High Stakes (The Kingdom Book 2)

by Groom, Nikki

  It’s a wedding dress.

  No. No. No.

  I don’t want to get married. I can’t marry Jonny. I can’t. I won’t. I’d rather die.

  Thoughts run through my head at a hundred miles an hour, and disbelieving mumbled words escape my lips. The defiant, strong girl I had found wants to stand and fight. But it’s futile, isn’t it? Even if he never laid another hand on me, the threat of what he could do to Denham, Mom, Lottie, anyone I’ve ever cared about, is far too powerful. How can I say no to him? How can I ever deny him anything he ever asks for, when I have that threat hanging over me?

  But how can I do this? Marriage?

  Is he crazy?

  Yes. He is.

  “Arianna, I …” He searches for the right words and for just a split second there’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. He steps toward me and lifts a hand to my face quickly, making me jump. My nervousness clearly pleases him as his smile widens, and any hint of humanity I might have seen is shut off by his dark side. His finger lightly strokes my cheekbone, and then he presses his lips to mine. Instinct fights with me to pull away, but experience tells me not to. Jonny is at his most dangerous when he is quiet and gentle. As if sensing my hesitation, his hand moves to the back of my neck and applies a little pressure in the muscle. I feel all the muscles of my spine tense as I am reminded what it’s like to live in fear.

  He pulls away and licks his lips. “Not bad. But we’ll have to work on your enthusiasm later.” He sneers.

  I inwardly cringe. I don’t know if I can be compliant enough to be with him. I don’t want to be in the same room as him, let alone the same bed. I don’t want to be with him, in that way, or any other way for that matter.

  “Here,” he says, offering out a closed fist.

  He nods encouragingly. I place an open palm underneath his hand and he uncurls his fingers.

  I screw my eyes up tightly, wishing myself away from here, praying that this moment isn’t happening because I don’t know what to do next.

  When I open my eyes, I feel like the world has collapsed on me.

  In my palm, sits an engagement ring. Not just any engagement ring. But the one Jonny gave me all those years ago. The one I left behind when I started over. The one I never thought I would see again, let alone place on my finger again. It doesn’t symbolize an eternal unity of love; it symbolizes a lifetime of fear and pain.

  I stutter and struggle to find not only the right words, but any words at all.

  “We’re getting married, baby,” he says quietly.

  Then the words start to come involuntarily. “I can’t do it. I can’t do it,” I whisper over and over.

  “You can do it, and you will,” Jonny says impatiently, taking the ring from my palm, and yanking my left hand so he has access to my finger. He jams the ring on roughly, the discomfort has me instinctively pulling away, but this just makes him push harder until it finds the groove in my skin where it nestles comfortably, betraying my reluctance.

  “We don’t have all night,” he grumbles as a warning.

  “I just, I need a minute. This is all so sudden,” I whisper on a shaky breath.

  “No, Arianna. You’ve had enough minutes. There’s nothing to think about. We are getting married this evening. Now, go and get showered and dressed.”

  Jonny doesn’t like to be challenged. He doesn’t like not being in control of everything.

  Eighteen months of trying to find me, then having me defy him has turned him into a raging bull.

  “Jonny, I—”

  “Get your sorry ass in that bathroom, and GET DRESSED,” he yells, grabbing my hair in his fist and dragging me there. My legs get in a tangle, and the awkward angle that he’s pulling me means I can’t follow easily.

  “Jonny,” I cry, “Please, I’m sorry, I—”

  My hands claw at his, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but it doesn’t have any effect.

  “What? You’re sorry? Why?” he yells, stopping abruptly in the doorway between the two rooms. He stands in front of me, giving me enough time to right myself on my feet. One of his hands stays fisted in my hair; the other grabs my jaw roughly. His chest is heaving with exertion and anger, and his eyes are black.

  “Tell me, beautiful girl,” he says in a way that’s too controlled for this situation. “Why are you sorry? Are you sorry that you fucked another man? Are you sorry that you gave someone else your body when you know it’s mine and mine alone? Or are you sorry for being such a fucking idiot that you couldn’t even run and hide from me properly? Are you sorry I found you? I was always going to find you, Arianna … and you should have known that I wouldn’t have been happy knowing that someone else’s hands have been on your body. Your hesitance to marry me tells me that King is still in your head. Well, let me tell you something … he doesn’t want you. You’re broken and useless.” His nostrils flare as his hand slides along my jaw and over my throat. His grip then tightens as I swallow. “Well? What’s the matter, Arianna? Not so bold now, huh? You made me jealous,” he whispers, and I tense. “I don’t like this feeling … I don’t like knowing someone else’s hands have been all over your body. Say you’re sorry …”

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out between choppy breaths. His grip is getting tighter, and I’m struggling more with each breath to get air.

  “I don’t hear you. Say you’re sorry for letting him fuck you …”

  “I can’t … Jonny … I can’t …” Stupidly I’m trying to tell him I can’t breathe, which is crazy because he already knows that.

  My breathing start to become faster and shallower, the pressure increases, and my eyes start to blur, and it blackens around the edge of my vision. I try not to panic, after all, it would be far better for me if I was unconscious, but my body is fighting for more oxygen.

  “Say you’re sorry for. Letting. Him. Fuck. You …” he insists.

  I try, but his grip prevents any sound from coming out. Tears start to stream down my cheeks.

  “Stupid beautiful girl.”

  My legs buckle and he lets me drop to the floor, releasing his grip. I gasp, and fight to push the sudden rush of oxygen through my lungs. He crouches next to me and strokes my hair gently. Too gently. Past experience has me drawing my knees up into my chest.

  “Get up,” he orders softly.

  When I don’t comply immediately he stands and yells, “GET UP!” His temper overtakes his mask of composure. I am thrown back in time as his foot hits my ribs and I hear the familiar crack of the bones breaking, again. The air whooshes out of my body, and I lay in a heap on the floor trying to stop myself from being sick from the pain and the fear.

  “Arianna … Get. Up. ”

  I muster every last bit of energy that I have left, and push myself up onto my knees, holding onto the edge of the bath for support. My breaths are shallow and shaky, every inhale hurts, and every exhale leaves me exhausted.

  Jonny sighs and drops his head before dragging his hand over his face and through his angular beard. “Why do you always make me do this to you? Why do you always have to push me? I’ve done nothing but care for you. I’ve taken care of you, while you’ve sulked and acted like an adolescent. But I gave that to you. I let you have your moment, and you still push me.” His voice is neutral now. Maybe even soft, but it has a dangerous undertone.

  He helps me up, supporting me by holding my arm at the elbow. When I’m nearly at full height, he cups my face gently with his hand. “I just want to love you, Arianna, baby. Let me love you,” he whispers.

  My mind is exhausted. My body is broken, again. I don’t have the strength to fight him. So, I don’t. I just nod my acceptance of the situation. But I won’t accept his twisted kind of love.

  “I’ll help you get dressed,” he offers.

  “I can do it,” I say quietly, and I feel him stiffen beside me. “I want to surprise you, okay?” I insist, and force a fake smile through the pain of my ribs, and the situation. Every second I think of Denham. I see h
is face, and imagine the hurt that would show in his eyes if he knew what I was doing right now.

  But he would have come looking for me if he wanted me, right? He would have fought for me like he promised he would, if he really wanted me. Every second that passes, my heart beats a little slower. I am dying inside. My love for him is killing my soul, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I endure the pain to save his life, that’s the way it has to be.

  No alternative.

  No way out.

  Life has gone from being inexplicably beautiful, to hopelessly dark.

  “I need to use the bathroom, and get showered.” I manage to get the words out on shaky breaths. I might only be delaying the inevitable but I need to buy myself more time. I’m not ready to even think about doing this. I don’t know how I’m going to make myself ready, no amount of preparation could do that, but I need to figure out a way.

  “Okay,” he answers simply.

  “Okay.” I smile to placate him, anything to get him to leave.

  “I’ll wait right here.” He sits in the leather armchair in the corner of the room, stretching back and resting one ankle on his knee. He smiles crookedly at me then brings his hand up to his chin and rests it on his knuckles.

  Shit.

  “You don’t need to wait,” I whisper. “I might be a while; a girl has to look good for her wedding day and all that.”

  I step forward, encouraging him to step back out of the bathroom and let me close the door behind him. I slip the lock in place as quietly as I possibly can; puzzling that he hasn’t taken all the locks off the doors in this condo, like he had the one we used to live in together. There was no such thing as privacy. I’m not sure if it’s something he’s overlooked, or if it’s meant to lull me into a false sense of security. Either way, I let out a painful breath when the lock is fully engaged.

  I look around the room, not knowing why I’m really in here. I need time. But what for? Isn’t this just making it worse? Isn’t this just a form of torture, prolonging the agony of what’s to come?

  I run the cold water and splash my face. I gasp when it hits me, but I’m grateful for the split second distraction.

  I brace my hands on both sides of the sink and take several deep breaths before looking up at my reflection. This is the closest I’ve looked in the mirror for days. My skin is sallow, my eyes sunken and sad. What was a familiar sight a few years ago has come back to visit like an old unwelcome acquaintance. Time may have passed, but nothing has really changed.

  I mindlessly open the cabinet above the sink, as if there will be a miraculous solution hiding amongst the ointments and lotions. This is the first time I have thought to look through anything of Jonny’s, nothing interesting in there, until …

  A small brown bottle catches my eye …

  A solution to this situation. In fact, a solution to every situation.

  Do I have time? How long will it take for Jonny to break down the door?

  I twist off the cap and pour six, maybe seven of the little white pills into my hand. At this moment, nothing has made more sense.

  What’s the common denominator in every sorrowful situation over the last few years?

  Me.

  I’m the root of everyone’s problems. I’m always going to be the reason behind Jonny’s obsession and determination to hurt others, and I can’t live with that guilt.

  I take the toothbrushes out of the cup, and fill it with water. It doesn’t even take me a second thought to know that this is the right decision. I throw the handful of pills into my mouth, and wash them down.

  I tip a second handful of pills into my palm when Jonny knocks hard on the door. It makes me jump and nearly all of them go skittering across the floor.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I call, nervously.

  “Arianna, what are you doing?”

  “Nothing, I’m just about to get into the shower.”

  “You’re not deliberately keeping me waiting, are you? Because you know how much I hate to be kept waiting, baby.”

  “No.” I laugh, “Of course not. You want me to look my best, right?”

  “Of course.” I hear the smile in his voice.

  “How would you like me to wear my hair?” I ask, stalling for time. Even five more minutes is a bonus.

  I pick up as many pills as I can off of the floor, as I’m reluctant to tip the bottle for fear of him hearing the rattle those tiny little pills make, and knowing Jonny he’s pressing his ear up against the hardwood.

  “Wear it up,” he requests. “Something elegant, so I can see your beautiful neck.”

  “Okay,” I call.

  How many have I had already? Is that enough?

  I take the few more that I’ve gathered up from the floor and start to run the shower. I slip off the robe, wincing as the motion twists my newly injured ribs.

  The shower is heavenly, the water cascades over my body and I feel remarkably calm considering the situation I’m in. There’s something very freeing about taking control of your destiny, taking control of your life, even if it is for just a few more hours. I wrap my arms around my aching ribs and drop my chin to my chest.

  When I think of Denham, my heart feels heavy. I don’t regret this. Not one bit. But I do regret ever getting involved with Jonny Ellison. I regret it for all the hurt and pain he has caused for so many people.

  If only I could have stopped it.

  If only things could have been different.

  If only …

  I close my eyes tight, and think of all the good things that have happened. Every happy memory has Denham in it.

  The night we played roulette in the casino.

  Our first date and the fountain.

  Our evening dancing at the rooftop lounge.

  Our first time. The time he locked us in the gym. The time on the roof.

  The playing card … Every King needs a queen …

  Pure, true, untainted happiness like I never thought I would be lucky enough to have.

  “Arianna,” Jonny calls through the door, but his voice doesn’t sound right. It sounds close yet distant. “Arianna,” he calls louder but it still sounds so far away. I start to hear my pulse beat a little louder through my ears, and when I open my eyes I have to blink several times to focus. I’ve felt like this before, I recall the muted feeling.

  I’ve been in control of every situation you’ve ever been in, even the ones you can’t remember yet … Stupid, beautiful girl …

  And I start to remember. He came for me. He drugged me. He …

  My head doesn’t allow me to think any further back. I lean against the cold tiled wall and slide as carefully as I can manage to the floor. My ribs are uncomfortable, but strangely numb, and my fingers start to tingle. I curl up in a small ball, with the water pouring over my body, and thankfully I start to lose control of my thoughts. My mind drifts to a time where I was happy.

  I picture myself lying in Denham’s bed. He’s asleep, but we are facing each other and I reach my hand out to gently touch his stubbled jaw. He smiles, because even in sleep, we made each other happy. Such a small amount of time together, but such a big impact. I picture his lips, and the way they kissed me. The way he tasted. I can taste him … feel him.

  There’s a bang, followed by another, then another. I try to open my eyes but they are too heavy. I hear wood splintering in the room around me. I’m too tired. Too tired to fight. Too tired to care.

  So, with Denham as my last thought, I succumb to the pull of oblivion.

  Freedom …

  Escape …

  Nothingness …

  I FEEL LIKE I’VE been thrown into a super-hot inferno of hell.

  I sit in my office after another long day at the hospital, and pour myself a whiskey. I know I’ve been drinking far too much, but as much as I drink it does nothing to quiet my mind. Thoughts race at the speed and power of a thousand galloping horses, and it never stops. I’m trying to piece it all together, but no matter how har
d I try, it still doesn’t make sense.

  Why him? Why my brother?

  If we had just gone inside a minute sooner …

  Why her? My girl …

  If she had just given me the courtesy of an explanation.

  Even when my father died, I never felt so lost, so angry and as helpless as I do now.

  Spike, Arianna …

  Fuck, I don’t know what hurts the most. They’ve both torn my heart to shreds, and in totally different ways.

  How could she do that to me? To us? Was she really that good of an actress that I felt something that wasn’t there at all? Was I so blinded by her that I opened my heart and let her rip it from my chest? Fuck it …

  I slam back the whiskey and grab the bottle to pour another even as the burn is still fresh in the back of my throat. My thumb rolls over the screen of my cell and brings it to life. Her pretty face stares back at me from the screen picture I can’t bear to delete. Then I scroll to the last message she sent me, and my chest goes into a spasm.

  I can’t do this. See you around. A x

  Fuck, it hurts. I expect the words to have less of an impact each time I open it up, but it doesn’t. So cold. Impersonal, and just … it’s not right. I know I should let it go, but I can’t. She came back here while Spike was fighting for his life in that hospital bed and took all of her belongings. All except for her designs. She took everything else, including the diamonds- $50,000 worth of diamonds. Is that what she was after all along? Money?

  I recall what James Ellis, or Jonny as she called him, said that night, ‘If you’ve got cash, she’s a loose cannon.’ Fucking hell, James Ellis for fuck’s sake. I had heard of him, but he is known as being illusive. He’s also known as one of the biggest investors in Las Vegas, and since that night, no one has been able to trace him. So, they were in it together? Her tall tales about abuse were all cleverly invented to what? Con me?

  There is a knock at the door, and then Jack pushes it open cautiously,

  “I’m sorry, sir. He insists he has something you need to know,” Jack says cryptically as he pushes the door open wide.

  The anger and frustration that’s dangerously bubbling up through my chest, rises a few more degrees when I see Aaron Jamesson standing there.