“I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Megara.” He unfolded his arms and reached for her chin. With two fingers, he pinched it, pulling her closer to him and locking his gaze with hers. “Never lie to me. You won’t like what happens to you if you do.”
Her vision blurred with tears. She wasn’t going to escape him.
“I won’t stay here.” She would not relent so easily. Even with fear shaking her insides, she would not cower to him.
“I’m sure you don’t want to, and I’m sure you’ll try to leave.” The pad of his thumb ran across her bottom lip. “You don’t have a choice. You’ll stay here until I’m ready for you.”
“I don’t want to marry you,” she said, hating the desperation echoing in the words.
He chuckled.
“You will anyway.” The firmness around his eyes softened. “We are both prisoners to the decisions of our fathers. I will play my part, and I’ll be sure you play yours.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I haven’t given you a reason to cry,” he said. “And if you’re good, if you’re obedient and sweet, I never will. But when you cross me, when you disobey and act out—no number of tears will save you from your punishment.”
“I want to leave. I won’t run away.” Promises. Pleas. Anything to get away from him, from his house.
His lips kicked up into a wicked grin.
“I know you won’t. You’ll be right here, waiting for me like a good girl.” He brushed his lips across hers. A warm tingle jetted through her. “Eat your lunch,” he ordered, releasing her.
She stared at him as he walked to the door. He paused.
“I forgot.” He made his way back to her, snatching her purse from her hands. He pulled out her phone and pocketed it.
She took her purse back when he handed it to her and watched with reeling panic as he left the room.
A quiet click echoed as the door closed.
Another clunk thundered as he locked her inside.
With a sob lodged in her throat, Megara sank into the chair and stared at the door, willing it to open.
It never did.
7
Henrik drummed his fingers on the tabletop, watching his stepmother berate the serving girl.
“That’s enough,” he finally cut her off. “Go.” He waved away the girl, who dipped her chin and hurried from the room.
“I wasn’t finished explaining—”
“It’s Henrik’s house, Hera. Let him deal with the servants.” Jackson downed the last bit of his wine and stretched back in his seat.
Hera leveled Henrik with the usual contemptuous glare before turning a sweet smile toward her husband. “Of course, once Megara is here, she can take over the running of the house.”
“Megara is here,” Henrik stated flatly.
Hera’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I said Megara is here, and she’ll stay here until we’re married.” Henrik pushed his plate to the side. The chicken was dry, and the beans were overcooked. He’d barely eaten. The meal he really wanted to devour was up on the fourth floor, pacing the room.
He’d kept a watchful eye on her through the security camera in the room. She hadn’t touched her lunch, and other than to sit for a brief moment here and there, she’d been walking the room. She’d already inspected the walls, the door, and the single window for a means to escape. And she’d given up on pounding down the door after a short time. Thankfully, the woman was smart enough to know she wasn’t getting out of the room—and no one was coming to let her out.
“Where is she?” Hera demanded. “If you’ve ruined this arrangement…” She let the rest of her threat go unsaid.
“I’m keeping her from destroying it,” he said to his father, who nodded in response.
“Young girls can have fanciful ideas,” Jackson agreed. “What about your brother?” He turned the topic.
“What about him?” Henrik asked.
“He’s been under Haden’s thumb for too long. I think it’s time he came home,” Jackson announced.
“Have you spoken with him?” Henrik asked.
“No. I want you to tell him to come home. His place is here.” Jackson’s face tightened. The old man really was worried his own brother would seek to take over more of the Network. If Haden were to make a move for Jackson’s control, there would be outright war. Everyone would need to pick a side. There would be no neutrality among them.
Where would Castor’s loyalty fall? To his uncle or father?
“Castor should be here for your wedding. He is your brother, after all.” Hera’s voice tilted toward civility—a typical choice when trying to gain Henrik’s cooperation without blatant threats. She resorted to this manipulation only when Jackson was within hearing range.
“He already declined my invitation to come to the wedding.” Henrik lifted a shoulder. “If you want him here, you should talk with him. He might be more inclined to come for a visit if his father made the invitation.”
No love was lost between Castor and Jackson. Castor would never forgive Jackson for abandoning his mother once he planted his seed.
“I’ll speak to him then,” Jackson agreed.
“Inviting Haden might be a good way to judge his intentions yourself,” Henrik added.
Hera’s lips tightened. “I will not be in the same room with that man.”
Henrik grinned. “He is father’s brother. My uncle. He should be at my wedding,” he said, throwing her logic back at her.
“Sir.” The serving girl Hera had berated rushed into the dining room, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Creon is here. He’s demanding to speak to you.” Her gaze flickered to Hera.
Henrik crumbled his napkin and tossed it on his plate as he stood.
“Have him shown into my office. I’ll be with him in a few moments.”
“You’ll see me now, dammit.” Christian burst into the room.
“Christian.” Jackson pushed out of his chair. “Good to see you again.”
Mr. Creon’s glare softened enough to give a courteous nod to Jackson. “My daughter.” He got right to the point.
“Yes?” Henrik asked coolly.
“She’s here. You took her.”
“She came with me willingly,” Henrik reminded them.
“I will see her now,” he demanded.
“You may see her, but she’s not leaving my house.” Henrik’s tone was firm, leaving no room for negotiations.
“Are you suggesting I leave her here before you’re married?” Christian’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Henrik announced, turning to the serving girl still frozen to her spot. “Send someone up to the fourth floor. Bring Ms. Creon down. Explain to her that her father wishes to see her.” He handed the key to the room over to the girl, who gave a hurried nod and ran off.
“Why are you holding her here?” Christian asked, pointing to the girl who held the key.
“Your daughter was going to make a very bad decision. I saved her from doing so.”
“If Megara isn’t happy with the arrangement, perhaps we should reconsider.” Hera tapped her chin as though she were giving real thought to the matter. Having Creon’s backing in the case of Haden’s advance was more important to Jackson than anything the union would gain the Creon’s. Only…Christian wasn’t aware of the unbalanced reward.
“Is that the case, Christian?” Jackson asked. “I would hate to think your daughter came to my family unwillingly.”
Henrik positioned himself where he could see Megara as she entered the room. The first face she would see upon joining them would be his.
“Megara is a good daughter,” Christian said simply. Henrik gave him points for not outright lying.
Henrik caught the first glance of movement from the hallway. Within a few seconds, she came into full view. Relief washed over her features at the sight of her father, but when her gaze landed on Hendrik, her cheeks flushed. He straighte
ned his back and kept a firm glare on her.
“Daddy.” Megara looked away from Henrik and rushed to her father’s side. Christian hugged her quickly, then held her at arm’s length to get a better look at her. Henrik thought to be insulted, but since his first instinct had been to lock the girl downstairs, he wouldn’t begrudge Christian the curiosity.
“She’s unharmed,” Henrik said with some annoyance. “She’s been my guest.”
“Guest?” Megara turned an angry glare on him. “Do guests get locked in their room?”
“Do disobedient girls who try to run away from home get rewarded…or punished?” Henrik retorted, matching her sarcastic tone.
“Run away?” Christian asked. “You were going to—”
“Of course not!” Megara lied.
“Remember what I said about lying.” Henrik tapped his nose.
She sucked in a harsh breath, her jaw clenched.
“I’m not lying. I was going to lunch with Celeste. Henrik asked me to lunch instead, and I left with him.” The pleading in the expression she gave her father didn’t go unnoticed. How many times had she played her father with her puppy dog eyes?
“Henrik,” Jackson piped up. “What made you keep Megara here instead of taking her home?”
“She’s to be my wife. It would be irresponsible of me to let her make a mistake such as running away before the wedding.” Henrik was accusing her of going against her father’s wishes and the agreement between the family. It was no small accusation.
Christian’s lips pressed together into a thin, knowing line. No matter what Megara said now, she would not persuade her father from the truth. She was snared in her own web of lies.
“Thank you, Henrik, for looking out for my daughter.” Christian extended his hand, and Henrik gave it a firm shake before wrapping his arm around Megara’s waist and hauling her to his side.
“I think it would best if she stays here until the matter is resolved. I suspect the people helping her, although acting with good intentions, may continue to seek to aid her.”
“She is right here and can answer for herself.” Megara tried to pull away, but Henrik held inflexible. Though every bit of her body went rigid, he did not relent in his possession of her.
“Megara.” Hera weaved her way through the men to stand before her. “Is it your intention to marry Henrik?” she asked with a wrinkled brow.
Megara’s shoulders sagged. She looked once more to her father, who only cemented his resolve in his steady stare.
“Yes. Of course.” Megara’s tone dropped. Defeated, she relaxed into his hold. “I have every intention of marrying him.”
“Good.” Jackson clapped his hands loud enough to shake the tension in the room loose. “Then I don’t see why we should have to wait.”
Christian, somewhat surprised, turned to Jackson. After a brief pause, Christian gave a curt nod. “I think you’re right. We don’t need a large fanfare for the ceremony. We will plan a celebration for later. I think getting the marriage done would be best.” He shifted his gaze to Henrik. “Especially if she is to remain here in your house.”
Henrik’s fingers dug into Megara’s waist. “You’ll get no disagreement from me.”
“Father—” Megara’s plea was cut off with a slice of her father’s hand through the air.
“I will make the arrangements. Tomorrow morning should be soon enough.”
“Tomorrow? Wait.” Megara tried to touch her father’s arm, but he turned away, facing Jackson completely, giving his back to his only child.
Anger simmered inside Henrik. He splayed his fingers out and lowered his hand to the small of her back.
“Tomorrow morning is fine. I’ll escort Megara back to her room.” Henrik gave her a gentle push, but she didn’t budge.
“Can’t I go home tonight?” she asked, desperation underlining her tone. Whatever scheme she and her cousins had cooked up still had plenty of time to play out. Her leaving wasn’t an option.
“I think it’s best you stay.” Hera’s lips twisted into something resembling a smile. The sight of the forced pleasantry turned Henrik’s stomach. Hera wished no more good will to Megara than she did him.
Megara looked ready to argue, so Henrik pushed harder, until she stumbled forward a step. With an annoyed glare shot at him, she moved on her own, stepping out into the hallway.
Henrik paused a moment to slide the dining room doors closed.
“I won’t be locked up again.” Megara yanked away from him as soon as they reached the staircase.
Henrik stared at her a long moment, taking in her high cheekbones and the sensual plumpness of her pink lips. A thick curl clung to her cheek, hiding some of her blush.
He brushed the curl away, tucking it behind her ear. She stiffened.
“Can you give me your word you’ll stay put if I don’t lock you away?” There were other ways to keep her where he wanted her, if the need arose. He didn’t have to resort to locks on the doors.
Bindings on the bed worked just as well.
She raised her chin a fraction. “Either I stay put or you’ll lock me away.”
He chuckled. “That’s what I said, yes.”
After a quick glance at the closed dining room doors, she let out a whoosh of air. “I don’t really have a choice here, do I?” Sadness tinted her words.
“Do either of us?” he responded.
“Yes.” She nodded. “You do. You can put a stop to this. You don’t have to do what your father says.”
He could deny Jackson this arrangement, but doing so would secure Henrik’s position outside the inner family. To be Jackson’s illegitimate son came with perks, but to be a claimed son, a truly legitimate heir, came with everything.
“Let me show you to your room.” He cupped her elbow and led her up the staircase.
Megara pulled her arm free of his grip as soon as he turned onto the second floor toward the end of the hall. She walked at his side until he stopped at the double set of doors.
“These are my rooms.” He patted the doorknob. “Your suite adjoins mine.” He walked to the next door and pushed it open. “I won’t lock you inside,” he said when she stared at the key hole. “There is no way to lock the door from the outside.” Though, given the circumstances, he might rethink that.
“I can lock it from inside?” Hope littered her question.
“This door, yes. But the adjoining door—no.” He brushed his fingers along her jaw. “You’ll never lock any door against me, Megara.”
She straightened her stance.
“I’ll have dinner sent up to you. You never touched your lunch. I expect you to eat what’s sent.”
She blinked. “How do you know I didn’t eat?”
He laughed softly. “There is nothing in this house I don’t know. I have to get back to the hounds down stairs. Be a good girl and don’t cause any more trouble tonight.”
Her brows lowered. “I’d like my phone back.” She put out her hand.
“Not going to happen. Now, go on.” He jerked his head toward the open door.
She sighed, which sounded much more like a growl to him, then stepped inside. Before he could reach for the handle to pull it closed, the door slammed in his face.
He grinned.
Fire and spirit.
Perfection.
8
How could her father abandon her?
Megara watched from the window as her father’s car drove down the long driveway until his taillights were blocked by the forest surrounding the main house of the estate.
Dropping the curtain from her grip, she sank onto the settee. Marco and Tristan would start to wonder where she was soon. They’d text and call her. Would they bang down Henrik’s door and demand her release?
Not if they knew what was good for them.
She glanced at the tray sitting on the table. Shortly after Henrik had dumped her in her room, a serving girl had brought up a tray of food. Megara had eaten a few bites of the chicken and th
e bread, but she’d left the rest untouched. Her stomach couldn’t handle anything else for the day.
She’d already lost her future, her hopes and dreams. If she forced the rest of the dinner down, she’d lose that too.
The adjoining door swung open, and Henrik sauntered in. Megara hadn’t turned the lights on, and with the sun having set, little light shone through the windows. He searched the room for her, and a shiver running through her when his gaze settled on her.
As fierce as he may look in the light, the faint moonbeams crossing his features added another harsh layer.
In silence, he walked to the table and picked up the silver cover from the plate.
“The chicken was dry,” she said, as though insulting the cook would injure him the same way she’d been hurt.
He put the cover back down gently and went about turning the pewter on the table beside the settee on. A soft yellow glow erupted, illuminating the room.
“Hmmm…” He walked slowly around her to the nightstand and pulled the chain on the lamp.
“What are you doing in here?” She pushed off the settee and followed him as he went around the large four poster bed and turned on the matching light on the other nightstand.
“I came to see my wife,” he stated with a casual shrug.
She came up short, standing several feet behind him. “I…I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him, thrusting her chin forward.
He inhaled a long breath through his nose and tilted his head. “You will be tomorrow morning.”
“It’s not morning yet.” She pointed toward the open door. “I think you should leave. Go to your room.”
His eyes narrowed a hair. If she hadn’t been staring right at him, she might not have noticed it, or the way his nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled.
“A few rules, Megara.” He pulled the tucked-in portion of his shirt from his pants. “One, you never…” he paused, probably for emphasis, “never tell me no. If I tell you to kneel for me, you do it. If I tell you to crawl across the room and fetch me a hairbrush, you do it. If I tell you to bark like a little puppy—you fucking do it.”
Anger bubbled in her chest, but he continued before she could let it loose.
Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 5