Pledged To Him 16 (His Sorority Harem)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

What the hell was Jessamyn Fawkes doing on my doorstep?

The blonde stood frozen in the Ring camera footage, one high heel perched on the welcome mat as she glanced up and down the street. The top right corner of my phone told me it was just after two in the morning. Way too late for a social call.

Not that someone like Jessamyn would have been welcome at the Avery Residence to begin with.

I never thought I’d see Jessamyn Fawkes again.

Technically, I’d never seen her in the flesh—only over Zoom, back when she was chairing the meeting of Delta Rho’s national leadership where Samantha faced potential expulsion as president of the Stillwell chapter of the sorority.

She’d lost, but in the losing I’d had to learn all sorts of unpleasant truths about the history Delta Rho’s queen bee had with my babygirl—and her narcissist parents.

So our family had multiple reasons to hate Jessamyn. Trying to get Samantha removed from her post was the least of it. To see her standing at my front door in Boston in the middle of the night was almost beyond the pale. It felt like a nightmare.

As I watched, Jessamyn peered up into the camera. Her fist rapped the door, short and sharp.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, her voice quiet and clear. The night-vision effect on the camera made her eyes look a wild animal’s. “This is the only time I could be sure that I wouldn’t be followed. Please open the door.”

Call the police, a little voice whispered in the back of my brain. Whatever this woman wants, it cannot possibly be anything good.

I thought about it. As I did, I glanced over at the trio of sleeping women in my bed.

No. Calling the cops would wake them up. Cause a scene.

And all of them needed their rest for the morning—especially Yukiko.

My princess had a date with Morning Harbor, Boston’s premiere AM televised talk show.

Kiki was going to present our case to the world—fifteen minutes of conversation and interview questions, intended to knock the wind out of the sails of the Everything’s A Cult podcast and their ‘expose’ on my unconventional family.

To make us look like normal, decent people, instead of the awful thing Victoria Ruocchio was trying to make us out to be.

And half the reason we had to do that was because Jessamyn herself had been the podcast’s special guest.

My gaze lingered on Samantha. The blonde snored quietly, the covers bunched up around her lower back.

Above the waist, she was completely topless.

Also, I thought, if Sam sees Jessamyn Fawkes standing in our living room, we might have to call the cops after all. Because there’ll have been a homicide.

There absolutely would. Samantha would see Jessamyn Fawkes standing on the welcome mat at 2 AM, and Samantha would tear that woman apart with her bare hands.

And the only thing in this house I cared about more than my wives' safety was my wives' peace.

So I’d let them sleep. The last thing we needed was to turn our family home into a crime scene.

I threw on an old dress shirt—making a mental note to put it back over the chair when I returned to bed so Yukiko could wear it in the morning the way she loved to do—and slipped out of the master bedroom, buttoning it as I walked.

My phone buzzed with another notification from the Ring app as I made my way down the stairs. Jessamyn must have been antsy. Under the circumstances, I couldn’t blame her.

The thought of grabbing some kind of weapon flickered through my mind as I cut through the living room.

But it didn’t feel necessary. There was no car parked out in front of our house—if Jessamyn Fawkes was acting as bait to bring out some of Miss Ruocchio’s hired goons, she was doing a terrible job of it.

And not to be morbid, but something told me that if Victoria did resort to those tactics, she could guarantee there’d be no knock on the door. I wouldn’t get a warning.

No, Jessamyn had come alone. To my house. At two in the morning.

Why?

I was about to find out.

Her silhouette paced silently back and forth on the other side of the glass. I put a hand on the bolt, braced myself, and opened the door.

She was shorter than I’d expected.

Maybe it was the way she loomed large in Samantha’s subconscious, but I’d always imagined Jessamyn Fawkes as being quite a bit taller than my babygirl.

Samantha was the shortest member of my harem, a half-inch shorter than even Yukiko herself, and a quick glance at Jessamyn Fawkes told me this woman would probably stand directly between the two women on a height ranking.

She wore a thick white coat with pearl buttons and black heels, her long blonde hair tied into a utilitarian ponytail.

Not for the first time, it struck me how closely she resembled Samantha.

Her nose was a little sharper and her features less defined, but a casual observer looking at the two might have assumed Jessamyn was her older sister—a fact which never failed to turn my stomach when I thought about the things Jessamyn did with Samantha’s parents.

She’d been my babygirl’s best friend once, and the two of them might even have ended up in a relationship together if the future president of Delta Rho’s national organization hadn’t betrayed her. Now Samantha hated her more than just about anyone on Earth.

If I’d thought she’d come to apologize, I was wrong.

Jessamyn didn’t look sorry. And she didn’t look like she’d come to gloat, either.

She looked a woman who’d come to make a deal.

“Mr. Avery.” Jessamyn relaxed a fraction, like she’d been worried no one would come to the door. “I thought I drove all the way out here for nothing. I thought no one was going to come down.”

“I almost didn’t,” I said, trying to keep the growl out of my voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

When Jessamyn spoke, her voice was practiced and low and almost embarrassingly steady. “We need to talk,” she said. “About the podcast. About all of it.”

I didn't move. A chilly wind blew in from the stoop, sending a finger of ice down my spine. The foyer light threw a long rectangle of yellow across the welcome mat at Jessamyn’s feet, lighting up the embroidered AVERY like a tiny beacon.

“You’re lucky I don’t slam this door in your face,” I said at last. “It is two in the morning—”

“I know. This is the only time I could get away. The only time I could be sure she wouldn’t have me followed.”

She? Oh hell, I knew who that had to be a reference to.

“Victoria Ruocchio,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. Almost reflexively, I leaned forward, glancing past the bundled up woman and out into the street. “You’re sure you weren’t followed?”

Streetlamps stretched down both sides of the avenue. Other than the cars I recognized from the other residents of the neighborhood, I saw nothing out of the ordinary besides a little compact I felt certain had to belong to Jessamyn herself. Everything else belonged to a neighbor.

A remarkably un-pretentious car for such a highly-placed woman.

“I’m not sure,” Jessamyn said. Then, in a whisper: “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” I muttered. “Leave before I call the police, Miss Fawkes.”

Jessamyn stiffened. “I didn’t do the podcast because I wanted to,” she blurted, wringing her hands. “Jack, you’ve got to listen to me—”

“You and I are not on a first-name basis,” I said. “I don’t know what insane urge possessed you to come bother my family in the middle of the night, Miss Fawkes, but if you know what’s good for you you’ll turn around and leave right now.”

“I need your help,” Jessamyn blurted. “She’s blackmailing me. Hell, I think she might kill me!”

Kill her? The thought startled me, but didn’t change the calculus.

“I don’t have a single reason in the world to help you,” I said, letting some of the scorn I felt for her slip into my voice.

“Or to believe a single word you say. You broke Samantha’s heart, betrayed her trust, and tried to get her kicked out of her own sorority.

And that’s before you went on a nationally-syndicated podcast to talk shit about me and my family—”

“I’ll retract what I said,” Jessamyn begged. “Publicly.”

I paused.

Jessamyn’s expression collapsed. “Jack—Mr. Avery—please. Give me five minutes. Let me explain. I can help you take that woman down.”

I thought about it. I really, really did.

For about two seconds.

“Hell no,” I grunted, already reaching for the doorknob. “Now leave, and count yourself lucky that Samantha didn’t hear you—”

“She has something on Daniel Ramsey!”

My hand froze on the doorknob.

Daniel. Marcie’s father. My mentor. The man who’d given me twenty million dollars to start my own firm and take down the venture capitalists who’d stolen his name and his life’s work.

Victoria was going after Daniel!?

Jessamyn clapped a hand over her mouth. The words came out far louder than she’d intended—almost by reflex, both she and I glanced up at the second-story window. I craned my neck back into the living room, heart pounding. If one of my wives had heard…

Nothing happened. We were safe—for now.

Jesus. If I don’t do something about this woman she’s going to wake the neighbors.

“What does she have on Daniel?” I demanded.

Jessamyn was already shaking her head. “I don’t know. I just know she’s been crowing about it.”

I frowned. “Then this is pointless—”

“I don't know what it is,” Jessamyn whispered. “I swear I don’t. But I know she has it, and I know that whatever it is, she thinks it’s her ace in the hole. That it’s going to blow up big enough to ruin your company.”

Fuck. Fuck. That sounded very, very bad.

“I can get it for you,” Jessamyn said, her eyes shining with desperation. “I will tell you exactly how I’m going to get it for you, Mr. Avery.” She glanced over her shoulder once more, as if afraid we were being watched. “Just not on this porch.”