High Stakes (The Kingdom Book 2)

by Groom, Nikki

  When I get back to the family room, Dana has joined Denham and Lottie, and Denham sits protectively with her, his hand in hers.

  “Here,” I offer Dana my coffee and she takes it blindly. She’s in shock. Lottie’s in shock, and as usual, the person holding everyone together is Denham. How’d he get to be so strong? How did his shoulders get so broad that they could carry the weight of the world on them?

  “Any news?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. I sit in the space between him and Lottie, and rest my head on his shoulder. I just want him to know I’m here for him, for them all. But I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what to say to ease the tension or make this situation any better. And now, I’m questioning if I’m the reason he needs to be strong this time. Lottie curls into my side, and I put my arm around her, she lets out little sobs that catch in her throat as she breathes, and every now and then she wipes silent tears away from her cheeks.

  It’s been so long that we’ve been waiting for news, that I must have closed my eyes. I think it must be hours later that a surgeon enters the room and makes everyone jump up with expectation.

  Dana and Lottie scramble to stand, and both start firing questions at him immediately.

  “How is he?” Dana asks. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Can I see him please, I need to see him,” Lottie says desperately.

  The surgeon holds a hand up to halt their questioning, and speaks in a soft voice. “Preston had some internal bleeding which we’ve been able to stop, but he also has some swelling around the brain from the impact. We will be keeping him in an induced coma for the next twenty-four hours while we keep a close eye on his condition.” On the word ‘coma’, Dana gasps and clamps a hand over her mouth and Denham puts his arm around her shoulders. “There’s damage to his spine, several fractures that we’ve pinned, but until he wakes up we can’t be sure of the extent of these injuries.”

  “His spine?” Denham questions. “Do you mean he’s going to be—?”

  “We’re unsure what the outcome is at this stage. What it does mean is that the next twenty-four hours are critical. We will do the very best we can, and take it hour by hour.” He nods and leaves the room.

  His visit lightened the air for the split second when he told us Spike is alive, but the air is now black and heavy with the uncertainty of the words coma, and spinal injuries. Does this mean he might not wake up? Does it mean that if he does, he might be paralyzed?

  This small room starts to suffocate me, and I feel like the walls are closing in. Denham comforts Dana, and Lottie curls up in a ball on one of the chairs in the corner.

  “I need air,” I whisper. Denham gives me a curt nod, and I don’t waste time in getting out of there. Am I using my old defense mechanism of running from the problem?

  The corridors echo with the sound of bleeps, whirrs, and the sobs of loved ones. It’s a place full of emotion, yet so clinical and cold.

  I step through the heavy double doors and drop back against the wall, filling my lungs with the night air. I don’t know what time it is, too late, or too early depending on the way you look at it, but I don’t care. The time of day doesn’t change a single thing. In this instance, the daylight wouldn’t make tonight’s events any more bearable. The more air I breathe in, the more clarity my head gains. My past has tainted more lives than just my own. Ignorance made me pass off the coincidences. Tara. Spike. Even the trouble with Amy. It all comes back to one person, and his obsession to possess me.

  There are no coincidences, Arianna. I’ve controlled every situation you’ve been in, even the ones you can’t quite remember yet. I always have done. Always will do …

  Why me? What is it about me that makes Jonny so determined to ruin not only my future, but risk other people’s lives and destroy them in the process?

  I barely register the black sedan that pulls up in front of me through the mascara-streaked tears I’m crying. The tinted window slides down, and the engine keeps running.

  When my blackened tears slow, and my eyes clear enough for me to see, I know what I have to do.

  The handle clicks under my fingers, and the door opens easily. I hesitate for half a beat, but the vision burned into my brain of Spike lying on the sidewalk covered in blood makes me more determined to do what I’m about to do.

  I slide onto the passenger seat without looking at the driver. I know who it is.

  “It’s about time, beautiful girl,” he says, sliding his hand across my thigh.

  “Fuck you,” I spit, knocking his hand away.

  He laughs, and then pulls away.

  We drive out of the city. I don’t know where we are going and I don’t care.

  My life is over.

  When I left Jonny and started again, I thought it would be okay. I had never judged the depth of his obsession for me, and if I did have an inkling, I ignored it.

  Stupid Girl.

  He was right all along.

  How did I think I could be free?

  I was never free; he just gave me that illusion for a while, so the pain would be greater when I eventually came back.

  He was right. Physically, he never made me come back to him. I came of my own free will. I walked to his car. I opened the door. And I got in without a second thought.

  But mentally, he backed me into a corner, and dragged me kicking and screaming. At every turn, I am tied. I am bound, gagged and helpless against the invisible ties he has imposed. Silently blackmailed into giving myself to him, with no way out. I would rather die than relive a life with him. But I won’t be the cause of someone else’s family being torn apart. I don’t want to be the reason that Spike is lying in that hospital bed fighting for his life. But I am. And I won’t let anything else happen.

  I know Jonny was the cause of this. I know he has been behind every underhanded situation that Denham has found himself in since he met me. The whole mystery with Tara was his doing too. And it stops here.

  The thought of Denham’s worry when he realizes I’m gone chokes me.

  But the thought of the hurt and pain I could cause, the damage I’ve already caused, threatens to suffocate me.

  His family is everything to him. And I’m just a crazy girl he met just weeks ago, who flipped his world upside down.

  Classical music plays quietly in the background, and the bright city lights fade, flashing past as we drive away from the only happiness I’ve ever had.

  JONNY TAKES ME TO a condo outside of the city. It’s fairly non-descript, just a house. A shelter to lay my head. Jonny has given me the spare room, which is the one thing I’m grateful for. But how long it will stay like this, I don’t know.

  Days pass. Time is determined by the rise and fall of the sun, but even that has no significance to me now. I don’t know where he’s taken me, and I don’t care. I’m numb. From top to bottom, inside out, there is nothing left but a broken shell. He’d taken my cell, and sent a message to my mom. I don’t know what he told her, but he told me she wouldn’t come looking for me for a while, by which time we’d be hundreds of miles away, apparently.

  The questions in my mind were still there, but nowhere near as loud as before. How is Spike? Is he even alive? Is Lottie coping? Does Denham think I’ve just left and abandoned him? Is Beth cursing my name for leaving the boutique without a word?

  Too many questions. White noise in my head.

  The door to the room creaks open, but I don’t turn. Instead I focus on the view of the yard outside of the cushioned window seat where I sit with my knees tucked up into my chest. The same view I have looked out over for however long I’ve been here. I haven’t left this room. It’s minimal. There’s a bed, a leather high-backed chair, and a small table and two chairs. I don’t bother to eat, I can’t, and I sleep when my eyes won’t stay open a minute longer. I delay sleep as long as possible; reality is less painful than my dreams, because when you wake up, each time, you have to deal with the searing pain that the happiness you imagined isn’t,
and will never again, be real.

  “You need to eat,” Jonny says softly, placing the tray of food on the table.

  I look toward him, but through him, then turn back to the idyllic view.

  “You can’t keep this up forever, baby. Sooner or later, you’ll need to speak.”

  Again, I ignore him. I haven’t said a word since the ‘Fuck you’ in the car the night I left. I have no desire to talk to him, no wish to interact. “Arianna!” he yells, slamming his open hand down on the tabletop. My whole body jumps and tenses. Instinct prepares me for a physical assault, but it doesn’t come. In fact, he hasn’t laid a finger on me the whole time I’ve been here. He’s been so different from the man I left behind nearly two years ago. I’ve been silently testing his patience, pushing his tolerance to see how far it will stretch. Determination makes me hang on to the very last piece of my strength. He’s surprised me by not rising to it; he hasn’t pushed or bullied me. He’s spoken to me kindly. Given me space. And not touched me once.

  “I didn’t want to have to do this. But you’ve left me no choice,” he snaps in a sharp, clipped voice, and the air around us tenses. Shit.

  I brace myself ready for a fist to come at me, or for my hair to be yanked from my head, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, he pulls out his cell, taps a few buttons, and tilts the screen in my direction. My stomach feels like it drops through the floor, and I feel my mouth fall open. It’s a picture of Denham at the hospital, sitting next to Spike’s lifeless body, still lying in the hospital bed, still hooked up to countless machines that are keeping him alive. I take in Denham’s handsome face, so tired. The handsome face that I’ve tried to shut out every second of every day that’s gone by. But he’s there when I close my eyes, and again when I open them.

  He must hate me. I expect he detests me for what I’ve done to his family, and for breaking his heart. I left him when he needed me most. I just vanished from his life almost as fast as I crashed into it. Maybe I was never that important to him. Maybe he doesn’t really care, and never did … I’m not sure what thought hurts the most.

  “His little empire is falling down around him,” Jonny sings, watching carefully for my reaction. I try to keep my expression neutral, it’s all a game, but I can’t pretend it’s not hurting me. How did he get that image?

  “What have you done?” I whisper.

  “Ah, she talks,” Jonny says, coming to sit beside me. “I thought you would have learned by now that I always get what I want. I thought you would use your brain, and realize that you are no good to me as a broken shell. So, you see Arianna, for all your stubbornness over the last couple of days, you’ve done more harm than good. For every time you ignored me, every time you refused a meal, you hammered one more nail in his coffin. Your poor boy has been having a hard time of things.”

  “But, you’ve got me, you’ve got what you wanted,” I say on a broken, disbelieving whisper.

  “No, Arianna.” He moves closer, so his breath is in my face. “I have a shell. Where’s the fun in that?”

  I whimper, and turn my head from him, scrunching my eyes together to block him out.

  I’ve done more harm than good …

  “So, you see … The only one that can put a stop to all of this …” He pauses to let his words take effect, then whispers in my ear, “Is you.”

  Something inside me breaks, and I snap my head around so fast I catch his cheekbone with mine. He pulls back, his eyes harden and turn black, but a knowing smile dances on his lips. He knows exactly how to play me. This is what he wants. He wants a fight.

  “Fuck you,” I spit. “You’re a fucking sick bastard.”

  I leap up from the seat, and everything I’ve ever wanted to say to him comes pouring out like water over a broken dam. Words that I’ve held back, that have choked me for years, hurl themselves toward him at velocity speed. “Don’t you dare put this on me. You … You can stop it. It’s all your doing. You’re sick in the fucking head. If you were an animal they would have put you down with a bullet to your twisted fucking brain. I’m not yours. You don’t own me. You never have, and you never will. You want my body? Fine, have it. I really don’t fucking care anymore. But, you won’t have my mind, and you’ll never have my heart.” My throat stings with the words and the level of my voice, I’m screaming at him, and he’s stunned. “Because they are mine to give, and I choose not to. So do what you will.” I hold my arms out, welcoming him to do his worst. “If there is something you want from me, take it. You want me to give you my body? Have it. But you’ll never have my mind. You’ll never have me. So what now, you beat me? Maybe re-break a few of my ribs.”

  “No,” he whispers, stepping towards me. “I’d rather taunt you with the pain of others.”

  I drop my shoulders, exhausted from unburdening years of hurt and pain and the fresh weight of new ramifications, but also knowing there’s no way out. I can’t read the expression in Jonny’s eyes. But I don’t care. I’m done.

  When he comes to stand in front of me, he tilts my chin up with his forefinger.

  “My stupid, beautiful girl.”

  The next couple of days pass easily.

  If Jonny brought me food, I ate it.

  If he spoke to me, I answered him. I did everything he asked of me.

  I stayed in that one room the whole time. Day in, day out.

  I knew it was what I had to do to make him stop hurting Denham and those around him.

  Jonny never elaborated on what he meant when he said I’d made things worse, but the selfish part of me didn’t want to know. It was too painful. The logical part of my brain told me to toe the line. Do what was expected of me, and the lives of others would be safe, and mine would be as bearable as it would ever be in the situation that I’m in.

  Jonny showed me a softer side that I hadn’t seen before. I wasn’t stupid enough to think it was going to last or even to think that it was real, but it did make things easier to deal with day by day.

  Tonight was different than every other night so far. Usually Jonny would bring dinner in for me, place it on the table, then leave after exchanging a few pleasant words. Tonight he brought dinner for us both and sat with me at the table in my room. He didn’t explain himself. Just sat, picked up his fork and began to eat.

  “I’ll have the white, please,” he states, indicating the wine bottles on the table between us.

  His order stuns me for a moment. The shift in his demeanor prickles the hairs on the back of my neck. I knew it was too good to be true.

  I pour his wine while he eats. He doesn’t acknowledge it, other than to pick up his glass and drain half of the liquid.

  “We’re going out this evening.”

  I suck in a quick breath. The thought of going out panics me. I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m cocooned in my own bubble in this room. I’m shut away from real life, from reality.

  “Where?” I ask, trying to disguise the rising anxiety in my voice.

  He just looks up at me from his plate, then back down again, acknowledging that he’s heard me but not giving me the courtesy of an answer.

  “But I don’t have anything to wear.” I came here in my beautiful ball gown, without even thinking about packing to bring clothes with me. I have been living in Jonny’s oversized sweatpants and tees, and I haven’t even seen the gown, or my eternity necklace, since Jonny took them off.

  “Well,” Jonny says, placing his knife and fork carefully on the edge of his plate, “if you hadn’t been such a spoiled brat, and tried to have everything your own way when you first came here, you would already know that you have a whole wardrobe full of clothes … in my room. Which, by the way, is where you will be sleeping from now on.” He finishes his informative statement by standing abruptly from the table, and turning to leave.

  “But …”

  “NO!” he yells, then composes himself and drops his voice back to an acceptable level. “You are not calling the shots any longer. Do you hear me? I have accommodated you
r childish actions. I have brought your food to you daily. I have been beyond patient with your petulant ways. Now it’s about time you started showing your gratitude for everything I’ve done for you. Get showered. I’ll leave clothes on your bed. Wear your hair up. You have an hour.”

  He slams the door on his exit and the sound echoes across the room. This is the Jonny I know. Demanding and cruel. Unreasonable and irrational.

  But what choice do I have? What option is there when he holds someone else at ransom?

  I look around the sparse room, standing on the plush circular rug in the center.

  How did we get to this? I run scenarios through my head, possibilities that were obviously never meant to be. Dreams that were never meant to come true. Nothing but cruel fairy tales.

  “You’re not getting ready?” Jonny asks standing in the doorway. I can smell his pungent aftershave the minute I turn to face him, and if his presence hadn’t instantly caused my throat to close over, that smell would have. He’s holding a dress bag, a white lace bra and panties set, and white strappy sandals with a spiked four-inch heel. On any other occasion I would admire those heels, they’re pretty, but I resent the hell they will put my feet through if I have to wear them for him.

  The underwear makes my heart clench. Denham would love this underwear, in fact he was very vocal about loving me in any underwear, but lace was his favorite.

  I swallow hard, and push the thought away. Denham wouldn’t love me at all now. I abandoned him. And regardless of the love I have for him, he has probably lost anything he ever felt for me.

  Jonny lays them all down on the bed and holds the dress bag up in front of me. I reluctantly pull down the zipper. All I see is white. A long white dress. Shit.

  I start to feel sick, the small amount of food I managed to eat not half an hour ago, roils in my stomach, and I am hoping and praying to all the gods that this isn’t what I think it is. But as I slide the virginal satin from the hanger, it becomes glaringly obvious what this is.