by Raquel Belle
Brunette, as he’d decided to refer to her—because try as he might, he could not remember her name—inhaled sharply. “You’re kicking me out?”
“No, I asked you to leave, nicely,” Damian bit out through clenched teeth.
Brunette threw her hands up and her exposed breasts swayed with her movements. Usually, Damian would have been enticed by the view. Not this time. Maybe the problem was the throbbing in his head, a harbinger of a killer hangover. But since when did something like a hangover stop him from continuing a party the morning after?
“Just like that?” She scoffed. “I thought we would have breakfast, spend a little more time together. Perhaps arrange another date.”
Damian’s eyes rounded. Another date? First of all, he didn’t date and he couldn’t understand why Brunette considered being picked up at a bar a first date. Hopeful eyes stared back at him and long lashes batted prettily.
He stifled a groan, realizing what he’d gotten himself into. It was one of those one-night stands. The one where the woman somehow interpreted one night as a marriage proposal. Massaging the bridge of his nose, he huffed. “Look ...” Lucy, Lexy, Lena … He vaguely recalled that her name began with an L. He shook his head, and gave up on the frivolous thought. “You knew what this was when you agreed to come back to my room. One night. Nothing more.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You bastard. You don’t even remember my name, do you?”
Damian’s shoulders lifted and he shook his head.
“It’s Lacy,” she spat.
He nodded. Ah, there it was. He didn’t feel bad, not in the least. He knew Lacy’s type all too well. She trolled fancy hotel bars and other hot spots for the wealthy, hoping to sink her money-hungry fangs into a rich man. Damian had been her prey. She had taken one look at him, calculated, and summed up that he had money. Then she’d descended like a vulture, confident that she could use her sexual prowess to convince him into something more than one night. He’d let her hunt him, let her believe she had a chance…because he’d wanted a body to warm his bed for the night. Lacy’s sexual prowess had been on point—good enough to ensnare many weaker men. But, not him. Never him.
In the end, he was never anyone’s prey.
He was always the predator.
Damian’s lips twisted with amusement. Of course, he was now the monster for breaking her frostbitten, gold-digging heart. “You’re not wrong, Lacy. I am a heartless bastard. So everyone says anyway. It’s hard to feel sorry for you though. You knew what you were getting into. You just overestimated your skills. You thought you were enough to hold on to me. You were wrong.”
Lacy snarled and stomped away in the direction of her clothes, which were heaped on a chair. He watched as she shrugged on her panties and dress. It puzzled him as to why the woman was so furious. What part of one night wasn’t clear? He might have been a little tipsy when they had stumbled to his room, and he might have forgotten her name, but one thing he was sure of was that he’d let her know what was what before they began their wild night. He was always clear. It wasn’t his fault when they chose to expect more.
“You’re such a pig,” Lacy hissed.
Stark naked, with his dick still half-erect and sheathed in a condom, Damian rolled his eyes and reached for his jacket. Bastard, pig…he’d heard it all. He was accustomed to the indignant whining and name-calling, but Lacy’s voice was grating on his extra-sensitive nerves. He found his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash, not bothering to look at the bills. He extended the cash in offering, hoping it would make Lacy stop talking and just leave. “Here, is this what you want? Money? Take it and go.”
Lacy’s head snapped up. She zeroed in on the cash then shifted her focus to him. Damian was surprised to see outrage and disbelief glistening in her honey brown eyes. “I’m not a prostitute, prick,” she spat.
His brow lifted, and then he shrugged. “I’m not judging.”
She marched up to him, snatched the stack of bills and threw them at him. Fifty and hundred dollar bills hit him in the face and then floated to the red carpet before settling around his feet. She rolled her eyes. “You’re despicable. I can’t believe I thought you were anywhere near decent.”
Damian took no offense at her insult. He’d accepted that he wasn’t decent a long time ago. He was expecting another slap in the face though…definitely not his own money thrown back at him. So, all in all, this morning after wasn’t going too badly.
Without emotion or expression, he waited for her to charge out of the room. Letting out a breath when the door slammed, he spared the scattered bills around his feet a second glance and walked off toward the bathroom. Whomever cleaned the room when he checked out would find the generous tip. With distaste, he removed the condom and dumped it in the bin. What a waste. He hadn’t enjoyed his time with the enraged-yet-lovely Lacy. He usually managed to squeeze an ounce of enjoyment out of his trysts, but not this time.
He was supposed to be in a state of elation. He had finally gotten what he’d craved for years—revenge. He’d manage to take down his enemy. Aldridge was done, in every sense of the word. Damian had spent the night celebrating. He’d practically emptied the bar he was at and picked up what was supposed to be a stellar one-night stand.
On his way to the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His grim expression and flat eyes reminded him that he wasn’t enjoying his triumph as much as he’d expected.
“Sweet revenge, alcohol and a gorgeous woman. What more could you want?”
He stared at his reflection, confused, as if he expected the miserable image of himself to supply an answer. Could his mother have been right? Could taking down Caleb Aldridge not be the answer to him at last finding some semblance of peace?
With a deepening scowl, Damian stepped away from his reflection. Like hell. He wasn’t happy because he hadn’t done enough. The punishment had to fit the crime. All he had to do was find a way to drive a few more nails into Aldridge’s coffin, and then he’d be satisfied, he was sure of it.
***
Abby
Men like Henry Sullivan were despicable. Abby gazed down at the older man with cool disdain, but he was much too caught up in fondling her to notice. For a second, she felt nauseated. There she was, mere hours before her father’s funeral, straddling this overweight lawyer. Her subconscious screamed at her. What are you doing? This isn’t you.
She shoved the thought aside. This was her now. This was who she’d had to become to avenge her father and her family.
Henry Sullivan was only the first step in the plan. She needed information. Abby knew she could get the man to sing like a canary the day he’d arrived at the Aldridge mansion. He’d come to present her father’s last will and testament. Henry, being a big fan of younger women, had blatantly ogled her the entire time he read the will. His meaty hands groped her bra-clad breasts as he gazed at them hungrily.
“What really happened to my father, Henry?”
He glanced up, his beady, hooded eyes were clouded with lust and confusion. “He ... hung himself,” Henry said slowly.
Abby gritted her teeth. No shit, Captain Obvious. “I’m well aware, Henry,” she said, “but what I mean is, why would he do that? Surely, you know. You were close friends. He must have said something to you about what was going on with him.” She’d heard rumors about why Caleb Aldridge had taken his own life, but before she could move forward with her plan, she had to be certain.
“I don’t think now is the time to talk about …”
She gripped his jaw with one hand and squeezed. “Now is the perfect time,” she said with steel behind each word. His eyes lit up with excitement, and his breathing escalated. Her sister was right—the man loved to be dominated. Abby didn’t want to know how Elaina knew that.
“Tell me, Henry.”
Rubbing his palms over her bare ass, he said, “He lost everything.”
“How?”
“Aldridge Enterprises went bankrupt. A few bad inv
estments, you see. Someone swooped in and stole the company right from under Caleb.”
“Who was responsible for this hostile takeover?”
Henry shook his head. “I'm not at liberty to say, Abigail. I’m temporarily under this individual’s employ until everything has been transferred over to ... I can’t say any more.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed. Henry Sullivan was a worm. How could he work with someone who’d allegedly caused his friend’s death? He’d been her father’s lawyer for as long as she could remember. He’d been to their home many times for dinners and holidays. The pervert even used to encourage her to call him Uncle when she was younger. Now she understood why—Henry was a sick bastard.
His deviant nature aside, the fact that the disloyal piece of crap could so easily be swayed by money made Abby want to claw his chubby face. She had to play nice though. Her tone dropped to a more seductive octave, and she leaned forward, making sure her breasts rubbed against his chest.
“Please, talk to me, Henry. After being separated from my family for so long, I feel so left out. I just want to know what’s happening. You know?” She hoped her eyes were pleading enough, and her pout was up to standard. Trailing a finger over his lips, she purred. “I’ll make it worth your while, Henry.”
His pupils dilated. His lips parted, and his breathing became labored. She eyed him carefully, hoping his reaction was because he was turned on and not because the old fart was about to go into cardiac arrest. She’d glimpsed the box of Viagra in his top drawer. If he keeled over and died before she got the information she wanted, she’d be pissed.
“His name is Damian Coldwell,” Henry said as he eyed her breasts. “He’s just a businessman. He seemed to come out of the woodwork. It was like he’d been flying under the radar for years before he popped up and snatched Caleb’s company from under him. Rumor has it that he’s responsible for sabotaging Caleb a number of times, he made sure that his businesses failed. All I know about Coldwell is that he buys companies, gets them to look good on the books, pumps up the value and sells them to the highest bidder. Sometimes he keeps a few to run for himself. I’ve only recently had an opportunity to glimpse how he does things. The man’s a fucking genius, if you ask me.”
Hope blossomed in Abby. Maybe she could use Henry to do her dirty work. “So, you’re what …? A part of his inner circle now? His legal counsel?”
Henry laughed. “I wish. He pretty much told me to gather everything about your father’s company and his assets, hand them over to his lawyer, and then to fuck off. At least, he’s paying me handsomely.”
The hope in Abby withered. It seemed she’d have to get her hands dirty after all. She wondered if she could become the femme fatale she’d need to be to get things done…to seduce her way into this stranger's bed, to get dirt on him—of the most compromising nature—and then systematically destroy him. It sounded like something out of a movie—a really bad one where no one wins. Hysterical laughter nearly consumed her, but she confined the thoughts to her mind and not her mouth.
Innocent, slightly nerdy Abby, who got more excited about Van Gogh and Picasso paintings than she did about men and dating was no wicked seductress. But, her innocence had fled the building—in her opinion—the second she’d allowed Henry to put his filthy hands on her for information. There was no coming back from that.
She met Henry’s leer and struggled to hold back a grimace. The need to wrap her hands around his fat neck was nearly overwhelming. He was working with Damian Coldwell—The Traitor. “He already gotten the company though, Henry. Why Daddy’s assets?”
Henry shrugged. “Despite the meeting I had with your clan, there’s nothing to be done. Nothing Caleb left behind will stay with any of you for long. He left behind a lot of debt, you see. Your family is going to lose everything. I don’t know what to tell you except that if you need someone to take care of you, I’ll be more than happy to oblige ... for a price.” His eyes dipped to her breasts once again and his sweaty palms moved lower to caress her soft thighs.
She let out a purr of laughter. “Oh, Henry, how generous, but I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” She pulled away and stood up. “Oh, shoot. I’m afraid I don’t have time to give you that gift I promised … I don’t want to be late.” Abby reached for her dress and slid it on with haste.
Henry’s face took a dour turn. “But ... but ...”
She interrupted his sputtering. “But what, Henry? You want me to miss my father’s funeral to blow your whistle? Have you no respect?” His mouth clamped shut and she wheeled around to march out of his office.
Abby stepped outside and inhaled deeply, pulling her coat tighter to ward off the cold. “I cannot believe, I just used my body like that,” she said to herself, making her way to a yellow Porsche. Sliding into the passenger’s seat, she turned to her sister. “You could have driven something a little less conspicuous.”
Elaina raised a perfectly-arched blonde brow. “Don’t lecture me about my choice of car after you just screwed that greasy bastard to get proof of something I already told you.”
Abby gritted her teeth and faced forward. The Porsche hummed to life and took off. “Excuse me for not simply taking your word, Elaina. You’re not exactly a paragon of honesty. Neither is Mom. There’s no way was I going to go along with your ludicrous plot without confirmation.” She paused and then let out a breath. “There was no screwing, by the way.” Thank God she’d learned all she needed to before things went that far. Abby squirmed. Would she have really have had sex with a character like Henry Sullivan? The thought of going to those lengths made her shudder. “I haven’t stooped to your level,” she said with a smug expression—just to piss off her sister.
Elaina gave her a seething glare. “Yet. You’re about to stoop way lower than I ever have, baby sister.”
Her words hit Abby hard. So hard, in fact, that her breath hitched in her throat. She faced forward again and fell silent. Her sister wasn’t wrong.
***
The atmosphere was grim. The group of family, friends, mourners and well-wishers were all dressed in black. Heads were bowed as the metal coffin was lowered into the ground. It was then that it really hit her—that her father was gone. Pain ripped through her and brought fresh tears to her eyes. She choked on her sobs, barely managing to hold them back.
After days of crying, she was surprised that she’d had any tears left. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to her beloved father, and that was what hurt the most. A single tear trailed a hot path down her cheek, and she quickly dashed it away. Later…she decided, she would bawl her eyes out in private. She stole a glance to her right. Celeste, her mother, was stone-faced, and Abby nearly rolled her eyes. God forbid the woman should exhibit any human emotion. Elaina was beside Celeste, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Abby’s brows shot up. Elaina actually had feelings. A revelation indeed.
Abby looked to her left at her younger brother, Wyatt. He was her favorite person in the world—next to their father. Wyatt scowled at the hole their father’s coffin was being lowered into, and she wondered what was going through his mind. He and their father hadn’t always gotten along. Was he as overcome with grief as she was…or was he worried about what would become of Aldridge Enterprises?
Abby wished she could tell Wyatt not to worry, because she was about to fix everything. Soon, the company would be back in their hands, and Wyatt would eventually take his rightful place as their father’s successor…when he was ready. But she couldn’t tell him what she was planning. What would he think of her if he knew? Abby wouldn’t be able to stand Wyatt looking at her the same way he looked at their mother and sister. According to him, they were the two most manipulative and vindictive people ever to walk the earth. And there Abby was, about to become one of them. She would finally gain her mother’s love and approval—maybe—and, she would—probably—gain Elaina’s respect, but Wyatt would look at her with nothing but disappointment.
Most of all, she would lose her sen
se of self. She let out a breath. Damn you, Damian Coldwell. Her fingernails dug into her palms as his name echoed in her mind like a taunting whisper. She watched—with mounting resentment for the man she didn’t know—as the dirt was shoveled to fill her father’s grave. At that moment, her resolve strengthened. It was a final and decisive moment. She would have her revenge. She was going to do it. Abby was going to avenge her father and protect what remained of her family.
But first, she had to get through her father’s funeral.
“Hey, are you alright?”
Abby blinked, surprised to find that the crowd had already dispersed. How long had she zoned out for? She glanced at Wyatt and he winced. “Stupid question. Of course, you’re not alright. Where were you? You seemed to be in another world.”
“I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she said.
“Yeah ... Neither can I. It’s like just yesterday he and I were arguing about something or other. I think I’m going to miss him.”
“You think?”
Wyatt’s shoulders lifted. “I might be too busy worrying about you. I know how much you adored him.”
Abby let out a breath and squared her shoulders. She gave Wyatt a firm look and nearly burst into tears. He looked so much like their father—deep-red hair, the same build, the same facial features…
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she attempted a smile. “Who’s the older one here? Me or you? I’m the one who worries about you, Sprout, not the other way around.”
Wyatt’s upper lip curled. “You should have stopped calling me that after I hit puberty. It’s emasculating. If we weren’t at the old man’s funeral with all of these counterfeit mourners, I would lecture you on your dogged persistence in using that stupid nickname.”