“Does that sound like the kind of thing we would have looking over our shoulder—always wondering if there was a cop around the corner?” I shook my head back and forth. “I grew up without a father because he was locked up most of my life—I wouldn’t be able to bring a child into this world knowing that I could end up doing the same thing to them.”
“Did you put him there?” She sighed and looked away.
“No.” I once again resisted the urge to comfort her. “I know it isn’t easy, but your father isn’t the kind of man you think he is. He’s the most dangerous man in Chicago. The reason we called you princess? Is because most people call him the King.”
“I’ve heard that, but my father—he’s just a businessman. He runs an investment firm and has a lot of clients.” She gave me a doe-eyed expression as she looked back.
“Oh sweetheart,” I chuckled, a real laugh because I realized how naive she really was. “Your father isn’t a businessman, he’s a fucking gangster—as real as it gets. Yeah, he runs an investment firm, but he invests that money in places you’d never want to go—places that make O’Malley’s look like Disneyland. His investments buy favors and when the king comes to collect on one of them—you sure as fuck better be willing to do anything.”
“You make him sound dangerous.” She pulled her knees up against her chest.
“For fuck's sake, Anabelle—he murdered someone to send us to prison! Do you not think he’s dangerous!?” My laugh was gone—I was feeling rage building quick.
“That’s not what he did—it was an accident. John pulled the gun on him—he had no choice.” She swallowed hard and tears ran down her face.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” I pushed her away and stood. “Open your eyes, Anabelle. Nothing that happens in Chicago goes down unless your father gives an order. Do you really think an investment firm buys you a castle on the North Side? Prescott Manor looks like something out of a fairy tale, but this isn’t one.”
“My family has always been wealthy…” She turned her head, so she could still see me. “My grandfather had money—so did my great-grandfather.”
“Do you really think a man who isn’t doing something dirty would be that concerned about who you marry—who gets to claim a piece of the pie when he’s gone?” I shook my head angrily. “Everything is calculated—you’re just an asset, no different than the rest of his shit. He’s going to trade you away to add another tower to his kingdom.”
“He wouldn’t do that—he wants to find me a husband that is suitable. Yes, he wants to make sure I marry a good man and someone that would be a good fit for the family, but that’s what Prescott’s do. It’s always been that way.” I could see the confusion on her face—she was processing what I said, but it was hard for her to hear.
“Do you know what else your father said to me the day he tried to give me a million dollars to end things with you?” I growled under my breath. “He said he’d find you a husband that understands—and that I could keep fucking you—once you were properly married.”
“What?” Her face reflected more confusion.
“Yeah, princess. All your father cares about is that you say your vows to the guy he chooses—he doesn’t care if you are fucking one guy, two guys, or a whole tribe of guys from the South Side. All he cared about was ending our relationship—making sure that you were free to do his fucking bidding.” I exhaled sharply. “Now if that’s all he cares about—how far would he go to get it?”
I grabbed the gag and put it back in her mouth before she could respond. I had said enough. She needed to have some quiet reflection to think about it—and she needed to get fucked. The emotional trauma needed to be followed up with physical lust—so she could understand that her body was nothing more than an implement of my pleasure. That it wasn’t sacred—to anyone, much less her father. That was the only way to bring her back. I had to shatter the illusion that her father had created—show her that the mirror had been broken long before it told her she was the fairest one of all.
I grabbed her legs and dropped my pants as I crawled between her thighs. My cock was hard—her body was always going to be gorgeous enough to get that reaction. I buried it in her immediately. Even in despair, I saw the longing in her eyes. I started thrusting—giving her my best ones—making them hurt. She still moaned—still begged for pleasure. I wasn’t going to give that to her. I sped up, forcing myself to chase my climax as fast as possible. That was what mattered. She couldn’t come —that had to be denied. I felt her tumbling towards the edge, but I was there first. I drove my cock deep and left it there as I unloaded my seed. I was done. She could feel that longing stay unfulfilled while she ached for what she destroyed.
I’ll keep fighting my desire to show her kindness until she says the words I want to hear.
I left her on the mattress and returned to the other room. Brody was waiting—he heard what we did. He was ready too. That was even better because he could torment her a little longer, but he couldn’t make her come.
“Don’t give her an orgasm.” I nodded as he walked past me. “It’s important.”
“Fine…” He grunted. “I’ll make sure she suffers a little bit too.”
Perfect.
Anabelle
My body was ravaged by Rourke—ravaged by Brody. They didn’t even let me have a taste of pleasure. I couldn’t even focus on that. I was too consumed by what Rourke said. I didn’t want to believe him, but he had never lied to me. My father had. Not only did he lie to me, but he also made me lie to the police—he made me accuse Rourke and Brody. Was I really living in a dark, twisted nightmare instead of a fairy tale? Did people really fear my father? I never saw that side of him. The only thing I saw was his iron will, even-keel temper, and occasionally a hint of rage when I did something wrong.
Except for one night—the night I saw desperation.
Maybe I should have realized something so unusual for him wasn’t real—that it could have been a ploy to take the one thing I truly loved.
One year ago
“Here, have a drink.” My father walked up and put a glass in my hand.
“What is this? Whiskey?” I looked up at him in surprise.
“Yeah, trust me—it helps.” He sat down across from me with a glass of his own and started clipping the end off of an expensive cigar.
He’s never served me anything before, much less alcohol.
It had been two days since John’s body was taken from my father’s study on a body bag and less than twenty-four hours since Rourke and Brody were arrested. I couldn’t even turn on the television without seeing their faces—haunting me as the image of them being put in the back of a patrol car was replayed again and again. The District Attorney came by to confirm my statement—and my father’s lawyers were present—probably to make sure I didn’t screw anything up. I felt like my eyes betrayed me, but the District Attorney didn’t seem to care. He just kept repeating what I had said—asking me if it was true. When I nodded in agreement, he presented me with a document to sign, then my father’s lawyer held my hand while I put my signature at the bottom. I’m not even sure it looked like my signature because my hand was shaking so much. They called it stress. I called it heartbreak.
“I’ve been thinking.” He leaned back against the couch and lit his cigar. “One of my business associates has a son—a nice young man named Rickard Weber. I think he’d make a very nice husband for you. His father recently took care of something important for me, and I think our families would be stronger if we had the right alliance in place.”
“You’re really bringing up a wedding right now?” I sipped the whiskey and winced when it burned my throat. “I’m not getting married to anyone—much less someone you pick out for me.”
“Anabelle, I know this has been a traumatic experience, but the world is going to move on and you have to move with it.” He exhaled sharply. “Rickard’s father is about to be very wealthy, and he’s got assets that extend beyond Chicago. His
son will probably be running the New York branch of Weber Acquisitions within a year. You always said you wanted to live in New York.”
“That’s because I wanted to go to Broadway as often as possible—and I was twelve. I haven’t wanted to live there in a long time.” I took another sip of my drink, enjoying the burn.
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is.” My father exhaled smoke and sighed.
Don’t react—hold it in.
“If you want me to testify at the trial, then we have to come to an understanding. You said I wasn’t a little girl more—it’s time for you to prove it.” I felt my hand shaking, but I controlled it.
“What do you want? I’ll give you anything I can…” He nodded.
“To start with, no more talk about marriage.” I swallowed hard. “I understand my duty as a Prescott, but I’m not ready. I don’t know how long it’s going to be until I am ready, but you’ve gotta give me space.”
“I…” I saw his eyes filling with anger, but he immediately nodded. “Okay, I guess that’s fair.”
“It’s more than fair, considering what you’ve asked me to do. If I ever reach a point where I want to see someone, I expect you to back off.” I exhaled sharply. “Regardless of who they are.”
I doubt I’ll ever find the kind of love I just lost, but there’s a part of me that just wants to torment the man who stole it from me—even if he didn’t mean for it to go down like that. I need someone to lash out at—and he’s just going to have to take it.
“Anabelle—you said you understood your duty as a Prescott. Who you marry is important…” He titled his head to the side.
“I didn’t say I was going to choose a husband—just that I may want to see someone. There’s a difference.” I sipped my drink again.
“Right…” I saw an uncomfortable look spread across his face.
And if your little girl becomes a slut, you only have yourself to thank for it.
“When I’m ready for you to find me a husband, I’ll let you know.” I nodded.
At least if I give him hope, he might leave me alone about it for a little while, so I can grieve what I just threw away—for him.
“Okay.” He sighed. “I’ll agree to that.”
“There’s more…” I looked up when I saw Steve, one of my father’s new bodyguards, walk into the room.
“Mr. Prescott.” Steve stopped in his steps like a soldier addressing a general. “There’s a woman here to see you—a Miss Hannah Clark. She says it’s important.”
“Anabelle, I apologize.” My father winced. “I have to speak with Miss Clark. We can finish this discussion later, right?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Steve.” My father stood up and turned to his bodyguard. “I think I would like for you to stay with Anabelle going forward. I don’t want her leaving the house alone after what happened the other night.”
“Yes sir.” Steve nodded immediately.
Great, now I have a dog just like the ones that follow my father around when he leaves the house.
Present day
The realization was inside me—a brutal, emotional rage was forming. My father lied to me. He manipulated me. He killed John in cold-blood, just so he could pin the murder on Rourke and Brody. Everything started to click in my head. The way my father lured me into his office when I was about to go to the South Side—the way he tossed a problem at me, something he had never done before—and gave in to my suggestion without a single reaction about the fact I was seeing someone. He knew. He had already offered Rourke a million dollars to go away—and when Rourke declined, he set his plan in motion.
I was a pawn in a game I didn’t even know I was playing. My father’s iron-will melted after he had me in the palm of his hand. He needed my testimony, but that wasn’t all it was about. If what Rourke said was true, and my father really was a dangerous man, then he could have gotten someone else to kill John. He did it because he needed to bring me back into the fold—to pull me away from the path I was forging with Rourke and Brody. He tried to control me without even telling me what to do—of course, he did. That was what I had known my whole life, but I was starting to rebel against his authority. He couldn’t order me to stop seeing Rourke and Brody because I would have fought him—so he manipulated me into something that was even more sinister than I imagined.
I was sick to my stomach and my head was spinning with despair. I wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in my stomach to hurl. I pulled against the ropes, trying to find strength I didn’t possess—trying to feel any pain that I could bring on myself. I put my feet against the headboard and pulled against my shoulders until my hands past the curve of my hips. I was in agony and it felt like they would rip out of their sockets, but I ignored that pain. Once my hands were in front of me, I pulled the gag out and started gnawing on the rope—tearing it thread by thread as I used my teeth like a knife to dig at the knot—and then it came loose.
I’m free. Now I just have to get the fuck out of here.
Rourke and Brody used my body—but I finally saw why. It wasn’t just about lust—it was to show me that I never fully submitted to them. I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t submit when I had never even had control. I would never be able to be the woman Rourke wanted me to be without fixing what I had done. I had to be broken before I could be rebuilt. I couldn’t face the truth until I had embraced the fact that a lie could even exist—that my father could look me in the face and say something that wasn’t true. I couldn’t find what I needed at the bottom of my despair. I had to rise—well beyond the height of ascension I thought that I knew.
I didn’t deserve Rourke’s love and I certainly didn’t have a heart in my chest to give him—not anymore. It blackened the moment I betrayed them both. It lingered there, keeping me alive without ever truly beating. Brody was a reflection of what I had become—cruel and malicious—with no emotion in his soul. I just couldn’t see my own despair in his eyes. His cruelty had given me strength—strength that Rourke couldn’t give. That’s why Rourke couldn’t punish me and didn’t believe any punishment could bring about my forgiveness. I had to punish myself, and I finally knew what it would cost me.
Everything.
I walked softly across the floor and peeked around the corner. Rourke wasn’t in the cabin—not that I could see. Brody was sitting in a chair staring at the television screen which was playing the same thing over and over based on what I had been listening to. If the bottle next to him was any indication, he was definitely drunk. I walked back across the room to the window. I unlatched it as carefully as I could to avoid making a sound. It opened without much resistance and I started climbing, crawling through the narrow exit I was able to create until my feet hit the dirt outside the cabin—then I started to run.
I saw the path that led to the cabin. That was the best route to follow, but I couldn’t take the road. I had to run parallel to it and stay out of sight. I wasn’t sure how long I would have until they noticed I was gone, but I would have a lot better chance if I was in the woods and able to hide if a car appeared. The ground tore at my feet—sharp rocks that pierced my flesh. The branches scratched my arms, torso, and even my face. I just kept running—ignoring the pain, because I could take it. They taught me to take it. There was no amount of pain that could be inflicted on my flesh that matched what I was feeling inside. That pain hadn’t even shredded me yet—not completely. But it would.
The king has to fall.
And a princess isn’t going to take his place.
I have to become the queen of my castle and seize control of the Prescott name.
I am fury unleashed and I will have my fucking revenge.
Brody
“Okay, princess. Time for you to give me another taste of that sweet—fuck.” I unzipped my pants, turned the corner, and stared at an empty bed—empty except for the knotted rope we had around Anabelle’s wrists.
Damn it!
“Rou
rke! We have a fucking problem!” I ran into the living room with my cock still hanging out of my pants. “She’s gone!”
“Yes.” Rourke nodded. “I know.”
“What the fuck do you mean, you know?” I zipped up quickly and grabbed my car keys. “Come on, we have to track her down!”
“No.” Rourke shook his head back and forth. “There’s no reason to worry. She’s not a threat to us anymore.”
“You’re fucking crazy—you know that?” I started towards the door, but Rourke caught up with me.
“Crazy? Let’s talk about crazy.” Rourke’s eyes flashed with rage and his forearm went under my chin as he pushed me into a wall. “You killed a man in cold blood, for fucking money—don’t you realize what that has turned you into? You’re no better than Adrian Prescott!”
“Back off.” I shoved him—hard. “I’m nothing like that bastard. I don’t manipulate people or destroy their lives. I handle my shit, just like I should have handled that bitch! I should have cut her throat when I had the chance instead of letting you play your fucking game.”
“It wasn’t a game!” Rourke came at me and blocked the exit as I started towards it. “I had to show her what kind of man her father was—and who she really was.”
“Well now she’s gone, so who showed who?” My hands balled into fists. “What do you think she’s going to do when she gets back home? She’s going to tell the police exactly where we are and then they’re coming for us!”
“She won’t!” Rourke’s jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists as well.
“I followed you once—all the way to the fucking North Side. Right into Adrian Prescott’s trap. You never told me that he tried to buy you off!” I looked towards the room where I was staying and started walking. “We should have never been there! Then none of this would have happened!”
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