by Marie Wathen
“The very same.”With a wink, he bows playfully.
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you.”I extend my hand and he accepts it for a friendly shake, leaning in closely.
“The pleasure is all mine,” he counters in a husky rumble. His electric blue contact-covered eyes leave mine to look at my smile. “He wasn’t lying when he said you were beautiful. Tristan is a lucky man.”Warmth from his hand moves up mine and my eyebrows pinch together. He notices my discomfort and leans away, but doesn’t release me.
“Thanks,” I say, retrieving my hand and then as any polite young woman would, I ask, “Hey, would you like to join us? They are caught up in that stupid game, but should be finished soon.”
He holds me in an odd look for a moment and then smiles sweetly, “No, but thank you for the invitation. I have some business that needs attending and then I’m flying out of town in a couple of hours.” He moves past me, running a hand through the hair at the back of his head. After a couple of steps, he turns back around, facing me. “If you need anything, Ensley is the manager and she will hook you up, just ask.”
“That’s sweet, thanks,” I reply. “Goodnight, Tox.”
“Matt…” he stops short of what he was going to say and then counters, “Bye, Anna.”
Tox never hung out at the club much. When he did, it was as if he was a wallflower; forgotten or lost. Observing his behavior and hearing his pleasantries during my mind control, I notice how intently Tox watched my reactions that first meeting. Something about his heavy gaze sends shudders down my spine. After the hell that he’s put me through, I should be disgusted by his lascivious behavior. I’m certain that he flirted with me that first night and then intentionally avoided me afterwards.
Whatever was happening, it seems like there was definitely more than simple flirting actually going on. Perhaps he was watching all of us, so that he could get closer to Breesan. But then, he didn’t ever join us when we went to Toxic. Occasionally, I would bump into him. Sometimes by chance we would meet in the same spot in the upstairs hallway. One night, when Tristan was unable to join us out clubbing, Tox worked the bar. Except for the initial hello and taking our orders, he barely spoke. In retrospect, I’m positive there was more going on than just coincidental encounters and lingering gazes of a love-struck man. I’m not dumb enough to believe that someone as evil as him could fall in love with me so easily. The next time he comes for one of his special visits, I plan on asking him what exactly the deal was with his odd behavior. Also, I need to know if he was doing it all to get to Breesan.
Squatting over Waverly’s body, I sigh, “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry.”
Slowly, I move some strands of hair away from her angelic face. It has grown longer since we were abducted and the pale pink tips have faded out to her natural blonde shade. Seeing the dark circles under her eyes pierces my heart and I feel like I’ve let down her family. Ian is the only brother I really knew. He was the closest to my age and graduated a few years ahead of me. I can see how devastating this news will be for them. If Tox is a man of his word and he actually allows us to leave here, I hope they believe that I did everything that I could to save her. As difficult as it will be to tell the Collins family about her decline, facing Morgan will be the hardest part. Even though I promised Waverly that I would remind her how much she loves him, I don’t think it would make a difference now if he knows just how much he meant to her. Morgan Walker has never cared for any woman or gave them more than a night filled with loveless sex. Although what they had was more than one night, Waverly could never change the master player’s ways or his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Morgan
Staggering back inside the castle, nursing a bruised cheek and sore throat, I wander toward the front entryway and watch in horror as Marcus drags Breesan out the front door.
“What the hell just happened?” I ask the group gawking after them, like a bunch of rubberneckers slowing down as they pass a traffic accident.
“Something that should have happened long ago,” Miller claims cryptically before she swishes around in her gaudy dress and stomps off toward the ballroom donning a proud smile.
Just what has her looking so happy? As soon as that question completes in my head, I remember that Marcus dated Miller, and I use that term loosely because they really didn’t even do that. He was probably fifteen at the time and she couldn’t have been more than thirteen, fourteen tops. I don’t think one trip to the movies with Anna and Tristan constitutes labeling them as a couple.
Twisting my head around, I stare back out the front door, wondering what my brother could be up to. The woman I saw him speaking with, while I was chatting with Breesan and Jama, sways into the foyer smiling happily. Confidently and if she’s the queen of the castle, she turns left, climbing up the staircase. Even with her mask on, I can tell that she’s a beautiful woman, but I just can’t place her. With the commotion over, the crowd thins, moving back inside the still crowded ballroom. Before resuming my search for Sam and the rest of the crew, I spot the man Marcus was arguing with out in the gardens following the woman up. His progression is much slower, more cautious, calculating even.
“I don’t give a damn about your pathetic excuses,” my sister’s very pissed off voice carries from the end of the long passageway that leads toward the kitchens. “I have encountered plenty of degenerative criminal scum in my career, but you make me physically sick. How could you?”
Rushing down the hall, I stop running when I spot Sam inside the library. I walk in and see that the receiver of her bitterness is none other than our father. Barret stands casually with one hand thrust deeply into his front pant pocket while his other hangs loosely at his side.
“I’ll have you arrested for this bullshit after you confess to him about what you’ve done.” She continues shouting, unaware of my presence.
But Barret notices. He strolls toward me, stopping about five feet away, and stares into my eyes with hatred equivalent of a foe in a battle to the death.
“What’s going on?” I look between them, disregarding his feeble intimidation tactics, like so many times before.
“Tell him,” Sam demands, moving closer to us. She crosses her arms, her jaw ticks out a hostile rate as she pins him with a daring look.
“As usual, your assumptions make you look foolish,” he scorns, narrowing his eyes on her.
“I know everything,” she claims boldly. “The last piece of the puzzle that I haven’t figured out yet is Douglas Welcher.”
“Don’t ever say that man’s name in my presence again,” Barret barks viciously, sliding his dark gaze toward Sam.
Douglas is a partner with Welcher and Zahn out of New York. Even before I was born, Walker Corporation has consulted their legal team and they’ve represented us in arbitration without blemish. Working closely with dad for the past couple of years, I’ve become fully aware of his aversion to the suit. I never questioned it, but I’m suddenly interested in the fact that Barret can instantaneously become unraveled at just the mention of the high-priced lawyer’s name.
“Morgan, Sam,” Marcus calls, standing in the doorway, observing our domestic quarrel. “Is there a problem?” His chest heaves wildly, like he ran here.
It hasn’t been that long ago since he left with Breesan. I can’t believe he’s returned–much less this quickly, and apparently she isn’t with him. Surely he didn’t drop her at home to stay alone, not after what she has been through, although, he wasn’t around to know just how difficult this night was for her.
“Your sister is overreacting about some bullshit that she thinks she has on me,” Barret answers condescendingly.
“Proof, you son of a bitch,” Sam corrects, “I have proof of what you’ve been doing.”
“What has he been doing, Sam?” I ask calmly, hoping to quash the high agitation level this issue is elevating toward.
She stares at him intently and expectantly. It’s a strange look, almost like two personalities are wag
ing war within her steel-tinted eyes. One faction appears to want him to find his moral compass and behave as a proper man for once, admitting his indiscretions. The opposite side of her internal battle, clearly the more dominate, prepares to kick his ass if he tries to run from this calculated confrontation.
“Either you tell him now, or I will,” she warns and he scoffs at her threat. “Fine,” Turning to face me, she declares, “Morgan, I want you to know that when I say this to you, I expect you to get pissed off and possibly want to attack. Hell, I would do the same thing in your position–”
“Just say it,” I gripe cutting her off, entirely fed-up with this scene dragging out this long, especially if whatever has her so damn mad is about me.
“For an undetermined amount of time, but if I were to guess, I’d say, what? Two years, Pop?” She pins him with a defiant glare that he fails to react to, so she looks back at me. Her features soften considerably when she finally professes, “This bastard has been drugging you with Ryske, Morgan.”
“Sam,” Marcus interrupts, but she refuses to shift her attention from me. “Are you certain?”
Barret growls, “She knows nothing.”
Blunt malice consumes her and then she shouts, “As certain as I am that this piece of shit isn’t my father.” Even though I’m angry about her claims of him drugging me, I pause reacting to her confession, studying her. She drops that bomb and then looks between me and Marcus with glistening eyes. Silently, she expresses regret and mouths, “I’m sorry.”
“Well,” Barret starts, moving toward the doorway, “Now that the theatrics are over, do you have this impetuous display out of your system, or must I be forced to endure more of your pathetic attempts for attention?” He doesn’t deny her allegations and appears to truly enjoy antagonizing her further.
“Shut your damn mouth speaking to my sister that way. And don’t you even think about leaving until we’re done here,” Marcus warns before reaching out and wrapping both hands over Sam’s biceps. “Tell me what you know about him drugging Morgan.”
“Going with the theory that he or Beck has been drugging Tristan since he moved back home, I determined that a controlled Ryske dosing could explain Morgan’s hateful behavior over the past year and a half,” She shifts her eyes toward me and Marcus releases his hold. “I took some hair that I found in your bathroom and had it tested. I got the results five minutes before confronting him.” She sighs, “I didn’t want you to find out so abrasively.”
“I’m not angry with you, Sam,” I confirm, taking her into my arms while keeping my eyes locked on the heart of my burgeoning outrage. “Are you okay?”
“Absolutely,” she proves stepping out of my hold, crossing over toward the door, and standing directly in front of Barret. “You have one chance to explain your involvement before I throw your sorry ass in jail.”
“You have no proof of this ludicrous implication. In fact, I would wager that due to your low-grade DNA, you concocted this entire scene in that perverse mind of yours, no doubt inherited by your psychopathic sperm donor. I’m disgusted just looking into depraved eyes–”
“Enough,” Marcus bellows, cutting off Barret’s attack, which sounds like he’s been preparing for years. Marcus moves around me and Sam to face him directly. “Did. You. Drug. Morgan?”
“Until you have substantial proof of her bogus claims, I’m going to decline answering questions without my attorney present.”
Sam’s breathing is labored, I’m reeling from the fact that my total personality transformation was caused by him possibly drugging me, and Marcus is chewing over our father’s deflective response.
“You’re a real piece of work, but I vow that I will expose you for the vile creature that you are,” Marcus surmises tamping down his temper and shaking his head, thoroughly appalled with Barret’s lack of empathy. Turning toward me and Sam, he suggests, “We’re wasting our time here, let’s go.”
“I need to know, dad,” I insist, halting him from retreating.
Standing in the hallway, he swivels around slightly, discerning the sum of his destructive manners before civilly saying, “Keep your suspicious and accusations, I’m done with all three of you.” And just like that he leaves, not showing one ounce of remorse.
“Jesus, that bastard takes the cake,” Sam grumbles snatching off her mask. “Let’s get Tristan out of here before he destroys him, too. They are flying out in the morning to Canada so she can tell her parents about the engagement.”
“Sam,” Marcus starts, “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she states flatly. “We’ll discuss it later, but I’ve known for several years that I’m not a Walker. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you both sooner.”
“You’re our sister and nothing will ever change that,” Marcus confirms without revealing that he knew about our parent’s deceit before tonight’s big reveal.
Not willing to add more drama after everything that has happened, I nod agreeably and remind her, “And we love you no matter what.”
She smiles proudly and nods back, glancing between us with wet lashes.
Without another word she exits the room, turning down the hallway, in search of our cousin. I reach out and grab Marcus’ arm, stopping him from following.
“Where’s Breesan?”
“Home,” he says, pulling away from my hold.
“With guards?”
“Yes,” he answers, looking away from me to hide his lie.
“Everyone is here, and Raithe said you dismissed the city cops earlier today.”
“Let me worry about my woman, okay?”
“Is she yours?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you were missing all night, she heard some devastating information during that disappearing act and then later I ran into her coming from the back gardens looking like she wanted to crawl inside herself and die. Why do I think that last part has everything to do with you?”
He glares at me for a pregnant moment. Then he shakes his head before saying, “I’m not discussing anything with you.”
“Fine,” I comply. “But if you hurt her with that other woman I saw you with or in any way, for that matter, it will be me that you will answer to.” This slightest flicker of anguish burns then smolders into ash in his eyes. “I care for her too, like a friend,” I confess, “But, she’s been through enough shit to get hurt by someone she loves, again.” His look is unbalanced. From the tightening of his fists and throbbing in his jaw, I know that I’m poking a beast readying to slay his adversary. “Whatever happened between you, make it right, Marcus.”
“Love advice from the guy who will fuck any woman and not care about the consequences seems laughable, brother.”
“She’s different and you know it,” I argue.
He walks away without a response. I follow and we spot Tac in the front lobby with no trouble. He is the largest guy in the place and no silly little mask will hide him in a crowd.
“Suggest that he follow you two out the front door to check out the new Italian job I recently purchased,” Tac proposes, looking between us. His eyes furrow, picking up on our discord, and then he shakes his head, tossing me a set of car keys. “Offer him a test ride in the white Alfa Romeo parked in the front circle. Drive straight to the compound. We’ll be right behind you.” He thrusts his thumb backward, indicating a now dateless Raithe, Kole and Sam.
Like a snap of the fingers, Tristan slips into the passenger side of the concept car, without argument. I take the wheel and Marcus tries to keep up in his Jeep, but that will never happen in this sweet ride.
“You have got to let me drive this hotness next,” Tristan begs, practically drooling all over the interior. “I think I know what I’m going to get Elise for an engagement gift now.” I turn my head, studying his broad smile briefly before staring out the front window again.
“Trist, why are you marrying Elise?”
“I want to be with her,” he answers
quickly, flipping through the Sirius radio at a rapid pace. “Don’t you think she is the hottest piece that you’ve ever seen?”
“She’s hot,” I concur. “But, she isn’t wife material, Bubba. I don’t want to rain on your parade, but love isn’t a subject that little Frenchie is familiar with.”
“Well,” he smiles like a scoundrel, “I’m prepared to work on making her love me. A few rolls in the hay and she won’t be able to deny it.”
“Dude, sex isn’t love,” I correct.
“Maybe not, but if she’s my wife, we’ll spend a great deal of our time getting to know each other in the bedroom and there’s no way in hell she will resist giving me all of her after multiple orgasms.”
I laugh. “What do you know about orgasms? Aren’t you still a virgin?”
“Fuck you,” he growls. “Make this bitch scream or pull over and let a real man drive her.”
He deflects my questions with hostility. I do as he asks and floor it. Staring out the window, he grows quiet unaware that I’ve taken the dead-end road that leads toward Rhys’ house.
“Hey man, I’m not dissing you,” I offer, breaking the weighty silence. “I honestly think it’s cool that you’ve been saving yourself for a special woman.” He doesn’t reply so I keep talking, avoiding Anna’s name at all cost. “If you believe that Elise is the one, then I hope that she’s changed and you have found the love of your life.”
“Why does marriage have to be about all that romantic shit?”
I’m shocked speechless. Tristan is the guy all men are compared to because he’s what most women want in a partner. He does the flowers and sweet words bullshit. He flattered Anna without forethought daily and treated her like a princess since the day they met. Seeing him this way feels like a piece of destiny has been stolen. I always knew they would marry and have tons of beautiful babies. Just hearing him give up on that shit releases a conflicting voice in me.
“Did you even hear one word of Granddad’s speech earlier?” I ask, guiding the car toward the closed gates at the compound. “Their love made them everything that they are today. He admitted that wouldn’t be the man he is, if not for Gran loving him back.” My hostility continues to rise. “And I believe him. Losing that person who is your one and only is like a beast from the pits of hell, it’s a living, breathing, daily torment.” My weakness is on the verge of bursting forth. Unwilling to let him see me shed tears, I slam my fist against the steering wheel to release some of my building rage. Taking a deep breath, I punch in the gate code and then clarify, “I just don’t want you to rush into this just because you want to screw her.”