I sigh, picking up the silverware and diving into the omelet, wondering what is waiting inside for me. It is fluffier than even my mother can make it and filled with smoked ham and bacon and full of cheese. It is an indulgence in the very least and a delicious feast at best. It is close if not right there as the best food I have ever tasted.
I savor every bite, blushing with embarrassment at my sometimes-loud noises of appreciation. This is some damn good food, and I feel more than satisfied as I finish the last bite I can handle, leaving nothing more than pancake scraps for the asshole or his staff to clean up. And judging by how nice what I have seen of this place is, I would gather there is staff. And I doubt that man cooked this breakfast himself.
I look around me and really pay attention to details, other than the bed, for the first time. The room is white with gold trimmings like we are in some baroque castle, and I wonder where I am. Between being kidnapped in the first place, being on the boat, and then the helicopter ride, I couldn’t exactly keep track. It isn’t like I am some geography buff anyway, though I assume I am still not in the United States.
I got to the closet, opening. It isn’t fully stocked, but there are a few things; mostly dresses that look way too pretentious for me to even. Then, I notice a pair of designer jeans and a red ruched crop top. It will do.
I slip it on, staying inside the closet as not to be seen by whoever may be lurking beyond my door, and then I psych myself up. “Okay, Presley, you are a Texas woman. You have been through hell and back. You can handle whatever this man is going to throw at you. Be fierce.”
I tiptoe out of the room, looking around the corner, unsure which way to go. One way leads further down the hall but then dead ends, so I take a right and go the opposite way assuming I will run into a living quarter.
Sure enough, there he is on a chaise lounge, his eyes already on me. I immediately notice several things at once; he is alone, and he is hot. Not that it matters, but for the first time I take him in and realize under different circumstances I would be drooling. Even under his button down and tie that remains, I can tell he must be ripped. He takes care of himself. I can’t guess his age because while he has well-trimmed, dark facial hair, he has one of the ageless faces. His skin is tan, and his eyes hold this permanent intenseness to them.
“Have you gotten your fill?” he asks, his voice smooth. I can’t tell if this is rehearsed or if his voice naturally sounds that way. I nod as he stands up, striding over to me. He does not hide the fact that he is carrying a gun, the handle of it obvious to the naked eye. Not that I hadn’t seen people carrying guns. I am from Texas for fuck’s sake, but there is something different about how he carries it – like he uses it for more than just a good pair of antlers for the wall. But I also get another sense of glitz and glam even more so than I had in the bedroom. Everything is white and gold with a few dashes of violet sprinkled in, and yet somehow, it still does not appear ultra-feminine. Just well decorated like he paid someone to come up with the theme. He probably did. I could only guess the size of the house from the parts I had seen, but it felt huge. Like a mansion.
He stands before me now with a smug smile I cannot read. It makes him appear even more debonair, but I don’t dare admit it to him considering I am undecided in whether or not he is a psychopath. “I hope you have liked what you have seen so far.”
I raise an eyebrow at his comment, wondering if he means the house, or if he is insinuating something else. Then, he gestures around him as if to answer the unasked question.
“I haven’t seen much other than the bedroom,” I snap at him, and I can see a hint of a gleam in his eye that is both sexy and sinister, like a threat. I probably shouldn’t be snippy like that when I am at his mercy, but I can’t help it. This is shit. “I didn’t feel comfortable traipsing around here alone with your goons.”
“Forgive me. You should absolutely get to see the rest of the place. Come, I will take you on a personal tour,” he offers, motioning, his stance and eyes softening. I follow him with hesitation as he brings me out into the living area and starts spouting off some bullshit about all the lavish things he is pointing out. Crystals from India, silk form China, it goes on and on from room to room, and there is one other thing I keep hearing as well – that this is going to be my new home. The more he says it, the angrier and more confused I become, and I don’t like it. I am having trouble controlling my emotions, and I have so many scenarios running through my head.
I have heard about these situations online, horror stories about women being taken and eventually chained up and forced to do sexual acts, never allowed to see or speak to their families again. I keep expecting to be led into some sick sex dungeon, but there is no sign of that. The only things I see are over expensive linens and furniture in an attempt to, what, impress me? I am unsure, but I have just about had it.
“These are the servants’ quarters. As you can see, I let them have as much luxury as myself for their hard work. If you ever need anything, you will find two maids, a cook, and even a part time butler if you would like to use him. He is here from lunch to dinner each week day.” He looks back at me and smiles on one side of his mouth like I should give some kind of reaction, and I do, but probably not the one he was looking for.
“Just stop,” I say, a little too loudly. He pauses and turns around to look at me, his hands clasped together in front of him as an impatient gesture. “Where am I, and why do you keep referring to this as my new home? I don’t even know who you are, and I expect some answers at this point. I don’t get why you would forge some marital document or why you want to be married to me. Do you know who I am?”
His eyes raking over me are intimidating, but I hold my position and do not flinch. He had got to tell me something. “You will know everything in good time, my dear,” he says, and I am legit shaking with anger.
My hand goes across his face so hard I am sure the whole big fucking house can hear it. “No! I will not accept that. And you know why? Because I was tricked, taken away from a club only to wake up on a damn boat inside of a fucking cage like an animal. I had to endure torture and sitting in a cage of my own piss and shit. I was threatened, violated to check for my virginity and cleanliness, and then paraded around like a fucking show pony only to be taken away on a helicopter by you, telling me I should be grateful. Do not test me by leaving me in the dark. I am not some pretty face you can fool. I am a southern bitch, and if you don’t tell me something I can cling to right now, I am going to find a way to take that gun from you and shoot you with it!”
Suddenly, we are not alone in the hallway. Two men have come to his aid, hands on their guns, no doubt. I scoff, not scared but annoyed. Of course, he has body guards. How many other pissed off women had he brought to this place?
He puts his hand up to stop them, and they back off, retreating to whatever hidden corner they had come from to begin with. I huff a sigh as his eyes meet mine, and there is a glint there. I can’t tell whether it is lust, pain, anger, or all of the above. It frustrates me that I can’t read him, but I do see that my slap left an ugly red mark on his tan skin. I slapped him pretty damn hard.
He adjusts his jaw, and I wait for it, whatever punishment I am going to get for this. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he tells me some of the answers I am seeking.
“You are my fiancé, and you are in Brazil. From what I understand this is where you were picked up from, so you have not gone far. I am planning a big wedding for us, and you will marry me. The documents are already prepared. I do not plan to lock you in a cage or make you some kind of sex slave, though I cannot say the same for many of the women who were your companions in that boat. That is usually their fate, if not something worse.” He pauses for a moment, and I am trying to make it all in as his mouth gets hard. “However, you should know if you cannot behave to some e extent, you will be punished.” His words are harsh now, but even if I don’t like what I hear, it’s better than nothing. “And you can call me Stefan, I am Stefan
Dalca, and soon, you will be Presley Dalca,” he reminds me, making me cross my arms over my chest.
The only thing I still don’t know is why.
Chapter 13
Presley
My mind is reeling as I attempt to get a good night’s sleep after what I found out today. After the tour, I had been allowed to bathe and work out, normal routine stuff, though I felt eyes on me the whole time whether it was from Stefan or his staff. Lunch was on my own, but I had been sitting down to dinner with him, which had been mostly silent. That was fine by me because I had nothing to say just yet. I enjoyed the food and just couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea that I was engaged to a complete stranger who had paid millions of dollars for me in Brazil and yet was not a slave or even much of a captive. I wasn’t being given a way to leave, but I wasn’t being locked up either. I had good food and a soft, excellent bed to sleep in. I wasn’t even being forced to sleep with Stefan, though I had seen his bed chambers. My mouth had fallen open at the sheer luxury of it. No hotel suite had anything on it.
But one thing I do know is that Stefan Dalca must be 50 shades of insane for thinking he could just point to a girl, buy her, bring her home, and marry her. Not to mention the fact that I have no clue why he wants to marry me. What is it about me versus any of the other women? Or women he could meet, for that matter. Even if he didn’t look the way he does, women had to be all over him just for his money. I doubt he has a lack of choices unless he is so insane that he has ruined his reputation. If only I knew who he truly was, maybe I could figure it all out. But I am not exactly schooled in all the world's billionaires. And I am guessing that is the kind of cash he has. Whether it was from inheritance, business, or criminal activities, I don’t want to know right now, not while I am trying to trust that I am at least safe here.
I prop up on my elbows, feeling restless as I think about the fact that he seems to know at least a little about who I am. I don’t know if whoever took me had this information already from the I.D. and everything else on me, or if there is something more to it. If he bought me because he recognized my face or my last name. My father is an oil man, after all, and a lot of people would kill for his fortune or some kind of access to it. He is practically the unspoken king of Texas, and everyone either loves him or loves to hate him. He wouldn’t necessarily be unknown in other countries. And I can’t say I haven’t been in the news a time or two for things that my family would rather the press and the world did not know.
In my opinion, I had never done anything that bad; I just wasn’t little miss perfect the way they expected. My sisters can be that for them. Both of them are in college to do great things, or rather, things my family believes are great. My brother is set to inherit my father’s business. So, that leaves me, the youngest, to make my own choices. Academics and a stuffy existence are not exactly my style. I don’t want everything decided for me. Sure, I want to be successful. I have a drive, but I don’t know for what yet. And I firmly believe that should be okay at my age.
I roll my eyes at the way my brain is running at 90 miles an hour despite the fact I should be asleep and face plant into my pillow. These are things I will have to face tomorrow, assuming Stefan decides to be more forthcoming than he already has. I already had to threaten to take his gun and shoot him for him to tell me anything, which wasn’t that much.
***
I wake up to blaring light blinking through the blinds of the one window in this room and grunt in annoyance. I don’t know what time it is, but it is too fucking early to be so damn sunshiny.
I get up and switch the blinds, getting rid of some of the light as I stretch and think about what my next move will be.
I know now that not only am I being forced to be engaged to this rich prick, but he has already gotten the necessary marriage license. I doubt I am getting out that easy, if at all, considering a man with this kind of money living in a hot bed of criminal activity can forge and get whatever he wants. But there need to be some compromises before this gets out of hand. And the first thing I want to do is talk with my family, if I am allowed to. I don’t know if my things are still anywhere to be found; my purse, my phone, anything, but if they are, I have not had the pleasure of being given them back. But I do know that I ran off to Rio and left college behind for a short break. My parents had probably been furious when they found out, but now that both my girlfriends were back in the states and I wasn’t, they are probably freaked out and wondering if I am even still alive. Especially with my father and his constant paranoid warnings, which I guess aren’t really that paranoid after all.
I go to the closet and settle on one of the more casual dresses, knowing that if I do have to stay here, I also need to ask for more clothes. I am not parading around this place dripping in silk and pearls no matter how much this place costs. He wants it to be my home, it is going to feel like a home, like I can do and wear what I want.
I leave the room quietly and wonder if I am going to get in trouble for approaching Stefan in his room, but I don’t see any other way to do this. As I follow the maze of a house, remembering only by luck where his room is, I catch the time on the clock on the wall and see that it is a little before ten in the morning, definitely earlier than I usually awoke when it was up to me. But I get the feeling not a lot is going to be up to me anymore. not that it was that much before, anyway.
From my daddy’s house to Dalca's house - perfect.
I am about to knock on his partially open door to see if I can come in when I hear him speaking to someone. I decide as I see no one else is watching me, to stand here and listen. I figure out pretty quickly there is no one in his room; he is on the phone.
"Ma, I have made myself entirely clear. I did not want any of the women he showed me. They just were not the right fit. Just because I am important does not mean I have to be miserable with a woman who could never come close to making me happy. And I am convinced none of those women would be happy in my presence either. It is a done deal. You will meet my new wife at a date and time of my. Please, let us enjoy our honeymoon for the next two weeks."
I put my hand over my mouth to hold back a gasp as I flatten myself against the wall outside his room. I can’t imagine getting better insight into him than this. His parents must have been pressuring him to get married, and to marry someone specific, at that. Clearly, he is not a man to take those kinds of orders laying down. He doesn’t want any of them. That still doesn’t explain why me, but more concerning is the fact that he will be introducing me as his wife in two weeks. That means I will be married by then. I don’t know how I feel about that at all. I certainly had not planned on getting married any time soon, but how would I get out of such a thing? I am still sure I can't. So, like it or not, in two weeks my last name will be different, and I will likely be a Brazilian citizen.
I wait until I can hear that he is done before I knock on the door, ready to confront him with what I have heard. I think it is important to let him know I know and maybe hold some of the power here.
He comes to the door, and his eyes open a little wider like he is surprised to see me here. He recovers quickly. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Presley?" he asks, his teeth gleaming at me like a tiger on the hunt. How can a man be so sexy and frightening at the exact same time?
I scoff and shake my head at him. "Well, I was coming to ask you a question, but you should know I heard that conversation with Mommy Dearest. When were you going to tell me, I am an escape from an arranged marriage?"
He clears his throat and adjusts his suit before he steps really close to me, his breath on me as he leans in to speak. "Isn't eavesdropping rude in circles like yours?" he whispers. I simply roll my eyes. "If you must know, yes, I was being pressured to be married to someone they approved. Your main appeal is that you are not one of those someones." His eyes rake over me, and I shiver, knowing there is more to it than just that. If he knows my name, what circles I run in, any more than the simple facts about me, then he wants me specifically. I
am still stumped as to why but decide to leave it alone in favor of what I originally came to talk with him about.
"Can I call my parents and at least let them know I am alright?" I ask, changing the subject. He is leaning against the wall now but still close to me.
"No."
"No? You put me through all this and are forcing me to marry you. The least you could do is let me talk to my parents. They are probably freaking out."
"I thought you were a little rebel, not very happy with your family right now." My mouth drops open at what he is saying. How much has he been studying up on me? "What, am I wrong?"
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to put in a barrier between us. "No, you ain't wrong," I say. The southern part of me really comes out when I am pissed.
"Well, wouldn’t this really stick it to them - marrying me out of nowhere?" he asks, already smiling like he has just won a game show.
He is right, though. While I didn’t plan on marrying so young, it is certainly much different than what my parents have planned for me. My father would lose his shit.
When I don’t say anything, he continues. "I plan on the next communication they hear from their precious daughter being an invitation to her wedding in Brazil." I can’t help but allow a smirk to come across my face at that. if only I could be there to see the look on their faces when they see it.
Defiant (The Clans Book 6) Page 7