CHAPTER FIVE
Victoria
The early morning light danced across me as I lay in the bed. It was unsettling being back here. My father had moved out almost overnight after my mother's death, shutting the house up tight as if that would save us from grieving her loss.
The bed was new, my father had the room outfitted with new furniture, all of which I hated. I assumed it was meant to ease the pain of being not only back in the house but also staying in the room that had been theirs. Whatever his reasons, it wasn't working. If I didn't get out of the house for a while, my grief would consume me.
Climbing out of bed, I padded to the en suite bathroom and flicked the knob to start the shower. My father hadn't wasted any time the day before. All my products lined the shelves, just as I was sure I'd find my clothing hanging in the closet.
I showered quickly and dressed in high-waisted jeans, an old band t-shirt, and sneakers before heading to the kitchen with my phone in hand. Tiffany hadn't texted me last night after I left. I assumed she was likely still sleeping off the alcohol I knew she'd have consumed. She'd be bitchy about it, but I intended to wake her after breakfast. I needed to get the hell out of the manor.
The kitchen was quiet, making it obvious that while my father had changed and updated the furniture, he hadn't felt it necessary to provide staff. The thought of the five men I'd met the night before struggling to make their own meals lightened my mood just a little as I got to work, grabbing the things I'd need to make oatmeal with fresh fruit for myself. My mother had ensured I'd always know how to care for myself, and making even the simple breakfast in my childhood home loosened the knot that had settled in my stomach from being back.
Slicing strawberries while the oatmeal cooked on the stove, I almost forgot that I wasn't alone in the house. The men had cleared away all evidence of their game the night before. It was like I'd dreamed the whole thing. At least until one of them strolled into the kitchen, black basketball shorts slung low on his hips.
"Morning." He smiled. "We didn't properly introduce ourselves last night. I'm Craig."
"Victoria."
"I know." He chuckled, moving toward the cupboard and pulling out a frying pan.
My mouth fell open slightly as I watched him move around, more at ease in a kitchen than I would have expected. My eyes were drawn to the intricate tattoos that covered every inch of his skin, except around his eyes and mouth, and I found myself tracing the lines of the designs with my eyes.
Craig had several facial piercings and ear gauges, adding to his striking appearance. He was well-toned, and his pretty blue eyes almost seemed at odds with his bruiser appearance. I found myself unable to look away. He looked like a thug, not someone who would be at home cooking breakfast.
"Your oatmeal is boiling over." He spoke, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Shit!" I snatched the saucepan with my oatmeal from the burner and glared at it like it was the problem, not the man standing next to my stove.
Craig pulled a carton of eggs and various other fresh ingredients from the fridge. I poured my slightly scorched, lumpy oatmeal into a bowl and topped it with the sliced strawberries and a drizzle of honey. I didn't know what he was cooking, but delicious scents taunted me as I choked down my ruined breakfast. By the time he pulled five plates from the cabinet, I'd decided I'd had enough. Scraping my bowl into the trash, I rinsed it out before placing it in the dishwasher and headed through the house to the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" A deep voice rumbled behind me just as I reached for the handle.
"Out." I replied without bothering to look to see who had spoken.
A tattooed hand reached around me and pushed the door closed as I tried to open it. My eyes followed a blackout tattoo up the man's arm as I turned around to face him. He was close enough that my senses were flooded by the scent of his cologne. I looked up at him, finally getting a good look at his face and physique. His curly brown hair still appeared messy from sleep.
I was able to trace the intricate designs of his tattoo work across his body, from his arms all the way up to his jaw. Only his face remained largely ink-free, making it all the more striking. I noted that he was not as heavily pierced as his friend Craig. Still, the metal in his ears, nose, and nipples added to his intimidating appearance.
"You can't keep me here. I'm not a prisoner."
"You're whatever we say you are." He replied, cocking his head slightly to one side. "Until we're sure of where the threat is coming from, Princess, nobody comes in and nobody goes out without my approval."
Outraged, I shoved against his chest, causing him to stumble back a few steps. "I don't think so, bossy pants. You work for my father, which means you work for me. And I have decided I'm going out."
"My name is Rich, but if calling me 'bossy pants' makes you feel like a big girl, I'll allow it. This time." He chuckled. "But you're mistaken about who's in charge here. Allow me to enlighten you, Princess." He moved toward me, closing the distance until my back was pressed against the door.
He was large and muscular, and even though he was standing still, I could tell he could move quickly if needed. I couldn't deny that he was appealing in a way I hadn't noticed before. This whole house was full of trouble.
"I'm the one in charge here, and you will do what I tell you, when I tell you."
I jumped as he planted both hands beside my head on the door and leaned down until we were at eye level. His deep brown eyes seemed to look right through me. It was as if he was daring me to say something otherwise, and I cursed myself for the way my breath caught in my throat. When did all the oxygen disappear?
"You hear me, Princess?"
"Fuck you, bossy pants." I said, but the words didn't have the bite I wanted them to.
He chuckled darkly, raising an eyebrow as his gaze dipped to my lips. "Gladly, Princess. When you've earned it. Now run along to the kitchen. If you ask nicely, I'm sure we can even get you something worth eating."
I growled lightly and pushed past him. No way in hell was I going to sit in the kitchen with them. Instead, I headed back toward the master suite as I dialed Tiffany. She answered on the third ring.
"It, like, better be life or death, bitch. I'm too hungover for you to call me this early." She groaned.
"These guys won't let me leave the house." I whined as I plopped face down on the bed.
"What?" Tiffany screeched. "Are they, like, holding you hostage or something?"
"You could say that."
"Fuck that. Give me, like, thirty and I'll be there."
"Tiff," I cautioned. "Rich said nobody can come in either."
"Like that's gonna stop me. I'm a Humphreys, for god's sake. My father practically owns, like, this whole city."
"Please don't. I just needed to vent."
"Like, shouldn't have called me so damned early then. Besides, I saw the one on the news, I gotta know if the other four are just as tasty man-candy as he is. Love you, bitch, see you in, like, a bit." She hung up before I could protest further.
A knock at my door stopped me from hitting redial.
"Victoria, it's Craig. I brought you breakfast. That oatmeal didn't look very appetizing." He sounded almost apologetic as he called to me through the door.
I groaned but couldn't find the desire to be as angry with him as I was with his more arrogant friends. I debated answering because I also didn't want to talk to them.
"I'll just leave it out here for you. You still gotta eat. Might as well eat something good."
I listened as his footsteps retreated. Once I was sure he was gone, I retrieved the dish from outside my door and had to pick my jaw up off the floor. Two beautifully done eggs florentine sat on the plate, covered with a decadent smokey mornay sauce. I didn't make it back to the sitting area before I had to try it. It had no right to be as good as it was.
Thirty minutes later, the front doorbell rang. I abandoned my dirty dish on the dresser and raced through the house, hoping to beat the guys to the front door. Instead, I found the one who'd been wearing a hoodie the night before staring Tiffany down as she scowled at him over the threshold.
"Thank god, there you are Tory. This one's got, like, crazy eyes and he's refusing to let me in. I am so not in the mood for this shit."
"Can you let her in, please?" I asked.
He turned his face toward me, a strange grin pulling at his lips. It looked like I was getting a good look at all of my captors today. His bright blue eyes glinted mischievously as he scanned me up and down.
"No dice, ma petit démone . Rich said no visitors." His voice was laced with humor. Heavily tattooed like the rest, his ink was on full display this morning. The details were amazing, from the moth on his neck to the all-seeing eye and others. Real skill went into every piece. The large gauges in his ears added to his rebellious look.
"Fuck that," Tiffany snorted, pushing her way past him. Or rather, he moved aside for her because she wouldn't have been able to move him if she tried. He wasn't as large as bossy pants but muscular and lithe. His whole being seemed to reek of mischief and something very close to dangerous.
"This is Tory's house. Her house, her rules, and she said I can come in."
He closed the door behind her before shrugging and extending a hand for her to shake. "Leighton, AKA crazy eyes."
Tiffany's lips curled into a sneer as she looked down her nose at his proffered hand. "At least you seem to know when to back off."
The youngest of the five men turned the corner just as Tiffany turned to face me. His eyes flicked over her before focusing on Leighton. "Rich isn't gonna like this, L."
"What's he gonna do, Joey? Fight me?" Leighton replied, clutching his abdomen as he doubled over in laughter. "Your big brother hasn't been able to take me since we were kids." He continued to wheeze, whipping tears of laughter from his eyes.
I scanned my gaze across the younger man. He looked a bit like Rich but was definitely not his elder brother. His short brown hair looked soft, and his brown eyes were warm and kind. As I noted the night before, he was the second most heavily tattooed, but he wasn't intimidating. Even his elegantly scripted 'Inspire' above his right eye lent an air of compassion. His form was agile and spoke of speed rather than raw strength. He might not have been a bruiser, but he moved with a sort of effortless grace.
Ignoring the guys, Tiffany slipped her arm through mine. "Please tell me daddy had the pool prepared. I, like, desperately need some sun today." I didn't have a chance to respond before a familiar dark chuckle came from behind me, much closer than it should have been.
"I did, but I'm pretty sure I said no company." Rich said, stepping into view around me.
"Yeah, I heard you, bossy pants. But I don't care. Come on, Tiff. I could use a break from swimming in the testosterone ocean myself." I grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the trio of men crowding our space and making my skin tingle. I looked back over my shoulder and stuck my tongue out at them.
"Rich?" Joey asked as we walked away.
"Let the Princess have her fun. Az will keep an eye on them."
There was an edge to his voice as I shut the door behind me that held a promise I didn't want to name.