by Jessa Kane
He grinds his jaw. “I beg to differ.”
The beast inside me rears up at the implication that he’d keep me away from Ophelia. Stay calm. Don’t overreact just yet. The man just watched me fuck his daughter doggy style—he’s earned the right to be a little pissed. “I’m here to ask for permission to marry her.”
His stunned silence and subsequent laughter bring my hackles up. “Sure.” He folds his hand on top of one another and leans forward. “Sure, marry my daughter. Just let her know she’ll be forfeiting the twenty-million-dollar trust fund I’ve set aside once she graduates from Princeton. Because I’m not coughing it up if she’s married to someone like you.”
I try not to show my reaction to twenty million dollars, but my insides are crumbling like a sandcastle under a wave. Four years from now, Ophelia could be made in the shade with an Ivy League degree and enough money to build a mansion out of dark chocolate if she so chooses. There’s no way in hell she’d pick me over money like that.
There’s no way in hell she should.
She’s known me for less than a week and has no reason to believe I’ll give her a comfortable future. Hell, I’m fresh out of Rikers. I’ve got years of work before I can even buy her a home. I’ve got nuts of pure, reinforced steel, but even I don’t have the balls to ask her to give up twenty million bucks.
“That must sound like a lot of money to someone like you,” says Ophelia’s father.
“You keep saying that. Someone like me. You don’t even know me.”
He looks me over with distaste. “I know I could never bring you around friends of the family. Or colleagues. You look like a man who carries a knife in his boot. Or maybe one who keeps going when the father of the girl he’s fucking walks in.” He wipes the spittle from his mouth. “And you might think I don’t have an ounce of street smarts, but I recognize prison ink when I see it. You’ve got it all over you. So unless you want to rob my daughter of her future, in addition to her dignity, you need to leave her the hell alone.”
“I love her,” I manage around the lump in my throat. “There isn’t a man alive who would work harder to make her happy. Or provide for her.” Feeling like I’m standing in quicksand, I glance away, toward the wall of windows. “It isn’t easy for me to ask another man for anything, but I’m asking you to give me a shot. Don’t take her trust fund. If I haven’t made good on my promise to give her a comfortable life by the time she graduates college…I’ll bow out. She’ll have all that money to herself and I’ll have no claim on it.”
“You’d leave her alone? Just like that?”
“No, it wouldn’t be just like that. It would rip my fucking heart out. It would kill me,” I push through clenched teeth. “But I’ll beg, bargain and steal for Ophelia.”
“That’s the thing,” he says, his smile gone. “She shouldn’t have to settle for someone who needs to beg, bargain and steal.” After a quiet moment, her father stands and I swear, I can hear the nails being hammered into my coffin. “Stay away from her or her trust fund ceases to exist. Stay away from her or I’ll toss her out of this family so fast, her head will spin. We have a reputation to maintain and you’ll soil it. And her.”
I almost double over from the pain of failure. I failed Ophelia.
There’s no way to give her up. I can’t. I won’t.
But I have to come up with another plan. Right now, I have nothing but my promises—and my promises don’t mean anything to her father. The man who holds the keys to the treasury. A treasury far too big to ask her to give up.
Defeat weighing down on my shoulders, I stumble from the room. At her bedroom door, I stop to take one final look at her. My princess, sprawled out on the sheets that smell like our lovemaking. Just hang tight, Ophelia. Just wait for me.
With her father’s eyes boring into my back, I force myself down the staircase and out of the house.
CHAPTER SIX
Ophelia
“I’m sure he’ll come back,” my friend, Sienna, says soothingly. “After everything you told me about Ezra, he sounds super possessive. Men like him don’t just walk away without a word.”
She would know. Her stepbrother-turned-husband has six bodyguards stationed outside my bedroom door right now. I’m pretty sure Sienna has more security than the vice president. It took months of convincing for Grant to let Sienna come over to my house. Everyone in the household went through a screening process—and thankfully passed. I’m so glad she’s here now. I haven’t heard from Ezra all day and tonight is my meeting with Wagner. My chest is being weighed down by sand bags and it’s everything I can do not to stare at the clock.
Where did he go? I was going to tell him everything. Now, with every passing moment, I rely on Ezra a little less…and my fears over Wagner grow. By tonight, the scales could be tipped and I’ll have no choice but to go to the meeting. My phone is on silent and stashed beneath my pillow so Sienna won’t know that Wagner continues to message me, reminding me not to be late. God, I hate that man. I hate that he’s doing this to me. Where is Ezra?
I hold my pillow against my chest. “When I woke up, he was gone. No note. Nothing.” My lower lip starts to tremble, but I bite on it first. “I told him I loved him. He’s freaked out. Of course he is. Right? I should have waited until he said it first.”
“Are you sure he isn’t just following your lead? You told him you couldn’t be together.”
“Trust me, he didn’t care. He was all, Ophelia is mine. Chest pound, belch, ball scratch.”
Sienna giggles. “That sounds familiar. Although Grant is more cuff link adjustment, scowl, panty ripping.”
“His panties or yours?”
“Mine!” Sienna collapses sideways with a laugh. “Now I’m imagining Grant in panties.”
“I bet they would be extra formal, with a bow tie.”
My blonde friend snorts. “Stop.”
Smiling hurts when I’m so freaked out, but I manage a sideways one. “So how is married life?”
Sienna rolls onto her back and stretches her hands up above her head, her face turning pink. “Magical.” She sends me a look. “But we had our share of barriers to overcome in the beginning. You and Ezra will get there eventually.”
“I don’t know. Last night, I thought we would do anything to make it work. But in the light of day…it seems so hopeless when we’re from such different worlds. And look around, he’s not even here and my father has been gone for hours.” I chew my lip a moment. “Speaking of my father, did I tell you he walked in on us last night?”
She jackknifes on the bed. “Shut up.”
“It’s true. I was getting the business right where you’re sitting.” I laugh at Sienna’s frozen smile. “Poor guy couldn’t even look at me in the kitchen this morning.”
“Fathers aren’t meant to see that.”
“No.” I blow out a breath and topple onto my side. “They’re definitely not.”
Sienna considers me. “You say the situation seems hopeless because you and Ezra aren’t from the same world, but is that really why you think you need to keep away?”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs. “You just never seemed the type to care about…” She gestures to my gigantic bedroom. “This stuff. Wealth. Going to a fancy school—”
“I don’t,” I whisper. “Not at all.”
“So what’s the real reason?”
I feel the vibration of my phone under the pillow and know it’s Wagner. Again. There’s no way I can tell my friend about the blackmail. It’s too humiliating. And I can’t just float through life, letting everyone else handle my rich girl problems. I didn’t get into Princeton on my own. If I had, this wouldn’t be happening. It’s my cross to bear. No one else’s.
My silence is starting to make Sienna suspicious, but I’m saved from having to answer when footsteps come down the hallway. They’re crisp and precise and Sienna sits up automatically, her chest starting to rise and fall rapidly. “It’s Grant.”
I’m always fascinated watching my best friend interact with her new husband and this time is no exception. Grant walks into my bedroom like he owns the place—owns the world—in his starched black suit, sharp blue eyes riveted on Sienna. “Time’s up. You’re coming home now, angel.”
“Okay,” she whispers, her hands raking up the front of his jacket, eyes big and innocent. “Can we have ice cream for dinner?”
“Every flavor you can think of.”
Without sparing me a glance, he scoops Sienna off the bed and carries her out of the room. “Keep me updated, Ophelia!”
“Will do!” I call back, well used to our visits ending abruptly. “Bye!”
“Bye!”
Footsteps, courtesy of Sienna’s army of security, fade after a moment and I finally pull my phone out from beneath the pillow. This time, Wagner has sent me a photograph, instead of a simple text message. It’s a drafted email addresses to the New York Times, outlining my father’s involvement in a bribe to get me into Princeton. I drop my phone before I even finish reading but pick it up again with trembling fingers when it beeps again.
Just in case you’re having second thoughts.
I’m not sure how long I sit in my room, staring into a void, waiting to wake up from this awful nightmare, but afternoon turns into evening and I realize I have no choice. I have to meet with Wagner and hand over my body as a sacrifice. Ezra still hasn’t shown up. He’s probably decided a spoiled brat from the Upper West Side is more trouble than she’s worth and moved on to greener pastures. Tears spring to my eyes at that thought, but I force myself to climb off the bed and stumble to the shower.
An hour later, my hair and makeup is done and I’m standing in front of my closet in a robe. My skin crawls as I drag a black, lacy thong up my legs, knowing Wagner will be the one to take it off later. God. I’ll be lucky if I don’t puke all over the place the second he opens the door tonight.
After some debate, I defiantly yank a leather mini skirt off the hangar and pair it with a low-cut white tank top. No bra. If I’m going to be a sacrifice, might as well go the whole nine yards. No way I’m going to let Wagner see my horror or fear. No, he’s obviously the type who preys on those weaknesses. I’m going to show up with my chin held high.
I talk a big game while getting ready, but my bravado fades as I leave the townhouse, locking the door behind me. Thank God it’s Leeza’s day off because one look at my face and she’d know something is wrong. And something is wrong. So terribly wrong.
Hot moisture pushes at the backs of my eyes and I descend the stairs on shaking legs.
Ezra, where are you?
Ezra
Where the fuck is Ophelia going dressed like that?
I snarl into the cup of coffee I’m drinking in the cafe across the street from her townhouse. I’ve been sitting here for hours, restraining myself from going to see her. I couldn’t allow it until I have a rock-solid plan. No way I can ask Ophelia to give up so much for me. No way. I need something tangible to offer her—and I think I’ve just about figured out my play.
I told Ophelia’s father that I would beg, bargain and steal to have her in my life. Turns out, that won’t be necessary. I made a call to my colleagues in Michigan this morning, letting them know I had business to deal with in New York—also known as the hot brunette sashaying up the busy avenue in a scrap of leather—and might be delayed a while. That’s when they informed me of the sizeable fund they’d set aside in my honor. Money. Enough to keep Ophelia comfortable until I get my business off the ground.
Seven years ago, I wasn’t the only man my asshole employer made culpable without their knowledge. A handful of my co-workers were working in human trafficking without even knowing—and those men are still pissed about being duped, to this day. I avenged all of us when I burned down the warehouse. Not to mention, I saved them from eventually being investigated and possibly sent to prison for crimes they participated in against their will.
Some of the car parts were salvaged and sold to chop shops after the fire—and the money from those sales was set aside with my name on it.
I’ve got half a mil sitting in a bank in Michigan and I had no idea. My plan was to approach Ophelia’s father again tonight with a solid, yet frugal, plan to care for his daughter, but looks like plans have changed. Taking care of her is going to be a whole lot easier now, thank Christ.
Leaving my coffee steaming on the counter, I stride out of the small café and follow Ophelia, wondering where she’s headed. Every man that passes her does a double take and I warn them off with bared teeth and deadly glances. She’s mine. Don’t even think about it.
I’m getting ready to make my presence known by calling out to Ophelia, but she stops at a crosswalk and I get a look at her face. She’s pale as a ghost, her eyes huge and nervous in her beautiful face. What the fuck is going on?
I start to pick up my pace, intent on catching up with her, taking her in my arms and demanding to know who I have to kill for putting that expression on her face. But she crosses the avenue at a jog and after a deep breath, ascends the stairs of a white marble townhome. A split second before she rings the bell, I know this has something to do with what she’s been keeping from me.
Last night in her kitchen, she didn’t admit to there being another man. But I saw her hesitation. I saw it but convinced myself I’d imagined it. There’s no way she could give herself to me so completely if anyone else was in the picture. And I still don’t believe it.
Something is wrong. Something I’m not seeing.
Even before last night, when I showed up in her kitchen and she did everything under the sun to push me away—even though I could tell she wanted me—I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. A secret.
This is it right here. I can feel it in my bones.
And whatever it is scares her. My Ophelia.
I watch in disbelief as an older man answers the door, takes hold of her elbow and pulls her inside, slamming the door closed behind him.
People on the sidewalk cower at my roar.
With murder raging in my blood, I cross the street at a dead run.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ophelia
I can’t do this.
The realization is such a relief, it makes me sag against the entry wall.
As soon as Wagner opened the door, the decision to leave was made. Whatever happens to my family as a result of me denying my father’s business partner? We’ll handle it. Or rather, our lawyers will handle it. But if I say yes to Wagner right now, who knows if it stops with one time? He’ll always have the means to blackmail me and my father. I have no way of stopping him from hitting send on that email to the New York Times in the future. All I’m doing is delaying the inevitable.
And then there’s Ezra.
Even if I never see him again, I’m not going to soil the memory of our time together by letting this nasty lecher touch me. My body belongs to Ezra, one hundred percent.
A sob rises up in my throat. I miss him so much.
“Come along, Ophelia. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
Gross. I’ve been eighteen for like, two seconds.
Bugs crawl on every inch of my skin.
Wagner is wearing a silk dressing gown and house slippers. He smells like Tums.
I wouldn’t have made it five seconds without gagging anyway. I’m out of here.
“I’m not letting you touch me,” I breathe, spinning toward the door—
He grabs my arm, his fingers digging painfully into my bicep. “You will hold up your end of this bargain, sweet cheeks, or your father’s face will be all over the evening news.” His hot breath wafts into my face and he starts dragging me forcefully into the living room. “This works out perfect for me in so many ways. I get to stick it in the little brat everyone at the office pants after. And your father will be forced to resign his position, leaving the firm to me.”
“Let me go!” I screech, digging my heels into the carpet.
<
br /> Wagner grabs a section of my hair, using it to pull me toward the back of his townhouse. I scream and stumble—and that’s when the front door of the house is kicked open.
Ezra stands in the frame, his huge body vibrating with rage, hands in balled fists at his sides. He takes in the scene with one vicious glance—me struggling to get free, Wagner ripping at my hair—and his growl sounds like something out of the deepest, darkest jungle in Africa. It’s so loud and menacing, Wagner lets go of my hair and scampers toward the nearest wall, recoiling against it. “Wh-who are you?” Wagner snivels. “Get out of my house!”
The door rocks on its hinges under the force of Ezra kicking it shut. He advances into the room, light from the chandelier traveling over his murderous expression. “I knew you were keeping something from me, Ophelia,” he rasps, walking slowly toward Wagner. “Never again. Do you understand me? Your problems are my problems.”
I’m so relieved to see him, I can only nod dazedly.
“What does he have on you, princess?” Having reached Wagner, Ezra goes down on his knees and wraps a fist around the older man’s throat, squeezing. “Whatever it is, I hope treating my girl with anything less than respect was worth dying over.”
“Ezra, no.” I dive for Ezra and wrap my hands around his thick bicep, trying to pull him away. He doesn’t budge an inch and I start to sob. “Please. This is one of the reasons why I didn’t tell you. You’re going to kill him and go back to prison. Please. I can’t be the reason you go back there. Don’t get taken away from me, please.”
“He put his goddamn hands on you,” Ezra says through clenched teeth, his grip tightening and turning Wagner’s face a mottled purple. “He put his fucking hands on my Ophelia. He’s lucky I’m making it this quick.”
“No!” Knowing I’m almost out of time, I grasp the sides of Ezra’s face and turn it toward me. His anger steals my breath—his pupils are almost black with the emotion. I do the only thing I can think of. I kiss him. Once, twice, twisting my fingers in his hair. “I need you. I need you. He’s not worth losing each other over, Ezra. Please.”