Jaxon Prayer (Jaxon Prayer Trilogy Book 1)

by Rachel West

  “What is your name, my dear?” Botley asks.

  I refuse to lift my eyes to meet his. He may have forced me into this puppetry of a meal, but it doesn’t mean I have to play his games.

  Botley slams his palm flat against the table, dishes rattle as I startle back in shock. “Where are your manners?” I glance up and his face is pinched in a tight scowl. This is a man used to getting his way.

  I swallow my pride and force myself to answer. “Evie,” I say, “my name is Evie.”

  Botley leans back in his chair, the rage instantly drawn from his face. “Evie,” he repeats my name like he’s savoring it. “A lovely name.” Botley gestures at his children one after the other, “My daughter, Isabelle and my son, Charles.”

  I nod at them because it is the polite thing to do but inside I am seething. The boy keeps shooting nervous glances at me while Isabelle scrunches her nose up like she’s stepped in a pile of manure.

  After a short pause, Botley speaks again, “And of course you know Jaxon Prayer.” I glance up at Jaxon but then quickly back down. I can’t risk my face revealing any of the connection between us. As far as the Millennials are concerned I kidnapped Jaxon Prayer.

  “So tell me,” Botley steeples his hands together. “How does a girl such as yourself kidnap the son of the Great Uniter from his own home? A beauty like you seems more like to lull our boy into bed rather than out of it.” Botley slaps the table and chortles heartily at his own joke; too pleased with his own wit.

  "It was easy," I thrust my jaw out, daring him to contradict me. "Millennials are easy to fool."

  "The details are not yours to know," Jaxon cuts into the conversation. He manages to sound both arrogant and embarrassed at the same time and I wonder how many dinner tables Jaxon has found himself play-acting at. How long did it take him to perfect his lies? I push the ungrateful thought away. Right now Jaxon’s lies are the only thing keeping me alive.

  “Of course not,” Botley bows his head but I see the way his lips tighten with anger. Jaxon has belittled him and a man so insecure in his power would not take that lightly.

  "Have you sent word to my Father?" Jaxon asks.

  "Yes, He is sending the Great Heart. They should arrive the day after next."

  "Magnificent."

  "Your Father has requested that I escort you back to Crescent City." Botley adjusts his bowtie with a self-satisfied grin.

  "A great honor," Jaxon gives a predatory grin and Botley swallows hard at the look.

  While the two of them play whatever little game they’re playing I poke my spoon at the food in front of me. It is far too rich for my tastes. Thick gravies cover all the meat. The vegetables are drenched in butter, the vibrant colors all but faded. Even the bread looks greasy.

  I feel the weight of someone’s eyes on me. Isabelle slowly brings up a skewer of meat to her lips but she has no interest in the food in front of her. No, her attention is only for me. Everything about Isabelle appears flawless. From her red hair to lips perfectly shaped with the hint of a smile. But she has none of the dullness you often find in beautiful girls. In her eyes is nothing but intelligence. While Botley plays at wit and power his daughter truly has it. She glares up at me through long lashes and I swear I see a whisper of hate cross her face for reasons I can’t explain.

  I take a sip from my water glass. The cool liquid soothes a thirst I didn’t know was there. I empty the glass quickly and look around for another. Charles, the boy next to me, fidgets impatiently in his chair. He’s managed to displace at least half his meal from plate to table. I smile, remembering Annie when she was the same age. How trying to sit through a single meal could feel like a lifetime. He taps his fork repetitively against the edge of the table and is completely oblivious to the angry looks his father shoots him.

  I am turning back to my own meal when something catches my attention. A knife. Charles has rested a knife on the side of him closest to me. Has anyone else noticed?

  I glance quickly at the sharp object then look away. I can't let them see me eyeing it. The large steak knife taunts me. I imagine shoving the long, sharp point into Botley's fat throat and making my escape. I don't know what Jaxon has planned but right now it feels like there is no hope of freedom.

  I tug at the sleeves of the dress they forced me into. There is room, maybe enough room to hide the blade. I glance again to the knife and when I look away Jaxon watching me. He shakes his head slowly, a motion so subtle none of the others could have seen it.

  I look down at the table and fiddle with the spoon in my hand but the knife keeps drawing my gaze. It would be good to have some sort of weapon - something to defend myself with if everything goes wrong. I know I have quick fingers, I could take it and no one would notice. The boy next to me has no interest in the meal in front of him or the conversation going on around him. All I need is a distraction.

  I lean forward and lightly knock my glass of water over the edge of the table. The shatter freezes all conversation and a blush instantly heats up my cheeks. Botley looks disgusted while the boy next to me jumps back to avoid any runoff.

  "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I grab my napkin and begin sopping up the dripping water from the table. With a flick of my fingers I tuck the knife into the napkin, and then pretending I am lifting up my sleeves to avoid the liquid, I push the cutlery into my sleeve.

  I use the napkin to clean up the rest of the mess. The boy, Botley's son, turns to his father "May I be excused?" he asks with a plaintive look.

  "Of course," Botley nods to his son.

  "Pay no mind to the manner of our guests," Jaxon says, "We cannot expect any better from her like." But I see the way he glances at the table where the knife once was - the worried expression that passes through his eyes before quickly being shuttered.

  Botley pushes back from his seat and walks over to me. "My dear. Let me help you." Botley grabs my wrist between his fat, sausage like fingers and yanks the napkin from my hands. "Now, now," he ticks a finger at me, "What is this?" He yanks my sleeve up exposing my flesh as the knife clatters to the table. "Foolish girl," he says, but he doesn't look angry.

  He looks pleased.

  CHAPTER 20

  "Johnson, Tarmel, could you come here for a moment?" Botley calls to the two Praetors guarding the door. I try to shake my arm loose of Botley's grip but his fingers are wrapped so tight around my wrist that my hand tingles with numbness.

  Jaxon half-leaps from his seat with his palms placed flat on the table in anger and a snarl on his lips. He glances between Botley and I; then his eyes flick to the two Praetors holding me down. Slowly, regretfully, he settles back into his seat with a hard expression in his eyes. I smile at him, trying to show I understand but all it does is cause his grip to tighten around his wineglass.

  "Perhaps I shall have you sent to my rooms tonight." Botley rests one of his sweaty hands on the back of my neck and kneads my flesh. "Teach you a lesson about proper manners." The threat in his words is real and I shudder under his touch

  "I believe I am quite capable of teaching that lesson myself," Jaxon interrupts Botley's musings.

  The houselord looks between Jaxon and I with his beady eyes narrowed but a glimmer of intelligence in them. A glimmer of knowing. His tongue darts out to moisten dry lips and I choke down my fear. Have my foolish impulses given Jaxon and I away?

  “Of course, my lord,” Botley says. “But let us show her a little of our power now, hmm? Johnson, Tarmel, hold her down. “

  The two Praetors press me down hard into my chair. I struggle with real fear. Botley reaches for the knife placed on the table. He strokes the sharp edge with his thumb and a twisted smile on his face.

  “Let me go!” I try to shake the two Praetors loose. One of them digs the tips of his fingers into my already injured shoulder. Pain explodes down my arm all the way the tips of my fingers and I cannot stop the scream I release.

  “Quiet, my dear, we are not going to hurt you.” Botley brushes his fingers through my ha
ir, a fatherly touch I try to buck off with a wild jerk of my head. He runs the knife over the sleeves of my dress, coming to a stop where the sleeves are sewn into the body of the dress. He digs the tip of the knife forward, the slightest prick and a bloom of blood follows the gesture. With a flick of his wrist he cuts the sleeve of the dress open. The cloth slumps down, baring my shoulder.

  “Let us make sure you are not hiding anything else up your sleeves,” Botley says. Then he pulls at the sleeves but he hasn’t cut the cloth enough so my arms are yanked forward as he pulls. I bite my tongue against the pain, tasting the hot explosion of blood in my mouth. With a sound like rolling thunder the cloth finally tears. Humiliation and rage heats my cheeks. Botley traces the back of one of his fingers across my cheeks and I glare up at him through narrowed, tear-filled eyes. My blood burns with hate.

  Botley laughs. The two Praetors laugh with him, but it is a polite kind of laugh, the kind of laugh men have when they are not quite certain they should be laughing.

  Jaxon looks on and even with all his training he can’t mask the hate in his eyes. He stares at Botley and if the houselord faced Jaxon now he would piss his pants. Botley is a man playing at cruelty. Jaxon is a man who has lived his entire life surrounded by it.

  “It is your turn,” Botley says. His piggish eyes are feverishly hot, full of excitement and lust. His tongue darts out to moisten dry lips as he leans forward into me. “Show me you are a good girl. Show me that you’re sorry for the upset you caused.”

  “Go to hell,” I sneer through clenched teeth.

  “You will address me with respect!” Botley backhands me while the two Praetors hold me down. My head is thrown to one side. My cheek cracks against the corner of the chair and for a moment I see stars. Botley grabs my hand and folds my fingers around the handle of the knife. “Cut off your other sleeve,” he orders. “Now!”

  “I’ll cut your fucking throat.” I leap forward, sharp edge of the knife bared toward Botley. The Praetors fight to hold me in the chair but rage fuels me now and they are no match against my hate. Botley kicks at my shin like a petulant child. The unexpected blow sets me off balance and in the moment I am distracted Botley brings his elbow to my face. I tumble to the ground, unable to keep my feet as my vision goes dark. The knife clatters out of my grip. I twist my head to the side, watching as the blade dances out of reach.

  Botley stands over me, one foot planted on each side of my body. He pants heavily and I follow the path of a sweat drop as it trails down his face. But there is a smile on his lips, a vicious grin that tells me everything I need to know about the man.

  “It’s true what they say, is it not? You people are nothing more than criminals. No better than animals.” He spits on the floor by my face, missing, but close enough that warm drops splatter against my cheek.

  “Enough of this.” Jaxon’s voice rings with authority. “Your games have ruined my appetite.”

  Botley glances to Jaxon with a surprised look, like he had forgotten the other man was in the room. It takes Botley a moment to compose himself. He runs a hand through his thinning hair and wipes away the sweat on his forehead. “Apologies, my lord.” Botley turns and shouts at the doorway behind us, “Kitchens! Bring out dessert.” Jaxon winces at the grating sound of Botleys voice. Botley, who sees the gesture, lowers his eyes while clearing his throat.

  Botley returns to his seat leaving me panting and broken on the floor. With a napkin he dabs at his face and the back of his neck removing all trace of his previous exertion.

  “I have had quite enough of your hospitality for the evening,” Jaxon says.

  “My deepest apologies my lord,” Botley bows his head beseechingly to Jaxon. “My anger, it can get away from me at times. I was only acting on your behalf. This girl,” Botley waves his napkin at me, “she had you stolen from your home.”

  Jaxon ignores Botley’s apologies and pushes back from his chair. “Tarmel, Johnson, bring the girl to my rooms,” he orders the two Praetors as if they are his own. The Praetors exchange a quick glance then pull me from the ground without hesitation

  “Worry not, Butch, my father will certainly hear all about how you acted on my behalf.” All the blood drains from Botley’s face and he struggles to loosen the bowtie about his neck. His mouth moves in response, but the two Paretors, Tarmel and Johnson are already pulling me away so I am unable to hear.

  ***

  The two Praetors bring me into what must be Jaxon's guestroom in the manor. Rooms, more like. A large sitting area with an open door to the bedroom standing opposite the door to the balcony. It was everything I’d expect a Millennials room to be. Loud, luxurious, and too formal to ever be comfortable.

  One of the Praetors pulls out a chair and motions me down into it. The two look helplessly at each other as if they don’t quite know what to do next. The larger of the two disappears from the room while the other watches sternly over me. I sit quietly, too focused on the pain in my face. Eventually the Praetor returns with a coil of rope which he holds in the air to the other like an offering. The one nearest me shrugs and begins tying my wrists together.

  I wince as the rope becomes too tight; the Praetor, seeing it and having some sense of decency, loosens the knot a bit leaving just enough room for me to wiggle my wrists. Before leaving, the one who tied my wrists takes one last look at my tear-stained face with an expression approaching pity and I wonder if he too has been the victim of a Millennial’s cruelty.

  Long minutes pass while I fidget quietly in the chair. My face burns where Botley hit me but it’s my shoulder that leaves me shaking. Pain radiates out from the joint, down my arm, down my back; a deep throbbing pain that swells and recedes with the beat of my heart. I bite my tongue and hold the tears in. Botley will pay for what he has done. They all will.

  Footsteps approach the door and I lean forward in my chair praying it is Jaxon and no other.

  “Evie?” Jaxon pushes the door open and rushes into the room. He drops to the ground by my chair and frantically begins untying my wrists. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I did not know what else to do.” He frees me from the ropes then comes around to my front, crouched down and hands resting on my knees. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

  I open my mouth to say something to him, to reassure him, to tell him I’m fine but all that comes out is a wrenching sob. I swallow and clamp my mouth shut. I will not break down. Not in front of Jaxon. Not in front of any Millennial. I stare at him through wet eyes trying to relay to him some of what I am thinking because I know if I try to speak again there will be nothing but tears.

  “Evie,” he whispers my name and draws me against his chest. I drop from the chair onto the ground. My arms lay helplessly by my side as Jaxon embraces me. Hatred and humiliation burrow deep through my veins and as I rest my head against Jaxon’s chest I imagine stringing Botley up with his own insides.

  “He was talking about questioning you,” Jaxon says, “He wanted to teach you a lesson. I had to keep you out of his hands and claiming you was the only way I could think of. I am sorry that it forced you into that dinner. That I…” Jaxon’s fists clench against my back and I think he feels some of the hate I do.

  “Red!” I pull frantically from Jaxon’s grip. If Botley can’t have me, will he go for Red?

  “No,” Jaxon says, “I believe Botley will have no interest in Red.”

  I lay back against the legs of the chair. Jaxon is right. I can’t imagine Botley seeking Red out. No, that is not the kind of man he is. He is the type of man who had no true interest in “questioning” me. I saw the look in his eyes as he hit me, the feverish excitement. Botley is the kind of man who gets off on humiliating those weaker than him. He would never find the victim he was looking for in Red.

  “But Evie, when I first arrived they offered me a girl to “help me relax” after my kidnapping.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “They offered me a girl. Said I could have any one of them for the night. I th
ink they--“ Jaxon’s words trail off and I stare at him in horror as understanding comes to me.

  “No,” I shake my head. It can’t be. Not Annie. Not my sister. She is still a child.

  “I thought you should know,” Jaxon says uneasily. “There are hundreds of women here. She probably…”

  “Don’t,” I cut Jaxon off with a raised hand. “Don’t try to placate me. I will kill anyone who has touched her,” I swear vehemently. “I will kill them.”

  Jaxon rests his hand on my shoulder and leans in closer. “Now is not the time,” he whispers, “We need to get here out of here first.”

  “I hate them.”

  “I understand,” Jaxon replies and the twisted look of guilt on his face that tells me maybe he really does. “Come on. You should sleep. If we are to make our escape it must be tomorrow evening before my father’s zeppelin arrives.” Jaxon reaches out a hand to help me to my feet. “You can have the bed, I’ll take the floor.”

  “No,” I shake my head, “Please.” Right now I am weak and I am scared and I can’t bear the thought of facing my nightmares alone. I don’t know what I mean to Jaxon and I don’t know what he means to me, but I do know he did everything he could to protect me tonight and for now, that is enough.

  Jaxon looks at me like he is shocked by my request. Like he thought I must hate him as much as he hates himself. I pick at the carpet as the silence draws out between us. Maybe I was wrong, maybe Jaxon doesn’t feel what I think he feels. Maybe he only sees me as a promise he made. A duty to complete. But I can’t believe that. Time and time again he has shown me I can put my faith in him. That I can trust him.

  “Of course,” Jaxon says and he pulls me to the bed. He lays down next to me with one arm curled over my stomach and the other resting under my head. I press in closer to him and the last thing I hear before I fall asleep is the steady beat of his heart.