Loved by Them_A Reverse Harem Romance

by Serena Akeroyd

Devon rubbed his chin. “We need to introduce you to Sawyer’s parents.”

  She blinked at him then pulled open the Cadillac door. “What?”

  He shrugged. “We’ve all got weird relationships with our parents. All of us save for Sawyer. They like him, don’t care what he does as long as he’s happy. Plus, you’ll love his mum’s Spotted Dick. She makes the custard fresh too. All from scratch.” He licked his lips just at the thought.

  Cinta had welcomed Devon into her home all those years ago when he’d decided to cut off his father. She’d been his surrogate mum, and Hamish, Sawyer’s dad, had also greeted the skinny fifteen-year-old, bringing him into the household with a rough care that still had Devon’s chest aching.

  “They used to live on one of Glasgow’s worst estates,” he informed her. “But we managed to get them to move into a nice place two years ago. Sawyer and I won’t be terrified about taking you up to see them.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to try his mom’s Spotted Dick.”

  He grinned. “Stop being facetious.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Okay, I know it’s a pudding.”

  He winked. “If his mum has a spotted dick, then that’s her business, but what she bakes in the kitchen isn’t anything to scoff at.”

  She huffed and ducked behind the wheel. “What are you doing here, Devon?”

  “I told you. I’m going with you.”

  “Maybe I didn’t want you there, huh? Did that never occur to you? I have five overprotective men willing to knife any dragon who steps in my way, and I chose to handle this alone. What does that tell you?”

  “That you’re misguided,” he informed her softly. “But time will change that.”

  She let out a huff. “I swear, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”

  “I’m not cute,” he retorted, his top lip curling up in disgust. Cute was one of her favorite adjectives. “A baby’s cute. A damn koala bear is cute. I’m not cute.”

  She reached over and patted his cheek. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  She winked when he shot her a glower, but prepared herself for the journey ahead. He eyed her, surprised that she didn’t try to make him leave the car—but impressed too. She knew he wasn’t budging, and she wasn’t wasting her time or energy on making that happen. As she set off, leaving Kensington with all its elegant beauty behind, he murmured, “You look very nice for a visit to prison.”

  She snorted. “I decided I’m an heiress to a fortune that bitch tried to deny me. I wasn’t going to slum it when I met her for the first and last time.”

  Devon didn’t know fashion existed outside of its utilitarian purpose. Sawyer had bought all his clothes at one point, then that task had weeded down to the rest of the men too.

  If Sean bought a suit, he’d have his tailor come to the house to measure Devon up once a year.

  Kurt tended to buy him jeans, Andrei shoes.

  He rubbed his chin, wondering what Sascha would add to the mix that was his wardrobe.

  Still, though he didn’t give a damn about clothes—would have willingly walked around naked if Sawyer hadn’t told him it scared the cleaning women—he knew some viewed it as armor.

  Sascha was one of those people.

  When she’d first come to work for them, she’d lived in pencil skirts and tight blouses. He’d lived for the moment when the seams would split on either. Wanting to see the lush curves in the flesh. After she’d been hit by that damn car, she’d taken to wearing more comfortable clothes. Yoga pants, tees.

  With the concussion she’d suffered on the mend, she’d switched between both. But today? What she was wearing? It was different.

  The black skirt screamed something even Devon recognized—a luxury label.

  Mostly from his mother’s taste in clothes—she’d loved designer wear.

  He’d never understood why, when the label was all that mattered, it was worn inside. He’d told his mother once that she should wear her clothes inside out then people would know she was wearing Chanel.

  He smiled at the memory of her lovely, tinkling laugh as she cupped his cheek and kissed him there. Bringing with her the scent of honeysuckle and almond blossom. “People know this is Chanel without me having to do that, darling,” she’d informed him. “Class always shines through.”

  “What are you looking at?” Sascha asked, as she took them out of the city.

  “You,” he told her promptly, finding her more interesting than anything that could be going on outside the car. “You’re wearing something new.”

  “Like I said,” she admitted with a shrug. “I wanted to make an impact.”

  The black sheath dress was simple, but it cut into her body in all the right places. Her ripe breasts were caressed by the fabric, the sweetheart neckline providing a hint at her cleavage, without being over the top.

  The skirt came down to her calves and cupped her all the way down. Caressing her body in a way he wished he could. On her feet, she wore heels that would put her more substantial frame at the same height as him. He imagined those heels digging into his ass, and knew Kurt would get a kick out of seeing that happen.

  Her jacket was Chanel—his mom had been right. That style spoke louder than words.

  “You went shopping,” he declared, somewhat disappointedly.

  She shot him a look as she overtook an elderly man in an old Peugeot that was rattling down the highway more by luck than management—the damn thing looked like it was held together with Blu-tack and sellotape.

  “Why do you sound disappointed?”

  He shrugged. “I’d have liked to have gone.”

  Her lips twitched. “You’re just as bad as Kurt.”

  He frowned. “I am?”

  “You only want to watch me get changed.”

  “Of course,” he replied bluntly. “Don’t all men want to see their women getting in and out of tight dresses?”

  She chuckled. “When you put it like that, I guess so.” She reached over, her hand slipping from the stick shift to squeeze his knee. “You’re a sweetheart.”

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t think I can stand your compliments today. Cute and sweetheart? God help me.”

  She snorted. “I’m paying you back.”

  “For what?” he demanded, aghast at her cruelty. What thirty-eight year old wanted to be labeled the same adjectives as a goddamn bunny rabbit in a pet window?

  “Being a pain,” she told him cheerfully.

  He heaved out a sigh. “I always am.”

  “I know. But usually, you charm me out of it.” She cocked a brow at him. “How did you know I was going to visit her?”

  He shrugged. “Overheard Sean tell you your stipend had come through.” He wafted a hand at her change in appearance. “Didn’t expect this though. This came as a shock.”

  She shook her head. “Only this would surprise you but nothing else would.”

  As she shook her head, he frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not surprised I’m visiting my parents’ murderer in jail, but my change of style comes as a hammer blow.” She snickered. “Don’t ever change, Devon.”

  “You keep saying that,” he grunted. “But I can’t change. I am who I am.”

  She laughed, reached over to pat his knee again. Seriously, she was making him feel like a dog or something.

  Rolling his eyes, he grumbled, “You’re going to see Elizabeth. I fail to understand why, but I knew you would.”

  “I want to look her in the eye.”

  “She hasn’t confessed,” he murmured gently. “Hasn’t confessed to any of it. What do you expect to say to her? Or for her to say to you?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I just know I need to go and visit her while the court case against her is built.”

  “I’m surprised you know where’s she jailed.”

  “I read it on a memo on Sean’s desk,” she admitted with a wry grimace.

  “Why?” he asked, scowling at her dec
eit. She had to have looked for that memo—no way would Sean have left it floating about for her to find.

  She heard his disappointment and shifted in her seat. “She murdered my parents, Devon. Like, killed them.” Her voice grew thick. “As in stole their lives from them, stole them from me. It’s not like a video game or something. She robbed me of knowing them.”

  “I understand what death means,” he retorted. “I understand what murder means too. I fail to understand why you need to get involved with something that can do you nothing but harm. You’re going to want answers. She’s not going to want to give them to you. It’s as simple as that.”

  She stuck her nose in the air. “I can drop you off at that truck stop and pick you up on the way back.”

  “What? You’re going to dump me at Burger King?”

  From a trembling bottom lip to a snickering giggle and in less time than it took to blink. “You don’t have to sound so horrified. I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself.”

  “You are by leaving me there,” he almost stuttered. “Jesus, that’s just cruel.”

  Her grin came and went. “Well, shut up then,” she advised. “I just need to do this, all right?”

  He blew out a breath and settled in for the hour-long ride. She wouldn’t be alone… that had to count for something, right?

  The clang of doors shutting and being locked—some with honest to God keys, others with automatic locks that clicked into place when a black bubble of a camera, which eyed the world in here like it was an omnipotent blackhead, deigned it—had her jolting each time.

  They were in a large, open space. Sick-yellow walls, scuffed green linoleum. Dozens of tables placed at regulation distance from the next.

  Several vending machines sat on one wall. One providing food, the other bottled drinks.

  Scattered around watching proceedings were guards. They looked pissed off. As pissed off as Devon had been at the notion of Sascha dumping him at a service stop on the highway.

  Even though she felt sick from tension, the memory was enough to have her snickering inwardly, which, point of fact, lightened her discomfort. She knew Devon didn’t understand what she was doing here. She didn’t either so she couldn’t expect him to understand it. Just… Sean’s news about being able to access some of her inheritance, the fact she was pregnant… it had gotten to her.

  Made her need to act.

  She couldn’t mope forever. She had a baby on the way but that didn’t stop Sascha from needing closure. She feared it wasn’t something she could readily get, but this was as much as she’d find. Seeing the woman who’d changed her world behind bars had to count for something.

  Devon, confused or otherwise, was back in the car, sulking because the letter of acceptance for visitation rights didn’t include him, and she wouldn’t lie, she wished he was in here now.

  This place was…Well, she knew it wasn’t supposed to be pretty. But with her designer togs, she stuck out like a sore thumb.

  Ten women were being visited today. Each of them in grey sweats with a kind of bib on them. Their guests wore cheap labels, scuffed trainers, heavy gold earrings their one luxury.

  In her simple but elegant outfit, she might as well have been Godzilla. Not necessarily a negative but it just made her question her reasoning for being here. And she was already doing enough of that.

  A buzzer sounded, making her stomach tighten and release. She was the only guest without a corresponding prisoner, so that had to be Elizabeth Jacobie.

  One of the automatic doors clicked, the guard on this side of it opened it up to reveal a small woman who looked as out of place in the sweats as would a man three times her size.

  She wore them with disdain. It dripped from her features, and Sascha had to wonder exactly how it was that this woman wasn’t black and blue. If life in here was anything like ‘Orange is the New Black,’ then it was a wonder she wasn’t favoring one arm or something.

  Hell, Sascha, without a grudge to bear, would have wanted to slap that attitude off her face if she could. In here? Where facial expressions were taken with offense, Elizabeth was shouting her disrespect.

  Diminutive, more so than she’d expected having seen the woman several times on camera, she barely came to Sascha’s chin as she stepped towards her with a grace that spoke of finishing schools.

  A guard tailed her, mumbled something in her ear, then retreated to the walls with the other officers when Elizabeth took a seat.

  She sat with her spine ramrod straight, her head posed elegantly. Her black hair was starting to show gray at the roots, and her face, so clear and unlined in the pictures, was wrinkled and creased. Her chestnut eyes were veritable storms in her face. Her outrage at being in here evident for all to see.

  Sascha sat up straighter, feeling the need to match Elizabeth’s pose. She placed her hands on the table and murmured, “I had to spend a lot of money to visit you today.”

  And she had. She’d used a tidbit of information she’d seen on Sean’s desk, and had called the lawyer Sean had hired to protect Sascha’s interests through the case. This visit hadn’t been long in the making, but the lawyer, who charged through the roof of course, had put in a good few hours work on this.

  Sascha, who appreciated value for money, really hoped it was worth it.

  “I shall endeavor to be entertaining,” Elizabeth retorted, her upper lip curling into a sneer.

  “Entertainment isn’t required,” Sascha replied, her own lips curling… into a smile. “All I had to do was see you in here. Suffering and outraged. Suddenly, I feel quite happy.”

  The other woman’s nostrils flared. “I’d enjoy it for the moment. I’ll be out soon. The lawyers will hash this out.”

  “Perhaps they will, perhaps they won’t.” Sascha shrugged. “I have as much money as your son now, Elizabeth dear. And I have nothing to spend it on. Perhaps I should use it to see that you never spend a day outside this place again?” Her lips curved into a wicked grin. “That sounds quite satisfying. I’m willing to waste your fortune on it.”

  Elizabeth’s grimace rolled over her features, displaying her hatred on every inch of her face. “Edward always was a weak boy.”

  “Weakness meaning he didn’t have it in him to murder people for money? I’d say that’s a good trait to have, not a bad one.”

  Her eyes flashed. “He’s split the inheritance?”

  “Yes. And there’s just so much money to be enjoyed. All his effort, his hard work… I suppose I should appreciate your murdering my only family and letting him invest it into his business. After all, half of it’s mine now.” She smirked, rapped her nails against the table. “You really did do the work for me, didn’t you?”

  Elizabeth’s rage was a palpable entity between them. Had they been alone, Sascha knew the older woman would have lashed out. Hit her. As it was, she was holding on to her control with the very edges of her fingertips.

  She let out a long, slow breath. “I’m certain the trust will ensure he retains the majority.”

  “No. He concurred. In fact, he’s just begging me to have the money rather than lose it to the government.” Her smile was taunting. “I contemplated that for a while. Thought about letting the blood money you worked so hard for, go to the state. Then, I thought about all the things I can buy. All the ways I can waste billions you earned by murder, and which are all mine now thanks to a simple twist of fate.” Her lips curved into a gleeful grin that she didn’t feel but knew would enrage Elizabeth. “How does it feel to be in sweats?” She patted her dress. “This cost a thousand pounds.” A giggle escaped her. “My shoes and bag cost over four. I suppose I should thank you for the new wardrobe, because I have to say, yours certainly could do with a pick me up.”

  “You can spend money on a new wardrobe, but maybe you should invest in a gastric band. Fat and fashion don’t go together, Eloisa,” came the woman’s sweet retort.

  But Sascha grinned. “Oh, I definitely have too much meat on my bones but I’m q
uite content to be curvaceous. I wonder if being skinny and old will save you from being someone’s bitch?” She tapped her chin in contemplation, then her glee morphed into hatred. “Your failure to confess won’t stop this from happening, Elizabeth. I have billions to command, and your son has billions to spend on improving his company image—having a murderess for a mother hasn’t been good for his stock portfolio, I’m afraid. I hardly think he’ll worry about you wasting away in here. Not when the public know exactly what it is you’re in here for.

  “I can afford to tie this case up. I don’t know how, but I do know people who can help me. Who’ll help the justice system forget about you. Push your court dates back, then have them rescheduled… because every day you’re in here, I’m happy.

  “Every day you’re suffering, is a day I’m not. I think it’s a smart investment for me to make, sister-in-law.”

  Elizabeth’s nostrils flared. “This country isn’t as corrupt as you might think.”

  “It isn’t what you know, it’s who. I know a lot of important people, Elizabeth, and your money just gave me the means with which to sign your fate.” She got to her feet on her two thousand pounds’ worth of designer heels and bent over the table slightly. “My parents couldn’t save themselves from you, but I can ensure you pay for what you did.

  “Have a nice life, Elizabeth. I certainly intend on enjoying every moment of mine.”

  She headed off, striding through the tables toward the exit with all the aplomb of a catwalk model.

  The guard checked her over then released her to the next segment where another officer and another locked door awaited her.

  As more doors separated her from the bitch that had murdered her family, she began to quiver, and with each step, her shaking increased.

  She trembled the entire way out of the grim facility and nearly staggered to her car.

  The door to her black Caddy opened and before she knew it, Devon was there, wrapping her up in his arms. As she breathed him in, as she let him comfort her, she accepted what she couldn’t change.

  Her parents were dead. She’d been raised by two people, however, who couldn’t have loved her more. Henry and Natasha hadn’t been wealthy, but they’d been rich with love.