His Cinderella: A Possessive Dark Romance (Mayhem Ever After Book 3)

by Vivi Paige

  And her mockery, saying “sir” like it was a name for a cur, had been calculated as well. She was testing me, just not in the ways I’d expected. I had thought I would be breaking a delicate flower, but it seemed I had a slab of iron ore in my forge instead.

  The leaves crunching under my heels offered no advice or assistance. So much for taking a walk to clear my head. If anything, at that point I felt more confused than ever.

  That’s when I heard it, the tiniest crack as a twig was fractured. Someone was in the woods with me. Ella? No, couldn’t be. I set a hard pace, and she’d have had to run to have caught up by now.

  That meant it might be an enemy. My family had many, myriad enemies, some more determined than others. It came with having power and influence, a never-ending game of chess we played with those who sought to take it away from us.

  I ducked around the remnants of an old oak tree and waited. A moment later, a man sauntered past, cursing. I drew my pistol and placed it on the back of his head.

  “The fuck are you doing following me?” I asked in a voice trembling with, to my chagrin, more than a little fear.

  “Take it easy, kid,” Jimmy the Bull raised his hands. “If you hadn’t ditched me at the club, I wouldn’t have had to traipse after you in Sherwood fucking Forest.”

  I sighed and tucked my pistol away. It seemed there was no getting away from my babysitter.

  Chapter Ten

  As soon as I closed the door, I leaned my back against it and slid down into a seated position. What in the world had I done, or said, to evoke such a reaction from Deryk?

  I thought back to what happened right before he grew upset and fled out the door. All I’d done was reminisce a little about the time I exploded blueberry muffins all over the oven. That was all.

  Yes, my dad had yelled at Deryk—I remember being afraid it would get out of hand—but it seemed to blow over smoothly. Deryk hadn’t even seemed upset by the whole experience, taking his tongue lashing with good humor.

  So, if it wasn’t some hidden trauma, then why? Why leave when we were finally talking to each other as semi-equals? Maybe that was it. He wanted a mute sex doll who only said, “Yes, sir,” when spoken to.

  I rejected that notion quickly, remembering the smile on Deryk’s face. He had seemed just fine with the conversation, and then his brow had furrowed in deep thought. Perhaps those old memories, the happiness of them, hurt him now. Now that he was all angst and moodiness.

  Actually, I thought while sitting with my bare bottom on the polished wooden floor, he’d been pretty angst-ridden and moody in prep school, too. At first I hadn’t known what to make of his interest. He’d slipped a poem into my backpack when I hadn’t been watching, but I immediately knew it was from him. His handwriting had a certain calligraphic quality to it, as if he saw the note not just as a message but a work of art.

  I wish I’d kept that poem. After we broke up, I’d torn it to shreds. I wondered if he had a copy of it somewhere. It would be nice to read it again after so long. I was certain I’d forgotten at least some of the lines. But I remembered one in particular—Your smile is torment’s release.

  After a time, my legs grew tingly and I forced myself to stand. I ate some of the pre-fab Swedish meatballs, but they turned my stomach. I wondered if I could talk Deryk into a grocery store run.

  I left the rest for him and set about sulking in the living room. There was a television—a flatscreen mounted on the wall—but I couldn’t figure out which of the four separate remotes operated the device. So, I left it black and settled in for what I feared would be a long wait.

  To my surprise, the door opened shortly after and Deryk thrust his head inside.

  “Ella?” he called.

  “I’m here, sir.” I sprang to my feet and went to the door like a dog heeling its master. The metaphor was not lost on me.

  He looked at me for a long moment and then sighed.

  “We’re going to have a visitor, temporarily, before he moves into the guest cabin.”

  “There’s a guest cabin?” I blurted. Deryk frowned, and I quickly made amends. “Sorry for interrupting, sir. Would you like to spank me?”

  I turned about and put my hands on my knees, thrusting my bottom out at him while peering at him over my shoulder.

  Deryk’s face turned several different shades as he grew flustered. “No, not right—put on some pants,” he said. “And don’t act all—look, just act normal.”

  “I don’t have any pants,” I reminded him, and Deryk winced.

  “Shit. All right, go up to my bedroom and get a pair of sweats or something. Our visitor is going to inspect the house.”

  “Inspect the house?” I arched an eyebrow even as I turned to leave. “Who is it, the health department? Are there regulations for the care and maintenance of your slave girl I don’t know about?”

  Deryk grumbled something and shook his head. “It won’t take long,” he promised. “Please, go put on something.”

  I headed up the steps to the second floor, and into what I assumed was his bedroom. It was the larger of the two impeccably furnished and neat rooms I found on that floor. I slid open a mahogany chest of drawers and discovered a pair of black sweat pants which were way too big. I tightened the drawstring as best I could, chuckling at the way they bunched up around my waist.

  When I returned to the main floor, I saw our visitor for the first time. A rotund, weasel-faced little man who nonetheless managed to give me a shudder. It wasn’t that he seemed unkind—far from it. He smiled huge when he saw me, and not in a creepy way. It was just that I could tell that he was capable of doing very, very impolite things in spite of his demeanor.

  “Hello there,” he waved.

  “Don’t talk to my woman,” Deryk snapped. “You’re here to do a job. Get it done already.”

  The man moved away from us, pursing his lips and seeming none too pleased. When he started by opening the turntable cabinet doors and peering intently inside, I wondered if he was a hostile presence in the home. I leaned in next to Deryk and whispered.

  “Who is that, sir, and what’s he doing?”

  “Jimmy the Bull,” Deryk answered in a low tone. “And he’s looking for drugs, which he isn’t going to find because I don’t have any… anymore. My dad sent him here to make sure I don’t fall off the wagon.”

  “Why’d you leave before?” I blurted suddenly.

  “What? You left me, remember?”

  “No, not that—this evening. Right before sunset, you left. I want to know why.”

  “I was just trying to clear my head. That’s all,” he snapped. “Why are you asking me so many questions? What do you care, anyway?”

  I was taken aback by his query. What did I care, indeed? I cared because even though our relationship ended years ago, those feelings had bubbled right back up to the surface as soon as I laid eyes on him.

  I was about to snap at him—and probably earn another punishment—when I was interrupted by the chiming of the great grandfather clock on the main floor. Twelve gongs. I was off the hook. I straightened up and glared at Deryk.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to bother you with my prattle again for the rest of the night,” I said stiffly.

  Deryk flinched, and then his expression softened. “Ella, wait…”

  “It’s after midnight. This coach has turned back into a pumpkin.” I half-ran up the stairs, fleeing him and his mercurial mood. Once I entered my guest room, I plopped face-down on the bed and had a good, silent cry.

  At some point, I must have drifted off to sleep because the next thing I knew there was knocking at my door and cheery sunlight spilled in the window, warming my back. I rubbed my eyes and looked about in confusion for several moments until I remembered where I was.

  “Ella?” Deryk’s voice came again. He didn’t seem angry, but the knock came a bit harder. “Are you awake? It’s time to attend me again.”

  Attend him. Of course. I slipped out of bed, stifling a
yawn. The bathroom beckoned, but I didn’t want to put him off by not obeying immediately. I paused in front of the door, looking down at myself. He probably had certain expectations, I thought mischievously.

  I stripped out of the bathrobe and sweats quickly as the knock came again and then I knelt on the carpet. On a whim I spread my legs wide and then spoke.

  “Come in, sir,” I said sweetly.

  He pushed the door open, his eyes widening when they fell on me. Deryk stood there, half in the room and half out, staring at me for a long time.

  “I’m ready to service you, sir,” I said, batting my eyelashes at him. After our sour parting the prior evening I was trying to make amends of sorts.

  “Not like that,” he said, sweat standing out on his brow as he stared pointedly between my legs. “Not now. We’re going out for brunch.”

  He pushed the door open fully, and only then did I realize he had a white dress with a peplum skirt on a hanger. The delicate, subtle floral pattern didn’t diminish the garment’s elegance in the least. My eyes narrowed with suspicion because I recognized that dress. It was one I’d put in an online shopping cart six months ago and never could afford to purchase.

  Maybe it was a coincidence, but I doubted it.

  “That’s a lovely dress,” I said. “Where did it come from?”

  “Versace,” Deryk drawled. “Get up and put it on.”

  I rose to my feet with a mirthless chuckle. “That’s not what I meant. How do you know it’s even my size? Did you buy it off the rack?”

  “No. I had it overnight expressed here. You did want it. Didn’t you?”

  “I did, but how did you know that? Did you hack my phone?”

  “I didn’t need to hack it,” Deryk drew my phone with its cracked screen out of his pocket. He tossed it on the bed. “Next time, don’t set your password as ‘password.’”

  “I had a lot on my mind,” I sneered. “So, what gives you the right to just go through my phone? I guess my overnight bag made it here after all.”

  Deryk moved in close to me, his hand closing around my throat. In spite of his anger, I felt a throb between my legs as he squeezed. “What gives me the right? I. Own. You. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” I rasped out. He released my throat and indicated that I should get dressed by snapping his fingers. I took the dress out of his other hand, arching a brow.

  “Did it come with underwear?”

  Deryk chuckled. “That package won’t arrive until later this evening. I think you’ll be all right going commando for a while. Besides, I like the idea of you being vulnerable to me.”

  He flicked up the skirt, exposing my nakedness behind it, and I purpled a bit from shame. I also felt a strong pang of desire run through my body as I slipped into the dress. It featured beige straps the same hue as the floral pattern in lieu of sleeves and was just a wee bit tight in the bodice, but overall, it fit me well. It was a fun, bright, sexy spring dress, one that I had put in a cart but never really intended to purchase.

  I wanted to be mad at Deryk for going through my phone, but he’d done the wrong thing for a good reason.

  “How do I look, sir?” I asked, doing a pirouette in a beam of warm sunshine.

  Deryk’s eyes hungrily moved all over me, and when he spoke, his voice carried a note of wonder. “Ravishing.”

  “But I don’t have any shoes…”

  Deryk bent over, picked up a longish box, and tossed it on the bed.

  I looked at him with a slight grin playing at my lips. “Might these be a pair of Dior high block strappy heels?”

  “They might be,” he replied. “If that was what was in your cart, too.”

  I opened the box and grinned at the shoes inside. After slipping them on—they fit even better than the dress—I put my hands behind my back and smiled sweetly. “Do I pass muster, sir?”

  Deryk’s mouth fell open, and he nodded wordlessly. He stepped to the door and indicated that I should head out in front of him. Remembering my place, I clasped my hands behind my back before sauntering out ahead of him.

  I could feel his gaze boring into me as I walked down the steps and across the living room floor. As I approached the front door, I gathered up the skirt material in my hands until I was nearly as exposed as I had been in the sleazy bathrobe.

  “Naughty girl,” he said. I gasped when he slapped his hand across my bare bottom. “Brunch first and then… then we’ll see about dessert.”

  “You’re going to have me prepare dessert?” I asked, though I knew exactly what he had meant.

  “No.” He took me in his arms and crushed his lips on top of mine. Awash in his presence as much as his arms tightly holding me, I gave myself over to the moment.

  Deryk set me back on my feet, and we headed out into the bright early afternoon sun. For the first time in what seemed like forever, nothing grim was hanging over my head. It was a fantastic feeling, and I felt as if I was in a fairytale.

  Unfortunately, it was not going to last.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jimmy the Bull insisted upon taking over as our limo driver, unseating the hapless Vic and forcing him to awkwardly stand around outside the cottage until our return.

  As Ella and I rode in the back, she turned toward me, eyebrows arched with a query. “What’s the deal with that guy, anyway? Why does he act like you’re up to no good?”

  I chuckled and slipped my arm around her soft shoulders. “Because up until very recently, I had a few bad habits that caused my family some consternation.”

  “Drugs?”

  I pursed my lips, considering how much to tell her. Did Ella really need to know how far I’d fallen into despair and addiction?

  “Yes,” I said at length because it didn’t feel right to lie to her, not after our recent shared experiences.

  “You’re not a skinny waif, so it wasn’t heroin,” Ella murmured with a thoughtful frown marring her lovely face. “And you don’t bounce off the walls and make a lot of noise, so it wasn’t coke, either.”

  “Kremlin Swamp Gas, an opium strain with some not so nice things mixed in,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not proud of it, but I’ve been clean for… well, for a few days. Opium’s not as addictive, of course, so it’s not as hard to kick as the harder drugs.”

  “I think you’re lying to yourself… Everything can be an addiction, even good things,” Ella countered. “So, are you anxious about getting high?”

  “No,” I said, surprised at the ring of truth in my words. “I’m not. I suppose I’ve been distracted.”

  I reached my hand over her clavicle and groped her breast through the dress. Ella bit her lower lip, eyes half-lidded as she submitted to my lustful grip. I felt her nipple harden through the thin fabric under my ministrations. Our lips met, and we settled into a lengthy and thorough make-out session, which lasted most of the way into the city.

  As we rolled into the Upper East Side, Jimmy unrolled the privacy screen, interrupting our amorous activities. Ella hastily tugged her skirt down as I wiped her lipstick from my cheek.

  “Hey, kid, where are we going again?”

  “The Shaven Duck,” I said.

  “Yeah, but where is it?”

  “Don’t you have GPS up there? Why are you asking me?”

  “Oh, GPS, good idea.” The privacy screen went back up. Ella and I exchanged glances and then laughed.

  “He’s an interesting sort,” Ella muttered. “I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, though.”

  “Your instincts are dead on,” I replied. “I once saw Jimmy take down a three-hundred-pound MMA fighter with a bent paperclip.”

  “Bullshit,” Ella laughed.

  “No, it’s not. Jimmy stuck the point right into the guy’s eye. Fight over, in about half a second.”

  “Jeez,” Ella said. “Remind me not to fuck with him.”

  Jimmy the Bull found our stop at last, dropping us off in front of the Shaven Duck. It was a mix between hipster and classy, with farm
-to-table variants on classic dishes. If ever in the city, I recommend the Duck’s street tacos.

  Somehow—I’m not sure who instigated it—Ella and I wound up holding hands on the way up the sidewalk. I glanced over and found she was blushing.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I was just thinking how sweet you’re being right now,” she answered. “And how sweet you could be when we were dating as teens, but…”

  “But what?”

  “But to be honest, all I can think about is the next time we visit your playroom,” Ella’s face was red as a beet.

  We entered the restaurant then, a doorman holding the entry open for us. The hostess smiled from ear to ear as I approached the counter.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Mayne,” she said. “Unfortunately, your favorite table is not available, but I can see about clearing it.”

  “Don’t worry yourself, Jennine,” I said with a smile. “I don’t have reservations, so any table will be fine.”

  “As you wish. Please follow me.”

  Ella and I were seated near the plate glass window looking out on the Big Apple’s busy streets. She unfolded her napkin and placed it across her lap, shooting me a coy smile.

  “I guess the Mayhem Brothers don’t need reservations,” she said. “Does your family own this restaurant or something?”

  I pursed my lips and furrowed my brow. “I don’t know. Probably.”

  She laughed, the sound cut off midway when she realized I wasn’t joking. “This is just surreal,” she said. “I mean, for a while Dad was doing pretty good for himself, but we never could have just walked into a five-star, trendy restaurant and been seated immediately.”

  “There are downsides to having such power,” I said bitterly.

  Ella frowned, leaning forward on her elbows to peer intently at me. “Like what? Having to look over your shoulder constantly?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But that’s not even the worst.”

  “So, what is the worst?”

  I unfolded my napkin and laid it across my lap, chewing over my response. I didn’t want to start a fight, I really didn’t, but at the same time, I felt the need to vent about something that had bothered me for years.