Rourke
Yesterday
I picked myself back up off the ground after Brody’s car drove out of sight and left me in the dirt. There was no way I could catch up with him—no way I could catch up to Anabelle. My heart told me that I had made the right choice when I noticed she was gone—that she wasn’t running because she wanted to be free, but because she finally saw her father for what he truly was. Letting her go was the only way she would ever be able to return to us. Anabelle had been broken, exactly as I planned. She tasted cruelty and pain—but that wasn’t what she needed to be broken—she needed to feel herself hit the bottom of the deepest emotional chasm and see that the only face staring back at her was her own.
Now I wait. Now I hope that Brody realizes it when he sees her.
A gunshot rang out through the air—it was in the distance, but it was definitely real. I hoped it was fired by Brody and not someone else, but I hoped it had no target. I had seen him kill. If he could take a life for money, he could take Anabelle’s too—because she was a threat to him. She could strip away his freedom and put him back in a cell.
Even though I know she won’t. She’ll tell the truth if she ever takes the stand.
I waited with my stomach twisting into a knot. I had never felt love for anyone like I did for Anabelle. The thought of her being taken from me was horrifying, but there was nothing I could do but wait for the car to appear—it didn’t—instead I saw Brody, walking up the road towards the cabin. I stood up and started in his direction. I would know by the look in his eyes if he had killed Anabelle—and if he did, there was no way in hell two people were walking through the door of that cabin. One of us was going to be a corpse.
As I approached Brody, I saw something different in his eyes. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t anger. He looked calm—serene. I recognized that stare. It was the one that had been on my face when I realized Anabelle had run. He didn’t kill her—but I needed to hear him say those words just to be sure.
“She’s fine.” He reached into the back of his shirt and pulled out his gun—then he turned the handle towards me. “ You should hold onto that. Obviously, I can’t be trusted with it.”
“You believe her—finally.” I took the gun and nodded.
“I do.” He started walking towards the cabin. “I just hope we’re not both wrong.”
“We’re not.” I followed behind him.
She’s stronger than us right now and she has enough to take down the King of Chicago. He won’t be a match for her fury.
We walked inside the cabin, poured a couple of drinks, and sat down in front of the television. A few hours of turmoil followed as there was no mention of Anabelle’s return—then a Breaking News banner flashed across the bottom of the screen. Anabelle Prescott had come home. They would have all of the details at the top of the hour.
“I don’t hear any sirens.” Brody looked towards the window. “If she made it back and there are no cops kicking in the door, I guess that’s a good sign.”
“It is.” I nodded quickly and took a sip of my drink.
They ran updates on her return all afternoon, showing our face on the screen as they told the story of her courageous escape. They said we were downtown—that was perfect. That’s where they would be looking, and we were as far from Chicago as we could be. The cops would tear the city apart, and I was pretty sure her father’s men would be doing the exact same thing. They would be looking for us without realizing that the true danger to the king’s throne was in his very own castle. The princess in Louboutins might very well put the spike of her heel through the back of his skull before it was all over. I hoped she didn’t take it that far. He deserved nothing less than what he got, but prison was where he belonged.
“Are you sure we can trust your uncle?” I looked over at Brody. “I know he’s family, but they’ll probably question everyone we know.”
“My family doesn’t betray each other,” Brody growled under his breath. “We don’t need a motto to tell us what matters.”
“Good.” I nodded and lifted my glass to my lips.
“This waiting is going to kill me.” Brody tapped out a cigarette and lit it up. “I don’t want to just sit here—I’m worried about her.”
“You wanted her dead, now you’re worried about her?” I chuckled under my breath. “She’ll be fine. He’s not going to do anything to hurt his own daughter. By the time he realizes what she’s fully capable of, it will be too late.”
“I really hope you’re right.” Brody nodded aimlessly and took a drag off his cigarette. “I have no idea what the fuck we’re going to do—staring at this screen hoping for some sort of update is just going to drive me insane.”
“Just close your eyes and pretend we’re back in jail. This cabin is our cell until Anabelle is able to make things right.” I exhaled sharply.
Hopefully, it won’t take her long.
There were no new updates on television—just the same story being replayed about her return. I drank until I felt like I was tired enough to sleep. I walked into the room and stretched out on the bed where Anabelle had been while she was our captive. It still smelled like her—the mattress had a hint of her expensive perfume. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms again and know it was all over. I spent a year letting the madness consume me while I was in prison, but it wasn’t enough to drive me towards hate—not the kind that Brody had.
Our short time together in the cabin had done more to change us than the entire year that Anabelle made her trek to the South Side to spend time with us. It made me realize that my love for her was stronger than anything else and showed me that she was not the submissive woman I tried to turn her into. She might never be—not really. That was okay because my dominance wasn’t just about sex—it was about the other person too. I would be able to love her whether she was on her knees or standing by my side.
The love Anabelle had for me was complicated until the chains of her familial bond were ripped away from her heart. She never gave herself to me—not entirely. She was still a princess from the North Side even when she walked into the South Side in Louboutin heels with an expensive purse on her arm. That wasn’t what she was when she left the cabin. She’d never be that girl again. Her love was finally stronger than the ties that bound her to the Prescott name. She was going to redefine it.
Brody had given in—given in to what was always in his heart, but he wasn’t able to see it. I knew he cared about Anabelle—in his own way. It wasn’t a dictionary definition of love, but it was as close as he could get. That had changed. His fire burned as bright as the one in my chest after he saw that she was his equal—that we were all equal in the midst of our chaos. I hoped he could find a way back from the darkness that tempted his soul when he took Josef Weber’s life. I understood why, or at least I thought I did. I felt like there was something else—I saw the look in his eyes when he told me that he had his reasons for doing it. That look wasn’t greed.
Time will go a lot faster if I can get out of my head and just close my fucking eyes.
I finally managed to get a glimpse of sleep, or at least the best semblance of rest I could manage. My dreams weren’t peaceful, but they weren’t exactly nightmares. I saw pieces of my life—my time on the South Side. I saw my mother, the way she worked to put food on the table—the way she cried when she found out I was working for Jacob Durst. I swore that day it wouldn’t be permanent, and I would find a way to become the man she wanted me to be.
She gave up hope the day she stared at me from the other side of the glass. I told her I was innocent, but I don’t think she truly believed it. She thought I had fallen into the same trap that the South Side put in front of my father—just another thug who finally found the courage to pull the trigger when it suited his needs. I was going to be a different man when it was all over. I was going to show her that I was better than my environment and that the lessons she taught me were never truly forgotten—they were just put on pause as I tried to figure sh
it out on my own.
I wasn’t going to have to walk through life alone any longer. I was going to have a woman by my side that was as strong and determined as she was—the kind of woman I always knew I needed, but never knew how to find. I pushed those I brought into my bed—tested their limits—because I was looking for one strong enough to fight back. One that could submit while making me strong enough to get down on my knees. I would have something better than just Anabelle though—I would have Brody. He was always my best friend, but when it was all over, he would be the brother I never had. A bond stronger than family—one that defined us.
“Any word?” I walked into the living room and looked towards the television screen.
“No.” Brody shook his head back and forth. “They aren’t talking about her rescue as much. They’ve moved on to another story—some other rich chick got kidnapped last night.”
“I guess we started an epidemic.” I stifled a laugh and grabbed a bottle of water before joining him in the living room.
“Maybe.” He nodded. “This one is famous though—not just in Chicago where the Prescott name makes you famous. It’s the Doll Face girl.”
“Ah yea, I remember her. Everyone talked about how she had porcelain skin or some shit.” I shrugged. “At least that will let people focus on something else for a little while. I’d rather see something else on the news other than my freaking face.”
“Same here.” Brody nodded again and looked over at the bottle of water as I twisted off the cap. “Not starting with coffee and a smoke?”
“Nah, not today. I went without my vices for a year while we were locked up. Already feel like shit again—might as well try to cut back.” I lifted the water to my lips and took a swig.
“Heh, not me.” Brody lit a cigarette. “I’ve never felt more alive.”
Yeah, but I don’t think it’s the nicotine and caffeine doing it. I think you’ve finally seen what was inside you all along. Let’s hope all of this isn’t ripped away before we get a chance to truly enjoy it.
Anabelle
Several days later
The authorities were starting to waiver in their search for Brody and Rourke. They had searched every abandoned building they could find, which is how I described the place I was held—some kind of warehouse, with a lot of empty boxes. I eavesdropped on my father whenever I could, learning what he said to others when he didn’t think I was around. He kept his guards outside, but the inside of Prescott Manor was limited to a few workers and two guys who stayed downstairs. Anything that I learned, I typed out in a notepad on my phone, making sure that I didn’t miss any details. After I had collected information for several days, I went to my room and started researching. I wanted to know the name of everyone he was associated with—who they were—how they could tie into his kingdom.
“Oh my god.” I lifted my hand to my lips when I typed Josef Weber into the search engine on my computer.
Josef Weber was a criminal, just like my father, but he got caught—he was in jail for his connection to an investment fraud, which sounded like something my father would engage in, and—murder? Not only that, but once I started reading the news article, I saw another familiar name—Hannah Clark. She was wanted for the same thing Weber was, which meant my father was definitely involved somehow if he was communicating with her. The most shocking thing about Weber was learning that he was dead—killed in his cell—on the same day that Brody and Rourke escaped. I couldn’t help but wonder if my father had somehow been responsible for the power surge that allowed Brody and Rourke to escape, especially if he wanted Weber dead. It seemed risky though, even for a man as powerful as my father. He would have known that Brody and Rourke were in there—and if he was willing to kill Weber, why not them? They seemed like a big enough threat, especially since they knew the truth about what he did to John.
But that didn’t matter as long as I was his star witness. Now that I’m not, he put out the hit on them too. And if he could give an order like that so easily, then he could have given one to take out John. This was all about control and nothing else. He knew he was losing his grip on me and he needed to make sure that didn’t happen.
Too bad it’s long gone now—and nothing he can say will ever give it back to him.
I kept researching, looking up other people, keeping detailed notes as I came up with more information. Every name that I heard seemed to belong to a criminal or someone that was in business. I had to assume, based on what I had already uncovered, that they were all shady. A bunch of shady men that bowed to only one king—a king that I was determined to dethrone. I really had no idea how far his reach went. Were the cop’s loyal subjects as well? Was the District Attorney that took my statement a pawn in his game? I needed something concrete, evidence that couldn’t be overlooked, even if I had to go to the FBI. My statement wasn’t good enough, because my father would know I betrayed him if I changed my story.
He needs to be defeated before I deliver the final blow. But how?
“Anabelle, are you okay?” My father’s voice caused me to nearly fall out of my bed—I was so lost in my investigation that I didn’t hear his footsteps when he approached.
“Yeah.” I looked at him and pretended to force a smile. “I’ve been looking at Google Maps—trying to find anything that looks familiar. I think it would be easier if I just knew they were behind bars.”
My finger drifted down to my phone and I started recording—just in case, he said something incriminating.
“I know.” He walked over and sat down at the foot of my bed, so I quickly closed my laptop and put my phone face down on top of it. “I guess you see those two scumbags for what they really are now—and understand that I made the right choice the night you brought them to Prescott Manor.”
“Yes.” I nodded.
No. A million times no.
“I think we need to revisit our previous discussion about finding you a husband. I know I told you that I would let you have time—but this whole situation has made me realize that I won’t be able to protect you forever.” He exhaled sharply.
“How would having a husband help?” I felt my eyes narrowing, but I tried to keep my emotions in check. “I would have still been downtown—just using his credit card instead of the one you gave me.”
“Maybe, or you could have been at home—with your children.” He looked over at me. “The future of this family depends on you.”
“I won’t be a Prescott after I get married.” I tilted my head to the side.
“You’ll always be a Prescott, regardless of what your last name is. Your children will be Prescott’s too. One day they’ll grow up to sit in my chair—just like you will after I’m gone.” He nodded aimlessly.
You’re going to be gone sooner than you think—and I’m definitely not going to be a mother before then.
“I guess it’s time.” I sighed. “If any man wants me—after what those monsters did to me in that warehouse.”
Sweet, beautiful things—even when it hurt. Who am I kidding? Especially when it hurt.
“That doesn’t define you. An innocent bride is rare these days—it was rare when I was younger too. Your mother was no virgin when we got married.” He shrugged. “Nor was I.”
He seems almost human, consoling me after what he believes is the most traumatic experience of my life—but of course, he is using it to push his agenda and try to convince me that I need to marry someone of his choosing, so his kingdom can grow.
“You never talk about her.” I felt a bit of sorrow rising up when he mentioned my mother, but I stifled it with the hate I had for the man in front of me.
“No.” He shook his head back and forth. “What could I say really? She was taken too soon.”
“Did you really love her—eventually?” I tried to resist diving into a deep conversation with him, but it was so rare to hear anything about my mother and once I took him down, I’d never get another chance.
“Of course.” He nodded. “She gave m
e you—my only daughter.”
Then you must not have loved her, because all I am is an asset—maybe that’s the only thing you truly know how to love.
My father left, and I returned to my research. For the first time in my life, I decided to Google, my mother. She was Angelina Davenport before she was Angelina Prescott. That’s the woman I wanted to know—not the one in photographs smiling next to my father. I barely remembered her. She died when I was still a toddler. I knew her family was from Chicago, but I didn’t know a lot about them. My grandparents visited when I was younger, but they retired to Florida when I was thirteen and I really hadn’t heard from them much since then other than the birthday card they sent every year. I wasn’t surprised to learn that my grandfather was a real estate developer, nor was I that surprised to find pictures of him next to my paternal grandfather—just another marriage of convenience, more than likely.
It’s definitely time for me to break this pattern.
The next day
I listened to my father’s phone calls when I could during the day and heard him making arrangements for Hannah Clark to visit. A plan hatched in my head. She was wanted by the police. I might not be able to take down my father yet, but I could put a little fear in him—make him realize that he wasn’t invulnerable. I waited until she was there—even watched her walk into my father’s study before I stole a phone from one of our workers and placed a call to the anonymous hotline number on the police department website. I told them that Hannah Clark was at Prescott Manor—then I waited for the fireworks to erupt.
It didn’t take long. I watched the police car pull up to the front gate from my bedroom window and waited to see if it would open. I wasn’t sure if my father would turn them away. I assumed he had that power. It wasn’t important for Hannah Clark to actually be arrested—just that my father feel that sense of safety slip away. To my surprise, the gates opened, and the police car pulled up to the entrance. I peeked out of my bedroom and watched as my father walked downstairs to greet them. There was a brief argument, then they came upstairs. More shouting—then they walked Hannah Clark out in handcuffs.
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