as he surveyed her abdomen, hating that he’d been so eager to claim her the night before that he hadn’t even seen these. Several large, masculine, shoe prints, marred her smooth caramel skin, causing it to take on a blue-black coloring. Swallowing shakily, he closed his eyes, battling to control the fierce beast that was fighting to reveal itself to her, and he almost lost the battle to reel in his temper.

  Opening his eyes, he held her gaze, reading the fear in them, but instead of battering his anger, her fear fed the hot, blue flames, and no doubt she saw it in his eyes, because hers widened. He roughly ran his hands through his hair, halting when he saw her freeze, looking fearfully at his raised hands. Dropping them, he sighed, before trying harder to contain his anger.

  Rochelle watched tentatively on tenterhooks, as he hid the fury in his blazing, green eyes, behind his lids once more. Her mind told her to brace for an attack, but her body was still too mellow from their lovemaking to. She noted that his hand shook when he reached for her; yet, his eyes were devoid of any emotion when he opened them. Her skin tingled under his fingers when he traced some patterns on her skin. “Do you like it that rough, Rochelle? Did you consent to it?” He asked gruffly, quietly, deadly quiet, and somehow, she got the feeling that her life was hanging in the balance for this answer.

  Carter watched as a frown pleated her brow as she searched his face. “Carter, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

  Carter traced the shoeprint once more, and unclenched his jaws. He hadn’t been gentle with her either; then again, neither had she been with him, if the scratch marks on his skin were any testimony to go by.

  “Do you like rough sex, Rochelle?” He asked softly, moving his fingers farther down to trace another bruise, and felt the skin beneath his finger quiver. He was turning her on; was it because of his words or touch? He wondered.

  “No; only with you,” she murmured, before shyly cupping his cheek, and bringing his eyes to hers.

  Was that worry she saw mixed with the heat of passion? Was he afraid that he had hurt her? She wondered.

  “Carter, last night and this morning had been amazing; you didn’t hurt me, at all,” she whispered, and felt his jaw clench beneath her palm.

  “Then who did this?” He demanded steely, before looking down at her abdomen, causing her eyes to follow his, and instantly, she froze.

  Grabbing the sheet, she pulled it up to her chin, swiftly hiding the evidence of her father’s brutality.

  Carter just as quickly ripped the sheet from her now shaking fingers. “Who, Rochelle?” He demanded once more, cupping her chin so that she couldn’t hide her face from him, but she closed her eyes. “Look at me.” He sucked in a breath when her eyes opened, and he saw the flood of emotions in them, but the two that hit him in the solar plexus were: pain and fear. “Who?” His patience was wearing very thin.

  Rochelle swallowed nervously, knowing that she couldn’t lie to him. “My father,” she said simply, and sucked in a breath when the anger flooded higher in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, when his cell rang.

  Chapter Seven

  “There is nothing worse than a man that can be everything to everybody else… except a father to their own child.”

  —Unknown

  CARTER CLAMPED HIS LIPS together as the cell shrilled once more. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead before rising to his feet to find the disruptive cell. “Don’t move,” he commanded, as she threw back the sheet to swing her legs to the floor. Watching her, he retrieved the phone from his pants on the floor and placed it at his ear.

  She watched as he listened for a moment, before responding in rapid Spanish, thunder darkening his expression.

  “Cancel the Venezuelan meeting, Grace,” he stated, switching to English, and listened some more, his expression darkening some more. “I don’t give a fuck if it was the ruler of the universe whom I was meeting; cancel the fucking meeting, and don’t contact this cell unless it is a life and death situation!” He snapped.

  At the office, a fifty years old blonde goddess sat frowning at the phone; Carter only got upset like that when something was really wrong. “Yes, Mr. de Silva,” she muttered, and listened for farther instructions.

  “Get Tyler ASAP, and tell him to call me like last year, Grace; I’ll see you when I get in.”

  Carter severed the call before she could respond and assessed Rochelle’s shocked expression.

  “Wasn’t that meeting with the president?” She asked, horrified.

  “He isn’t my maker; the meeting can be rescheduled if he finds it so important,” Carter stated flatly.

  “But won’t your company suffer?” She whispered, worriedly.

  Carter sighed and sat down beside her. He took her hand and caressed the Hummingbird tattoo on her left wrist. He looked up when he felt her pull her hand, but he didn’t relent his grip. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” He asked softly, and saw the truth in her hazel eyes when she looked away. “Don’t you dare think badly of yourself for what we did together,” he said firmly, and plucked her hand off his, as she attempted to cover the tattoo. “Why are you trying to hide it?” He asked softly, and she looked away once more.

  “Because…”

  The words died on Rochelle’s tongue, as his fingers firmly cupped her chin and forced her to hold his gaze. “Your career doesn’t define who you are, Rochelle. I’ll probably be a billionaire ten times over in a few years, but money can’t replace what you could bring to my life. Don’t let this define you,” he murmured.

  Rochelle covered her astonishment at the ease in which he stated his fortune, as if it meant nothing to him- as if everyone could amass that wealth. She fisted her hand as he stroked the tattoo once more, then something occurred to her. “How do you know what it signifies?” She questioned, and gestured to the tattoo, knowing that she didn’t have to.

  Carter brushed a few strands of wild curls from her cheek, and tucked them behind her ear. “I didn’t walk into that cinema blind. I didn’t approach you by chance, Rochelle; I already knew who you were, long before I spotted you at the bar,” he stated calmly.

  Rochelle frowned, a bit confused. “I don’t think I understand what you’re saying.”

  Carter smoothed her brow where her frown had caused the skin to pleat. “Do you remember that I had already known your name before your volunteered it?”

  Rochelle frowned again as she jogged through her memories. “I thought you had seen my tattoo,” she murmured.

  Carter groaned, as his groin tightened at the memory. The tattoo of her name lay right below the two dimples that guarded each side of her spine, and above the swell of her ample bottom; a sight that had been his solely to behold when he had taken her over the footstool. Swallowing roughly, he pushed away the thought and focused on her statement. “Your dress had hidden the tattoo well, sweetheart; I was pleasantly introduced to it with you over the footstool,” he said gruffly, and saw her blush. “Plus, your tattoo doesn’t contain your last name, Miss Jones,” he whispered decadently, with a wide grin, before leaning forward and placing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

  Rochelle’s hands crept up to his shoulders, as all her blood pooled below her abdomen. “Carter,”
she groaned, as she ran her tongue over his bottom lip and he began pushing her into the mattress.

  He murmured an oath as the cell rang between them. “De Silva,” he answered as he straddled her, her hair wild against the pillows.

  “I just broke free long enough to call you,” Tyler responded a bit breathlessly, and Carter frowned.

  “Something up, Tyler?” He questioned, his ears instantly perking up to the background sounds. He stiffened a bit at the gunfire.

  “It would seem as if the American president incited a grudge against him when he visited Korea last week,” he responded, before muttering something to another member of the President’s security detail. “We just managed to contain the issue.” A door slammed not too far away; no doubt a car’s own. “Drive, dammit; he’s your president, not an alien!” Tyler snapped, and a stuttered response came before the squeal of tires, and Carter had no doubt that it was a taxicab.

  “Tell the President that he ought to be more tactful with the type of friends he tries to keep, Si?” Carter murmured, and listened to Tyler’s voice as he transferred the message with a laugh.

  “One day, you’ll be in the very same position, and we’ll see who gets the last laugh; you should know that it’s not good to be a schadenfreude,” the United States of America’s president stated laughingly, into the cell’s microphone.

  Their relationship had been like this since Carter and the young president had met in 2004, when he had made his first billion on the US stock market at nineteen.

  “You’re on your own with that, James, because I would never want to replace you as the United States of America’s president; the title alone is guaranteed to attract enemies wherever you go!” Carter laughed.

  “Carter!” He looked down with a grin at Rochelle’s shocked expression, as the President’s chuckle came to a stop mid-vocal.

  “Is that a woman’s voice I hear? Just when I was starting to get the impression that I would have to give you my wife to get you off my back. Well, thank the Lord for that!”

  Carter chuckled. “You know I have a weakness in that department, and yes, it is a woman; a fine one at that,” he murmured, as he looked down at her beautiful face, and harden peaked breasts with hunger in his gaze. He laughed when Rochelle slapped him, before blushing deeply, her breasts standing more erect. “And before you get too curious, I’ll ensure that you meet her soon; this one’s pretty special. Now, give Tyler the phone, you spoilt child, so that I can conduct business.” Carter paused to draw an even breath, his voice becoming serious with affection and caution. “Remember to keep your head covered; they like to aim for the soft spot between your brows. I can’t afford for you to become another Kennedy; Sydney and Summer can’t manage that either.”

  “Is that worry I hear in your voice, Prince?” James questioned, jesting, though his voice had sobered somewhat.

  “You pompous ass!” Carter hissed, before joining in the merriment.

  By the time the president laughingly handed the phone back over to his Chief of Security Detail, Rochelle was ghostly pale.

  “So, why do you need me like last year?” Tyler questioned, after instructing the taxicab driver once more.

  “I need you to find which continent Percival Jones is on, and get back to me,” he stated in Greek, deepening his accent, aware that that was one of the few languages that he and Rochelle didn’t have in common.

  After answering in the affirmative, Tyler severed the call with a promise to update him on the president’s situation. With finality, Carter threw the cell on the side table, and focused on the package beneath him.

  “I can’t believe you just spoke to the president like that,” she murmured, her eyes wide. In her shock, she had totally missed the sound of her father’s name, even though it had been in an unfamiliar language.

  “Trust me, he takes the same liberties with me, and has called me worse names than I can ever think of or comprehend.”

  Rochelle’s eyes widened some more, the sun highlighting their almost golden color. “But he’s the president, and you’re…”

  “… Just a billionaire?” Carter questioned, deliberately omitting his princely title, and his soon coming reign. His eyebrows cocked, and a smirk formed on his face as her lips parted when her eyes couldn’t widen any farther at his nonchalant, but ostentatious response.

  Rochelle blinked; she was way out of her depth here. Yes, she had been around the rich and famous maybe thousands of times before; in fact, all her life, but they were of no consequence to her, but this man… Words failed her. “I didn’t mean it in that way,” she stammered, not wanting to offend him.

  Carter ran a finger over her bottom lip with a smile. “I’m not that petty, sweetheart; I understand your point-of-view, but all in all, we are mere men,” he murmured, and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

  She brushed back the stray locks of hair from his forehead that just fell back onto the place she had just removed it from. “Never mere, Carter; you’re far more than that.”

  She reached up and placed a palm against his chest when his expression clouded, as he gazed on her bruises, tracing the largest one with a tanned finger.

  “I’m fine, Carter; they don’t hurt anymore,” she whispered, but instead of soothing him, her words reignited the anger, stroking the hatred in him, and it blazed out through his eyes.

  “He should have never been allowed to lay his hands on you in the first place,” he said surly. “Where’s your mother in all of this?” He questioned, and Rochelle looked away.

  Carter read her expression thoroughly, and swore as he read the guilt in her eyes; the guilt of a child powerless to help her parent. “Why the fuck isn’t this being reported to the authorities?” He demanded, more to himself than her, the muscles in his shoulders drawing taut.

  “He’s the Justice Minister, Carter,” she stated simply, understanding his anger and somewhat sympathizing with him.

  “So, he can wipe away any trace of evidence from the books,” he stated coldly, and Rochelle swallowed and closed her eyes, as he swore in what seemed like ten different languages.

  The last time the police had come to take pictures of her mother’s cuts and bruises had been when she was five, and she remembered him returning that night.

  ✽✽✽

  Twenty-five years ago, 1993(Almost fifteen years before Carter)…

  It had been raining cats and dogs that night, lightning and thunder had seemed to aim to crack open their Red Hills mansion’s walls. Rochelle remembered the lightning ripping through the room each time her father had brought his huge hand down.

  She had been told firmly to sit and watch what would happen if either of them disobeyed him, and was bold enough to dare go to the police. She had then noticed the other fading bruises on her mother’s delicate skin in the soft night light when he demanded that she strip, as he’d wound his belt around his fist. In that moment, Rochelle had realized that this wasn’t the first time that her mother had endured her father’s punishments.

  Witnessing his cruelty for the first time, Rochelle had made the mistake of screaming when her mother had fumbled with a button, and her father had slapped her across the face so hard that she had fallen across the bed. She had been rewarded for her disruption with a sharp lash against her arm with the belt that had caused her to scream once more. Her mother had grabbed his hand when he had raised it once more.

  “Percival, please; she’s only a child, she won’t understand,” she had begged. “Do whatever you want with me, but please, leave her alone!”

  She had seen the spark of pure evil in his eyes at her mother’s suggestion. Not understanding the magnitude of what her mother had just done for her, she had waited with bated breath, until her father had looked at her coldly and snapped, “Leave now!”

  Rochelle had quickly escaped to her room and huddled in the corner behind the door, shaking. Her mother’s screams had echoed through the massive house, drowned out only by the occasional rumble of thunde
r after a flash of light. The screams had pierced her mind so deeply, that even her palms hadn’t been able to block them out; to her, they’d felt as if they had been trapped inside her head.

  After a while, when she hadn’t been able to bear it anymore, she had run back to their room, bursting through the massive doors.

  At two feet nothing, her father had seemed like a giant, and his cruelty had made him seem so much more monstrous. At that moment, he had had her mother in a tussle, one she wouldn’t have understood at that time; all she had known was that her mother had been begging him to stop, and her father had been naked.

  “Leave my mommy alone!” She had screamed, before charging towards the large bed. She had dug her little nails into the skin of his leg, and had heard him yowl.

  “You little brat; I should’ve have disciplined you when I had the chance!” He had snapped and turned to her, moving away from her mother. Her little eyes had widened when she had seen the blood on his penis, breaking her concentration as he’d brought his hand up.

  “Rochelle, run!”

  Her mother’s voice hadn’t pierced through the thick fog that had clouded her brain fast enough for her to move. She had just remembered feeling his thick arm slamming into her chest. The Dunn’s River Falls’ trompe-l’œil had been the last thing that she had looked at before her head had hit the marble tiles with a sickening sound, jarring her small frame.

  She had come around minutes, hours, days after- she had no clue- all she had known was that the rain was still falling. The news report in the background had been harping on about the hurricane’s strength reducing gradually.

  “Jones, what the hell are you doing?” A masculine voice demanded, as he probed and poked her small frame, as if in search of something. “If it was your wife… And dammit, Jones; she is barely five years old!”