Strider’s Misstep (Mayhem Makers: Wretched Soulz MC)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

KATRINA

THREE YEARS AGO…

W alking into the building, I stop short when I see the main reception desk is empty, with no security guard sitting behind it. Frowning slightly, I realise that the front doors wouldn’t have opened for me had my father’s summons not been legit. Reasoning that today is a Sunday and that presumably his request for my attendance was on a whim, I ignore the feeling in my gut that something is wrong and head toward the elevators, choosing the one that has only one stop, the CEO’s suite on the top floor.

The emptiness of the building holds no concern for me. The layout is familiar and has been so since I was seven. For the first few years of my life, where my father had disappeared during his working day was a mystery, but when the aneurysm had unexpectedly struck my mother and stolen her life, the secret had been revealed, and his workplace had become my second home. Initially struggling to immediately find arrangements for suitable childcare, the day after my mother was buried, he’d brought me with him to the office, passing me off to a frazzled assistant, leaving them to work out what to do with a grief-stricken young girl until he managed to find a live-in nanny to take care of me.

While as a child I was blind to my father’s faults, after all, I’d nothing to compare him with. Even to my young mind it seemed like he was a difficult man to satisfy. Nannies came and went with singular regularity, and each time one walked out, my after-school hours and vacations were spent at a spare desk in his vast office building. I suppose it was lucky for him that I was an obedient, compliant child, content to sit with my books and games to amuse me. And as my father was, and still is, a workaholic, I saw him more at his workplace than at home.

For the past three years, this is the only place where I ever meet him. He doesn’t want to interfere in my new life, or maybe it’s that he doesn’t want to see it up close as he knows he won’t like what he would find. If we need to meet, I come to him.

I’m not complaining. There’s a good reason I like it this way. This building is the one place where my security detail doesn’t follow me inside. They’ve no need to. Barclay knows I’d never betray the only parent I have left in my life, and if I were stupid enough to take advantage of any freedom and use the opportunity to run, my escape would mean my father would die. It’s the threat he’s held over me since the day that I met him. Sometimes, when I don’t think I can bear the way I’m forced to live any longer, the feelings I have for the man responsible for my situation turns to hate. But when all’s said and done, my father is my flesh and blood, and I couldn’t live with myself if any future happiness came at the price of costing him his life.

The elevator has reached the top floor as the toneless announcement informs me, and the doors take that deliberate extra moment, the one in which you have time for a second’s panic as to whether you’re going to be trapped before they finally deign to open with a swish.

As is the reception area below, this level is similarly empty and silent. Again, I’m reminded it’s Sunday. A strange day for my father to summon me to visit, but I’m more intrigued than concerned. I haven’t seen him for a couple of months. It doesn’t much matter whether this is a belated catch-up or if he has something particular to tell me.

I know there are people who probably wonder how I could have ever forgiven him enough to give him the time of day. Believe me, I often ask myself that. I make the excuse for him that he had no idea what he was getting me into, his redemption that I truly don’t believe he knew the depths of depravity Barclay would go to.

His office door is in front of me, and I can hear him clearing his throat inside. Before entering, I linger, my mind slipping back in time, returning to another visit I’d made to him, blissfully ignorant of the changes to come.

I all but danced up the steps into the building, thinking of the good time I’d had last night. I’d met a man I liked and who I could see becoming a boyfriend. We’d exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up., My mind elsewhere as I wonder whether I could make the first move and call him or whether propriety means I should wait for him to make contact, I automatically nod to the security guard minding the desk, smiling when he acknowledges my nonverbal greeting with a polite tilt of his chin. Still lost in my thoughts, I go to the elevator and enter, selecting the penthouse level while crossing my fingers it doesn’t come to an abrupt halt between floors as it had once before. I’m not claustrophobic as such, but being trapped in a ten-by-ten box isn’t my idea of fun.

Luckily, there’s no such delay today, and I step out into the airy reception office, one that’s large and ostentatiously decorated as befits the CEO of an international company. Gloria, my father’s current receptionist, smiles at me as I approach.

I pause for a second, pulling back my shoulders and trying to focus on the here and now, putting last night out of my mind. “Is it okay for me to go straight in?” Dad might have summoned me, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been distracted by more pressing business in the meantime. I’m used to kicking my heels while waiting for him, and in preparation, I even brought a book to read.

But this time, it appears he’s ready for me. “Go straight in.”

I do, still with a spring in my step. That man last night was fine.

My gut clenches at the memory, at the what-might-have-beens. If only I could wave a magic wand and rewind time. I’d tell my younger self to run fast in the other direction, to never open that door.

I might only be three years older, but I feel I’ve aged a decade or more.

As I don’t get much time to myself, getting a glimpse of my father, seeing he’s bent over some paperwork on his desk, clearly engrossed, I sink down onto a seat, putting my head into my hands instead of greeting him.

How had it come to this? As I’d gotten older and seen examples of good parenting from being around my friends, I realised my father and I had never had a close relationship. Now, looking back, I can see my younger self ignoring his shortcomings. I’d lost my mom and did what I could to get the attention of my one remaining parent. Even at twenty-two years old, I was just a child yearning for familial acceptance and affection. Ever an optimist, I was always hoping that this would be the time we’d connect on a personal level.

I’d been a straight-A student, but that was expected. I was the fruit of his loins, after all. I’d just graduated from university with a first-class honours degree in psychology. Ignoring that he’d been too busy to attend my graduation, I’d still hoped that he was proud of me. I hadn’t yet decided on my future and had no idea one was already being laid out for me.

God, what a fool I’d been. Again, I let the memories overwhelm me. Going back to that time when I’d knocked on his office door, still full of innocence, my head filled with dreams of the recently met young man. Entering when his deep voice barked out permission. Closing my eyes, I go back in time, even now wondering whether there was anything I could have said or done to change things.

Stopping on the threshold, I take a moment to examine the man who created me, noticing immediately he looks different today, more dishevelled, less the totally in control businessman I’d grown used to seeing. In my gut, I already know something is wrong.

“Dad?” I say, hesitantly.

“Katrina. Come in.” His voice sounds different—a little shaky, not quite sure of himself. And the glass of amber-coloured liquid instead of a cup of coffee seems wrong. It’s mid-morning and normally far too early for him to be hitting the hard stuff. “Sit.”

Confused and uncertain, I do as instructed, placing my butt on the visitor chair as he stands. He paces back and forth across the room a couple of times before coming to a halt in front of me. He brushes his hands back through his greying hair, then clears his throat as I wait for him to speak. His appearance and attitude are making me nervous.

He glances at me, then looks away. “Business has not been going well.”

I breathe in. It’s the first time he’s ever discussed anything about his work. I start to wonder how bad things are, whether he’s going to cut my allowance, and what I can do to help.

“I…” he coughs again. “I made some bad investments. I owe money.”

I don’t hesitate. “What can I do?” I’ve just graduated, no debts to my name as, of course, my father paid for the tuition and costs. With all the opulence surrounding him, I hadn’t even thought about it twice. But now it seems maybe he overstretched himself and couldn’t really afford it. I’d been selfishly taking some time to myself before entering the job market. But now I’ve got to think like an adult and accelerate finding employment. “I’ll get a job.”

He glances at me incredulously. “You wouldn’t be able to earn enough.” I open my mouth to protest, then shut it, knowing he’s probably right and that it’s only him who knows the size of the black hole in our finances. Raising his glass to his lips, he drains the liquid into his mouth, then picks up the bottle and tops off his glass. I frown, wondering when he turned to drink and worrying about the state of his liver.

After taking yet another large sip, he places the glass down. He starts to speak but only manages a squeak, then again noisily clears his throat. I fidget in my seat. He’s really starting to worry me. Are we going to have to sell our house? Sure, it’s ostentatious and too large for just the two of us, but it’s always been home and holds memories of a happier time with my mother.

“Dad,” I prompt, my voice unsteady. “How are we going to get out of this?”

His eyes narrow, his brow furrows, and he blinks rapidly. I can’t remember him ever looking so sad and unsure of himself. “You’re going to have to help me out. You’ve always been a good girl, Katrina. And now I need you to do what I ask. It’s all been arranged…” His voice trails off.

After a few seconds, I encourage him again. “What has?” There’s a sinking pit in my stomach warning me I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear.

“Your marriage to Barclay Aster.”

What? I’m tempted to wiggle my fingers in my ears to make sure there’s nothing wrong with my hearing. But instead, I ask him to repeat himself. “What did you just say?”

His hands form fists so tight I can see his knuckles turn white. “I was looking for an investor, and Aster stepped up. But the money kept leaking out of the business. I can’t afford to pay him back.” Glancing at me, he then quickly turns away, as if unable to meet my eyes. “Aster’s offered me a deal. He’ll give me more time to pay and reduce the debt owing, but his price is you.”

My mouth drops open. He’s proposing to use me? “I’m not for sale.” I stand, my intention to walk out the door. I’d do a lot to help my father, but sacrificing my life to an unknown man isn’t the way to do it.

“Stop,” he snaps with, enough authority for me to pause. “Barclay Aster isn’t the man I thought he was. He’s got mob connections and has threatened me and you. I’ve got life insurance that means he could recoup his money if I was dead, but living, I’ve nothing else to offer him.”

The “but you” is unspoken. Nothing he says makes me feel any better. “You’re giving me to a gangster?” I open my eyes wide.

Dad’s words flow out fast. “He’s not an actual gangster.” He scoffs, but I’m not convinced of the sincerity of that statement as he continues, “In business, he’s ruthless, but he’s a personable man. He’s promised me he’d treat you well, and I’ve no reason to disbelieve him.”

What could I have done? Don’t all children think their parents want to do their best by them? Of course, the man I’d met the night before played on my mind, but there had been no guarantee that would have gone anywhere. I’d never seen my father so distraught, and I think part of me wanted to impress him, to step up and help him out.

He’d worn me down. I’d never seen my father scared before. He’d convinced me there was no other way to save his business, and as for that threat to his life? What could I have done other than make that fatal decision when I’d agreed to at least meet Barclay?

Prior to the meeting, in my mind, I’d conjured up a man as old as the hills who wasn’t able to get a woman to marry him in the normal way. But I’d been pleasantly surprised to find a man just fifteen years older than me, and much as my father had described him, a personable, affable man. He kept himself in shape and had a rugged handsomeness that wasn’t unattractive. While not quick to smile, on the initial meeting, there wasn’t much to complain about him. He was polite, attentive, and persuasive as he attempted to woo me. He’d successfully pulled the wool over not just my father’s but my own eyes.

Against my better judgment, I gave in to Dad’s pleas, but not without a few caveats and promises I made to myself. I’d gotten the contraceptive implant, which would give me three years before I had to worry about getting pregnant. That would give Dad some time to get his finances sorted out, and, if I found I couldn’t love Barclay, then I could get a divorce and find a man I’d chosen for myself.

I wasn’t a virgin. I hadn’t been saving myself. I knew about sex or thought I had until our wedding night when I got my first glimpse of who the man I’d committed myself to really was. He was both cruel and selfish. Our intimate life was never about me and all about him.

I wanted out almost immediately. But it soon became apparent Barclay had no plans to allow me to leave. He kept me close with death threats to my father and ensured my compliance by giving me a security team that followed me wherever I went.

Except into the building my father owned. After all, Dad’s existence depended on me staying Barclay’s wife, so my husband knew Dad wouldn’t help me escape.

I didn’t pretend. Dad knew how bad my life was.

I never told Barclay I was protected about getting pregnant, even though his one goal in life apparently was to ensure that I carried his baby.

After two years, he blamed me for being barren. He punished me in a way only a cruel man like him could. He allowed any of his men who wanted to to rape me. And, of course, they all did.

Oh God. My breath catches in my chest. How did it come to this? There’s no way out.

“Katrina?” While I’d been lost in my musings, my father had obviously finished whatever document he’d been studying and had noticed me. As I look up, his eyes shutter as he takes in the latest damage to my face that even the most expensive makeup can’t cover. Barclay gave up years ago pretending he treated me with any respect.

“Have you made any progress?” The only news I want from him is that he’s managed to make enough money to cover what he owes. My remaining hope is that if he repays his debt, Barclay will let me go.

His hands shake as he reaches for the inevitable glass of whisky. In the last couple of years, there’s no denying he’s turned to drink, verging just one step away from being an alcoholic. “He keeps adding on more interest.”

I was hoping for a different response. Seeing my father as a shadow of his former self and knowing the decline in myself, I decide there’s nothing to be said, and I rise and go to the door. There’s nothing for me here. I might as well go.

“Wait!” He comes over and places his hand on my shoulder. Without turning me around and speaking to my back, he starts speaking fast. “There’s enough cash in the safe to get you started. You can take the service lift and go out the back way. Along with the money, you’ll find a set of car keys, and outside, there’s a non-descript car that Barclay won’t be looking for…”

What is he saying? I swing around, my mouth opening and shutting before I pull myself together enough to ask. “What are you talking about?” My brain computes his words, and I shake my head when his meaning sinks in. “I can’t leave. If I go, he’ll kill you.”

Dad closes his eyes for a second, then leans down and places his lips to my forehead, lingering for a moment. It’s a tender gesture I don’t remember him doing since I was a kid. He breathes in deeply as though inhaling my perfume, then he quickly steps back. He goes behind his desk and opens a drawer, taking something out.

Before I recognise what it is or have a chance to process what’s about to happen, he states, “Barclay can’t threaten a dead man.” He places the gun to his mouth and pulls the trigger.

A scream bursts out of my mouth. I take an automatic step forward before realising there’s no helping my dad. He’s slumped behind his desk. He might not be moving, but his blood is still trickling down, along with clumps of stuff I don’t want to think about staining the walls.

I’m glued to the spot, my brain having difficulty processing the scene in front of me and that he’s actually gone. I start to shake, and sobs rack my body as I sink to the floor, curling my knees and hugging my arms around them. Rocking back and forth, I try to make sense of what’s happened here today and wait for someone to find me, to help me.

Surely someone heard me scream? That gunshot would have been even louder.

I don’t know how long it is before I remember that it’s Sunday. Dad planned it this way for a reason. There’s no one coming to find me. Once again, he’s abandoned me to my fate.

I’m dazed and in shock. While I scrunch my eyes closed, I’m morbidly drawn to opening them, unable to resist looking again and again at the bloody mess that was my father’s body. I’ve never seen anyone deceased before. As a child, I was considered too young to view my mother after she’d passed.

Slowly, I realise while I’ve no idea what I should be doing, it has to be something. Putting out my hand, with the help of a chair, I get myself up on unsteady legs and begin to reach for the phone when my father’s last words suddenly slam into me.

Money in the safe. Keys to a car.

My brow tightens, and my eyes crease as understanding washes over me. He planned it! He’s given me a chance to escape and taken away the hold that Barclay had over me. Then, a more dire thought slams into my brain. Barclay now has no reason to keep me alive as his money cow is dead. If Dad’s plan doesn’t work, I’ll be worse off than I’ve ever been.

What have you done, Dad? All I want to do is to be able to rewind the last few minutes.

Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you explain? Then I realise, taking his life wasn’t something easy, and if he’d told me what he’d planned, I’d have tried to talk him out of it.

My father’s made many mistakes. Not knowing how to parent and squandering money that brought us to where we are today. Not understanding how cruel a man like Barclay could be. But in the end, however misguided, he’s made the ultimate sacrifice, and that’s a debt I can never repay, especially if I squander the chance he’s given to me. I’ve no option but to get away.

Snap decision made, I go to the safe which is ajar with the contents on show just as he’d said. I take out the money, more cash than I’ve ever seen in my life, and stuff it into my purse. Then I withdraw the keys, searching in vain for a note I hope my father had left for me, some last words of affection or wisdom to see me on my way, but there’s nothing. He obviously had nothing more to say to me.

Surely I should hug my dad? Kiss him? I can’t bring myself to go near him. Anything that made him the man that he was seems to have deserted his body. I resort to standing over him and telling him, despite his faults, that I’ve always loved him. Knowing I can’t waste time, I force myself to turn and leave, unable to hope that it’s not long before someone finds him and that whoever he is treats him with dignity.

My hand shakes as I press the button on the service elevator that takes me straight to the deserted underground parking lot. There’s only one car other than my dad’s there. A pang of sadness goes through me as I remember he’ll never drive his again. Then, before I can break down, I click the fob, and the lights of the second car flash.

It’s a Ford Explorer, not a recent model or flashy. One like a million others on the road. It makes me wonder how much time Dad had spent planning this, and boosts my resolve not to let him down. Everything he’s done is wasted if Barclay finds me.

While time has seemed to slow, when I glance at my watch, only half an hour has passed since I entered the building. I probably have that much time again before my guards come searching for me. No time to waste.

I drive out of the parking garage and carefully exit onto the street, driving in the opposite direction to where my guards will be waiting. Following all the traffic laws so as to bring no attention, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, I leave the city. I continue driving until the tank is nearly empty, top up, grab something to eat even though I don’t feel hungry, and then take to the road again.

The more miles I can put between Barclay and me, the happier I will be.

Katrina Aster, née James, must completely disappear and never be seen again.

I’ll do anything, absolutely anything, to ensure Barclay can never find me.

I won’t waste Dad’s legacy.