Chapter Three #2
The bubbles in the bath popped as steam rose up and clouded the mirror.
I turned the taps off and slipped into the hot liquid, wincing as my cuts and grazes met the heat.
My muscles relaxed as I rested my head back against the edge and closed my eyes.
The aches and pain soothed slowly, leaving when I cleared my mind and thought of nothing. Except for Fly’s face.
It came into my third eye unbidden and I a rush of warmth overtook me. “That man.”
The line of his jaw was sharp and his blue eyes almost translucent. His dark hair was cut in a crop, ordinary, but it suited him. The tattoo of a fly on his neck had caught me off-guard. How could it look so sexy considering it was a bug? An annoying bug at that.
My eyes opened as a thrill pulsed the pit of my stomach.
“No!” I wasn’t allowed to find him attractive.
My best friend had fallen hard for him when we’d been young, but he’d rejected her, over and over.
She’d been so heartbroken, she’d developed a heart problem at the age of eighteen, right before he ran away with his friends.
When she found out he’d gone, her heart had given out…
and she’d literally died of a broken heart.
Tears entered my eyes and I balled my hands into fists.
The son of a bitch had to pay for what he’d done to her.
If he’d just given her a chance, he may have saved her life.
But, no… he was cruel and unkind. And I’d lost the only person who’d understood me because of it.
I hated him, even if his tattoos and broad shoulders were sexy as hell.
To rid myself of thoughts of him, I sunk my head into the bath, gently rubbing away the dirt and blood from my hair. I had to wait for my father to tell me what to do. My plan had been ruined, but I would find a way to use Fly’s capture to my advantage, even if it meant risking his life.
A knock on the door jolted me and I stood up, wrapping a towel around my hair softly. The knock came again and I called out that I would be right there while shoving my arms into my dressing robe.
“Who is it?” I shouted as I reached the door.
“It’s me,” a low hushed tone hissed, “let me in!”
I quickly unlocked the door and allowed Martin inside, shutting the door behind him. He reached for me, undoing the tie on my robe before I could stop him.
“Shit, Brit,” he said, inhaling sharply, “You’re fucking hot.”
The material gaped, exposing my tits. I shoved his hand away and covered myself, glaring at him for being so forward.
He’d been trying to bed me since he hit puberty, and although he was a handsome guy, I’d never allowed any man to come near me…
I had to stay pure if I wanted control over who my father would choose for me.
“Leave me alone, Martin.” I moved away. “You know you can’t do that. My father would kill you.”
He smirked, his volatile mood clearly jovial. “Oh, but I’m rock hard.”
Sucking his lip into his mouth, he stepped closer, forcing me to back up.
“Stop it!”
Catching the sleeve of my arm, he pulled me towards him, ignoring my free hand as I tried to bat him away.
“Just a little feel.” He slipped a hand under my robe and grabbed my tit.
My pussy flooded and I pushed him harder, the anger moving through me enough to give me strength. We’d teased one another, talking dirty and playing with ourselves through the years, just to meet that urge. Except, I wasn’t feeling it now. I was sore and bruised and seriously pissed off.
“I mean it!” I shoved him until he fell on the bed. “Not today!”
He held his hands up in surrender and scooted back on the bed, leaning his head against my pillows. “Don’t mind me while I sort this out.”
Unzipping his fly, he dug his hard cock out of his briefs. I was half tempted to grab it and bend it back, to see how far it would go. Instead, I turned back to the bathroom and shouted over my shoulder as I closed the door.
“Do what you want, I’ll be out in a bit.”
Closing the door, I went to my walk-in closet and picked out a black dress with a smart jacket to go over the top.
My relationship with Martin had been hairy at the best of times.
I’d been avoiding him in the lead up to capturing Fly, just because I didn’t trust him.
I’d wanted to, and he’d never given me any reason not to, but being the daughter of a high-profile spiritual group leader was sure to give a girl a bit of paranoia.
Once I was dressed, I brushed my hair and dried it, styling it in a tight bun behind my head, just like my mother. A power woman always looked smart, she’d told me… and slightly masculine in order to fit in.
“Come on,” Martin called from the other side of the door, “I’m bored. I want to hear about your escapades.”
I flung open the door, put my hands on my hips and stared at him. “It was a shit-show. And now, I have to fix things.”
“Shouldn’t you sleep first?” he reached for my cheek, pulling his hand back when I shrank away. “You need to heal.”
Storming into the room and grabbing up my laptop, I murmured a negative. “Nope, there’s too much to do to get back into my father’s good books.”
“Brit!” He caught my elbow and squeezed, forcing me to stop.
“I hope you cleaned your hands,” I said icily, glaring at him pointedly.
“I used your nightie.”
Ripping my arm away, I scowled at him, getting in his face. “This is serious, Martin, stop it!”
He caught me again, holding on to both my forearms tightly. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Listen, you’re right, this is serious. I’ve heard rumors that your father is starting his hunt for a husband for you. He hates that you’re trying to be like him. He wants you to submit.”
My shoulders deflated and I stumbled back, catching myself against the wall with a hand. I’d had no idea that my father was planning to marry me off. I wasn’t ready, I couldn’t… I was his heir; I had to be him.
“I know you think that you can take over when he dies,” Martin said sardonically, “but I think he’s got other plans. We could work together.” He took my chin and raised it, reminding me of my father. “I’ll marry you and allow you to rule beside me when he goes.”
Warmth fluttered in the pit of my stomach and flew over my skin, spreading to my cheeks.
I stepped out of Martin’s grip and took hold of the door handle, opening it before he could stop me.
He paused as I glared at him, his expression intense.
He’d always struggled to read me, which was another reason I knew that we would never make a good match.
“Leave,” I ordered, “I have things to do.”
Focusing his gaze on me, he stepped into the hallway and faced me again. “Don’t pretend we don’t care for one another, Brit,” he said.
Dismissing him with a wave, I held my head high and waited for him to turn and retreat. I watched him go, suddenly grossed out by the guy. I understood what he was trying to do, and yet, I wasn’t settling for anything less than my birth right.
I closed my bedroom door behind me and walked down to the gallery, coming to a stop at the balcony and looking at the huge portrait of Chad Murray. It hung on the wall opposite, right above the front double doors below.
His tall frame and shaggy hair had a certain charm to most of the people in the compound.
The women adored him and enjoyed the rituals he forced them to partake in or so they told me.
I wasn’t allowed to watch, although I’d tried to sneak a peek once, when my best friend had been called in on her eighteenth birthday.
I hadn’t been able to see anything, but when she’d protested, I’d fled, too scared of what might be happening.
It was better that I didn’t know the full details.
I shuddered against the memory, clearing it from my mind.
When I was head of The Reason, those rituals would change.
My father had claimed that his loving would cleanse the women, helping them to transcend into healing quicker, and that when they then made love to their husbands, they were passing it onto them. I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Brit,” one of my father’s secretaries called from below. “Chad wants to see you in his office.”
Inclining my head, I held the banister and stared into my father’s eyes on the painting. He was going to be my downfall if I didn’t take control of my own life. And it was time…