Devil's Riches: A Dark Captive Romance (Cruel Kingdom Book 2)

by Stella Hart

  I dragged in a slow, shaky breath as nausea made my guts roil. Even though the chloroform hadn’t knocked me all the way out, I couldn’t move, and I could barely think straight. It was like a half-dose of anesthetic had been injected into my veins, leaving me in a cold, nightmarish twilight state.

  A moment later, I became dimly aware of the car turning on and moving down the long, dark driveway. “Where are you taking me?” I managed to ask. My voice came out in a slurred whisper.

  Greg glanced at me over his shoulder. My vision was so blurry that it looked like there were three of him in the driver’s seat.

  “It doesn’t matter, sweetheart,” he said. His voice sounded like it was echoing through a thick wall of water and glass. “You only need to know one thing.”

  “What?” I murmured, blinking rapidly in an attempt to keep myself awake.

  He grinned. “No one’s ever gonna find you.”

  3

  Nate

  With a groan, I opened my eyes. Pain made my skull throb so violently that it made me wonder if it had cracked right open, and for a moment, I was blinded with colorful flashing spots.

  Gingerly, I raised a hand to the back of my head, where most of the pain was concentrated. There was an enormous lump there, and my hair was wet and sticky.

  I dropped my hand to see that it was covered in blood.

  With a grimace, I sat up and rubbed my eyes to dispel the spots. There was a pool of blood on the concrete floor about two feet away from where I was sitting, and my feet were shackled and bound to the metal base of a bunk with a long chain.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered. The words sounded slightly slurred.

  Wincing, I dropped my head to my chest and took a deep breath as I tried to remember what had happened to me. My brain felt like it had come loose inside my skull, sloshing around so much that coherent thought and recall was impossible.

  Then, in a sudden flurry of shocking images, the memories flooded back.

  My uncle was alive. He’d been imprisoned in here for years, trapped by the same chains that were restraining me now, and he’d taken advantage of my ignorance regarding his older, disheveled appearance and pretended to be Peter Covington in order to fool me into letting him go.

  Fuck. How the hell was that man breathing right now?

  He died in a car accident ten years ago. I remembered going to his funeral, two days after my father’s funeral, and I remembered watching my mother, grandparents, and other black-clad relatives weeping as someone read out a heartfelt eulogy in front of the family mausoleum. I also remembered feeling guilty for not being as sad as everyone else, because Greg was hardly ever around when I was a kid, and even when he was, I was struck by the distinct impression that he didn’t like me very much.

  These were all clear memories in my head. Greg was dead.

  Then again, they never actually found him after the accident. Only a few bloodstained pieces of the shirt he was wearing when he left the house that day. He was presumed to have died like my father because he’d been in the car with him, and based on the evidence—like the DNA match from the shirt scraps—a judge had declared him legally dead.

  But there was no body. Everyone assumed the worst and decided he was gone. Just like Peter Covington.

  The sudden thought of Peter shook something loose in my aching, addled brain. Another memory.

  Alexis.

  Greg had taken her with him when he left, and the look on his face when he grabbed her was completely psychotic. If I didn’t track him down soon, he was going to hurt her. Maybe even kill her.

  Nausea suddenly rose in my throat, and my chest began to ache.

  I tried to tell myself that the new physical symptoms were caused by a concussion from the multiple blows to the head I endured earlier, but deep down, I knew they weren’t. I was sick to my stomach at the thought of my uncle hurting Alexis.

  It wasn’t because I’d secretly started caring for her along the way without noticing, and it wasn’t because she made my cock rock-hard with a single glance in my direction. It wasn’t because my heart beat a little bit faster every time I saw her, either, and it definitely wasn’t because of the tiny, blissful smile that curled up her bruised lips every time she came.

  No way. It was as simple as this: Alexis was mine. Her mind and body belonged to me. Not Greg. Not anyone else.

  The thought of losing that, losing her, along with all the answers that lay within the confines of her twisted mind, was unnerving as hell. It felt as if I were clinging to a cliff’s edge, and slowly, my fingers were loosening their grip on the rocks. Beneath me lay nothing but cold and darkness. No answers. No knowledge. No pleasure or pain.

  No Alexis.

  Fuck. I couldn’t stay here for a second longer. I had to find her, right fucking now.

  I clenched my teeth and snapped my head around, searching for the keys to the shackles. I knew I had them earlier, and Greg didn’t take them with him, so they had to be around here somewhere.

  I found them a few minutes later, under the bunk. They must have flown right out of my hands when Greg smashed me on the back of the head.

  Once I’d unlocked the restraints, I climbed to my feet and took a deep breath. I wasn’t seeing stars anymore, and I didn’t feel dizzy or confused. That meant I wasn’t concussed, which was good because I didn’t want to deal with hospitals and doctors right now. I needed to focus all my time and energy on figuring out where the hell Greg had gone with Alexis.

  It was too bad I had no idea where to begin. I didn’t know Greg well enough to know any of the places on Avalon where he used to hang out, let alone anywhere he might feel safe or comfortable enough to hide out in. I didn’t even know where he lived before he supposedly died.

  Honestly, I barely knew a single fucking thing about him.

  I considered calling my mother to ask her, but I ruled out that idea almost immediately. She was clearly in on whatever the fuck was going on with her brother—in terms of him faking his death and living down in this secret bunker for ten years—and I didn’t want to rouse any suspicions in her. Not until I knew more.

  Right now, all I knew was that she couldn’t be trusted.

  A bolt of pain suddenly shot through my head, and I winced and raised my hand to the lump. It was bleeding again. Shit. I needed to get it under control.

  I still didn’t want to go to a hospital, though. It would waste too much valuable time. I’d have to patch the wound myself or go and ask Colette for help.

  “That’s it,” I muttered to myself, heart drumming in my chest. “Colette.”

  She’d worked for my family for over thirty years. That meant she must’ve known my uncle when he was younger. She might even know enough about him to help me figure out where he’d decided to take Alexis.

  She had first aid qualifications, too. It was part of her terms of employment—she had to keep up to date on stuff like that in case of emergency situations in the house. They were only basic skills, but I assumed they would be enough to get me patched up and ready to go.

  I headed out of the bunker, through the woods, and toward the house. My car was gone, but that didn’t surprise me. Greg had stolen my keys earlier, so he was probably miles away by now.

  Luckily, there were spare cars for me to drive. My mother had different ones for different occasions, and she wasn’t around to use any of them right now, because she’d recently gone overseas for a week.

  I went inside and found the keys to the nearest one. Then I headed east on the estate, down a narrow, tree-lined road that led to Colette’s place.

  When I arrived, her house was dark, and the only sound in the area was the soft trilling of insects. I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was 4:04 a.m. Colette wasn’t going to be happy at me for waking her so early, but she was going to have to get over it.

  I pounded on the door until a light switched on. Colette appeared in a thick dressing gown a moment later, hair mussed and brows drawn. “Nate? What are you
doing here?” she asked. She sounded like she was still half asleep.

  “I need your help with this,” I said, turning to show her the bloody lump on my head.

  She gasped and raised a hand to her chest. “What happened?”

  “I fell down the stairs.”

  “Let me look at it in the light,” she said, hurriedly stepping aside so I could go through to the living room. She gestured for me to sit, and then she parted my hair and peered at my head. “This is bad, Nate. You need to go to the emergency room.”

  “No.” I winced as she pulled my hair farther back to reveal more of the injured spot. “No hospital.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have time. I have shit to do.”

  “At four o’clock in the morning?” she said sharply, narrowing her eyes.

  “Yes. So can you help me or not?”

  She frowned and shook her head. “No. Like I said, you need to see a doctor. It looks like you need stitches.” She tilted her chin to one side. “How did you say it happened?”

  “I fell on the stairs when I went to get some water,” I said. “I was half asleep, and I tripped halfway down and smashed my head on the ground when I landed.”

  “Were you unconscious at all?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long? A few seconds? A minute?”

  I shook my head. “Longer. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.”

  Colette’s brows shot up, and she raised a palm. “Nate, life isn’t like the movies where a person can get knocked out and wake up totally fine a while later. Head injuries are a very, very dangerous thing. If you get hit hard enough to make you pass out for that long, you need serious medical attention.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Some people die or go into comas after being knocked out.”

  “I’m awake, aren’t I?” I said, raising my brows. “Clearly not dead or comatose.”

  “That’s not the point. Something could happen later,” she said stiffly. She turned away. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  “Colette, I really don’t have time to go to the hospital. Just help me patch this up, okay?”

  She turned back to face me. “You really won’t go?” she asked, narrowing her eyes,

  “Yes. If you don’t help me, I’ll do it myself. But you know a lot about first aid, so I’d rather have you do it.”

  She let out an irritated sniff. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can pass a few small tests, I’ll believe that you’re well enough to stay here, and I’ll fix you up.”

  “Fine.” I lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “What are the tests?”

  “Wait here.”

  She left the room, muttering something under her breath about ‘egocentric men’ and their ‘stupid pride’. When she returned, she was holding a first aid kit and her cell phone.

  “Look at the light,” she said, switching on the flashlight app on the phone. “I need to see your pupils.”

  I did as she said, and she let out a small grunt of satisfaction. “Hm. They look okay,” she murmured. “Now stand up. I want to see you balance on one leg for thirty seconds.”

  I stood and lifted one foot off the ground, using my core strength to keep me steady.

  Colette frowned. “Okay. Take ten steps over there, and then come back,” she said, pointing across the living room. “As you do it, I want you to say the alphabet backward.”

  I did it all as she watched carefully, arms folded.

  When I was finally done, she lifted a brow. “Have you vomited since you hit your head?” she asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Dizziness? Exhaustion?”

  “No. It fucking hurts, but apart from that, I feel fine.”

  “Well, in that case, you are a very, very lucky young man,” she said. She waved a hand toward the dining room. “Go and sit down over there.”

  She picked up the first aid kit, hauled it over to the table, and opened it up to retrieve some antiseptic wipes, a small pair of scissors, and a packet of Steri-Strips. “I’ll use these to close the wound,” she said, pointing to the strips. “But I’m warning you now—without proper stitches done by a doctor, it won’t be pretty when it heals. There’ll be a scar.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You men will really do anything to avoid going to the doctor, won’t you?” she said, rolling her eyes. “By the way, where’s Alexis? Didn’t she wake up when you fell?”

  “She wasn’t there. She went to the city to spend the night with her sister.”

  “Oh. Do you want me to call her and tell her you’ve been hurt?”

  “No. I don’t want to wake her up this early.”

  “But you’re happy to wake me up?” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I think I might need to discuss a pay rise with your mother.”

  I smiled. “I’ll be happy to back you up on that.”

  “Good. Hopefully, you’ll live long enough to do it after this,” she said sardonically. “Now, this might sting a bit.”

  She cleaned the back of my head with several of the antiseptic wipes, and then she picked up the scissors. “I’m going to have to cut your hair around the wound,” she said. “I might even have to shave some parts. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Do whatever you need to do.”

  As she worked away at the injured spot, I settled my weight into the chair and tried to think of a way to bring up my uncle. I needed to do it without giving away anything about what I’d discovered down in the bunker.

  “Do you remember much about Mom’s brother?” I finally asked.

  Colette stopped moving. “You mean Gregory?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking about him earlier tonight, and I realized I never really knew him. It feels wrong.”

  “I didn’t really know him either,” she said lightly. “Why don’t you ask your mother about him?”

  “She’s away right now, remember? Fashion Week in Shanghai.”

  “They have phones in China.”

  “I know, but I don’t want to bother her while she’s over there,” I replied. “Besides, you’ve worked here for over thirty years, so you must’ve known Greg a bit, right?”

  A silence thick as mud fell on the room. I’d obviously struck a nerve.

  Colette picked up a Steri-Strip and placed it firmly on the wound on the back of my head. Then she finally spoke up again. “I’ll be frank with you, Nate. I was never particularly fond of your uncle.”

  “Why not?”

  She bristled. “I’d rather not say. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Just tell me. I don’t care.”

  Colette let out a short sigh. “Fine. I’ll tell you, but only because I know you won’t drop it until I do.” She leaned over to grab another strip. “Your uncle was… strange. He wasn’t very nice, and honestly, he was a bit creepy as well.”

  “How so?”

  She hesitated for a moment. “I was twenty-four when I came to work here on the estate, and I remember being told that I was ten years older than Gregory, so he would’ve been fourteen and your mother would’ve been thirteen. I can’t say I was expecting much from a teenage boy—you know what they can be like—but Gregory was still quite difficult for me to deal with. Your mother and your grandparents were always lovely and spoke to me like I was a member of the family. But your uncle…” She trailed off for a few seconds. “He wasn’t exactly rude. He just never spoke to me unless he absolutely had to. Even then he was very abrupt, and he always had a sour look on his face. He didn’t seem to have many friends, either. He spent most of his time locked away in his room.”

  “So he was antisocial.”

  “Very much so. But that’s not all.” Colette paused again. “He was an extraordinarily handsome young man. He had the same gorgeous blue eyes that you have. Same hair and bone structure too. A boy with looks like that could have any girl he wanted. Or boy, if that was his taste. But he never seemed interested in anyone, and I don�
�t remember him having a single girlfriend or boyfriend as long as he lived here. Sometimes your mother’s friends would visit after school or on weekends, and they’d fawn all over him when they saw him, but he ignored all of them. Even the prettiest ones.”

  “Wouldn’t he be more of a creep if he hit on all of Mom’s friends instead of ignoring them?”

  Colette shook her head as she leaned over to dig around in the first aid kit again. “I haven’t told you why I thought he was creepy yet.”

  “Oh. Did something happen?”

  “Yes and no. It’s hard to explain because he didn’t necessarily do anything wrong. It was just something that gave me a very strange feeling about him.”

  “What was it?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “One day, about a year after I started working here, I was cleaning the windows on the third floor. I must’ve cleaned them a little too well because a little bird flew into one of them. It happened right in front of me. Gave me quite a shock,” she finally said. “I love animals, and I couldn’t stand the thought of the poor thing being hurt, so I went outside to see if it was okay. Sometimes they just daze themselves for a while when they hit windows, you see. Unfortunately, this poor bird was dead. By the time I got to it, it was already cold and stiff as a board.”

  “Okay.” I frowned, wondering where this story was going. What the fuck could a dead bird possibly have to do with my uncle? He didn’t make it fly into the window.

  “I started to get quite emotional, because I felt responsible for the bird’s death,” Colette said. “I know I’m very sappy, but I can’t help it. I just love animals so much. Even the little ones.”

  “I know.”

  “So anyway, I decided to bury the poor thing somewhere, because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it there on the ground. As I was looking for a spot in the garden, your uncle approached me. It was one of the only times he ever spoke to me. He told me that he would bury the bird for me, because he could tell I was upset, and he thought it would be easier if I didn’t have to see it anymore.”

  I lifted a brow. “That was nice of him.”