3. Riley
3
RILEY
S taring at myself in the mirror, I take in the cheap black dress that stretches across my collarbones, hugs my chest before flaring out at my hips, and falls to just below my knee. It makes my already pale skin appear ghostly, and my bloodshot eyes are like something out of a vampire movie.
My hand rests over my queasy stomach. You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.
Spinning, I clap my hand over my mouth. Nope, maybe I can’t do this. Sweat breaks out along my skin, and I breathe through my mouth to quell the nausea.
Since the morning after I woke up to the reality that my daughter had been sold on the black fucking market, I’ve been numb. Barely existing. I move, eat, shower, and sleep, but it’s all done on autopilot—an automatic action, mostly in response to nudges or orders from one of the guys.
That was until Grayson so painfully reminded me that we have that fucked up dinner with Bertram and Lydia tonight. In the midst of everything I’m dealing with, it’s the absolute last thing that I need, but we’ve all agreed we are better off playing this game—whatever game this is—for now.
Besides, after Lydia dodged my calls all day today, I’m going to use the opportunity to corner her. She can’t expect me to be dismissed for much longer. What’s her plan, then? Does she think I’ll give up if she keeps fobbing me off? That I’d let my daughter go without a fight? Without flying flags and declaring war? Hell to the motherfucking no!
There’s a soft knock at my bedroom door before Logan’s head pops into sight. He came with me back to my apartment so I could find an outfit and change. Grayson will be here soon to pick me up—if he isn’t already waiting in the living room.
“Just wanted to check on you.” Logan’s gaze doesn’t leave my face, likely reading every twisted emotion eating me alive. Without another word, he strides over and envelops me in one of his perfect Logan hugs. His hand rubs up and down my spine, and I bury my face in his hoodie, wishing I could spend the entire night curled up beside him—much like I have the last four nights since everything went to hell in a handbasket.
I’ve spent my days on campus going about the motions while not hearing a single word my lecturers have said. I don’t care that I’m falling behind. I don’t care about anything anymore. How can I when the only person of importance in my life isn’t here—where she should be?
Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with Logan’s crisp winter scent. It always works wonders to clear my mind and stabilize me. Even now, it takes the edge off my frayed nerves. Although, nothing on this earth could eliminate the overwhelming nausea of having to face Bertram again. Nothing could prepare me to sit across a table from him and act like we’re family. Like I don’t want to claw his eyes out. Slit his throat. Stab him in the eye with my fork. Rip off his dick and shove it down his throat.
There are so many options….
I guess I’ll have all dinner to contemplate in which order I should carry them out.
“I wish I could go for you,” he murmurs against my ear. “If I could take on this pain for you, I would.”
I squeeze him tighter, knowing this is killing him—him and Royce. Knowing they have to remain behind while I literally walk into the Devil’s lair.
The only upside is that I’m not walking in alone.
I never thought I’d appreciate the day Grayson was by my side, but I’m grateful for this.
We break apart at the sound of a throat clearing, and I peer around Logan to find Grayson standing stiffly in my bedroom doorway. He is wearing a pale blue shirt and gray slacks; his lips pressed into a tight line as he stares at me unblinking.
“It’s time.”
He says it like he’s announcing the moment I walk to the electric chair.
Steeling my nerves, I nod. Stepping from Logan’s embrace, I move to walk around him. However, before I can get too far, he grabs my hand, whirling me back into his arms. Logan captures the back of my head with his hand, angling my face to his as his eyes search mine.
“You’re so brave, Shortcake. So strong. I know you’ll survive this dinner, just like you’ve survived everything else—with unbelievable poise and grace. And when it’s over, I’ll be here. Come home to me and cry in my arms. I’ll be strong, so you don’t have to.” Tears gather in my eyes. Before they spill over, he presses his lips to mine in a chaste yet heated kiss. One that goes so much deeper than physical affection, lust, or chemistry. It’s a kiss that speaks to the profound bond we have—the love we share.
“Grayson will be with you the entire time,” he assures me before reluctantly letting me go.
With a small smile, I walk over to Grayson. His gaze is fixed over my head as he nods at Logan before sliding his attention to me.
“I won’t leave you alone with either of them,” he repeats, his words a searing promise.
Throat thick, I merely nod before we make our way out of my apartment, down the stairs, and into his slick sports car.
We’re silent on the drive out of town and toward Springview, where the restaurant for tonight’s shitshow is situated.
The journey to Springview simultaneously lasts a lifetime and is over too soon. When we pull up to the restaurant and a valet opens my door, I’m still not prepared to face my worst nightmare, but I’m officially out of time.
The valet holds out his hand to help me out of the car, but before I can put my hand in his, Grayson is rounding the hood, snapping at the poor guy. “Don’t touch her,” he snarls, glaring at the man.
He flinches away, his hand dropping as he apologizes profusely to Grayson.
Grayson, the asshole that he is, ignores him as he moves to stand in front of me, blocking out the rest of the world as he holds out his hand with obvious expectation.
Too strung out to deal with his bullshit tonight, I shake my head as I allow him to help me out. If he didn’t have such low seats, I wouldn’t need help getting out of his car—an observation I don’t think he’d appreciate right now, so I politely don’t point it out.
“That was rude,” I say instead, piercing him with the same glare he leveled on the valet.
He arches an arrogant eyebrow as he looks down his nose at me. “So?”
“He was only doing his job.”
“He was going to touch you.”
“So?” I counter, in the same tone he just used on me.
His eyes spark with possession. “ So , no one touches what’s mine.”
“This misplaced ownership is getting old,” I drawl, turning away from him so he can’t see the flush in my cheeks from his words. I might play it off as annoying, but there’s no denying his jealousy does inappropriate things to me.
“Don’t care,” he retorts as he moves to stand beside me. Glancing down, he offers me his elbow.
I slide my arm through his.
“Ready to do this?”
Staring up into his dark chocolate eyes, I answer honestly. “Not even a little bit.”
He grins, all teeth and savage. “Me neither. Let’s get this shitshow of a dinner over with.”
It doesn’t matter that Grayson is pressed against me, a solid strength of support. It doesn’t matter that the restaurant is full of patrons and staff or that I’m not the same weak teenage girl I was when I last faced him.
Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing —could prepare me for coming face to face with the monster who stole my innocence.
My voice.
My sanity.
The restaurant is a blur as Grayson leads me through the tables, following the ma?tre d’ to where our parents are sitting.
All I can see is his face—it looks exactly how it did four years ago. There are a few more lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, and salt and pepper dust his dark brown hair, but otherwise, you’d never know he’d just been released from prison.
You’d never know the evil that lurks beneath his superior facade.
The darkness that resides under his skin.
The pit of tar that lives where his heart should.
When he spots us approaching their table, his eyes lift to mine. Outwardly, his expression doesn’t change, but the second our gazes connect, a sick gleam ignites in his dark eyes, and all I see is his hidden malevolence. It makes me nearly projectile vomit, and honestly, I’m not sure how I keep moving. How I don’t turn and flee. I want to. Everything in me is screaming for me to run. To get away.
I must react to the urge because Grayson’s arm squeezes mine, refusing to let me slip away.
“Look who I found outside,” he purrs, easily falling into the role of father’s son once we reach the table. My arm falls from his as he pulls out a chair at the table—deliberately choosing the one opposite Lydia instead of Bertram—and gestures for me to sit.
Forcing my gaze from Bertram’s, it inadvertently slides to my mother’s as I reluctantly take my seat. The shock on her face is apparent.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Riley,” Bertram says smoothly. He draws out my name, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from barking at him to keep it out of his sick mouth. His gaze shifts to my mother, hardening imperceptibly. “Your mother wasn’t sure if you’d be able to.”
Still staring at Lydia, I force my lips upward into the best replication of a smile that I’m capable of at this moment. “My study group canceled at the last minute.”
“Their loss and our gain,” Bertram continues, eyes still drilling into the side of my face as I astutely ignore him, unfolding my napkin and nitpicking as I place it over my knee. God, will he shut up already? “And looking so beautiful. You’ve truly grown into a stunning woman, Riley.”
It feels like bugs are crawling over my skin, and despite my dress not being revealing, I still have the urge to cover myself up.
“Shame you couldn’t have worn something smarter to dinner,” my mother snipes, her lip curled in distaste. “Couldn’t you have made an effort? We’re in a fancy restaurant.”
I merely stare at her. She’s really one to speak. She might be wearing a designer dress, but it would look more at home on a twenty-year-old hitting the clubs. Her tits are practically spilling out the top, and without looking, I know the hem likely barely covers her ass.
Bertram ignores his wife, too, finally shifting his attention from me to greet Grayson. “Son.”
“Dad,” Grayson responds in that same tone, claiming the seat beside mine. His gaze shifts to Lydia, his smile forced. “Lydia.”
“Grayson,” my mother simpers. “So nice to see you looking so well after all these years.”
Cue internal eye roll.
Bertram smiles, a charismatic, charming grin that fools everyone. That once fooled me until I caught a glimpse of the monster that lurks underneath.
“Isn’t this nice? Having the entire family back together again.”
Lydia turns her saccharine smile on Bertram as she leans in to place her hand on his arm. “So nice, dear. We have so much to celebrate and be thankful for.”
“That we do.” Bertram lifts his glass of champagne in a toast. Lydia and Grayson follow suit. Me? I can’t seem to make my arms move, much less lift the glass without shaking and spilling it everywhere.
“Riley.” I can’t stop the flinch at hearing my name on his tongue again and feeling the weight of his perverted gaze on me. “I understand you are at Halston with Grayson. What are the chances?” Bertram chuckles, but there’s a hardness in his eyes. Oh, he doesn’t like it one bit that I’m attending the same school as his son. “Have the two of you had the opportunity to catch up?”
Thankfully, Grayson fields that question. “It’s a large enough campus, and she’s a freshman while I’m a senior. We don’t exactly run in the same circles, and I haven’t had much desire to go out of my way to reacquaint us,” he drawls. Turning to look at me, there’s none of the usual possessiveness I’ve become accustomed to seeing in his eyes. Instead, they’re hard and cold—just like his father’s. It’s frightening. Terrifying, honestly. Especially when he accompanies it with that forced smile. “However, I’m willing to bury the hatchet—for the sake of family .”
“Yes, let’s leave all that ugliness in the past,” Bertram agrees, his voice a touch less hostile than it was a moment ago. “You’re brother and sister; you should get to know each other as such.”
My insides twist. Yeah, I have never looked at Grayson as a brother. And with how he looks at me, I’d judge he’s never seen me that way either.
“Lydia, how are you settling into the new house?” Grayson redirects.
In between the waitress taking our orders, Lydia blathers about the new house. The one that isn’t as nice as what she had before, but will do for now .
The entire time, Bertram sneaks glances my way while sipping from his glass of whiskey. I shuffle uncomfortably in my chair, and it’s evident that Grayson is the only one feigning interest in Lydia’s rambling.
However, when I shift in my chair for the fifth time, he spreads his legs under the table so his thigh presses against mine. It’s the only source of support he can offer, and I soak it up, leaning into his warmth.
Food is delivered, and I mostly push mine around my plate so it looks like I’ve eaten something while Lydia and Bertram continue talking as though this truly is a family dinner. Honestly, I’m barely listening. I’m just trying to get through this, counting down the minutes until it’s acceptable to make my escape.
Anytime Bertram attempts to pull me into the conversation by asking me personal questions, my mother slyly diverts the conversation back to her. I don’t care. She’d probably stop if she realized she was actually doing me a favor.
However, as the meal drags on, I see her becoming more irritated. She starts openly glaring at me across the table and making passive-aggressive remarks anytime Bertram compliments me.
By the time our main course is taken away, my mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin before piercing me with a fierce stare. “I need to use the ladies’ room. Riley, accompany me.”
It’s not a question, though I don’t argue because I do need to talk to her— alone.
Pasting on a fake smile, I say, “Sure, mother,” as I place my linen napkin on the table and slide out of my chair. My eyes connect briefly with Grayson’s, a silent reassurance that I’ll be okay before I turn and follow my mother away from the table.
Storming into the bathroom, she stalks the length of it, pushing open stall doors before whirling on me. “What are you doing here?” she hisses, spitting venom now that she doesn’t have an audience.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare her down. “Why are you dodging my calls?” I ask instead, ignoring her outburst. “I want to talk to Aurora.”
Just saying her name has a fresh wave of pain slicing through me, and my hands shake as I form a fist, wanting so badly to call Lydia out on her lies.
This is how we decided to play it, though: Apply pressure while Dax and his IT guy do their thing. Royce assures me that Dax has confirmed that his computer guy is the best. If Aurora has shown up on a camera, had her picture posted online, or her name mentioned anywhere, he’ll find it. We only need one digital breadcrumb to trace the footprints back to whoever has her.
The problem with that is that it means we’re currently sitting on our asses waiting for said breadcrumb to materialize. In the meantime, I’m slowly losing my sanity without my daughter. And being face-to-face with the woman who fucking sold her is messing with my head. I don’t want to play dumb.
I want to shove her against the wall and demand to know who she fucking sold my daughter to.
I want to wrap my hands around her throat and watch the fear that is eating me from the inside out flood her eyes.
I want to make her as weak and helpless as I have felt every single second since Grayson told me what was happening.
“I won’t let you ruin this for me again .” My mother continues on her tirade as though I never spoke, pacing the length of the bathroom. “You stole him from me four years ago, and I’ve had to suffer the consequences of your selfishness since then. I deserve this.”
The fucking gall of this bitch!
“Please,” I sneer. “We both know you only went back to him because no one else would put up with your ass. You’re not twenty-two anymore, Lydia , and plastic surgery only gets you so far. Why have a fake, dried-up version of a younger woman when you can have the real deal?”
She stops in her pacing to gape at me. “How dare you!” Marching toward me with her finger pointed at my face, she snarls, “I can keep Aurora from you. Make it so you never see her again. ”
Except she’s already done that. She’s already sold her bargaining chip—the one thing she used to manipulate and control me.
Instead of cowering to her as I typically would, I stand taller, glaring down my nose at her. “I’d like to see you try. You think all I did was get those lawyers to send you a sweet little letter?” I hiss, stepping closer. “They’re going to ensure I regain full custody of my daughter. They’re going to drag your decrepit ass over the coals. Reveal you to the whole world for the manipulative, narcissistic bitch that you are.”
Well, that had been the plan. Logan’s plan. And one that I’d started to believe could actually be a reality one day… until that night.
Despite the circumstances, sick satisfaction floods my veins as, for the first time, genuine fear bleeds into Lydia’s expression. She takes a step back, cowering to me for once. I’m not stupid enough to believe my threats are enough to intimidate her, but given that the last thing she’d want is lawyers snooping around looking for a child she no longer has guardianship of, she should be scared.
I mean, what the fuck did she think would happen once she sold my daughter? Did she believe she could hide behind Bertram and his money? What the fuck was her end game?
The flash of fear disappears as quickly as it arrives, her face hardening once more. “Just stop flirting with my husband . Don’t think I don’t notice how you flutter your eyes at him—that whole shy, innocent act you put on to get his attention,” she seethes. “Make your excuses and leave, and I’ll let you have five minutes with Aurora next weekend.”
It’s fucked up how my heart skips a beat, and hope—the fickle bitch—beats a drum in my chest. For a second, I almost believe she can make that happen. I want to believe it so fucking bad that I agree before the reality of the situation has caught up to me.
The grim reality is that she can’t make that happen because my daughter no longer lives with her.
Instead, she’s god knows where, doing god knows what, with god knows who.
My head is still spinning from the emotional whiplash as Lydia marches out of the bathroom. Moving to the sinks, I place my palms against the granite countertop and stare at myself in the mirror, giving myself a moment before I have to go back out there.
Closing my eyes, I hang my head. It’s nearly over, I tell myself. All I have to do is go out there and make my excuses. Then I’m done.
With a final, deep inhale, I open my eyes. Staring at my reflection, I nod before grabbing my clutch and walking out of the bathroom.
And straight into a hard chest.