JACKSON

by Davis, Siobhan

  _______________

  I peek my head out into the hallway the next morning, checking the coast is clear before I slip out of my room. Fighting a yawn, I pad to the kitchen, slamming to a halt when I spot the housekeeper humming to herself as she stands over the stove, stirring eggs in the skillet.

  She whips her head around, her cheeks flushing when she notices me standing there. You should be embarrassed, I think, fake smiling at her as I walk to the counter and pour myself a glass of orange juice.

  She’s the reason I’m smothering yawns this morning. At least, I presume it was her tangoing with Christian between the sheets last night. My stomach twists up as I remember the screams and moans coming from his room. It has left a nasty taste in my mouth.

  Why would he fuck the housekeeper knowing I’m in the room next door?

  And isn’t she a little young for him? She can’t be more than a few years older than me. It makes me uncomfortable, and I’m not sure what to do with that.

  Swallowing my distaste, I accept a plate of eggs and bacon from her, taking it outside to enjoy the beautiful morning.

  I’m halfway through my eggs when Christian makes an appearance.

  “Good morning.” He leans down, kissing my cheek, and I have a sudden urge to scrub at my skin and wipe his saliva from it.

  “Good morning.” My smile is tight-lipped, but if he notices, he doesn’t mention it.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asks, and I almost choke on my scrambled eggs.

  “Oh dear.” He flashes me a dazzling smile, and I’m beginning to think he’s doing that on purpose. “Were we a little too loud last night?”

  Lord, please open the ground and swallow me. I do not want to be having this conversation right now. “A little,” I mumble, shoveling more eggs in my mouth so he takes the hint and ends this Godawful discussion.

  “Lucia is enthusiastic, but I’ll try and keep her quiet tonight.” He waggles his brows suggestively.

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I almost spit my eggs out all over the table.

  “I apologize for oversharing,” he says, handing me a fresh glass of juice. His smile holds amusement. “Trent and I used to trade war stories.” He winks again, and it grosses me out. “I’ll try to remember you’re a lady and that it’s not polite conversation.”

  Eh, yeah.

  “What about Trent’s mother?” I ask. “Where is she?” He’s not wearing a wedding ring, I’ve noticed, and he hasn’t mentioned a wife, but it’d be odd if he wasn’t married to someone at some point. He’s handsome, rich, and successful, and you can’t tell me he didn’t find someone to put a ring on.

  “We’re divorced,” he says through gritted teeth. “She was a drunk for most of our marriage.”

  “You have a type,” I blurt before I can think better of it.

  His eyes probe mine, his angry look fading away. “Your mother too?”

  I nod.

  He’s quiet for a moment while he tops up his coffee from the pot. “I’m sorry you experienced that. No child should grow up in an environment like that.”

  I shrug, not wanting to get into it. This conversation is already weird as fuck, and something is a little off with him this morning. I went to bed happy last night, and now, well, I’m not sure what to make of things.

  “I thought we’d take my boat out today,” he says. “Lucia will fix us a picnic basket for lunch. There are some pretty caves we can explore, so make sure to wear a bathing suit and bring sunscreen.”

  I’m sitting in my room, holding my cell in my hand, chewing on my lip as I contemplate whether to send this text to Abby or not. She’s been trying to reach me. I have several missed calls and texts asking me to contact her. She’s probably worried because I’m skipping classes. I could reply and tell her I’m out of town for a few days and not to worry, or I could let her know exactly where I am, and whom I’m with, just in case anything should happen to me.

  Maybe, it’s the lack of sleep, but my nerves are on edge, and something just doesn’t feel right today. I can’t put my finger on it, but my instinct is screaming at me, and I’m not usually one to ignore a gut feeling. Perhaps, coming here was a mistake, but there’s nothing I can do to fix that without a time machine. Coming here without telling anyone was a mistake too, but that’s something I can fix, so I tap out a quick message before I overthink it.

  Me: I’m okay. I’m in Lanzarote with my dad, Christian Montgomery. I’ll be home in a few days.

  “Vanessa.” Christian raps on my door. “Are you ready?” he calls out.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  I pop my cell into my makeup case where I stowed it last night. Just before I headed to bed last night, Christian asked me if I had brought my other cell with me, which struck me as odd. Why would that matter? My gut encouraged me to lie, so I told him I only brought the cell he sent me, and that seemed to appease him. My sixth sense prompted me to hide it, so I did.

  Maybe, I should take it with me so I can respond when Abby replies. I take it from my makeup bag and drop it into the inside zipped pocket of my bag. Standing, I grab my bag and my towel, conducting a mental checklist to ensure I haven’t forgotten anything, before I skip out of the room to join my father.

  Christian drives us to the small marina in an open-top BMW. It reminds me of the journey from New York to The Hamptons that I took with Jackson. My heart squeezes in my chest, like someone has a hand around it, whenever I think of that weekend. It didn’t end the best, but it had started out so promising. I squirm a little on my seat as I recall how hot it was riding Jackson on the lounge chair outside the bedroom. It feels like a lifetime ago.

  How did it go so wrong?

  Why did it go so wrong?

  I still don’t have answers to my questions or understand why he turned on me or why he was playing with me in the first place.

  Maybe, Abby is right. Perhaps, I should talk to him when I return. To clear the air and get some closure. Shandra and Abby have been great friends, and I owe it to them to try to smooth things over between me and my ex. If they’re going to be a part of my life, I have to accept he’s a part of their lives too. I need to find some middle ground where I can tolerate him.

  “We’re here,” Christian says, startling me. I barely even registered the journey. A car pulls up behind us, and two men get out. One of them is the scary dude from the airport ride, and I recognize the other guy from prowling around the house last night. Goose bumps sprout on my arms, and I fight a shiver as I climb out of the car, wondering if this level of protection is really necessary on an unassuming island like this.

  Christian approaches Ivan, the scary dude. “You can both stay here. I’d like some alone time with my daughter.” Christian takes the wicker picnic basket from the man’s hands.

  Ivan just nods, and I wonder if he ever speaks.

  I traipse alongside Christian as we walk past a row of boats harbored at the pretty marina. He’s in a great mood, pointing out various things as we walk, regaling me with stories about the history of this fishing village.

  “This is mine,” Christian says when we reach the end of the path, stopping in front of a glistening silver luxury sailing yacht.

  It’s not huge-huge, but it has a semi-open top deck and an enclosed bottom deck. Access on and off the boat is via the lower level, so I hop over onto the flat, unenclosed section at the back, before opening the door which grants entry to the cabin area. A set of stairs on the right-hand side leads to the upper level, which is where the control panel is and the open area for sunbathing.

  I explore the enclosed space while Christian goes upstairs to start the engine.

  I trail my hand over the circular cream-colored leather seating area, surrounding a glossy walnut-topped table, imagining how glorious it would be to eat meals here with the sun streaming through the window, watching the world racing by. Up ahead is a small galley kitchen. It’s perfectly equipped with everything one would need to entertain. At the rear of
the space is a bedroom with a large king-sized bed occupying most of the room, and on the other side is a small bathroom with a shower.

  Finishing my exploration, I walk up the steps to the next level just as the yacht slowly moves forward, leaving the marina. “Do you like it?” Christian asks, glancing over my shoulder, pinning me with one of those dazzling smiles of his. I guess he only has to flash that grin at women, and they drop their panties for him. I’d prefer if he didn’t use it on me, but I’m probably being overly sensitive.

  “It’s great. I love it,” I truthfully admit, taking a seat on one of the leather-backed benches that line both sides of the upper deck.

  Putting my sunglasses on, I fix my hair into a casual high bun, watching the land disappear behind us as Christian picks up speed, maneuvering the boat out into the open ocean, quickly eating up the miles.

  I apply sunscreen to all areas of exposed skin, but I keep my light, sleeveless cotton minidress on, uncomfortable stripping to my bathing suit in front of him.

  Tilting my head up, I angle my face, welcoming the warm sunshine on my skin.

  “There’s a lounge chair over there,” Christian says. “Lie down and make yourself comfortable.”

  I hesitate for a moment before getting up and lying down on it, facing it away from him. I doze off for a few minutes, coming to when I feel a finger trail up my arm. I jerk awake, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my knees in a familiar protective pose. I blink furiously as my eyes adjust to the bright light, and I re-center myself.

  “Relax,” Christian says, pulling over a lounge chair beside me. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I think you’re getting burned. You should apply more sunscreen.” He hands me a bottle of water, and I loosen my tense muscles, stretching my legs back out.

  “Thanks.” My mouth is parched, so I greedily glug the water while he takes sips from a glass of white wine. His shirt has disappeared and his feet are bare, so he’s only wearing black swim shorts, hanging rather low on his hips. He’s in good shape for an old dude though. It’s clear he takes care of himself.

  I notice we are stationary, the boat bobbing gently on the ocean, and I cast a glance around to check out our surroundings. In front of us is miles and miles of open ocean, and a few hundred feet behind us is the cliff face. Several openings are visible under the gray rock, leading to dark, hidden chambers. “Are those the caves you mentioned?” I ask.

  “Yes. We can explore them after lunch. If you like.” He fights a smirk.

  Weird.

  “Sounds fun,” I agree.

  “You must be melting in that dress,” Christian says a couple of beats later. “You should take it off.”

  Alarm bells ring in my ears even though it’s not that unusual of a request.

  It’s more the way he said it.

  “I’m good.” I shoot him a quick smile before drinking more of my water, purely to avoid talking about it anymore. But he’s like a dog with a bone.

  “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” he drawls. “Go ahead. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable on my account.”

  Nerves shoot across my gut, and fear creeps over my skin, one inch at a time. I’m uneasy, and I’m not altogether sure why except my instinct is screaming in my ear again. I lower my gaze to my bag, double-checking to ensure it is still beside me. “Honestly, I’m good,” I repeat when he continues staring at me expectantly. “I’m not even that hot,” I lie. “I’ve been feeling a little unwell since breakfast. I hope I’m not coming down with something.”

  “Let me check.” He swings his legs around, placing his hand on my brow before I can stop him. “You do feel a little clammy. I have a first aid kit in the bathroom. Let me grab some pills for you. I have just the thing to settle your stomach.” He rises, shooting me that grin again, and I’m really starting to dislike it and him.

  “No!” I blurt. “I don’t take pills. I don’t like the way they make me feel.”

  He eyes me strangely for a couple seconds before reclaiming his seat. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, let me know.” He reaches behind me, pulling another bottle of water from the mini refrigerator. “You should drink lots of water. You don’t want to get dehydrated. It can happen quickly in the sun.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Silence descends, but it’s not a comfortable silence. It’s the awkward silence that exists between two strangers.

  “So,” he says, after about ten minutes has passed, cutting through the silence. “There was something I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Okay.” I draw the word out, suddenly apprehensive. Little beads of sweat dot my brow, and I’m so hot it feels like my clothes are stuck to my body, and I’m seconds away from self-combustion. My heart is racing fast, skipping to a quicker beat, almost like it’s trying to flee my chest. I was lying a few minutes ago when I said I was feeling a little unwell, and now, I’m wondering if I’ve jinxed myself, because I genuinely do feel ill now.

  “I’m a little unhappy with you.”

  Fear races through me at his words, and the less than friendly look on his face.

  “Me?” I squeak. “What did I do?” Oh my God. I bet he found out about my arrest for shoplifting when I was fourteen. My face heats even more at the prospect of having to explain myself. If he’s gone digging in my past, he’ll know I nearly got expelled from school, had to skip a year, and I came close to a full-blown nervous breakdown. If he starts questioning me about it, he might discover the reason why, and I don’t want him to know. I don’t want anyone to know.

  “I hear you’ve been dating Jackson Lauder. This displeases me greatly.”

  “Wait. What?” I splutter. Did he just ask me about Jackson? What the hell has he got to do with anything?”

  “You’re to stay away from him. That’s an order.”

  “An order?”

  “Yes,” he snaps, turning the full extent of his cold glare on me.

  I cower in my chair, pulling my knees up to my chest, as my heart thumps wildly behind my rib cage. Fear bathes me from head to toe, and I’ve a real bad feeling about this. I wipe my arm across my sweaty brow, blinking profusely as my eyes turn blurry.

  “I know you’re a good girl underneath that naughty reputation you’ve obviously worked hard for,” he adds.

  Oh fuck. He does know. Removing my sunglasses, I rub at my eyes, wondering why my vision is out of focus. “What’s Jackson got to do with anything?”

  “Everything.” Darting forward, he grips my chin painfully. His face is close, too close, and as his eyes drill into mine, he shields nothing from me, boldly showing me his true colors.

  Panic charges up my throat as I see the truth he’s been skillfully hiding. I’d know that dark glint anywhere. I spent years staring into the eyes of a monster who shared the same predatory gaze.

  What have I done? Traded one monster for another?

  “Jackson Lauder murdered your brother, Trent, and you’re going to help me exact my revenge.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Vanessa

  “WHAT?! NO! NO way.” I shake my head. “Jackson is a lot of things, but he’s not a murderer.”

  “You stupid naïve cunt!” he hisses, slapping my face. “You dare to call me a liar?”

  My head is fuzzy, my cheek hurts, and my heart is trying to beat a path out of my body as crippling fear lays siege to my insides. But I’ve been here before, and I know how to appease the beast. “No, Father. I’m sorry,” I say in my meekest voice. “If you say he did that, I believe you.”

  Christian stares into my eyes for a few moments, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved smile graces his ugly mouth. He rubs his thumb along my lower lip. “Aaron taught you well. I guess I can thank him for training you.”

  I stare at him horror-struck as his words register in my muddled brain, and he starts laughing. The asshole laughs, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

  “What? You think I don’t know everyth
ing there is to know about you?” he sneers. “I needed to find out if you were capable enough to do my bidding.” His hand leaves my face, trailing down my neck.

  I move to slap him away, but my arm is all floppy, and it won’t cooperate. Another layer of horror sweeps over me as realization dawns. “What did you do to me?”

  “I put a little something in your water that will make you more amenable. Not enough to make you unconscious, because I want you awake, but enough that you’re cooperative.”

  “You twisted bastard,” I slur. “I’m your daughter. Your flesh and blood!” A thought stops me. Maybe I’m not. Maybe it’s all been a lie. Maybe—

  My head whips back as he slaps me across the face again, and I cry out.

  “You are my flesh and blood, darling. You are a Montgomery, and you are going to prove that to me.” He arches a brow, his lips curving up at the corners. “Ask me how.”

  “Fuck you!” I slur, attempting to slap his hand away when it lands on my chest. But whatever he’s drugged me with has done an effective job. I’m losing control of my faculties, and I can’t make my body do what I want it to do; however, I’m still alert enough that I’ll remember everything he subjects me to.

  “That’s not very ladylike. You’ve been spending too much time with that cunt Abigail. She’s on my shit list too, and you’ll help me handle her. It’s been a long time coming.” The look in his eye can only be described as sheer evil.

  Tears roll down my face as he tears my dress off me, licking his lips as his gaze roams my body. He straddles my waist, cupping my breasts through my suit, kneading them roughly. “Could be a bit bigger, but we can fix that.”

  “I’m your daughter, you sick fuck!” I shout, attempting to bump him off me, but I can barely make my body move.

  He slaps me across the face again. “You say that like it would turn me off.” He palms the bulge in his shorts, and my stomach lurches as nausea punches me in the gut. “When all it does is turn me on. In the elite world, daughters learn to pleasure their fathers from an early age.” He leans down, licking a path between my breasts, and I cry out, more terrified than I’ve been in years. “Don’t worry, we can have fun catching up.”