Possession (The Manarch Trilogy #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Ava

“ D ad, what happened?” My voice catches in my throat as I walk into the apartment and see him laying on the couch. His shirt is bloody, and his right eye is swollen shut. After putting my purse down, I grab a bag of frozen peas from the kitchen. “Talk,” I demand as I hand him the peas.

“I’m fine, Pumpkin. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing. Have you been gambling again?” His silence tells me everything I need to know. “You promised, Dad. You said you were done. That you weren’t going to do it anymore. You promised me. Did you forget what happened last time? You were beaten within an inch of your life. I… I nearly lost you.” Tears roll down my face. I wanted to believe him when he said he’d change. I always do, but he disappoints me every single time. He thinks only of himself and not what he puts me through.

“It’s not what you think. I had it, Pumpkin. I was winning. The odds were in my favor. One more hand and I was going to cash in. We would be set for months. Maybe even longer. You wouldn’t have had to work two jobs.”

“Hand?” I desperately strive to maintain control of my voice as my anger rises. “Just one more hand? That’s the story every single time. You don’t think about what happens next. Everything is about the moment.” I sit in an attempt to stay calm. “Where were you?” He looks away, telling me everything I need to know. He doesn’t need to answer me. But I want to be wrong. I hope I’m wrong. “Dad!”

“I was with Benny. Everything was under control. I swear, Pumpkin, they set me up.” He fixes me with his good eye, the peas still pressed against the other.

A parent shouldn’t put their child through the shit he puts me through. Sometimes I feel like I’m the parent. I am the only one who cares.

“Where?” My teeth are clenched, and it’s taking everything I have not to scream at him.

“Bluehorn,” he replies sheepishly.

“Fuck.”

“Pumpkin—”

“Don’t ‘Pumpkin’ me.” I can’t believe he’s been so stupid. “Of all the places, did you really have to go there? He warned you, Dad. He told you he’d kill you if you went back.”

“I wasn’t betting with Joe’s money.” Dad is no longer looking at me, and I feel nausea rise.

“Whose money then, if not your bookie’s? I need to know who would be stupid enough to give you money.” I am no longer sitting. I am pacing, struggling not to say anything I might regret. I am pretty sure I don’t want to know. Odds are, I’m not going to like his answer. Whatever name he gives me will be worse than Joe's. “Whose money?” I am standing over him now, forcing him to look at me. “No one is dumb enough to lend you a dime.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everything is fine. I’ll fix it.”

Now I know I need to worry. His avoidance of the question worries me, now I know it’s bad. Who could it be?

I throw my arms in the air in frustration. “How is a black eye and bloody shirt okay?”

He is quiet, staring at the floor, and looks pathetic.

“I want to know. I deserve to know.” We both know I’m the one who will pay it off because I’m always the one to pay it off. He has nothing.

“I’ll pay the money back. You don’t have to worry,” he speaks so quietly I can hardly hear him.

“Why are you dodging the question? I need to know because this affects me too.” I cross my arms, but he still won’t look at me.

Finally, he whispers, “The Manarch Clan.”

I can’t believe it. He borrowed money from the most ruthless family known to man. The Manarch Clan are the Scottish Mafia, and they run New York City. They don’t care about anyone.

I pace again.

“How much?” I rub my temple.

“One hundred thousand.”

I stop pacing and look at him. I don’t think I heard him right. It’s not possible. It is a ridiculous amount. Surely, he wouldn’t be so stupid.

“Let me get this straight. You owe the mafia one hundred thousand dollars ?”

“Yes,” he replies, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

I put my face in my hands. I have to ask, but I don’t think I’ll like the answer. “What’s the timeline?”

“Seven days,” he mutters weakly.

I shake my head, hoping I’ll wake up from this nightmare. Unfortunately, I see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth.

For both our sakes, I leave the apartment. If I speak now, I won’t be able to measure my words, and I’ll probably say something I regret. He’s my father, and I owe him respect, even if he doesn’t deserve it.

He calls my name, but I ignore him. There’s nothing he can say that will make this right. His foolishness makes me wonder if he cares about me at all. If he truly did, he wouldn’t do this to me.

I close the door, putting distance between us. I need space to think. I was already exhausted from a full shift at the boutique. I intended to come home and get a few hours of rest before my shift at the club. I work fifty hours at the boutique and four nights at the club as a waitress, and I still don’t earn enough. We barely survive paycheck to paycheck, and we’re drowning in debt. Any money Dad touches is gone before it reaches his pocket. Does he care about the consequences of his actions and how his gambling does not just affect him? I’m the one taking care of everything, including his debts. I am his personal ATM. I earn money, and he spends it. I am still paying Joe one hundred dollars a week until I pay off the five thousand Dad owes. That might not seem like a lot to some people, but for us, it’s the difference between eating or being homeless.

Where am I supposed to get one hundred thousand dollars? I can’t even picture that much money in one place, let alone in my dad’s hands. Why would anyone in their right mind loan him so much money? Everyone knows about his gambling problem. They also know he’s a terrible player who never wins. Perhaps they give him the money because he’s an easy target.

Most people don’t lend him money because they feel sorry for me. Shit, I feel sorry for me. I don’t know what to do or where to start, and before I know it, I’m in front of Nathan’s building. We’ve been dating on and off for the last three years. I ring the bell, but he doesn’t answer. It is six, so he’s probably taking a shower before going to work.

Taking my keys, I open the door to his apartment, and hear the shower running. This is exactly what I need, a steamy session to release this stress. But then I spot the stilettos, followed by a red bra, leather pants, and a top.

I can’t believe he’s done it again.

I’m tired of his lies and bullshit, and I refuse to waste any more time with him. I take a picture of the clothes leading to the bathroom, leave the keys on the counter, and text him the picture.

He should get the idea.

Everything around me is falling apart, and I can’t catch a break. Every man in my life is sucking the life out of me, and I’m left in despair. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I didn’t exactly expect Nathan to do anything. He is useless, but I wanted a little emotional support. I guess some people never change. I can’t believe I took him at his word when he begged me to forgive him, saying he regretted everything he put me through last time and that he loved me. Against my better judgment, I believed to him.

I should have listened to my gut instead.

It doesn’t matter how upset I might be with my dad, he is my only family, and we must be there for each other. When Mom walked out, she left us with nothing, and he did the best he could with what he had until his gambling became an addiction. I need a plan to deal with this.

One week. It is insane.

I walk to a nearby park to sit and think. There I realize there’s only one thing I can do. I need to meet with the leader of the Manarch Clan and work out a deal. Maybe he’ll give me some sort of payment plan.

Shit, this fucking sucks.

Fuck it, I’ll demand a deal to pay off the debt. It is the only move I have.

I walk to the restaurant where the Manarch Clan are often found, smack in the middle of the city. No one dares to say it aloud, but everyone knows who they are. The Manarch Clan are Mafia, and they own the streets. Neither the Italians nor the Irish have anything on them.

Less than one hundred feet from the front door, my heart starts racing. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can do this. If I show fear, they’ll eat me alive.

I open the door—too late to turn back now. I can’t back out. I am already here and don’t have any other options.

With my head held high, I saunter to the hostess stand. The restaurant is loud and filled with people, and I’m pretty sure this is a huge mistake. I might not make it out of here alive, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t let them kill Dad. He’s all I’ve got.

“Welcome. How can I help you?” A young blonde greets me, glaring at me like I’ve lost my mind. I’m still wearing my work clothes from the boutique, and I clearly don’t fit in here.

“I’m here to see Mr. Manarch,” I mumble.

“Who? You need to speak up, sweetie,” she says with a laugh.

“I said I’m here to see Mr. Manarch.” I obviously speak loud enough this time because the room instantly quiets, and my voice carries.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I reply, annoyance clear on my face. All the men are gawking at me, and I feel exposed.

“He’s not available. If you would like to?—”

“Let her in,” a deep voice interrupts.

My eyes follow the voice. I’ve never seen a man like him before. He is tall, at least six foot four inches, and holds himself like an athlete. His charcoal gray suit fits his body perfectly, his Santoni black leather loafers are polished to within an inch of their life, and, despite being tieless, his crisp white shirt completes the package.

With his coiffed dark hair and five o’clock shadow, he looks like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. His hazel eyes are like bottomless pools, drawing me in and holding me in place. He’s the type of man my mom would have warned me about, were she still around. The type of man I shouldn’t be speaking to. He looks about thirty-two, nowhere near old enough to run the Mafia.

Surely he’s not Mr. Manarch.

I take a deep breath and start walking.

There’s no going back now.