A Debt of Darkness (Dark and Devilish #1)

1

THIS WILL STING A BIT

IVY

“I can do this.” I stare up at my bedroom ceiling. “I will survive this.”

I repeat the mantra over and over, trying to delude myself into believing I'll make it through the weekend. I'm exhausted, my head's about to split open, and I'm completely fucked. There's no way out, no other goddamn option except to marry the asshole my father promised me to.

Sold me to more like it.

My marriage will save our multi-million dollar company. Henry Thorne has enough money to pay off all my father's debts and set him up for life, provided he's not stupid enough to lose a second fortune. Dad can keep the beach house and yacht, as well as the mansion, and my stepmother will return to her social lunches and designer dresses.

My father told me about the arrangement so I could come to terms with it. He wanted me to accept my lot. Perhaps he thought I'd find honor or pride in knowing I'd saved my family from almost certain ruin.

It'll be a cold day in hell before I find anything to be thankful for, and if I have my way, then I'll fucking drag him into the ninth circle to witness it. He's condemned me to a life of pain, a miserable existence eking out excruciating moments. Not alive but unfortunately not dead yet—but my life will be fucked up beyond all recognition.

There'll be money beyond my wildest dreams and all the clothes and jewelry rich people wear to symbolize their power and wealth. We lost all of that thanks to my father's idiocy, and I'm the price he'll pay to get it back. I bet the asshole didn't think about it for a single fucking second either.

“It's going to be okay,” I say, whispering to myself.

Who the fuck am I kidding?

It's not going to be okay.

It'll never fucking be okay.

This wedding is a fucking joke and a sick one too. If my father gave a single fuck about anything other than himself, he'd never have agreed to it. He'd have found another way—any other way—or accepted his piss poor business decisions had ruined the business he inherited. Grandad died five years ago and it took less than that for my father to run his company into the ground.

Henry Thorne saw an opportunity and went for the kill like a ruthless shark. He needed a bride and my father needed money. I'm guessing our family name sweetened the deal. A deal signed before I even knew about it.

It's a tale as old as time and I was far too late to stop it.

In fairness, I've tried.

I pleaded with my father, but my bitch of a stepmother made sure my protests were ignored.

I'd argued I needed to finish my degree. Even Dad saw through my blatant attempt to stall for time.

I escaped for half a day before Damon tracked me down and hauled me back. I'd cursed and spat and screamed, but our head of security ignored everything I leveled at him. At least he had the decency to apologize before dragging my sorry ass home.

And I'd successfully found an excuse not to meet my fiancé every time the asshole tried to arrange something. My excuses were becoming ridiculous, but I'll be damned if I let my pride get in the way of my future. One that now unavoidably includes the complete and utter cunt known as Henry Thorne.

His reputation precedes him and the only women who try it on with him are gold-diggers or idiots. He's a nasty piece of work. Ruthless. Cold. Calculating. Rich enough not to give a fuck about what anyone else thinks and to shove that fact down your throat repeatedly.

I run my hands through my long blond hair and dig my nails into my scalp. My fucking awful fake nails Natasha insisted I had done. I loathe the plastic French nail effect she made the technician apply and simply smirked as I winced during the entire fucking manicure.

This wedding is a fucking shitshow and there's nothing to celebrate. I haul myself up out of bed and stare at the heavy wooden bedroom doors, flicking my eyes down to my watch.

It's early.

Far too fucking early.

Early enough that the rest of the house won't be awake.

There's nothing to lose and everything to gain. It might not work but there's fuck all anyone can do if I’m caught and this situation can’t get any worse .

I throw my running clothes on before my doubts catch up with me and shove my phone and bank cards in my pocket. I'll have to rely on cash until I can get a new name and that'll cost money. Fuck only knows how I'll get my hands on that much and my stomach tightens, telling me this is a fucking stupid idea. I should have thought of this earlier and planned. It's all too goddamn late and it's either this or a fucking miserable marriage.

And I've got nothing to lose.

I force the bile back down and harness the adrenaline, ignoring my shaking hand as I reach for the door handle. My palm is already sweaty and my heart's racing harder than if I'd run ten kilometers.

This is the most insane, most fucking stupid idea I've had, and yet I'm turning the doorknob and creeping into the hallway. I've stalked through this corridor a thousand times and crashed along it drunk after nights out—but I've never been this quiet. Never been so afraid.

The antique clock ticks with menace and I glare at it, hating its pretentious gold leaf decorations. It's designed to impress like the hideous artwork Natasha bought at vast expense. I blink in time with the second hand and my breathing quickens as I listen for anything warning me someone else is here.

The seconds count on and I sneak forward, carefully making my way down the marble staircase. I hate the gold railings and their extravagant curls, and one way or the other I won't be enduring them for much longer.

I head for the kitchen, guessing the front door will be locked. I'd be sure if I'd actually planned, but I didn't and all I can do is hope someone made a mistake. An unlocked door means the alarm won't be triggered and it's the only way to escape unnoticed. With any luck, I can make it to one of the paths leading away from the house and I'll disappear into the city.

Hopefully, this wedding gets canceled before it's even begun.

The kitchen door swings open and the usually busy room is empty. There's no one at the island and the sitting room has no one sitting on the expensive sofas. Natasha likes to call it the family room, but there's nothing close about the five of us. This family sucks and every step closer to the door is one closer to freedom. I'll be glad to be rid of the whole damn lot of them, even if I have to struggle on my own. Even my younger sister has been grating recently, and Izzy’s spoiled, pampered ass gets more entitled every day.

I check the door handle and it isn't locked. I bet Natasha left it open so my stepbrother could get in after another night chasing women. It's hard to know which of the three of them is more disgusting, but Dom probably edges it. He's chased more tail than a manwhore and he particularly likes young girls. He's older than me, but his dates are younger, and he discards them like cheap trash once he's had his fun.

“Going somewhere?”

I freeze as the smooth male voice runs through me like a knife to my goddamn heart. I don't recognize its owner and there's a sinister, dangerous edge to the way he asks his question. Whoever it is already knows exactly what's going on and they're playing with me, thrilled by the torment of torturing a mouse before the cat goes in for the kill.

My breathing turns heavy and my chest presses down on me, crushed under my weight. My only chance evaporated and although this was rash, I'd allowed myself to dream it would be successful. Hope can be fragile and the taste of it was euphoric. Now, I'm left with the bitter, soul-destroying taste of disappointment. It's worse than if I'd never even tried.

“For a run,” I say, forcing my voice to sound confident .

The man behind me laughs under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Try again, darling.”

My teeth grind against each other and my back stiffens. I turn slowly, seething at the ignorant pig strolling towards me like he owns the goddamn place.

“Who the fuck are you?”

His eyebrow flicks up. Barely, but enough for me to catch it and note he's surprised I showed fight. One corner of his mouth curls upwards, sharpening the already acute angles of his face, as he runs his fingertips over the marble counter. He's cool, collected. He's in control and he wants me to know it.

He's intimidating me without even using his size. His muscles could crush me in seconds and they’re all relaxed. His message is obvious and it makes the power differential more apparent.

I'm not even a threat to him. He doesn't even need to try.

“I asked a fucking question.”

“So did I, sweets. In fact, I asked first,” he says, smirking.

I swallow and decide to bluff. It's probably the wrong choice but my head hasn't exactly been thinking straight and it's gone haywire now I’m in panic mode.

I turn back around and reach for the handle. Again. “I already told you. For a run.”

I hear the muscles clenching behind me. I’ll bet those pale blue eyes are shooting daggers into my back.

“I don't like lies. I like liars even less, darling.”

“And I dislike the fucking pet names.” It isn't a question and the snap of my head as I twist around hammers my point home. The man looks at me and it's impossible to tell what he's thinking. His reaction is a mystery, leaving me confused. “It's your turn to answer. ”

His grin widens. “Ryan. Henry's head of security.”

“And what the fuck are you doing in my goddamn kitchen?”

Another pulse of amusement flashes through his bright blue eyes watching me like a hawk. “Catching his fiancé doing a runner.”

I huff and shake my head. “I'm going for...”

“Don't waste your breath. You don't run, not outdoors. There's a gym downstairs. You've got your bank cards stashed in your leggings. You've been caught, sweets, and you're only digging yourself in deeper.”

My eyes narrow and stare at him, feigning righteous indignation. He's entirely unmoved and there's no point arguing with the man. It'd be futile trying to persuade him to let me go and all it would do is confirm that I am, indeed, trying to run. It would also make me look weak and I refuse to give him an advantage.

“Told you she'd run,” Damon says, marching into the room with his usual aloof attitude. His betrayal stings like a slap across the face. Worse. Like a knife in the gut. He's meant to protect us and instead, he's sold me out, just like my father did.

Ryan smirks as the color drains from my face. “I'll give you a few minutes. A professional courtesy.”

Damon nods and his stare is more intense than usual, almost pleading with me not to do anything fucking stupid. “You'll make good on our bet, yeah?”

The asshole who works for my fiancé grunts as he closes the door, leaving us alone. My fingers curl into fists and my breathing hitches as I prepare to unleash a torrent of rage on Damon.

“For once, shut the fuck up and listen,” he says, pointing to a chair at the kitchen island. I toss my head and he shrugs his shoulders. “Fine. Don't sit. But fucking listen. Your father's in a lot of shit. Worse than he's admitted. This marriage gets him and your sister out of the fucking mess he's created.”

I wince and I turn as white as a goddamn ghost.

“Izzy?” I mumble.

“Yeah. Henry will keep her safe, but you're the price of it. I'm sorry, Ivy, I really am. There's fuck all I can do to stop it, but I can give you some advice. Heed it. For once.”

Our eyes meet and the silent exchange is everything our words will never say. I'm leaving one rat's nest, but wherever I'm going is worse. Much worse. A level of misery even I didn't expect and the knots in my stomach tighten as Damon confirms I'm fucking screwed.

“Don't be stupid. Don't waste your effort. Play it smart. He'll want you to give in and he’ll try to break you. Let him think he's won, but don't make it too easy and don't stop fighting. Plan your escape next time and when the moment comes, don't fucking hesitate. Run hard, run fast, and don't stop. He'll chase you to the ends of the earth, but you're smart enough to escape him.” His eyes haze over and any remaining hope vanishes. “I'm sorry your life has to be this.”

I nod and look away. It's too fucking much and not enough, and my soul screams in despair.

“What about Izzy?”

“He won't come for her if you run,” Damon says. “She'll be safe.”

“What did my father do, Damon?”

He draws a heavy breath and his shoulders fall as his weight slumps forward in defeat. His mouth opens as we're interrupted by a knock on the door and Ryan barges in, refusing to wait for permission .

“Time's up. Let's go.”

My eyes flick back to Damon's and then back to Ryan. “Go where?”

“The car, sweets. You tried to run. You almost succeeded. I'm taking you to Henry and we'll be keeping an eye on you.”

My eyes are wide despite my attempt to remain calm. My heart's pounding against my chest and my head's spinning. I'm dizzy and my vision's blurring as events spiral out of my control.

“The wedding?” I stammer.

Ryan marches towards me without responding. He grabs my hand and drags me behind him and Damon does nothing, watching sadly as I scream and writhe against a man I stand no chance of overpowering.

“What about the fucking wedding?” I screech as we reach the front door.

“It can be rearranged,” Ryan says, as I throw my weight onto the floor. He sighs and grabs my waist, hauling me over his shoulder and rendering every punch and kick completely useless. “Henry can decide if he wants to go ahead tomorrow or if he'd prefer something different.”

“It's not a fucking hairdressing appointment,” I yell as I'm unceremoniously carried to a waiting SUV. Ryan tuts and throws me in the back, shoving me across. I grab the handle and the child lock is on, and I scream and cry and pound the window, doing anything I can to get out of here.

“Drive,” Ryan says, calmly.

The car pulls away as I rail against my abduction and turn my attention to attacking Ryan. It's pointless, it's petty, and he presses his weight against me, incapacitating me in seconds.

“Stop.”

“I don't fucking want to,” I yell back, kicking my heel against the car seat.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he says without a trace of emotion. “In a minute, I'm calling your fiancé and asking him what to do about this wedding you suddenly seem so goddamn set on. It would be better for you if he didn't hear you screaming like a fucking lunatic.”

I toss my head again and pour every ounce of venom I can into my glacial expression.

“Sit up, strap in, and fucking behave,” Ryan says, easing back.

I rub my wrists and glare at him, delaying a few seconds to make another point. I slowly, begrudgingly comply and stare out the window, watching as we drive past the other mansions adorning the hills of L.A.

Ryan makes a call and I pretend to not give a shit about it. Despite my attempts to eavesdrop, all I hear are Ryan's yeses and no’s, and I don’t catch a single word of what Henry’s saying.

Ryan hangs up and sighs. I don't react, staring out the window and maintaining my sulk. We drive in silence and I refuse to give in, ignoring my desperation to know the fuck will happen next.

“Aren't you going to ask?”

“Why bother?” I sigh.

He grunts and I finally turn, surprised by the apologetic look on his face.

“Sorry, sweets. This will sting a bit.”

My brows furrow as I struggle to understand what the hell he's said. He darts forward and grabs me, holding me still even though I manage to scream. A short, sharp sting jets up my arm, burning as whatever the fuck he injected spreads towards my chest. I scream and thrash harder as the burn heats and my heart pounds, refusing to give in or give up.

“This will be over quickly,” Ryan snarls and I smirk, noting he's lost his cool for the first time. I bring my knee up but it doesn't land and my legs feel weaker than usual. “Stop fighting, sweets. You're safe with me.”

“Like fuck I am,” I slur as my words drawl and my vision fades. I'm far too warm and far too weak. I'm tired, so damn tired and darkness wraps around me as I sink into the car seat.