35. Riley
35
RILEY
“ T here’s my girls,” Bertram greets with that creepy as fuck smile in place when we walk into the dining room that night, dressed in the outfits he picked out and left outside the bedroom door for us. I’ve never felt more uncomfortable, like we’re dolls he’s dressed up for his amusement.
He stayed true to his word and left us alone last night. At first, I was able to ignore our situation as I focused on reassuring Aurora and coaxing her to sleep. But once she was out, I was on alert. I lay awake, lying between her and the door the entire night, listening...
To every creak.
Every squeak of a floorboard.
The whistle of wind at the window.
The tap of the tree branch against the glass pane.
All of it served to startle me awake every time my heavy lids dared to close.
Except, not once did he come.
And all day today, he was absent—even when I crept from the room down to the kitchen to grab food for Aurora. I’d checked the front and back doors and various windows, finding them all locked and the keys conspicuously absent—just like he’d said—before trying the old house line, which was still where I remembered. Of course, the line had been disconnected, leaving us trapped in this house without a means of contacting the outside world.
It was only when I was starting to think we might actually be alone in the house that the clothing showed up, along with a note asking us to be in the dining room at 7 p.m. sharp.
Honestly, I’m not sure what’s worse. The frantic stress of not knowing where he is and when he will just appear like an apparition, or having to endure his presence. To feel the brush of his gaze scraping like claws of possession over my skin.
It’s all one big psychological game.
A mind fuck of epic proportions.
I’m just waiting for the actual games to begin because everything thus far has been about the waiting, the anticipation, and building up the tension.
Only it’s not like the build-up when Grayson tells me to run . There’s nothing fun about this. It’s not excitement that has my heart thumping against my chest. The anticipation isn’t what has me twitchy.
It’s fear.
Blinding terror.
It seizes my muscles and clenches my stomach. It has taken control of my every action and plagues my every thought. Prevents me from acting rationally. Thinking logically.
Makes it so how the hell do I get us out of here? is the only question circling on repeat in my head.
And the answer: I have no fucking idea.
Aurora’s hand is clutched tightly in mine. I gave her firm instructions to behave tonight. Not to say anything to him and to respond when he talks to her, even if it’s just a smile. All I want is to make it through this dinner unscathed. I’m clinging to the hope that Bertram won’t try anything too daring with her here, and after dinner… well, I’ll worry about that later.
“Sit.” He gestures toward the table where three place settings are laid out, food already waiting for us. “Dinner is served.”
My stomach flips, and it’s not due to hunger.
“This all looks lovely,” I say politely, forcing a smile as I settle Aurora into her chair before sliding into the one next to her. Unfortunately, that places me within touching distance of Bertram, but better me than her.
He immediately clasps his hand over mine. Anyone peering in the windows would think it was a sweet family dinner. They wouldn’t notice how I wince as his tight grip crushes my bones. They wouldn’t see the tension fizzling in the air. Smell the fear that permeates the room.
With a fork in hand, I push my food around my plate. I can’t bring myself to attempt a single bite. I have zero appetite. Unsurprisingly. How can I, when I’m sitting at a table opposite the last man on earth I want to be sharing a meal with, in the house that haunts my nightmares, with my daughter's safety on the line?
“Do you like your new room, Aurora?” Bertram asks. I immediately tense, my fingers tightening around the fork in my hand.
“Y-yes, Sir.” Aurora’s voice is small, and I hate this. The entire fucked up situation.
“Call me Daddy,” Bertram says sternly, unaware of the crushing wave of revulsion that crashes over me. He pierces Aurora with a look that renders her incapable of saying anything. She merely nods, and I encourage her to go back to eating, hoping Bertram will turn his attention elsewhere.
He does. He begins rambling about how good life will be now, just the three of us. He talks as though my mother never existed, and if I cared, perhaps I’d ask him about her, but I don’t. I tune him out, simply nodding at the appropriate times. I keep one ear on the conversation and an eye on Aurora while I devise a way for us to get out of here.
I spent the day hoping the guys would show up and break down the door. I trust that they’re doing everything they can to find us, but whatever Bertram has done to hide the fact he owns this house from prying eyes, it’s clearly working. I don’t know how long it will take Dax’s IT guy to find this place and for the guys to get here, and I’m acutely aware that the clock is counting down. It’s only a matter of time until Bertram wants more. Until his facade cracks, and I’m unable to put him off.
My gaze catches on a large, wrought-iron candlestick to one side of the fireplace, and I imagine snatching it up and wielding it like a bat as I smash it into Bertram’s skull…
“Mommy.” Aurora tugs on the maroon dress I’m wearing. Leaning in, she keeps her eyes on me and whispers, “Is he really my daddy?”
Unfortunately, her whisper is an average person’s voice, and Bertram hears every word. “Of course I’m your father,” he barks. “Who else would I be?” His gaze snaps to mine, hardening. “Have you not been telling her about me?”
Ha.
Holding Aurora against me, I keep my attention on Bertram. “She’s just confused. It’s a lot of change in such a short time. It’ll take her a while to understand and adjust.”
Rage simmers in the dark depths of his eyes, and I realize the falsely sweet front is gone. “Aurora, go to your room.” Bertram’s demanding tone cracks like a whip through the otherwise quiet room. Aurora stiffens at my side. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't leave the table, instead staring up at me with wide, fear-filled eyes.
“Now!” Bertram smacks his hand against the tabletop, making the cutlery clatter and glasses wobble precariously. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“Go on, sweetie,” I say softly, pasting on my best attempt at a reassuring smile. “I’ll be up for bath time and to tuck you in.” I hope.
Aurora still hesitates, and I ask, “Do you remember where you’re going?”
She gives a shaky nod, and I help her down from her chair, pushing her toward the exit before Bertram completely loses his shit. I don’t breathe until she’s out of the room and her footsteps have disappeared upstairs.
The scrape of chair legs squealing against the floor reminds me that I’m not so unfortunate as to have escaped this hell. Bertram pushes his seat away from the table before patting his thigh. “Come here.”
Those two words are said with the same commanding tone he used on Aurora.
I don’t want to.
Everything in me revolts against the idea, my body seizing up in its attempt to disobey. I’d remain obstinately in my chair if it weren’t for some primal part of my brain, functioning based on survival, that takes control of my extremities and forces me to my feet.
The games have officially begun.
Aurora. Aurora. Aurora.
Her name repeats with every clack of my heels against the floor as, with laden steps, I close the distance between us.
Only when I’m standing at his side do my steps falter. He arches a knowing eyebrow in challenge. It’s a dare. A command. A threat all rolled into one. With stiff movements, I step between his parted legs and lower myself to perch on the edge of his thigh.
Fuck, I hate this.
My breaths are shallow, my skin cold and clammy as I force myself to stay in the present. To resist the memories slamming like wrecking balls against my rapidly crumbling defenses.
With a concentrated effort, I force my mind back into that corner I would retreat to on those cold, hopeless nights when he’d sneak into my room. I shut down all thoughts, all emotions, until, when I look down and see his hand sliding up my thigh, it feels as though it’s happening to someone else.
Except, as I feel his breath dance along skin that isn’t mine, I realize I’m not alone in the corner anymore.
A tingle of sensation races over my palm—Logan’s comforting hand.
A warmth envelops my back—Royce’s protective presence.
Dark, fierce eyes raze my skin and lift the hairs along my arms—Grayson’s silent strength.
This time, I’m not alone.
They might not be with me, but they are with me. Offering me what they can.
I’ve barely allowed myself to give them more than a passing thought since I left the hockey arena. In my bones, I know they’re out there looking for me. Hunting for answers. However, I can’t simply sit back and wait for them to find us.
Which means I’ll have to play Bertram’s twisted game until I can figure out how to get me and Aurora safely out of here.
Seconds.
Minutes.
Hours.
Time is an irrelevant thing as I sit numbly on his lap, cocooned in my own world, until my head is wrenched to the side with enough force to have tendons snapping along my neck.
My lips part on a gasp as a sharp pain skitters along my nerves, my wide eyes clashing with dark ones that are so familiar and yet so distinguished from the ones I’ve gotten used to seeing every day.
“Isn’t that right?”
An edge to his tone makes it clear he’s been trying to get my attention for a while.
“Sorry,” I apologize around a choked throat. “What were you saying?”
His eyes narrow, his hand on the top of my thigh tightening to the point of pain.
“That you’re going to be a good girl and do as I say.” Loosening his grip on the back of my head, he strokes a finger eerily gently down the side of my face. “That you’ve got this defiance out of your system.” His nail drags across my lower lip, and I shiver at the sheer act of possession. At how he so brazenly touches me. Claims what has never been his. I don’t know if he mistakes my disgust for pleasure or if he gets off on how I react to him, but his eyes flash with a gleam, stare raking over my face. “I’m done with the teasing and the games. I’ve cleared the path for us to be together, and I’m just about out of patience, so I would advise you not to push me any further.”
Questions stick in the back of my throat, rendering me speechless as I slowly blink back at him. I swallow, his gaze dropping at my audible gulp before flashing back to my face. He tilts his head to the side, and it’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen—being analyzed by someone so incapable of empathy but who is well-versed in reading my every emotion.
“Or am I going to have to call dear little Aurora down here again?”
“N-no.”
His responding grin is the least bit comforting. It’s like staring into the maw of a rabid wolf standing over you, getting high on your fear before it goes in for the kill.
“Good.” His gaze flicks behind me. “Go make sure she’s tucked up in her bed for the night then join me in my room.”
At the offered escape, I slide from his lap. However, I barely make it to my feet before he captures my face. His fingers dig into my cheeks, and his expression is terrifyingly unreadable—kind of like Grayson’s used to be back when he first hauled me into his house. Only now, I realize Grayson hasn’t looked at me like that in a long time. Unlike his father, I can interpret the emotions behind his facade even when he doesn’t want me to.
“Where are your manners?”
“S-sorry.” He arches a brow, and another involuntary shiver wracks me. “ Daddy. ” I go to pull away again, but those punishing fingers threaten to slice through my skin.
He doesn’t say anything. Simply waits for me to put the pieces together. To figure out what he wants. My thoughts scramble.
His free hand slides up the back of my thighs, over the curve of my ass, before it flattens against my lower back, forcing me closer.
No.
My eyes widen with understanding, satisfaction flashing across his face when he realizes I’ve connected the dots.
Using his harsh grip on my face and hand on my back, he forces me closer. I resist at first, internally screaming my protestations.
“This is not my good little girl,” he rasps against my lips. I can feel the sting from where his fingers have broken the skin on my cheeks. “Maybe the time apart has changed you.” Again, those dark, menacing eyes flick toward the door where Aurora disappeared. “Perhaps I need to start again with Aurora. She’s a bit young for my tastes, but oh, how I could mold her.” His lips quirk. “I could make her perfect for me.”
“N-no,” I stammer. “No. There’s no need for that.”
With his gaze thankfully riveted on me once more, he no longer drags me toward him. Instead, he waits, the picture of endless patience.
Forcing back the urge to gag, I drop my gaze to his chest. I place my hand over his sternum before slowly sliding it over his shoulder and along his neck. Dragging my attention back to his face, I force the words he wants to hear past my lips. “You don’t need her. I’ll be your good girl.” I lick my lips, his gaze tracking the movement with a predatory focus. “I am your good girl.”
Dark eyes meet mine, his voice husky as he says, “Prove it.”
Wrapping my hand around the side of his neck, I inch closer. His hand is a brand on my lower spine, a crushing weight carrying me forward until my lips press to his.
Eyes squeezed shut, I count the seconds.
One.
Two.
His lips remain unmoving against mine.
Blood rushes in my ears. My heart thrashes in my chest.
I force my mouth to move over his. Force my tongue to sweep along his lower lip. Force myself to relax into him.
His lips part slightly, a silent order which I resentfully obey.
The second the tip of my tongue toys with his, his self-control snaps.
A wild snarl rips from his throat. The hand holding my face moves to the back of my head to keep me in place while the hand on the base of my spine forces me into his lap as he takes control.
I force myself to stay still. To take it. To give it back until we’re both breathless and heaving.
“ Fuck ,” he rasps, grip still bruising. His pupils are blown, his eyes black and wild with want. He nips at my lips, and I cringe at the sting. He chuckles. “I love it when you’re good, but I think I love it more when Daddy’s little girl is naughty.”
Something must cross his mind as his gaze hardens, and in the next second, I’m choking, spluttering, fingers scraping at the hand wrapped tightly around my throat.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he practically yells in my face. “Was it that hockey player ? Were you a slut for him? How about my son? You thought you could replace me with him?” he spits. “And that boy you were sitting beside at the arena—have you been spreading your legs for him, too?”
My only response is a suffocating gurgle as I fight uselessly against his superior strength. Bertram has morphed into something truly demonic, his eyes blazing with a raging fire and his body vibrating with fury as he squeezes tighter.
Tighter.
Tighter.
My muscles grow heavy, my body getting weaker.
Black spots steadily enlarge across my vision.
Royce’s blue eyes. Logan’s winter scent. Grayson’s heavy weight.
Aurora’s child-like laugh.
Those are the last thoughts bef?—
Choking and spluttering, I ignore the jagged pain vibrating up my tailbone as I roll onto all fours and splutter over the tiled floor. Saliva trails from my lower lip, dangling as I drag in a raspy breath, hungrily filling my starved lungs as the room comes back into focus.
Black loafers appear in my line of sight, but I don’t have the energy to peer up at their owner. “You have thirty minutes.” His voice comes in and out as though he’s yelling down a long tunnel before he stalks off, leaving me alone on the dining room floor, bruised and traumatized.
And the torture has only begun.