by Chloe Walsh
I had fucked up.
Again.
And Trigger had saved me.
Again.
Right now, in his arms, was the safest place I could be.
He tensed for a moment, stopping dead in his tracks, but recovered quickly. Smoothing my hair over my shoulder, he continued to speak in Spanish to his men, barking out orders and laying down the law, and he did all this while he gently swayed me.
I didn’t think he realized he was doing this – swaying me in his arms. Offering comfort to a woman wasn't a common thing for a man to do around here. Not ever. But he offered it to me anyway.
Publicly.
Unapologetically.
Without reservation.
I knew I was bleeding from the savage assault. I could feel the oozing droplets of blood weeping from the welts on my back and legs. My breasts and stomach were on fire, too. No part of my skin had escaped the cruel bite of Fabio's belt.
In fact, I was fairly certain that I had been beaten with multiple whips and belts. I couldn't be sure, though. I'd kept my eyes clenched shut the entire time, desperately trying to find a doorway in my own mind to escape through and disappear.
"Do not panic," my father's voice from long ago swept through my mind, bringing with it a world of memories. "Northwood's remain calm."
Clenching my eyes shut, I tried to block out all memories of the man who had given me to these monsters, but for some reason, his voice wouldn’t leave my mind.
Usually, I could block him out, but tonight, regrettably, I felt my mind slip back to my childhood…
"Ashton, come and sit with me."
Excitement bubbled inside of me at the sight of my father and I sprang forward, rushing into his office, desperate not to miss the window of opportunity.
I was six years old and all I wanted to do was spend time with my daddy in his office that looked like a library, and have one of our secret chats.
I loved our chats.
They were the best part of my day.
My father sat behind his huge desk, looking tired and scary.
I wasn't worried, though.
Not today.
Today he was smiling.
It was a sad smile, but I would take it.
Not stopping until I was sitting in the big brown chair opposite him, I settled my hands on my lap and smiled back at him, legs swinging.
"Hi, Mister Daddy."
"Hello, Miss Ashton," he replied, lips twitching upwards in amusement. His Italian accent was thick and it made me smile. He sounded strange sometimes. It made me giggle. "You are eager to see me tonight."
"I missed you," I replied truthfully. "Like so, so much." I held my hands out to show him just how much. "You were gone a long time for work, Daddy."
Nodding slowly, he leaned back in his huge chair, watching me with the same colored eyes as I had. "Yes, I was. Did Miss Charlotte take good care of you while I was gone?"
I nodded eagerly. "Yes, Daddy." A smile spread across my face. "She's super sweet."
Smiling indulgently, he rested his chin on his fingers and watched me. "I see."
"We read The Twits by Roald Dahl," I decided to tell him, voice hushed. A giggle escaped my lips at the memory and I slapped my knees, remembering. "It was so funny, Daddy."
"And Fabio?" he asked then, brows furrowing. "Did he pay a visit while I've been away?"
"Nope," I replied, scrunching my nose up at the mention of his name. I didn’t like Daddy's friend. He was old and creepy. "I didn’t see him."
"No lies?"
"Nope."
"Good." His shoulders loosened and he let out a sigh. "Do you know why I was gone for a month this time, Ashton?"
I shook my head. "No, Daddy."
He frowned at my words. "It's okay to call me that when we're alone," he told me. "But only when we're alone." He gave me a hard look, the kind of look that made the servants tremble and cry.
I knew why.
He was a bad man.
My daddy was evil.
At least, that's what they all whispered.
I didn’t understand it.
He wasn't evil to me.
"Never call me that in company."
"Yes, sir," I replied, remembering my manners.
He smiled and it was another sad one.
I didn’t like it.
Something was wrong.
"Are…" I paused and chewed on my lip, worried. "Are you okay, Daddy?"
"Yes." He offered me a big smile, a huge one this time, and I beamed back at him. "Have you lost more teeth –" Pausing, he squinted his eyes and then gestured for me to come to him. "Show me those gums."
Without an ounce of hesitation, I sprang off the chair, rounded the desk and bounced onto his lap.
"Two," I said proudly and then opened my mouth as wide as I could. "I'm getting the big ones."
"Yes," he said quietly, smile fading from his face. With a heavy sigh, he pulled me closer, wrapping me up with his big arms. "You are."
Snuggling into his chest, I dared to place my small hand on his cheek. It always felt scratchy against my hand. It was ticklish to my fingers.
Leaning close, I sniffed his shirt and scrunched my nose up. "What's that stinky smell?"
"Are you calling me stinky?" Daddy chuckled. "It's cologne, Ashton."
I frowned. "Ew."
"Not good?"
I shook my head. "Nope."
He grinned and ruffled my pig-tails. "Listen, we need to talk about something."
"Okay, Daddy."
"Lots of things are happening."
"They are?"
"Yes." He nodded. "Things are changing." He paused, eyes locked on mine for the longest moment before finally speaking. "You know Daddy is a bad man, don't you, Ashton?"
"No." I frowned, not sure I liked this. "I don’t think you're bad, Daddy."
He smiled sadly and shifted me off his lap.
Sad to leave him, I padded back to my seat and climbed onto the chair opposite him, knowing he was done cuddling me.
"I am not a good man," he continued once I was sitting back down. "I do very bad things."
"Like what?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"Does it make you sad?" I asked, watching him carefully. "Doing bad things?"
He nodded. "Sometimes."
"Then why do you do it?"
"You wouldn't understand that, either," he told me, resting his elbows on his desk, blueish/green eyes locked on mine. "This is a very bad world – the one you've been born into."
"I'm six now, Daddy," I reminded him, sitting as tall as I could. "I understand lots of things."
"You're a smart girl," he agreed, giving me another one of the smiles he saved just for me. "So, I need you to listen very carefully to me, okay?"
I nodded eagerly. "Yup."
He eyed me for a long moment before shaking his head and pushing to his feet.
I craned my neck up to watch him.
My daddy was super tall.
He was young, too – and pretty.
Not old and stinky like his friend Fabio.
Miss Charlotte told me that my daddy was super handsome. She said that I was lucky to have Royce as my daddy and not mean old Fabio. I knew she was right.
My dad was the strongest, biggest, prettiest man in the world and he was all mine.
I smiled proudly at him and pinched my own bicep, wondering when my arms would grow big and strong like his.
Maybe when I was big, I could get someone to draw on my arms – the same pictures as my daddy had on his arms.
"Come look at this," Daddy said, waving a hand for me to follow him to the fireplace.
Without a second thought, I squirmed off my chair and danced over to him, twirling and pirouetting as I moved.
"Like my dance moves, Daddy?" I asked, working extra hard just to show him. "I'm getting good, huh?"
"Concentrate, Ashton," he scolded quietly as he knelt down in front of the fireplace and reache
d for the poker. "This is important."
My face felt hot and I quickly stopped dancing and closed the space between us, embarrassed. "Sorry, Daddy." He patted the floor and I knelt down beside him. "I'm concentrating now."
"Good girl." He sighed heavily and patted my head. "I know this is going to be hard for you to understand, but I need you to be prepared, okay?"
I nodded happily. "Yup."
"If something ever happens to me, I want you to –" he began to say and my breath caught in my throat.
"Daddy, no –"
"Do not panic." He turned to look at me, giving me a stern look. "You're a Northwood. Northwood's remain calm."
Swallowing deeply, I forced myself to nod back at him.
"If something happens to me," he continued, turning his attention back to the fireplace. "Something that takes me away from you, then I need you to remember what I show you tonight."
"What's gonna happen, Daddy?"
"Shh," he coaxed. "Just listen."
I snapped my mouth shut and nodded.
With the fire poker, he cleared the soot and remaining glowing embers from the dying fire out of his way.
"Watch what I'm doing," he instructed softly. "Pay attention."
Setting the poker down, he slowly removed his shiny cufflink and rolled up the sleeve of his white shirt.
"If something happens, Ashton, if I'm not around anymore, I want you to find your way back to this house," he whispered, reaching far up into the chimney. "No matter how difficult it may be, I need you to come home, and I need you to do exactly what I'm doing now."
Rummaging around with his arm, he slowly withdrew a black, fireproof box from inside the chimney.
"You come in here, and you retrieve this."
He looked at me, eyes burning with something I couldn't understand.
"You do this for me, do you understand?" he said. "No matter what happens, or what you're told about me, you come home and you find this box."
"What's inside it, Daddy?" I asked, intrigued.
"Everything you'll need," he replied quietly. "All you need to do is remember."
"I don’t get it, Daddy."
"You don’t need to understand, Ashton," my father replied, placing the heavy box into my hands. "All you need to do is remember. Can you do that for me…"
Feeling a concoction of devastation and fury flood my body, I quickly pushed all thoughts of Royce Northwood away.
I couldn’t think about my father.
I refused to.
It hurt too damn much.
The day I was handed over to Fabio Crellid was the day I decided that my father no longer deserved a place in my heart.
He'd raised me like a lamb for the slaughter.
His parting gift to me was a lifetime of prostitution and slavery.
That was not the act of a father.
That was the act of a monster.
At least Fabio never pretended to love me or care. I knew where I stood with him. My father had tricked me in the cruelest of ways, and I'd learned all about him since his death.
I knew what he was about now, how evil and cruel he had been when he was alive. Fabio and his sons had taken great pleasure in taunting me with the truth, and I wished I'd never loved him in the first place.
"¡Encuentra a Patrice ahora!" Trig's voice boomed through my thoughts, dragging me back to the present, and it was the only sentence in a long, flurry of Spanish he'd spoken that I understood
He was bellowing it so loudly, over and over, that I didn’t think anyone could miss what he was saying.
Find Patrice.
Oh shit.
Patrice!
He would tell on me. He would tell Trigger what I'd done – how I'd tricked him with a whore and had stolen his wallet and gun.
I felt sick.
Don’t get comfy in these arms, Ashton.
Once he figures out what you did, you're toast.
I was as good as dead.
Panic clawed at my gut, clearing the numbness and making way for a meltdown.
I needed out of here.
I needed to escape or I needed to die.
There was no other way around it.
My father never cared. He'd raised me with the sole purpose of handing me over to these men.
Fabio was coming for me, and if he found me, he would rape, sell, or kill me.
Probably all three.
If I stayed with Trigger, he would lock me back up in a room and then torture me with cold indifference.
My body started to shake violently, teeth chattering noisily, and I felt the small flicker of hope I'd clung to these past nine years slip away.
It was no way to live.
I had nothing to live for.
I had no way out.
A pained sob escaped me, tearing from deep in my chest.
"Stop it, corderito," Trigger ordered, tone thick and full of emotion. "You are safe now."
He was lying.
I wasn’t safe.
I was trapped.
Another sob tore from me, followed by another and then another until I was crying loudly, shaking and trembling in his arms for the world to see.
"Calm down," he snapped, clearly irritated with me. "Shut your mouth and stop the tears!" His chest was heaving, his heart thundering hard against my ear. "I need you to not break on me. You are stronger than this!"
Covering my face with my hands, I cried harder, unable to get a handle on myself. It was all too much.
My father's betrayal.
My life with Fabio.
The abuse.
The dead girl.
Yegor's lifeless corpse.
The blood.
The feel of their hands on me.
The smell of death.
The lack of hope.
I couldn’t fucking deal with this anymore.
Releasing a furious snarl, Trig stormed down the enormous staircase leading to the main floor, still barking orders at the men who surrounded us.
When we reached the ground floor, he stalked through the foyer and deposited me in a heap on one of the antique raja rani sofas before turning to the men that had followed us and demanding they find Patrice and bring the car around.
Some of the guards remained behind to guard us, while others hurried in search of Patrice.
"Look at me," Trig commanded then, turning back to face me. "Ashton. Look. At. Me."
When I didn’t, because I fucking couldn’t, he hissed out a frustrated growl and crouched down in front of me.
Taking my hands in his, he pinned them to my lap, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"You are safe," he repeated, dark eyes stormy and full of heat. "He will not touch you again. I would never allow it."
Keeping his hands on mine, he curled his fingers around my small wrists, and I knew it was meant as an act of affection.
"But I need you to be quiet now. I need to focus, and I cannot do that with you falling apart," he instructed, thumbs smoothing over the skin covering my pulse. "Be strong, little lamb." He leaned close and pressed his brow to mine. "Trust your wolf to keep you safe." Smoothing my hair back off my face, his tone was soft and coaxing when he said, "Can you do this for me?"
I nodded slowly, keeping my eyes trained on his.
He exhaled a sigh of relief. "Good girl."
"Can I have a bird?" I mumbled, leaning heavily against him, feeling delirious with too many emotions and feelings thrashing around inside of me.
I couldn’t process anymore.
I was weak to the bone.
I was done.
Trig frowned. "What?"
"A bird." Sniffling, I reached up and hooked my arm around his neck. "I miss my bird."
His brows furrowed deeper. "Your bird?"
"Yeah." Sniffling I nodded and let out a shaky breath. "Peter."
"Ashton." Genuine concern flickered in his eyes and he cupped my face between his hands. "You need to snap out of this."
"Jefe," Patrice'
s voice filled the room, causing Trigger to stiffen and rise to his feet. I turned to see Patrice hurrying towards us, shirt unbuttoned. "Lo siento, jefe, por favor perdoname–"
His words were cut short when Trigger pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants and fired a shot.
A scream tore from my throat and I slapped a hand over my mouth, watching as Patrice staggered backwards from the impact of the bullet as it collided with his flesh.
Unlike Yegor, he didn’t collapse on the floor in a lifeless heap.
Instead, he leaned heavily against the wall at his back and winced as a sea of red seeped through his shirt.
No one moved.
Not one single guard moved to intercept Trigger's gun.
They knew better.
"You shot him," I strangled out, panicked at the blood staining Patrice's arm. "Oh my god, you shot him, Trig!"
"You failed me, brother," Trigger said coldly, keeping his hard gaze locked on Patrice, ignoring me entirely. "Tell me something." He kept his gun aimed at Patrice's chest. "Was fifteen minutes in a whorehouse worth leaving my queen unprotected?" He cocked the hammer again, hand steady and unwavering. "Was your whore a good fuck?" He narrowed his eyes and trained the barrel of the gun at his penis. "Is your pleasure more important than the life of my queen?"
Looking ashamed, Patrice bowed his head. "Perdóname, rey. No soy digno."
"Do not look at your feet!" Trigger roared, losing his cool.
Reaching for me, he grabbed my arm and dragged me to my feet.
"Look at her!" Pulling me to his side, he snarled, "I trusted you to keep her safe." He shook his head in disgust. "Fue un error que no volveré a cometer."
Patrice's pained eyes trailed over me and he flinched. "Dispararme," he whispered. "No merezco nada menos."
"Sí," Trig seethed. "Tú lo haces."
I held my breath and watched as both men stared at one another.
Several beats passed before Trig nodded stiffly, clearly satisfied with whatever he saw in Patrice's eyes.
"You will not fail me twice," he told him coldly. "Never again, comrade."
"Sí," Patrice replied, not moving to tend to his wound. "Nunca mas."
"Good. Now, get that cleaned up and meet me at the Northwood estate," Trig bit out. "We have a king to kill."
With a stiff nod, Patrice hobbled to the entrance door that was wide-open and slipped outside to the courtyard.
"What did you say?" Stunned, I turned to gape at Trig. "The Northwood estate?" I shook my head, confused. "My home?" A weird feeling jolted inside of me. "I'm going home?"