Chapter 22 #2
He descends without any ceremony, capturing my lips like a man on a mission.
As soon as he’s sure that I’m not going to attack him, he relaxes and softens his mouth, drinking me in with gentle plucks of his lips on mine.
It’s warm and wet and somehow sweet, the way he sucks my bottom lip or rolls his tongue, teasing my mouth and making me melt.
Over and over again, he kisses me, seamlessly blending them together and humming with satisfaction every time I kiss him back.
Until there’s a rap rap of someone’s knuckles on the wall behind us.
I freeze, but the men jump into action. Someone pulls my dress down over my thighs while another grabs a steak knife from the table. Something crashes into the ground and I hear a body slam against the wall.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam.
He’s shouting. At someone. Oh, God, someone saw us making out.
With my dress up and my body exposed and my—my heart on fire.
It tumbles in a discordant rhythm, thrown off kilter by the sudden change in mood.
The room crackles with electricity as all four of us stare at the intruder: dusty brown hair streaked with gray, a scowl carved on his otherwise perfectly sculpted face, bright green eyes that mirror the emergence of Spring without any of its warmth… and an eerie familiarity.
Kane grumbles as he lifts me out of his lap.
“Fucking rich bitches. No goddamn respect.” As he checks the perimeter for more men, he grabs the carving knife from the rejected turkey and hands it to me.
“If anyone comes after you, stab them.” He wraps my fingers around the handle and adjusts my grip for a firmer hold, then meets my eyes. “Even Sam.”
I gape at him while he spins around and whispers something in Zane’s ear.
The other knife, the one plucked from the table before Kane and I stood up, is clutched tightly in Zane’s fist. His grip doesn’t relax even after Kane pries the knife away and claims it for himself.
Looking back at me, he winks and mouths something to me.
He gets stab happy when cornered—I think, unless that’s me projecting.
Zane wanted to stab me when we first met.
It would make sense that a stranger barging in on us, on a holiday, no less, would make him jumpy.
The older man chokes out a response. “Is that any way to greet your father, young man? Put me down.”
“No.” Sam’s entire body tenses.
“Put,” his father snaps, “me,” he grabs Sam’s throat, “down!”
Sam shoves him against the wall before letting go.
Unlike in the movies, Samuel Wright doesn’t crumple to the ground.
He lands on his feet and releases his son before casually dusting himself off like nothing happened.
His pretentious white suit wrinkles at the collar, but he pretends that nothing is amiss.
“Sit down, Samson. We have something important to discuss.”
“Like hell, I’m sitting anywhere near you.”
I stare at Sam’s back, not believing my ears. Every time I saw Sam and his father when we were teenagers, Sam always did as he was told without any hesitation. Now, he’s like an agitated dog anticipating a beating. Practically snarling. On edge. Ready to snap at his master’s fingers.
From what I hear, that’s precisely what Samuel Wright is to most people: their master, controlling their lives with money and leverage.
My dad doesn’t talk poorly about people often, but the one time I caught him speaking about Samuel, he had this irritated glint in his eye as he told my grandmother what a snake Samuel was—and how much Sam and his mom deserved better.
As far as I know, his opinion hasn’t improved over the years.
I wonder what Sam and my dad know that I don’t.
“You called in a favor, Samson, and not an insignificant one. So, either you sit down for a discussion like adults, or I drag you home like the boy you’re proving to be.”
“I’m not sitting anywhere near him.” Zane snatches the steak knife back from Kane and aims the tip at Samuel’s nose. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Your house?” Lifting an eyebrow, he stares at his son rather than at Zane. “You’re lucky you haven’t been charged with breaking and entering. If I hadn’t settled the dispute with the owners, you’d be at the station right this very minute.”
“You’re lying.” Zane glares at Samuel. “There are no cameras on the property, and the security system is offline. No one knows we’re here.” Tipping the knife, he takes a step closer. “Except you. How did you find us?”
Ignoring Zane, Samuel sidesteps towards the table. “Now, if that’s settled—” A stripe of crimson blooms across his cheek. His eyes narrow as he turns his head and looks down his nose at Zane. “Samson, get control of your dog before I put him down.”
It’s Kane’s turn to step closer. “What the fuck did you say, old man?”
Samuel smiles coldly at the two men. “I don’t know how either of you came into contact with my son, but I assure you that whatever relationship you think you have with him ends today.” Snapping his fingers, he returns his gaze to Sam. “Remove them.”
Armed men appear from every entrance to the room, rushing towards us with expertise.
They disarm Zane after he slices one of their arms, and two men grab Kane to keep him from swinging his fists.
One man takes an elbow to the face and falls to one knee.
As for me, I jab forward with a scream, using all of my strength and weight as adrenaline hits.
The blade in my hand sinks into flesh, puncturing a soft spot in the man’s neck.
His eyes bulge as blood trickles from the wound, made worse when I jerk back and take the blade with me.
He collapses to the ground, his body twitching as blood pours onto the carpet, staining it deep red.
Shit shit shit. Shit. Holy shit. What did I do? What did I do?
Someone hits me from behind and I stumble to the floor.
The knife tumbles from my hands as I land beside the dead man, burning my palms on the carpet and staining my dress with his blood.
I scream at his unseeing eyes, and someone kicks me in the stomach, knocking the air from my lungs and shutting me up.
Sam lunges, snarling like a demon as he tackles the man who kicked me.
They knock into a china cabinet and break every dish inside, the clatter of cracking porcelain and splintering wood spilling into the air.
But the man at Sam’s mercy doesn’t fight back; he lets Sam beat him bloody, barely holding his arms up to cover his head from serious injury, like he isn’t taking the fight seriously.
Or he’s been paid not to injure his employer’s son.
Kane shouts as he shrugs off one of the men holding him, head-butting them in the nose and launching himself at the man keeping Zane hostage.
They tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs and fury, but unlike the man facing Sam’s wrath, these two don’t hold back.
One of them pulls out a gun and shoots, missing Kane’s head by an inch.
I scream at the burst of gunfire and cover my ears.
The bastard responsible for everything sits at the table and uses a cloth napkin to dab the cut on his face, going so far as to dip a corner into a water glass to wipe away the blood.
Then he takes the only knife remaining on the table and carves a slice of turkey for himself, unconcerned with the carnage taking place a few feet away.
“Hold,” he orders, sawing into the meat like a novice butcher.
As the rest of his hired men pull out guns of their own, the room goes still…
and Sam keeps punching. Once his victim finally falls unconscious, he drops the man to the ground and turns to face his father—no, to face me.
Falling at my feet, he scans my body for injuries. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I grab Sam’s hands and wince at his bloodied and bruised knuckles.
“Are you okay?” This is the second time he’s gotten into a fight over me, and each time seems to get worse.
Guilt gnaws at my heart. It shouldn’t be this way, not for normal people like us.
We’re not military or law enforcement or anyone remotely dangerous, and yet, bad things keep happening.
It’s like we’re cursed when we’re together.
“Mercy,” Sam murmurs, wiping away a silent tear tracking down my cheek. “Everything will be okay. I promise.”
I shake my head. “You can’t know that.”
“I do.” He smiles as he tries to reassure me.
“Because I have you.” Capturing my lips, he kisses me hard and fast, like he’s trying to hold onto the belief that everything is okay and that he does have me.
I cling to his shirt as he sweeps me into his arms and carries me to the dining room table, remaining calm despite the dead body on the floor and the armed guards surrounding us.
Sam sits, keeping a wide berth from the table, and cradles me in his lap. “What do you want?”
“Respect.” Samuel’s smile is as cold as his eyes. “I did you a favor, Samson. The least you could do is return a phone call.”
“I’m not coming home.”
“Your fraternity is on suspension,” Samuel says cooly.
“The historic building you and your brothers have been vandalizing is on its way to demolition—at full fault of your own—and your membership has been revoked for infighting. You have also been summarily removed from any sports teams or clubs on campus, and your withdrawal from the school itself is pending approval, which will, of course, go through as soon as their offices reopen next week. I am not suggesting that you return home. I am demanding.” He steeples his hands over the table.
“Unruly children do not have the privilege of freedom. I will not have any son of mine ruin his life over some—” His lip curls. “Dead Girl.”
Ice freezes inside my veins. I stop breathing. A harsh ringing fills my ears. How does he know that name? Why would Sam’s father, mister moneybags, know anything about me?
Sam raises his voice. “She’s the reason my life is better. All you’ve ever given me are ultimatums and broken promises. Ever since Mom died—”
“Do not speak of your mother!”
“Ever since Mom died,” Sam shouts over his father, “you’ve been a fucking maniac. You can’t control the world! You can’t control me!”
Samuel folds his napkin and lays it on top of his untouched plate. “You will arrive home by midnight, alone, without another word.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Sam’s dad is eerily calm, like he’s five steps ahead of us on the board and everything is stacked in his favor. He who controls the landscape can shape the game and bend its rules, like a game master.
Yet another way Samuel Wright behaves like he owns the universe.
“I’m not going anywhere—”
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
“You don’t own me!”
“No,” Samuel concedes, suddenly meeting my gaze instead of his son’s.
A pit opens up in the bottom of my stomach.
“But I own Morningstar Mortuary, along with every one of its permanent residents.” He lists my family members off with his fingers, like we’re collectable cards.
“A desperate father foolish enough to barter his family’s lives away, a batty old woman better off dead than alive, a psychiatric patient abandoned by his own family, and a stupid girl who thinks her virginity is worth millions.
” Sneering, he glances down at my body. “I wouldn’t touch her for free. ”
Kane or Zane, I’m not sure which, must throw a fit, because one of them gets punched in the face and thrown to the ground. I barely hear the thud over the ringing in my ears.
“Lilith,” I breathe, my voice scratchy. “My sister.” He didn’t include her on the list. She must be safe.
“Ah, yes, the older sister.” A look of longing appears on Samuel’s face. “Now that’s a body I could enjoy.”
Bile rises to the back of my throat. What the hell is he saying? That he would—I swallow hard—touch her?
“Unfortunately, your sister’s already bound to another man. Their contract is airtight, I’m afraid.” Samuel tuts like he’s disappointed about this. “It’ll take a little more time to unravel that situation, but…” He licks his lips. “It’s well worth the prize.”
I’m going to be sick. My body quivers as equal parts anger and disgust roil within my gut. How dare he—how dare he!—treat us like toys for his amusement. “My family,” I seethe, “is not for sale!”
Samuel clicks his tongue. “Everything has a price, Mercy Morningstar.” A self-satisfied smirk makes him look like the devil himself. “And I’ve paid yours.”