Chapter 12 THE CONFRONTATION
Hostility permeates the air the moment we step through the double doors of the Anderson Estate that evening. Agnes, their housekeeper, hurls a withering glare at me before scurrying away, no doubt to notify the man of the house of our arrival.
It’s a surprise visit. I don’t want the Andersons to have time to prepare. Sources tell me Maxwell checked himself out of the hospital and only Rex is with him, the rest of the family having just left after visiting.
We have to move fast, and surprise is half the effort.
“Come on, fiancée,” I murmur, linking my fingers with Lana’s. A sharp current runs through me from the contact despite my leather gloves preventing our skin from touching.
I can’t afford to touch her. I need my wits about me.
“Let go of me, you motherfucker,” Lana grits out. She twists her arm and pulls, but I give her no quarter.
She then stabs the sharp heel of her stiletto into my shoe.
I grunt. Pain burns through me, and my eyes immediately water.
But I don’t let go.
I’ll never let go.
For a moment, as I struggle to catch my breath, my heart palpitating, a stray thought slips into my consciousness.
Kian finally got to have his Elise again.
“You can drop the act.” Lana digs her nails through my leather glove. “No one’s watching. Everyone knows the truth here. Let go of me.”
Chuckling, I wipe the moisture from my eyes. “If you only knew how much your fight is turning me on.”
“You sadistic sack of shit.”
“And that potty mouth of yours.” I graze my finger on her chin. She swats it away. “I never knew the Anderson princess could cuss up a storm.”
“There’s more where that’s coming—”
Her breath hitches when I haul her against my body until we’re a hairsbreadth apart. Our shoes squeak against the floor. We collide with the wall next to the entryway table.
“Remember what I said earlier, princess. Marry me or bury him. Your choice. I’ll never take away your choice.”
Lana’s eyes flash with anger. She raises her hand to slap me.
I catch her wrist and pin it against her back, forcing her to arch up and look at me.
She moves again. Her free arm jerks toward the table. Metal clangs. A glint of silver flashes in my vision.
The sharp edge of a blade points at my throat. A letter opener.
My pulse roars in my ears, my senses heightened. Her gray eyes. Burning hatred. Lethal and violent.
Fucking intoxicating.
“Go on,” I rasp.
Another enticing gasp tumbles out of her rosy lips. Against my willpower, or lack thereof, my body responds. Every muscle coils. Sharp need threatens to obliterate any rational thinking.
“Not there.” Slowly, I move the blade closer. “Here. Under my chin. That’s where the blood vessels are.”
I wrap my hand around hers, feeling her tremble.
I press the tip harder. A sharp pinch. Wetness.
Her breath escapes in a hiss, her eyes snared at my throat, at the blood trickling down my neck.
“Go on,” I rasp, “I started it for you. Press harder. One cut and I’ll bleed out in twenty seconds.”
Her hand shakes, her eyes darting from my face to my neck.
“You’re nuts.” Her pretty pink tongue dips out to wet her lips.
I grind out a guttural groan. The perfect Cupid’s bow. The soft bottom curve. I can almost taste her sweetness.
“Are you going to do it? Or are you going to waste my time?” My throat is parched, and I swallow.
The air vibrates, each molecule incandescent. Nothing matters except for the woman in my arms.
“Let’s save the foreplay for our wedding night.” My voice is rough. Sandpaper.
The letter opener clatters to the floor.
“I’ll never sleep with you.” Her chest moves up and down, up and down. My blood heats, pooling in my groin as I press closer, just a tiny inch, to feel her tight body throbbing against mine.
“Never say never.” I swallow another groan, my mind blurring at the edges. “Maybe you’ll enjoy it. Beg me for it.”
Her tongue darts out again.
Static blows out my hearing.
Just a taste, Elias. A tiny taste. She wants it. Dilated eyes. Flushed face. Those tight little nipples beading under her shirt.
She’s still wearing my shirt. My housekeeper bought her a new sweater and leggings, but the sick, twisted monster inside me wanted to parade her around in my clothes.
Lana’s eyes drop to my mouth. She doesn’t notice it, but she’s swaying her body against mine—gentle grazes, soft gyrations—like she needs the touch as much as I do.
She may hate my guts and want to kill me in my sleep, but her body?
It wants me.
Male satisfaction suffuses me, and before I completely lose my mind, I release her and step back.
She flinches, eyes wide with shock and arousal.
“Let’s get this over with.” I pivot and walk upstairs toward Maxwell’s study before I change my mind.
The man himself meets us at the top of the stairs. In a wheelchair, with a gun perched on his lap, aimed at me. He looks pale, his forehead beading with sweat.
But those intense eyes—the Anderson gray eyes?
They’re lethal and strong. They promise I won’t walk out of this building alive.
Rex stands behind him, a gun in his hand.
“Maxwell,” Lana gasps, flying over to her brother and throwing her arms around his neck. She scans his bandaged torso before hugging him again. “You’re okay. Oh my God, you’re okay.”
“Lana,” Maxwell murmurs, brushing his free hand down her back. “I was so worried about you.”
She trembles and shakes her head. “No, I was worried. It’s all my fault. I should’ve known Elias was up to no good. I shouldn’t have met him alone. I should’ve—”
“No.” His voice hardens. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I found him in the alley, bleeding, with a knife buried in his gut.”
Maxwell stares at me from beyond her shoulder. “I took pity on him. Convinced Ryland we should take him to the hospital. That we should check on him. When he recovered, I was the one to convince Dad we could use someone like him at The Orchid.”
He lifts his gun, his arm unwavering. “I saved his life, and this was how he repaid me. Repaid us.”
“Enough talking. Can we shoot him and get it over with?” Rex growls.
His words trigger something in Lana because she quickly untangles herself from Maxwell.
“No!” She shakes her head. “He’s part of The Association!”
Her words echo against the tall ceilings. The brothers’ faces are grim. Light flickers from the dimly lit sconces, casting looming shadows in the hallway.
“We figured as much,” Rex says. “We never should’ve trusted you.”
His words land like a gut punch. I force myself not to react. This is an outcome I’ve predicted.
But it hurts like a motherfucker.
“Once a snake, always a snake,” Maxwell murmurs. He holds up his gun and cocks it. “Any last words?”
“No, we can’t kill him. The Association will go after you all,” Lana begs, her voice frantic. “In fact…I…we’ll…” She takes a deep breath and straightens while her fingers gnarl against her shirt—my shirt. “We’ll…I…”
She can’t get the words out.
Marrying me is such a nightmare, the normally poised head of PR, someone who always has the words, can’t speak.
Ignoring the sudden pain gripping my chest, I take pity on her. “We’re getting married. In one hour. Here on the premises. I’ve made the arrangements.”
A shocked silence descends on us. Even the crows have stopped crying outside.
Rex is the first to recover. “What did you just say?”
“Lana and I are getting married. That’s the only way for you all to stay alive.”
“Over my dead—” Maxwell shakes as he rises from the wheelchair.
“Sit down,” Lana commands.
She explains the situation with the Berishas—as much as she knows—to her brothers.
“I can’t risk it. The Association is brutal. We saw what they did at the vault. Levi has to grow up with a dad. And you, Rex. You have twins. The cutest little babies. And the others—we can’t risk their lives.” Teary-eyed, she clutches Rex and Maxwell’s hands, imploring them to listen.
“This is the only way,” she whispers.
“I won’t have you sacrifice yourself for us,” Maxwell says.
“We have billions. We can hire the best security and disappear,” Rex agrees.
Ignoring the guilt twisting my gut, I stare at Maxwell. “I want a word with you. Alone.”
“No.” Rex moves in front of his brother.
Eyes narrowed, Maxwell scans my face. I force myself to remain impassive and hold up my hands. I have no intention of hurting him.
“Give us a minute,” he says to Rex.
“You sure—”
“Yes.” Maxwell turns to Lana, his voice thick as he says, “We Andersons stick together. I don’t care what threats are out there. We’ll survive this. You don’t need to sacrifice yourself.”
Lana doles out a wobbly smile. “It’s my choice. Think about the others. The little ones. It’s my choice, Maxwell.”
She pats her brother’s hand and with one lingering look, she and Rex step inside the office, leaving Maxwell and me on the landing.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I think back to the gloomy day a decade ago when they saved me. He and his twin, dressed in their fancy polo shirts and slacks, found me as I lay bleeding against the wall by the dumpsters behind Fleur.
Maxwell didn’t hesitate. He didn’t do what I thought he’d do—recoil in disgust or step away in horror.
He rushed up to me, shredded his shirt, pressed it against my wound, and stabilized the knife, not caring that my blood was soaking his skin. Only concern was in his eyes.
That concern is long gone now.
“Only I can protect her,” I say, ignoring the jagged rock stuck in my throat. “They want to keep her. The Albanian mob. In their hands, I’m afraid—”
I can’t speak. I can’t describe what will happen to Lana if she doesn’t marry me.
Maxwell pales as understanding dawns in his eyes. “Why, Elias? Why? We couldn’t have been that wrong about you, could we?”
“I have my reasons. Reasons that don’t concern you.”
I turn away. An unfamiliar sensation suffocates me. Heaviness. A throbbing pain so deep, it’s in the depths of my marrow.
Grief.
For ten years, aside from the twenty-eight minutes each day when I’d let myself dream, I had a family outside of Sofia.
A family untainted by grief. These men claimed me as their own, despite my best intentions to stay detached by avoiding nonessential meetings, like the family dinner Belle invited me to before.
But they’re relentless—the Andersons. They pull you in with their loyalty, camaraderie, and warmth, and whenever I’d step through the doors at The Orchid, I could forget about the bloodshed, about the violence in my life.
A reprieve.
But all good things must come to an end.
“All you need to know is,” I stare at the antique grandfather clock at the end of the hallway, “they will kill her. But before then, they will defile her, pass her around from man to man. They will snuff out the light in her eyes.”
I’ve seen it before—the way Dad looked at Mom’s still figure as the flames took them. His eyes were dead—no will to live. The Association took everything soft from our house and burned it to ash.
My hands fist at my sides. “Do you want to risk it, Maxwell? Do you want to be on the run forever? You saw what they did to others. All the murders. The crimes.”
I face him. “Play along. This game is too advanced for you. This could all go away if she marries me. I can protect her. The choice is simple. Me or them. Who do you trust more?”
Maxwell’s eyes sharpen. He scans my face again.
He’s considering it.
“You owe me a favor, Maxwell.” I saved he and his wife’s lives years ago when a madman nearly ended their love story before it could begin. “A favor for a favor. I’m calling it in now.”
His throat works, those startling gray eyes of his inscrutable.
“Her choice,” he rasps, “and if one hair is harmed on her person, I’ll bleed you out myself.”
He spins away as the grandfather clock chimes.
Just like the day I met her twenty years ago.
But unlike that day, the sound is hollow.
A somber death knell.