“It was going to happen regardless.” Rourke followed me. “He knew who we were—knew we were involved with her. He was either going to own us or get rid of us. I couldn’t tell you because I knew what you would do.”
“Yeah.” I threw my mattress and grabbed the gun I had hidden underneath it. “Or maybe you underestimated me.”
I turned towards Rourke with the gun in my hand.
“What the fuck, Brody?” He blinked in surprise.
“You assume that I would have just taken Adrian Prescott’s money, right?” I lifted the gun and aimed it at him.
“You sure as fuck took it from those rich assholes offered it to us to kill Josef Weber.” Rourke held up his hands and stepped back.
“I had my reasons—not that you would understand.” My lips twisted into a snarl. “I wouldn’t have traded Anabelle for anything—that’s where you fucked up, Rourke. You didn’t give me a chance to prove that I was better than the man you assumed I was.”
“Then just let her go.” Rourke took another step back. “Give her a chance to prove herself.”
“I gave her one—a year ago.” I walked sideways towards the door, keeping the gun aimed at Rourke. “What did that get us, huh? Maybe you thought that little princess was going to betray her father—I don’t know what was in your head—but it wasn’t common sense.”
“I made a mistake. I’ve told you that. I was blinded by what I felt—I thought she was already loyal, but she wasn’t. I’m not wrong now. She finally sees the man her father is and understands what he did.” Rourke took a step forward but tensed when I lifted the gun high enough for it to be even with his skull.
“I’m not following you into another trap, Rourke. I’m going to find that bitch. I won’t cut her throat though—I’ll just put a bullet in her skull.” I grabbed the door and pulled it open.
I ran towards the car with enough distance to keep Rourke from easily catching up. He was through the door by the time I got to the car, but I was able to hop in the driver’s seat and crank it up. He ran to the passenger side, but I reached out and hit the lock before he could pull the door open. My foot hit the gas as I shifted the car in reverse and watched him stumble when the door was forcibly pulled out of his hand by the acceleration. My tires kicked up a cloud of dust as I started hauling ass down the dirt road that led away from the cabin.
I have to find Anabelle. There’s no way in the fucking world I can trust her enough to let her leave.
I understood what Rourke was trying to do and that was fine as long as we were in the cabin. He could play his fucking games, try to break her—whatever the fuck he got off on doing—but I lived in the real world where a confession would make sure I didn’t end up behind bars again. I didn’t care if Adrian Prescott was still sitting on his throne or not when it ended. I had enough money to leave and I would have gladly shared it with Rourke on a beach in Mexico.
But fuck it. If he’s going to act like this, then I’m on my own.
My car spun out at the end of the road. I let it come to stop and waited—watched—all I needed was one glimpse of the beautiful blonde. I figured she would run along the road somewhere, probably not on the road itself. I had traveled far enough that she should be behind my car, even if she was running as fast as an Olympic athlete. My eyes kept scanning and I killed the engine, hoping that she wouldn’t see the car until it was too late.
There she is.
I saw movement before I saw her, but it was too quick to be an animal. A second later, I saw her hair. She was headed right for me, but she was too far off the road for me to easily catch her. She was also pretty damn quick, and I was no fucking sprinter. I hopped out of my car and started running diagonal, hoping to get in front of her before we met. She saw me and immediately panicked. She ran for the road—fuck. I was never going to be able to catch her on foot if didn’t have the woods slowing her down.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I have a gun—don’t make me shoot you!” I pulled out my gun and found her in the sight.
God damn it.
I hesitated. Why did I fucking hesitate? I jerked the gun up before the bullet left the chamber and it hit a tree near her, but way above her head. She ducked and tried to keep going, but I saw her lose her footing and stumble—then she hit the ground. That was the opening I needed. I started closing the distance between us as she got to her feet. She wasn’t going to be able to get away from me, not after that—I was moving like a tank, but I had momentum. I busted through the bushes next to her as she got back on her feet and tackled her. I was on top of her—one hand around her throat and the other one holding the gun to her head.
“You fucking bitch!” I snarled, trying to make myself pull the trigger—not understanding why I couldn’t just execute the girl who had betrayed me.
“Let go of me!” She started pounding my chest with her fists, so I tightened my grip on her neck—she tried to speak—she couldn’t.
“I should have killed you the moment we got to that fucking cabin.” I tried to force myself to squeeze the trigger again, but my finger wouldn’t budge.
I didn’t owe Anabelle shit. She set us up. She took a year of my life. She was planning to testify against us and make sure we spent the rest of our lives behind bars. I had fucked people up for less—but I had also shown mercy. I did it with Reggie when he tried to pull the knife on me—but I needed him to give a message to his boss. That was different. Wasn’t it?
Did I really care that much about Anabelle? Was I lying to myself when I said that I never cared—that I was just entertaining myself as long as she kept coming to the South Side? Was that why I followed Rourke to the North Side when I thought it was a terrible idea? I stared into her eyes. They didn’t look the same as they did when we took her. The look of terror was gone. There was no fear. They were just—blank. She had accepted death. She was truly broken—as hollow as I was.
“Fuck!” I released my grip on her throat and slumped forward.
She grabbed my shirt—her lips came for mine. Passion—the kind I had seen when she kissed Rourke—the kind she had never shown me. I pinned her arms to the ground and forced her legs apart—sinking between her thighs. My cock started to throb as she forced her tongue into my mouth. I had never felt that kind of connection to a woman before—even when Anabelle was at my house—even when we fucked. It was like our hearts suddenly woke the fuck up and saw that there was something burning inside them all along—at least mine did.
“You fucking bitch…” I pulled away from her lips and growled into her ear, but my words were softer.
“Yeah, I am.” She exhaled sharply and pulled one of her hands out of my grasp—she grabbed my dick and started massaging it through my pants. “Fuck me—make it hurt—show me how much you hate me.”
The hate—it had been replaced by something else. My heart surged with feelings that I had never felt before. I unfastened my pants and she wrapped her hands around my cock. She guided it towards her pussy—she was wet as fuck. I went inside her easily, throbbing until my balls were against her skin. I started to thrust—so hard that it felt like I was driving her into the dirt with every one. It wasn’t going to take long. I was overwhelmed with such a strange fucking feeling. Our souls were bonded in the moment—I couldn’t do anything but keep going, to chase the release.
“Oh god.” She moaned and her back arched.
She started to come. Her pussy massaged my length. I had never felt her come that hard when I was inside it. It immediately sent me over the edge—brought me to a level of pleasure that felt different than a fuck—it felt special. I started unloading inside her, sending my seed coursing through my shaft as I drove my cock deep. She kept orgasming, milking every drop from my balls with her spasms. Then it was over—and I had no idea what the fuck I was going to do with her.
Anabelle
“You have to let me go.” I looked into Brody’s eyes. “I’m going to make this right, but I have to go home.”
I reall
y did think Brody was going to kill me when he tackled me, especially when I felt his hand on my throat. I accepted my own death like it was as natural as drawing breath. I no longer felt fear or anguish. I no longer needed to be hurt or tormented. I just needed an opportunity—an opportunity to have the one thing I did deserve—his trust.
I didn’t expect to feel passion. I liked Brody, but he was never the one I loved. I never saw anything in his eyes that resembled it until his hand was removed from my throat. At that moment, I realized that he did feel something for me—that he was capable of feeling. I felt it too, a bond that was stronger than anything else—a bond I betrayed long before it was ever formed.
“Do you even have it in you to testify against your father?” Brody lifted up and sat on his haunches. “What about that fucking family motto—the one that made you lie in the first place?”
“I do now.” I nodded and pulled myself up so that I was sitting directly in front of him. “I see him for what he is. I’m choosing what I believe in over my family because the two of you don’t deserve to be caught up in my father’s twisted game. That’s my life—the one I was born into—but I have the power to change the rules. I’m the only one who can.”
“Fuck…” Brody shook his head back and forth.
“If you don’t believe me.” I grabbed the hand that was holding his gun and lifted it to my head until the barrel was against my skull. “Pull the trigger. Just leave me here to rot.”
“I’m not going to kill you.” He pulled the gun away. “I should, but I’m not.”
“Then you have to let me go. I have to do this on my own. It’s the only way it will work.” I put my hand on his. “Even if I testify against my father, what do you think he’ll do? If he’s as ruthless and powerful as Rourke says, then I may be the only person who can get close enough to truly hurt him.”
“You’re probably the only one he won’t kill…” Brody exhaled sharply. “Okay, fine. Take my car.”
Brody stood up and threw the keys in the dirt beside me. I grabbed them, and he extended his hand to help me up. Our eyes met—then our lips came together. One last kiss before I marched straight into oblivion. He didn’t have to tell me that he loved me, or that he cared for me. His eyes said everything—the passion I felt when he kissed me said more than those three words.
Our love would never be the same as what I shared with Rourke. Rourke was a dominant man and he craved my submission. Brody needed my fierceness—he needed more than a girl on her knees that could beg and please. He needed a woman that could take his ruthlessness and beg for more, but never truly submit. But I couldn’t be that woman when I was a princess who lived in a castle—Rourke had to break me in order for me to realize my own strength, but he wasn’t cruel enough to shatter me. It took both of them to splinter the Prescott motto that had been driven into my head since I was a child, but it took my own strength to understand the truth—to realize that I was no princess.
I was always meant to be a fucking queen.
I headed towards the spot where Brody’s car was parked and saw him start walking back up the road to the cabin. With any luck, our altercation hadn’t brought any unneeded attention. The area seemed mostly deserted, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone in the woods that could have heard us. I made it to the main road and followed the highway towards Chicago. I could see the city on the horizon. It was time for Anabelle Prescott to go home, but I wasn’t going to be the same girl that left. That girl was weak. She didn’t have the courage to do the right thing, nor did she understand her destiny.
I drove towards Prescott Manor. I knew the place would be locked down like a fortress, but all of the people who worked for my father would know my face—not that I looked very presentable with the dirt and scratches. I pulled up to the gate and turned off the car. There were two men standing beside it with assault rifles. My father didn’t just turn the place into a fortress, he had built an army. They raised their weapons and approached my car as I slowly stepped out with my hands up.
“It’s me—Anabelle.” I immediately burst into tears—tapping into my emotions as I dropped into the dirt.
It was nothing more than a show. I was a filthy, naked girl that had somehow found her way home. That needed to be what they saw me as—what my father saw me as. I needed to be held, protected, and consumed by trauma I couldn’t talk about. I looked the part, but I had to play it flawlessly if I was going to make my father believe I was the same princess I was before I was taken.
“Go get Mr. Prescott! Now!” One of the guards slung his weapon behind his back and came over to help me to my feet.
People rushed outside. Someone put a blanket around me. They carefully walked me toward Prescott Manor and my father ran to me as soon as he saw me. His arms wrapped around me. He said things like it’s going to be okay and thank god you’re home. I just sank into his embrace and cried. I was led upstairs to my room and my father knelt beside my bed. He asked me a lot of questions, but I just stared straight ahead, barely muttering under my breath. A doctor came and asked if they hurt me. I told him they did. The police showed up to take my statement, but I didn’t give them anything useful—the ramblings of a damaged girl were all they were going to get—rambling that made no sense to anyone except me.
“You should get some rest now. I asked the doctor to bring you something that would help you sleep.” My father put his hand on my head—a loving stare in his eyes—a stare that I knew was as fake as the love he pretended to have in his heart.
“Thank you.” I nodded and forced a weak smile—a glimmer of hope that maybe his princess was still inside the broken girl that came home.
She wasn’t.
“I’m going to find those fucking animals that did this to you. You really have no idea where they were holding you—even a direction would be helpful.” He tilted his head, pleading for an answer.
“I really don’t.” I weakly shook my head back and forth. “It was a building—downtown somewhere. When I was able to escape, I just drove until I saw something familiar.”
There was no reason to question my story. Why would I lie? I was the same girl who managed to have Rourke and Brody locked in prison with my words. It made sense that they would want revenge—to silence the witness who was supposed to testify against them. The doctor brought me something in a syringe, but I pretended to be scared of the needle—I asked for a pill instead. He relented and as soon as he was gone, I spit it out. I didn’t need that to sleep. There was peace in my heart for the first time since I betrayed the two men that didn’t deserve it. I just hoped they were able to stay hidden until I could do what was necessary to not only set them free but also bring my father’s kingdom down around him.
The next day
I slept through the night, but I woke up early. I had to pretend to be the damaged girl—the one that could barely speak—the one who had experienced trauma. I walked downstairs to the living room and wrapped myself in a blanket as I stared at the Prescott family motto hanging on the wall. Family comes first. What a fucking joke. The workers offered me some food and I ate a few bites. I was starving, but I couldn’t devour the plate like I truly wanted to do. I saw my father coming down the stairs, so I forced myself to try—to let tears roll down my face as he walked into the room.
“Good morning, Anabelle.” He sat down across from me.
“Morning…” I forced out a single word and made it sound like that word took every bit of energy I had in my soul to utter.
“Did you sleep okay?” He tilted his head to the side.
I nodded.
“We’re going to find those monsters.” His eyes reflected anger, but I wondered if he truly was—or if every emotion he displayed was fake as my own—and if it had always been that way.
“Okay.” I nodded again—barely speaking loud enough for him to hear.
But you see the problem now, don’t you? You can’t put me on the stand. I can’t even talk. How could I ever testify? You�
�re going to have to take drastic measures—because that’s the kind of man you are.
I was seeing the man they said he was shine through the facade. He was the King of Chicago—a dangerous man. He hid that from me, but I was going to bring it out of him. To make him take action. We sat in silence for a while, then he got up to leave. It was time for me to say something—to give him a glimpse, but only a glimpse.
“Daddy.” I looked up at him.
“Yes, darling?” He stopped and looked down at me.
“I want you to hurt them.” I swallowed hard. “I want you to hurt them the way that they hurt me.”
“I will.” His hand balled into a fist. “Trust me, I will.”
That was the stage I needed to set—to invoke the king’s wrath. He walked to his study and as soon as the door was closed, I followed—carefully—as quiet as a mouse. I leaned against the wall and listened to the sound of whiskey being poured into a glass—then a phone call. He gave the order without any hesitation. Rourke and Brody had to die. They couldn’t be taken alive. He wanted it to be slow and painful. The king was playing right into my trap.
That confirms it. He really is as dangerous as Rourke said—the kind of man that can give an order to kill as easily as he draws breath.
I was about to leave when I heard him make another call—to a woman, he called Hannah—I remembered someone by that name stopping by, but I never saw her face. The conversation didn’t sound pleasant. My father was trying to reassure her, tell her that it would be okay, that he had the situation under control and Josef Weber’s death meant nothing. Josef Weber? Didn’t he try to get me to marry his son? Had he become another body in my father’s graveyard rather than a potential ally? My father played games of life and death as easily as other people blinked—it was an involuntary reaction and he thought he was untouchable. That wasn’t going to be the case much longer, because he had a spy in his castle—and he didn’t even know it yet.
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