Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ELSIE
Why are they home? They aren’t supposed to be home for a couple of days. I quickly step out of the door to the basement and lock it. Taking a deep breath, I try to plaster a neutral expression on my face before I walk into the kitchen, where my mother is already opening a bottle of wine. Her eyes flicker up to mine, nothing but bitter distaste in her gaze.
“I thought you were going for the weekend?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.
“Your father got a call that required us to turn right around and come home,” she says before taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes look me up and down. “Why do you look like that?” she asks, her voice laced with her usual venom.
I look down at myself and shrug. “I’m just in my normal clothes.”
“Not your clothes, your face. You’ve done something to your face,” she snaps.
My hands automatically go to my face. I haven’t put any make-up on today or done anything differently.
She walks towards me, her eyes narrowing as she comes to a stop just in front of me. “You’re up to something. I can see it in your eyes, in your flushed cheeks. You better not be embarrassing me or your father. You know how he gets if you do something he doesn’t approve of,” she warns.
I give her a curt nod, knowing exactly how he can be, still having the scars as a reminder. She looks me up and down one last time. “Get changed out of that ridiculous outfit. You look like a slut,” she spits before sauntering off, drinking her wine.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I try to not break, to not let her words destroy me like they used to.
“I don’t care if you think they won’t be coming this weekend! I want the assurance that I am safe!” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen with Layton and his minions hot on his heels. I am about to slink away when my dad’s eyes land on mine. “Princess!” he exclaims, a smile on his face. I hate it when he calls me that. He only ever does it in front of others. Again, a false show for everyone else’s benefit. I plaster on a fake smile as he pulls me into his arms, my body stiff against his. He leans back smiling, but I don’t miss the look of warning in his gaze. Do not show him up in front of anyone. He turns to face Layton and the others, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Isn’t my daughter the most beautiful young woman?!” he yells, acting the proud father. The tips of his fingers dig into my arm, the continuous warning of what he will do if I step out of line. I play the dutiful daughter and smile. Layton’s eyes sweep over my body, his eyes lingering over my breasts.
“She is beautiful, boss,” Layton agrees, nodding.
I recoil at his words and the look in his eyes. As I clear my throat, I want to take the attention away from me. “Is everything okay, Daddy?” I ask in that sickly sweet way I know he likes. I want to gag just saying the words.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Nothing, just some silly bikers thinking they can threaten me. Don’t you worry, I will stamp them out, just like I always do.” He places a kiss on the top of my head.
I keep my expression one of concern, rather than worry or excitement that they might be coming for him. “Oh, I’m sorry Daddy. Will we be okay? Do you need me to help in any way?” I ask. When in reality, I only want to find out more information. If they are coming for Scar, then I can get a message to him, tell him to be prepared.
“Always thinking of others, that is my little girl,” he praises. “I may need you to help in the office while we are dealing with this, and also keep the guys hydrated and fed,” he says with a smile. I smile back while screaming in my head ‘ sexist fucking pig!’ Forgetting that he taught me how to shoot, how to fire a cross bow, how to use a blade in a fight, I could tackle each and every one of his men right now. Instead, I stick to the rules, to the act, to how he wants me to behave, remembering what happens when I step out of those boundaries. “You could make us your famous cookies. I know all of us will appreciate them,” he says, giving me another squeeze. His cell rings and he removes his arm from my shoulder. “What?” he barks down the phone. “You find out what they are planning. I will not have them outsmarting me! Me!” he yells as he walks out of the kitchen. The other guys follow behind like the good little lap dogs they are, all except Layton who stops next to me.
I freeze as I look up at him, hating him with every fibre of my being. He was a friend of my brother’s, and they tormented me. He made me do things no teenage girl should ever be forced to do.
As he reaches for a lock of my hair, I flinch. He smiles, tracing his fingertips along my temple down to my jaw before gripping my jaw tightly in his hands. “I’m going to take you on a date, and you will come with me. It will please your father, and it will please me. Then if you’re a good little girl, I might let you suck my cock,” he whispers quietly in my ear.
“No,” I say through gritted teeth.
He smiles against my cheek. “Keep telling me no. You know how I like it when you try to fight me. When you beg me to stop,” he sneers. I fight everything within me, wanting nothing more than to run in fear, but I stand still, unmoving, my face void of emotion. I’ve learnt over the years that it’s best to just accept it and move on. If I fight or run in fear, it only excites him more. “Good girl. Be ready for 7 and wear something slutty,” he orders before walking out to follow my father.
I don’t move. I wait, making sure that he’s definitely gone. Once I can no longer hear him or see him, I let out a slow breath. Bracing my hands on the counter, I don’t want to go out with him. I do not want to be alone with him. I pray for someone to attack, or for some kind of major issue that forces Layton to work.
I quickly go about making the cookies my father had requested, the entire time my thoughts trailing to Scar down in the basement, hoping and praying for his and my sake that he managed to hide everything I had given him. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if my father found out I was being nice to Scar. He would see it as the ultimate betrayal.
After the cookies are ready and still warm from the oven, just how my father likes them, I carry a tray of them to his office, pausing to knock lightly on his door. Another thing I learned at a young age, do not knock too loudly and interrupt what he is doing. Knock just light enough so not to disturb, but loud enough so he can hear.
“Yes?” he barks. I carefully open the door to his office and see Layton is sat on the small couch, a glass of vodka in his hand. He always drank neat vodka when he was stressed.
I force a small smile on my lips, holding out the tray. “I made you those cookies, Daddy,” I tell him softly.
He stands from behind his desk and walks around, taking one from the top of the pile. After taking a bite, he moans and smiles, looking down on me with contentment. It’s a look that I don’t receive often. There was a time I would make him these cookies just to get that look from him. It’s only been the past couple of years since I gave up trying, realising that he would never truly look at me with love or affection.
“These are exactly what I need,” he says with a grin. He wraps his arm around my shoulders, while I still stand there holding the tray. “Now, I hear that Layton is taking you out. I think that is a fantastic idea. Why don’t you go get changed now and then he can take you out?” my father suggests.
“Eugene, I wouldn’t want to finish work early, especially with everything going on,” Layton says, his lips practically fused to my dad’s ass. I silently pray to any god that would listen, asking them to make me ill, make me throw up right now so I don’t have to go out. I would even take diarrhoea at this point. I’m sure having the uncontrollable shits would put Layton off wanting to take me out.
“Of course not, you’ve worked hard today. You’ve earned an extra break,” my father says with a grin.
Unfortunately, no god appears to be hearing my prayers.
Layton stands and knocks back the last of his vodka. “Go change, Elsie. I will wait for you,” he orders with a smile and a glint in his eye.
My stomach recoils, but I hold it together and force a smile on my lips, nodding my head. I place the cookies on the side table and leave, walking upstairs to my room. After I shut the door, I close my eyes, willing back the tears, the gut wrenching emotions that constantly threaten to escape.
After a moment, I open my eyes and quickly move to my wardrobe, pulling out a simple emerald green dress. Layton said slutty, and I don’t really own anything slutty, but this is as close as it gets. It’s a sweetheart neckline, body con fitted dress, with capped sleeves that stop just above my knees. If I was going on a date with anyone else, I would put more effort in, but I didn’t want to go. I slipped on the dress, leaving my hair down. I don’t bother reapplying my make up. I just add some of my natural lip gloss and spritz some perfume on before finding my heels. Once I’ve chucked them on, I grab my purse, put my cell in it, and head downstairs.
Layton is stood at the bottom of the stairs talking to a few of my father’s men. Their eyes land on me and I shift uncomfortably. Layton turns around, following their gaze and smiles. His eyes roam over my body, making me want to turn away before he takes a step toward me as I reach the bottom step and slips his hand around my waist.
“See, you can look good,” he whispers in my ear. Keeping his arm around me, his hand lowers to my behind and I flinch, wanting to push him off me but I don’t. I don’t push back, and I don’t fight him. It will only make things worse. He parades me past my father’s men, like I’m some fucking prized trophy. I’m just a pawn in his scheme to take over from my father. “Get in,” he orders before walking around the side of his truck. I open the door and climb in. Once in, he turns to me. “I hope what you are wearing underneath is just as appealing as that dress,” he states, heat burning in his eyes.
He drives me to a bar on the other side of town. I am overdressed and feel out of place. People look and stare at me, and I know that is what he wanted. He wanted people to look. He wanted to make me feel awkward because he knows I would hate it. While he loves it, he thrives off the attention. As he guides us to a table, my eyes lock on a group of men in the corner. Rather, it’s their jackets that catches my attention. The Black Hearts MC, Scar’s club. Layton obviously doesn’t notice them. He orders us both a drink, himself a steak, and me a salad. I don’t get a choice, and it would piss him off if I told him otherwise.
The waitress brings over our drinks and I take a sip of the white wine, scrunching up my face. “What wine is this?” I ask.
“A sweet white wine,” he answers.
I hate sweet wine. It reminds me of being a child and trying wine for the first time. “Thank you,” I smile and lie. He nods, happy with my response. His eyes wander over to a table of women to our left, his eyes alight with appreciation. I roll my eyes, although this would be a great distraction for me to go speak to Scar’s club. However, I’m not sure what I would say. One of the women give him a smile and Layton winks at her, loving the attention. I push my chair back and stand. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” I tell him.
“Sure,” he says, not even looking my way. I grab my bag and walk towards the bathroom, right towards the Black Hearts MC.
I try to look at their patches, to see who to speak to. That’s when I spot the President patch. I quickly glance over my shoulder to make sure Layton isn’t looking, to see that he’s busy chatting to the women. As I lightly grab his forearm, feeling powerful muscle underneath, I try not to gasp in fear.
“Not interested,” he growls.
Looking into his eyes, fear prickles along my spine. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out. His eyes are so cold, so menacing, I’m scared to look away. I’m terrified I’ve made an awful mistake.
“Sc-Scar,” I stutter in a whisper.
His gaze narrows. “What did you fucking say?” he asks, his voice low and threatening.
I swallow, glancing a look over his shoulder to Layton. Seeing him still chatting away, I muster up every ounce of courage. “I have seen Scar, but I can’t talk here,” I tell him firmly, although I swear he can hear my knees knocking in terror. I let go of his forearm and continue to walk down the hall past the ladies. I turn a corner to keep out of view. He follows, but so do a couple of others. I look at their patches, and one says VP Spider, and the other Acid. I look at the one called Spider. “You killed my brother,” I blurt out on a whisper, not meaning to voice that thought. It was the wrong thing to say as the President wraps his hand around my throat.
“Your father sent you?” he hisses.
I shake my head no. “No, no. I’m here on a date. If my father knew I was talking to you, he would kill me,” I rush out. My heart is thumping so loudly in my chest, I’m sure they can hear it. I look to Spider. “I hated my brother and I’m glad he’s dead,” I tell him truthfully. Surprise etches his face, but he quickly hides it. I turn my attention back to the one with his hand around my neck. “He’s okay,” I tell him. “They haven’t treated him well, and he’s lost a lot of weight, but I sneak down and bring him food and water when I can.” I pause. “He nearly had the chance to escape just earlier today, but?—”
His grip tightens around my neck, restricting my airway. “What do you mean he had the chance to escape?” he seethes.
“He wouldn’t do it. Said that my father would just come after you all, and your partners and children,” I rasp. His grip loosens, but he still doesn’t remove his hand from my neck. “Whatever you think you have planned, my father knows about it, or he knows something. He was supposed to be away and came back early because of whatever it was,” I rush out. His face remains angry.
“Give me your phone,” Spider states, holding out his hand.
I hand him my bag, and he pulls my phone out, holding to my face to unlock it. He types away, then places it back in my bag. “I’ve put my number in there under the name Jane,” he states.
“Don’t message me. He, he tracks my phone. He has some app or something linked to my phone. He looks at everything I do,” I breathe, panicked. “He will know I’ve added a new number tonight.”
“Then you tell him you met a friend in the fucking toilets. That’s what you women do, right?” he snaps. I’m not sure whether to answer or not, so I just keep my mouth shut. “When you get to see him, call us,” he states firmly before nudging the President. “Ghost, let her go, man,” he suggests.
Ghost slowly releases his grip. “If I find out you are lying to us, I will wrap my hands around your throat again, but this time I won’t let go,” Ghost warns. “If it turns out you’ve actually been helping him, then I will fucking apologise, but as it stands, I fucking hate your cunt of a father and anything or anyone associated with him,” he explains, or at least I think it’s a sort of explanation as to why he’s just pinned me by my throat.
My hand automatically clasps around my throat. “I understand,” I say with a nod. Glancing out the door, I look down the hall. “I have to go, or he will wonder where I am.” I pause, looking at them to see if they need anything else from me.
“Go. Call us,” Ghost states. I nod and quickly run back down the hall, past the rest of the Black Hearts MC who eye me sceptically as I pass and head back to the table. Our food is already there when I sit back down.
“I’m so sorry, there was a poor girl in the toilets. Her boyfriend got a bit handsy and I was helping her out,” I lie as I take a sip of the awful wine.
Layton’s eyes narrow as they focus on my neck. “Your neck is all red,” he points out.
I place my drink down and clear my throat. “Like I said, he got a bit handsy,” I state. Layton’s eyes darken and he moves his jacket to the side, placing his hand on his gun. My heart beats wildly in my chest as panic sets in.
“That mother fucker, where is he? I will fucking end him. Doesn’t he know who you are?” he fumes, about ready to get up from his chair.
I quickly reach across the table and grab his arm. “No, please don’t. He’s gone now. One of the bar staff saw to it and he ran off. I’m fine, and I really don’t want it to spoil our evening.” I smile sweetly, but he still doesn’t look convinced, so I say the only thing I can think of that I know will get his full attention. Even though my stomach drops at the thought. “Please, let’s just go. Layton, I want you. I want you to help me forget that awful moment,” I say in the best sultry voice I can, even though I’m fighting the bile in my throat as I say it.
His eyes darken and he smiles as he lowers himself down fully in his chair and clicks his fingers for the bill.