CHAPTER 5
OAKLYNN
I’ve been sitting next to my father for almost thirty minutes.
The longer we wait, even though I’m sure we were far too early and whoever we’re waiting for isn’t being intentionally rude, the more my father becomes frustrated and annoyed.
I want to shrink away from him and make myself smaller, but I force myself to sit still.
Calling attention to myself would be a mistake.
His threats from earlier, especially in the words not spoken, are already going round and round in my head.
I don’t want to pull the spotlight toward me right now.
When the door opens, I take a deep breath knowing everything is about to shift.
The very little hope I still reserved in my heart about my father changing will be lost.
The future I dreamed about, which involved me getting away from the expectations I never asked for, will be gone.
Nothing will be in my control; not anymore.
I fought hard to gain a little control in my life where I could.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to play the game I need to play when it comes to my father.
I’m more than capable of smiling when expected and following the rules which are unspoken between us.
The air around us becomes charged and I know it has to do with the man who has walked into the room.
When I glance up, my breath stalls in my chest.
I wasn’t expecting four men.
One of them is more than enough.
They’re all incredibly attractive and have an air about them.
Where my father has always prided himself on intimidating those around him and throwing his power around, it was more forced than natural.
With these men?
Everything about them screams apex predator.
The way their eyes assess the room, taking it in with one look, has me wanting to shrink back in my chair.
I only allow myself to glance in their direction quickly.
Anything more and I would attract their undivided attention.
I’m not sure if I’m ready for their scrutiny.
Taking up all the space and air in a room is clearly as natural as breathing for these men.
Danger and power radiate from them.
My instincts are torn between running from them and dropping to my knees and begging them to save me.
What an odd feeling.
And for all four of them?
I’ve never felt this way about even one man, with a single look.
How is it possible that I want all four men?
Shame fills me knowing I shouldn’t feel this way.
Not even a little bit.
Especially because my father expects me to attach myself to Kirill and do his bidding.
I’m a pawn in this game and I don’t have any say in it.
When I glance back up, I take in the man who seems to be leading the others.
If I were to guess this is Kirill Volkov.
His hair is shaved close to his head and the suit he’s wearing is clearly more expensive than I even want to think about.
He’s tall, but all the men are tall and similar in height.
I know the group of them would tower over me.
It’s not like it would be difficult anyway, but I can only hope standing next to Kirill will make me feel delicate instead of overtaken.
Kirill’s dark eyes are sharp and assessing.
But his eyes aren’t the only ones I can feel boring into me.
Did they not know I was going to be here?
I almost groan in annoyance, but I swallow down the sound.
The longer the silence stretches, the more I want to slide underneath the table and hide.
That would only piss my father off though.
Who even knows how the rest of the men in the room would react.
I try to get my internal fears to calm down, but when my name is mentioned, my head snaps up to find Kirill staring at me.
His nostrils flare as he breathes deeply while his dark eyes meet my gaze.
I’m not sure if he wants to spank me or throw me over his shoulder.
Surprisingly enough, I’m open to either option.
I swear I hear one of the men whisper, “Oaklynn.”
But it could be my imagination.
Kirill gives a curt nod and then sits without shaking my father’s hand or giving any further recognition beyond saying his name before my father introduced me.
I almost wince because I know my father will see it as disrespectful.
Somehow, it’ll be my fault.
Before I avert my gaze toward my lap, I glance at my father out of the side of my eye.
His jaw is tense, and his fists are clenched tightly as he sits down.
The other three men join us at the table, and it becomes very clear why there were so many place settings which I wasn’t sure about when I first walked in.
“Mr. Chambers,” Kirill’s voice is like silk dragging along gravel, “are you familiar with my associates?”
My father shifts in his chair.
He looks uncomfortable under the man’s scrutinizing gaze.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure,” he tries to sound agreeable, but it comes out strained and slightly annoyed.
I slide my eyes over the men sitting at the table because I can’t seem to help myself.
On one side of Kirill is a man who looks similar to him in the eyes and jaw which is covered in stubble.
His hair is a little longer on top and styled perfectly.
Their eyes are the same—deep, dark pools which don’t even try and hide the violence they’re capable of.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when he looks at me.
I swallow hard when Kirill waves his hand in the direction of the man.
“This is my brother, Maxim Volkov.”
Maxim nods toward my father, but he doesn’t look away from me.
Even when I lower my gaze, I can feel the way he continues to stare at me.
The way he’s looking at me feels like a caress.
Kirill motions toward the man sitting on the other side of him, “This is Huck Cardenas.”
Glancing at Huck, I bite my lip.
His hair is the longest out of the four men and is styled back and away from his face.
It’s slightly spikey but still sleek.
His face is all angles with cheek bones that would make me jealous if I didn’t know how to contour when I need to.
His facial hair is trimmed sharply which feels more intentional than the stubble on Maxim and Kirill.
Huck’s eyes are chocolate brown and when I lock eyes with him, they seem to melt with lust and desire.
My face heats as I tear my eyes from his when I feel my father stiffen beside me.
Fuck me.
The last thing I need is for my father to feel like I’m disrespecting Kirill Volkov.
Not with what he’s expecting of me.
Kirill clears his throat, and I swear there’s a hint of amusement in his voice as he points toward the last man who is sitting closest to my father as if shielding the other men from him.
It’s almost laughable because while my father may be cruel and he has no problem putting his hands on me, he would cower instead of violently confront when it comes to these men.
“That is Baker Dalton,” Kirill offers without further explanation.
There is something rougher about Baker.
There is an edge to him, something razor sharp with a side of feral intentions.
His hair is shaved and he’s clean shaven.
His body is the most muscular of the group, his muscles straining against the fabric wrapped around him.
Baker’s eyes are hazel, almost the color of whiskey.
His jaw is clenched, but something softens in his gaze when I meet his eyes.
Everything about him screams danger, but there’s something else there too.
I can’t put my finger on it at all, but I desperately want to find out.
His arms look like they would feel strong and secure while wrapped around me.
My soul yearns for that feeling.
That feeling of safety is not something I’ve ever experienced before.
My body is buzzing, but I force myself to focus, taking in everything around me even though I don’t look at the men directly again.
“Gentlemen, it’s nice meeting you,” my father tries to sound magnanimous.
Before he can say anything else, the man who led us into this room slides back inside along with another person carrying a tray.
The man doesn’t seem like just a server, but what do I know?
If he introduced himself, I didn’t catch it.
I was far too nervous to retain the information anyway.
He places a small plate in front of each person, starting with Kirill and working his way through the men he brought along before placing it in front of me then my father last.
I almost suck in a breath of surprise, but I simply hold still knowing I’ll pay for the slight later.
As we eat, the men pull my father’s attention.
The conversation is stilted and barely touches the surface.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been witness to a more awkward conversation.
My father barely acknowledges anyone other than Kirill.
If it annoys the other men, they don’t let on.
I’m not even sure what to do other than nibble at the food, keep my eyes down, and not say a single fucking word.
The longer I’m silent, knowing it’s what my father wants, the more the resentment for him, which I’ve harbored in my heart for a really long fucking time, grows.
I might not say anything, but I can feel eyes on me throughout every course delivered to us.
At least the food is delicious.
It’s the only saving grace I’m able to find.
The longer the obvious elephant in the room, my presence which is linked to what my father is after in the first place, is ignored, the higher the tension rises.
I can feel the calculation coming from my father.
He’s looking for the perfect time to offer me up like a plaything for the rich and powerful.
It’s not until coffee is served and the last of the plates have been cleared away that Kirill and the men with him lean back in their chairs.
Something shifts in the air, and I know that this dinner is about to change direction.
Everything I’ve just eaten turns in my stomach, souring at the same time.
Kirill flicks his eyes in my direction, but I focus my attention on my father.
“Dinner was delicious,” my father’s voice is oozing like a snake oil salesman.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Yes,” Kirill’s voice is a patient drawl which is at odds with the intensity of his focus, “well, after how many times you’ve requested a meeting, I figured I couldn’t put you off any longer.” His eyes sweep over me and his lip curls slightly, “I hadn’t expected you to have your daughter joining us.”
My father grinds his back molars and it’s clear he’s seconds away from losing it.
He’s never done well with disrespect and Kirill’s words are dripping with it.
“I felt like it was important for Oaklynn to be here,” my father insists.
“And,” Kirill challenges him, “why is that?”
After steepling his fingers together, my father leans forward as if he’s about to do Kirill a huge favor.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” he begins magnanimously.
“I’m sure you are aware of who I used to work for.” Kirill nods, his eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to figure out my father’s angle.
Good luck with that.
“It was only business,” my father continues, his tone indulgent and insistent at the same time.
“And now you’d like to do work for me,” Kirill intones, not posing it as a question but a statement of obvious fact.
I have to bite my lip to stop myself from smirking.
Kirill has read my father correctly.
If it wasn’t my life, freedom, and future hanging in the balance of this conversation, I would find this much more amusing than I already do.
“As a sign of good faith, to show you I’m committed to collaborating with you and building a strong relationship and proving my loyalty, I’d like to offer you my daughter’s hand in marriage.”
His words land like a bomb.
No one says anything, hell, no one even breathes for a moment.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I have to fight them from spilling over my lash line.
Even though part of me is shocked at how he just threw the offer out there so casually, I’m not nearly as surprised as I should be.
This isn’t how normal fathers use their daughters, but nothing about Richard Chambers has ever been normal when it comes to being a parent.
Why does this still sting?
It shouldn’t and I should be immune by now to every way he can hurt me, but the little girl deep in my soul is screaming and thrashing at the injustice and unfairness of it all.
Kirill’s eyes go hard, and I swallow when he notices me watching his reaction.
His eyes race between mine, seeing so much in the space of just a few heart beats.
I have no idea what he’s thinking.
His face is unreadable.
But, still, something flickers in his eyes.
Remorse?
Regret?
Whatever it is has me sucking in a sharp breath and looking away.
Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was hoping for someone to save me and push back the darkness and depravity clawing at me.
That hope becomes smaller and smaller as my gut sinks.
Maybe the devil I know is better than the one I don’t.
Even if it is hard to believe right now.
Anger is radiating from my father.
“You would marry off your daughter as a sign of loyalty?” The edge in Kirill’s tone should be a warning, one heeded without question.
My father shrugs, the movement casual and unaffected, “I’m aware of who now holds the power in this city, and I can be an asset to you. My daughter is at the age where she needs to be taken care of while also spreading her wings. She has spent a few years doing charity work in the city and is also highly educated. Having a woman on your arm who won’t embarrass you, who can walk through polite society with ease, has its merits.”
Maxim’s eyes flint with an unnamed threat and I swear Huck’s lip curls slightly.
Baker’s eyes are moving, assessing the room, but I swear his body sways toward me as if he’s fighting the need to jump from his chair and protect me.
It’s a silly notion and I’m sure it’s only in my head, but I cling to it.
Desperation surrounds me and threatens to pull me under.
Even if I wanted to say something, either in protest or to back up my father’s ridiculousness, my mouth has gone dry, and a lump has formed in my throat.
I try to swallow past it, but it’s almost impossible.
“We all know the importance of appearances,” Kirill’s words are distant and almost clinical.
He stands abruptly, the rest of his men following suit.
My heart sinks as his cold gaze takes me in one more time.
At least there is nothing malicious in the way he looks at me.
Small favors, I suppose.
“You’ve presented an interesting proposal,” Kirill drones on.
“I will consider it.”
Without another word, Kirill turns and strides out of the room.
Huck and Maxim follow him closely, but Baker seems to linger for a moment.
I glance at him to find him already looking at me.
Then he’s gone along with the rest.
“How could you be so useless?” My father hisses the question, and I brace myself for what will inevitably come next.
My legs are shaky as I follow him out of the private room and out of the restaurant.
I try to ignore him and get lost in my memories of the men I met tonight, but it’s not easy when he’s muttering under his breath the entire time, each word a promise of pain.
As much as I don’t want to walk in the house with him, I don’t have much of a choice.
The moment the door closes, he grips my hair and yanks.
I cry out, more in surprise than pain since it’s a sensation I’m used to at this point.
The backhanded slap he gives me has me trying to stumble away from him, but he holds me steady, and I have no choice but to absorb the impact.
Blood fills my mouth, one of my teeth cutting into the skin on the inside of my cheek.
It stings, but it’s nothing I haven’t felt or experienced before.
“What the fuck was that, Oaklynn?” His voice rises with every word.
“All you had to do was sit there and not fuck everything up for me.” He sneers, “But you couldn’t even do that right.”
I’m not sure what else he thought I should have done, but I did just sit there.
“I saw the way you looked at those men,” he seethes, “when your only focus should have been Kirill. Instead, you looked like a whore with a wandering eye. None of those men want you, none of them are going to save you. Now, I’m not even sure if Kirill is going to accept my proposal.”
He shoves me down on the ground and my knees hit the marble floor, the impact jarring.
The pain is explosive, but I swallow down the shout that wants to escape past my lips.
Expressing how weak I am, even when he’s hurting me, never ends well for me.
I learned that lesson long ago.
My father kicks me and causes me to fall to my side and curl in on myself.
When he does it again, stars dance in front of my eyes.
The roar of pure rage and frustration which comes from him is a harbinger of what is coming.
Even though I try to keep them at bay, tears leak out of the corner of my eyes.
The sight of them only enrages my father further.
Without caring about Kirill’s answer, the fact that I’m his daughter, or appearances, my father straddles my chest and rains punches down on me.
Most land on my torso, but a few have my head bouncing against the marble.
He’s huffing and puffing, the effort of hurting me, of beating me, clearly taking its toll.
With my eyes closed tightly, I try and drift to somewhere else.
Each fist landing against my body brings me right back to the present.
With a sound of disgust, he stands up and then delivers one more kick to my middle.
“You disgust me. Clean yourself up,” he demands before stomping away.
I’m sure he’s gone to drown himself in whatever liquor is in his office, but I can’t focus on where he’s gone right now.
I breathe through the pain and drag myself to stand when it feels like I’m not going to be sick.
Dragging myself to my room is a feat, but I manage it.
Barely.
When I collapse in bed, knowing I should take care of my injuries now instead of later, I’m consumed with the memory of the way the four men I met tonight looked at me.
There was something in their eyes, something which makes me warm from the inside out.
I could use a little warmth right now as an ache so profound it leaves me breathless settles throughout my body.
It’s soul deep and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to shake it.
Hopefully, everything will be better tomorrow, but I have my doubts.