3. Lily
3
LILY
“ I love my job. I love my job. Killing clients is frowned upon,” I mutter under my breath as I stand with my boss and his PA, Veronica, to wave off the clients from hell as they finally enter the elevator. “And the conditioner in prison will dry out my ends.”
“We can hear you,” Gabriel murmurs in his elegant Philadelphian accent as the doors close and the floor indicators light up as proof the duo are out of earshot. “Just thought you should know that.”
I offer him a sideways glance to check if he’s mad at me. The bemused expression that greets me tells me he’s as wrung dry by the two men who’ve monopolised our entire afternoon with their childish civil suit as I am. He tugs the end of my curtain bangs as he says with a chuckle, “Your hair is safe, little Cherub. I’m going to steer them back in the direction of Magnum and Key.”
The grin we exchange at his mention of our closest rival is closer to a vicious smirk than anything filled with humour. We owe them for trying to pawn the indecisive father and son duo off on us in the first place. From the outset, their generosity was out of character. Having spent five hours going over the pair’s options, only to have them refuse to settle on a way to proceed, puts paid to their excuse about our services being a better fit for the two men. It’s clear they wanted to get rid of the annoying clients and thought it would be funny to point them toward us.
Apparently, they’ve forgotten how proficient Gabriel is at extracting payback when you upset him. I foresee more than a few irritations in their future. Knowing my boss, he’ll double the annual pro-bono time commitment he pledged on their behalf the last time they tried to one-up him. While Gabriel enjoys giving back to the less fortunate in WA, the partners at Magnum and Key aren’t as philanthropic.
My smile widens when I realise that Gabriel is already plotting.
The glee in his forest-green gaze is awe-inspiring… and a little scary.
“I must say I’m glad to see the back of them,” Veronica drawls in her inimitable way. “They’re going to be harder to wrangle into seeing sense than my little kitty is to get into her winter sweater.”
When she straightens the cat broach pinned to her blazer, I bite down on my bottom lip and do my best not to laugh. Outside of her job taking care of Gabriel and mothering the rest of the firm, there’s only one thing Veronica takes seriously.
Her cats. All seven of them.
As soon as Veronica is out of sight, Gabriel groans. “Do you know she slipped a note asking for a monthly ‘bring your pet to work day’ into the office suggestions box?”
“Of course, she did,” I exclaim with amusement. “If you weren’t such a disorganised mess, I swear she’d retire to spend all day with her darling kitties.”
The horror that invades my boss’ expression is comical. “No. Never. Roni’s not allowed to leave. Maybe I should give her suggestion a second thought.”
Still laughing, I follow him to the meeting room to grab my things.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I give Gabriel a little wave as I exit the room.
“Yes, yes,” he replies, vaguely flipping his hand in my direction as he jabs at his phone screen with obvious agitation. “Tomorrow.”
Although my back is sore from spending the afternoon bent over the younger client’s shoulder so I could point out the clearly labelled clauses he simply couldn’t see without my assistance, my shoulders shake with mirth as I make my way to the waiting area. Poor Gabriel is probably looking for his company insurance policy to ensure it covers bringing a menagerie of animals into the office once a month.
I wasn’t joking when I called him a disorganised mess.
His mind is brilliant. He can see legal loopholes no one else can. In the decades he’s lived in Australia, he’s expanded the single law firm he created as a twenty-eight-year-old into ten offices across the country. Although he is heavily involved in the Black Shamrocks MC, having sought sanctuary with the Australian faction of the club after he was forced to leave the US in the early nineties for reasons I’ve never been told, his unique personality meant that he never became more than an ancillary member.
Gabriel Abaddon may be a member of American Mensa, but ask the man why he’s wearing one brown shoe and one black, and he’ll have no idea what you’re talking about.
Hence his over-reliance on Veronica to keep the rest of his life—and his head—straight.
When I reach the waiting area, it’s empty.
I freeze, blinking slowly as I process my surprise.
Every evening, a biker has been waiting to escort me home.
It’s been that way for the entire two years I’ve worked here.
“Have any messages been left for Lilianna Mayberry?” I ask the temp receptionist with hope in my voice. She’s not our regular agency stand-in, so when she silently blinks up at me, I offer her more information. “From Zeke Miles or one of my brothers… maybe my cousin, Toke— er, I mean, Benedict Cherub?”
“Sorry, Anna,” the petite redhead replies after checking her screen. “There’s nothing for you.”
“No worries. Thank you for checking, though.”
I perch on one of the leather chairs sitting against the wall and slip my phone free from my purse. After hanging up on Zeke when he called during the meeting from hell, I turned my phone off. My cousin, Benedict, or Toker as he’s better known, likes to play phone pranks whenever he knows I’m run off my feet, and sometimes my brothers get in on it if they’re hanging around the club with him. Heading them off at the pass felt like the right choice at the time, considering I was already busy fending off the son’s accidentally wandering hands whenever his excuse about needing my help brought me within reach.
Now that I’m stuck without an escort home and zero understanding why it’s happened, I’m beginning to regret that decision. Dealing with Toker’s joke calls for “Dr. P Zalot” and my brothers’ lame inquiries as to the status of my refrigerator would’ve been better than trying to breathe through the crushing anxiety that’s trying to choke me in the wake of my unexpected alone time.
I’ve rarely been alone for five and a half years.
If Zeke isn’t around, Slash shadows me, or Toker takes me to the gun range. When the three of them are on runs, my brothers move in for the duration. On the odd occasion that they’re too busy, my best friend, Nadia, hangs out with me. At this point, I’m not sure if it’s a necessity or a comfort, and I’m not keen to find out. While I’m better able to manage my reaction to unexpected touch, I don’t think I’ll ever get over my residual fear of being left defenceless in the dark.
Because darkness is the real mind fuck.
That night.
The pitch-black cottage.
Alex’s depravity unleashed.
Knowing no one was coming to save me…
It takes less than thirty seconds for my phone to reboot and in that time my mind manages to cycle through my fears. My pulse pounds in my ears. A thin veneer of sweat coats my skin. I swallow down the bile that surges into my throat as the memories I’ve shoved down deep into the obscure recess of my brain attempt to drag me into a panic attack. The beep of my phone as messages come through saves me seconds before the screaming in my head emerges from my lips.
ZEKE: Bad news, sweet thing
ZEKE: Church is gonna run late
ZEKE: Wait at the office with Gabriel
ZEKE: I’m sorry to keep you waiting
ZEKE: But you know I’ll make it up to ya ;)
Seeing that Zeke’s message was sent two and a half hours ago does little to dampen my worry. It ramps up to an entire new level when I open the only other text message I’ve received since then.
CHARLOTTE: The men are tied up. Dad said to head straight home when you’re finished. Venom will meet you there when he can. Xo
I stare at the message for a long moment. It’s unusual for Charlie to reach out via text. It’s even stranger for her to contact me over Shamrocks’ business. Frowning, I try to read between the lines to decipher if she’s attempting to tell me that the MC is in trouble without saying it outright. A weird feeling invades my stomach the longer I stare at the message, so I hit Zeke’s number on my speed dial.
His phone doesn’t ring.
Instead, a series of weird sounds erupt on the line. Since his phone is always on, and he answers me even when he’s riding his Harley, the worry niggling in my gut subsides. The only time Zeke is unreachable is during church, and that’s only due to my dad’s paranoia. He makes them stow their phones into a special magnetic box Cub designed to stop their phones being tapped or tracked.
If Zeke’s phone isn’t connecting, then Charlotte’s message makes sense.
My fiancé and the rest of the club are busy.
I need to make my way home alone.
“Have a good night,” I offer as I stand on shaky legs and gather my things.
“You too,” the temp murmurs without lifting her head from the folders she’s sorting through. “Hope the traffic isn’t too bad—the delivery window is pretty specific.”
Quirking an eyebrow, I check that she’s talking to me and not on the phone. When she meets my perusal with steady expectation, I reply, “ Um, sure. I guess.”
The redheaded temp receptionist’s gaze burns hot on the back of my head as I wait for the elevator. Her odd behaviour distracts me for a few minutes, but as soon as I’m alone, my anxiety ratchets back up to panic attack levels. To call the descent to the underground garage nerve-wracking would be an understatement. I plot out the journey home in my head, anticipating stop lights, backed-up roundabouts, and slow traffic since it’s peak hour. Once I’m on the employee parking level, I scurry to my SUV, then plonk my tired backside in the driver’s seat. A deep sigh escapes my lips as I exhale the chaos of the afternoon, only for it to be immediately replaced by dread at my next task.
I’m more stressed about driving home by myself than I was over batting the younger client’s hands away for hours. It’s been four years since I’ve driven anywhere without a Harley escort, Zeke driving my vehicle, or on the back of a bike. The freedom I thought I’d feel when the need for a bodyguard lessened hasn’t eventuated.
If anything, I feel naked without one of the Shamrocks with me.
“You can do this,” I mutter to myself. “Just start the car and drive. You’ll be home within forty-five minutes.”
My sweaty fingers are next to useless as I struggle to hit the ignition button with enough force to start the engine. The accelerator feels like a brick beneath my foot when I reverse out of my parking spot. I offer one of the other graduate lawyers a small wave when I pass her on my way toward the exit. My hand hangs for an extra heartbeat when I see how her eyes widen when my usual Harley escort doesn’t follow behind me. Most everyone in the firm is connected to the Shamrocks in some way, so they’re aware of the restrictions my overprotective family has in place.
“You and me both,” I mutter when she doesn’t wave back. “You and me both.”
Frown creasing her forehead, she turns on her heel to head back to the elevators that lead to our offices. No doubt she’s going to alert Gabriel to my unorthodox departure, so he can double-check that I’m not doing something stupid.
Every limb is heavy, like I’m trapped in mental quicksand, as a nagging twinge of intuition orders me to get home as soon as I can. It’s been drummed into my head in the post-Alex years to always trust my gut—especially by Slash, who’s a firm believer in the power of instinct—so I use inertia to put the pedal to the metal. Avoiding my usual route home, I speed through the back streets, crisscrossing the city thoroughfare until I reach the on-ramp to the freeway. My gaze flits between the road in front of me and my rear-view mirror. I’m half-deafened by the whooshing of my heart as it races in my ears. Over and over, I scan my surroundings to make sure I don’t have a tail. With my phone clutched in one hand, Zeke’s number on the screen, my thumb hovering over the call icon, I weave in and out of the traffic.
Despite knowing that it’s likely useless, I try to ring Zeke again as I pull into our driveway.
This time the call connects, but only long enough to send me to his message bank.
“It’s me,” I whisper when his terse greeting ends. Clearing my throat, I try to sound calm as I tell him, “I’m home. I, ah , I love you.”
A swipe of my thumb ends the call before I can confess that I want him to come home as soon as possible. My body is a ball of jangling nerves, my legs jelly-like as I slide out of my vehicle. Wedging my keys between my fingers, I hurry toward the front door with my bag secured across the front of my body. When I reach the bottom of the front steps, I realise I haven’t locked my SUV, so I spin around to point the fob at the vehicle instead of backtracking to press the button on the inside of the handle.
As the lights flash, a white work van pulls across my driveway.
“Hey, miss, are you ready for us?” The big man in the passenger seat yells at me, leaning out the window.
“What do you mean?” I shout back at him.
“We’re here for the job you called about.”
Since my house is on a corner block, people sometimes confuse my address with the house on the adjacent street. Although alarms clang in my head, I swallow down my apprehension and walk toward the van. My thin heels click on our concrete driveway. Another sliver of foreboding runs through my mind, this time manifesting as an icy shiver that slices through my body. I carefully edge my right hand into my purse and wrap my fingers around the butt of my handgun.
The handgun I’ve had to use on someone only once before.
Stopping a few metres from the van, I widen my stance, cocking a hip as well, to tell the man, “I didn’t book a plumber. You must have me confused with the Thompsons. Their house backs up to my yard.”
As I wait for him to leaf through the paperwork on his lap, the thumb of my left hand unconsciously plays with my engagement ring. It’s a nervous habit I’ve developed since Zeke slid the ring on my finger a few years ago. The dainty circle of gold with its diamonds is a small symbol of the connection I share with the man who owns my heart, but the comfort it offers is larger than life.
The man in the driver’s seat speaks again, lower than before. I can’t hear him properly. When he gestures toward a piece of paper in his hand and beckons me to look at it, I freeze. My head spins. I bite my bottom lip to ground myself, scanning my surroundings, before I try to peer through the tinted windows of the van. The driver stares straight ahead, annoyance emanating from him as I waste their time.
I’ve trained in self-defence for years now, I can evade two men.
Giving myself a mental shake for being so suspicious over what is no doubt an honest mistake, I pull my hand from my handbag and walk to the passenger window.
“I didn’t book a plumber.”
“We know, angel,” the driver says with a sneer.
My heart lurches at his tone, chills running down my spine when he turns to face me. A sinister smirk invades his features as I quickly recognise him. I shriek. Turn to run. My handbag slips off my shoulder in the rush and the heel of my stiletto catches on the cement join. Off-balance, fight or flight engaged, I pause to choose between bending down to retrieve my gun or sprinting to the locked front door… and that’s when the side door of the van slides open.
An additional two men leap out of the back.
“Help!” Screaming to gain my neighbours attention, I dart to the side so I can evade the men. “Fire!”
Dressed in black with balaclavas covering their faces, the men each latch onto one of my arms, and drag me, kicking and shouting, toward the van. My teeth rattle when the top of my head hits the door jamb. I graze my knee on the step. One of them shoves me forward and the other one seizes hold of my knees to heft me the rest of the way inside the vehicle.
As the bigger of the two men pins me to the floor, I hear my phone ringing. The guitar solo at the start of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses fills the air. I screw my eyes shut as the need to cry ambushes me.
It’s Zeke’s ringtone.
He’s calling me back.
But he’s too late.
As I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, the van drives off at high speed. Wheels squealing. We lurch from side to side. Wild with rage and energised by fear, I fight for my freedom as hard as I can within the cramped confines of the vehicle. I use my heels to kick one of my attackers in the face. His balaclava rips at the cheekbone, his nose pours blood. I aim for his chin, determined to turn the odds in my favour by knocking him out, but before I can strike him a second time, I feel a sharp pinch in my arm.
A sluggish feeling invades me in the next instant.
Twisting around to peer down at my arm with wobbly eyes, I find an empty syringe sticking out of my bicep.
That can’t be good.
My head grows fuzzier, and my eyesight dims.
My arms are bent behind my back, my shoulders flare with agony, then I’m rolled over and duct tape is slapped on my mouth. In the developing drug-induced darkness, I vaguely hear a man’s muffled whining. “Fuck me. Bitch broke my cheekbone—gave me a bloody nose. Fuck. ”
When I turn to search for the source of the comment, I’m punched in the temple.
It feels like the impact knocks my brain loose.
Dizzy. Disorientated. Defeated.
I’m left with no choice but to embrace the burgeoning darkness.
God knows how long later, I surface from the blanket of black with a gasp. The moment my eyes open, my body is on alert. My brain warns me that I’m in trouble, even as it unhelpfully hides some of the events that led me to this situation from my consciousness.
I press my palm to my mouth to stop myself from warning my kidnappers that I’m awake. Sometimes the element of surprise is the difference between success and defeat. When I easily roll toward the edge of the mattress I’m laid out on, I realise that my hands are now unbound.
Sitting upright, I take stock of my aching body.
My face throbs. My head hurts. The pain in my chest makes it hard to breathe.
Other than that, I’m okay.
Sore, but okay.
The light hurts my eyes, so I blink slowly as I try to take stock of my surroundings.
Male clothes hang in the open walk-in-robe.
Three pairs of leather loafers, dark-brown, black, and tan, line the shoe shelf.
A navy robe is draped over the end of the bed.
Everything is muddled in my head from whatever they injected into me. I’m foggy. Dazed. I’m also cognisant of the oil-like dread spreading through my veins. Panic nips at its heels like an over-excited puppy. Dark premonition threatens to engulf them both.
I’ve been trapped before.
Hunted by a madman.
Come close to death.
I don’t know if I have the inner resolve to survive a second time.
That bleak thought galvanises me into action.
Struggling back to my feet, I teeter on my heels, then lean against the wooden bed frame to steady myself. As nausea takes hold and my head spins, I drag in a deep breath. The churning in my stomach picks up pace when the masculine tang of the cologne that lingers in the air infiltrates my nose.
It’s a familiar scent.
A reminder of the worst period of my life.
The man’s bedroom that I’m trapped in takes on an even sinister cast.
And that’s when I remember why I ran away from the van.
“ Ah, the mouthy little cunt is awake.” My abuser’s sidekick chuckles darkly as he pushes the bedroom door all the way open and steps inside the room. “Must say I’m disappointed… thought I’d steal a little taste while you were lying there, angel, moaning away like a bitch in heat?—”
“If you touch me, I’ll have you killed,” I warn Hugh St. James with absolute certainty in my tone. The son of the Maddison clan’s underboss shakes his head at my threat, even as he pauses his advance. Straightening my shoulders, I do my best to hide how unsteady my balance is, while I remind him that I’m not bluffing. “Alex or Zeke, I don’t care which one ends you… as long as you’re dead.”
“You’re so bloodthirsty,” Hugh admonishes. Clicking his tongue, he cocks his head to one side and grins. “I’ve missed you, Anna.”
“Feeling’s not mutual.”
“Figured it wouldn’t be.”
“What do you want?”
Even as I pose the question, I’m aware that I already know the answer.
Where I was once naive and uninformed, I’ve spent the past four years making sure that I’m aware of the big players in the underworld. Never again will I find myself left in the dark about the world I was born into. I will always wear the reminders of my overconfidence in my own abilities back when I was an eighteen-year-old know it all, but I won’t add to them. Back then, I tried to please everyone, refused to push back against the smothering affection of the overprotective men in my life, pretended I was content to remain their “little Cherub” instead of fighting to grow into a woman.
I mightn’t be male, but I’m a descendant of the founding six.
My power may be different to the kind my brothers will inherit—that doesn’t mean I’m not powerful in my own right. I have a place within the Shamrocks. A role that doesn’t force me to bow down to them. I can work alongside them, in coordination with them, not in secret.
I shouldn’t have to play games or manipulate behind the scenes to prove my worth.
That was my error five years ago.
A mistake that left me with lifelong scars.
From that debacle, I decided I can only call my misfortune a mistake if I learn from it.
Otherwise, it’s a conscious choice to continue embracing ignorance.
But, I am no longer ignorant.
I know who Alex really is.
Just like I know who his best friend is beneath his sneering veneer of superiority.
Hugh St. James is a violent arsehole who thrives on fear and pain.
I refuse to allow him to use mine to fuel his imprudent ego.
“Alex has a little itch he needs scratched,” Hugh informs me with a half-shrug. He blinks, ending our silent stare-off, smiling as he continues. “As his best friend, it’s my job to help him track down the Jezebel he desires to bend to his will.”
At the mention of Alex, my mouth runs dry. Despite that, I roll my eyes and do my best to act like his revelation hasn’t rattled me. “Not sure how you plan to do that. Last I heard, Australia doesn’t provide conjugal visits to convicted felons, so you’ll have to make do with blowing him kisses through the Perspex barrier.”
Confusion clouds Hugh’s gaze. I’m about to explain that I was alluding to him visiting Alex in prison when he starts to laugh, and it’s my turn to be confused. I frown, scanning his face for clues to his abrupt mood change.
“ Oh . This is perfect.” He claps his hands together. “Fuck me dead, I feel like Santa on Christmas Eve.”
“Don’t care who you feel like,” I tell him. “Because you look like an idiot.”
My insult barely registers as Hugh chuckles to himself once more, then spins on his heel and strides out of the bedroom. He slows long enough to pull the door shut behind himself, and although I brace for the disappointment the sound will bring, I find myself oddly dreading the implications of his decision not to lock the door behind him. If I’m not confined to this room, the chances are that the house is a fortress I can’t escape, too far away from help, or a combination of both.
Couple the unlocked door with his strange reaction to my mockery about his close friendship with Alex, and I’m left wondering if my imprisonment isn’t the main aim here. With seventeen months left on his sentence, it doesn’t make sense for Alex to have Hugh kidnap me on his behalf.
Not yet anyway.
Could this have nothing to do with Alex and everything to do with my father’s previous attempts to ally with the Maddison clan?
I’m still pondering that question when Hugh returns. He drags his gaze over my body. His leering look travels from the top of my head and down my face, coming to rest on my breasts. The smirking man seems to enjoy the way I cross my arms over my chest and the defiant way I lift my chin when his focus returns to my eyes.
“I hate playing the long game.”
“Then don’t,” I reply. “Let me go home.”
Shaking his head, Hugh quips, “He better not break you, not before I get to take my fill too.”
“In your dreams.”
I scowl at him. Hugh offers me a grin and a wink. Silence dawns between us. It’s filled with a strange combination of camaraderie and hatred. Almost like we have a common enemy. In the eyes of the man standing in front of me, I can sense ambivalence.
Maybe I can negotiate my way out of this?
For a moment, I allow hope to loosen the tightness in my chest.
“ Ah, fuck it.” Hugh closes the distance between us in two strides. Confidence shattered, I back up as fast as I can, only halting my retreat when the back of my thighs hit the mattress. When he reads the revulsion on my face, the man I now know to be a mobster sneers down at me with lewd intent. “He owes me a taste.”
I react on instinct when his hands close around my upper arms. My knee lifts, colliding with his balls, hopefully hard enough for him to gargle them. Hugh’s fingers flex, his grip bites into my biceps a second before he stumbles past me and face plants on the bed.
As he cradles his dick with both hands and groans, I make a run for it.
My adrenaline spikes. It powers me on when I stumble. Energises me as I fight the drug-induced sluggishness that refuses to set me free. Every step seems to happen in slow motion, yet it feels like I reach the end of the hallway in a flash. When the toe of my stiletto catches on the edge of the runner, I drop to my knees. The pencil skirt I wore to work tears as I spring back to my feet like a marionette.
With two hands, I grip the material on either side of the rip. I split the skirt to the top of my thigh, lengthening my stride, then kick off my stilettos. I’m not sure how they survived the scuffle in the van and the journey inside the house, but the sacrifice of my favourite Louboutin’s to my getaway plan doesn’t even make me blink.
If I have one shot at escape, I’m going to take it.
Conscious that there are three other men with Hugh, I slowly creep around the corner. The area is clear, but my senses detect the same cologne from the bedroom in the air. Since I suffer from patches of lost memory—trauma-induced amnesia is the label my therapist gives it—the foreboding that winds its way around my throat yields little answers, even as it squeezes tight, choking me, while I futilely search my mind for clues.
A single word echoes around my skull.
Alex.
But that’s impossible.
He’s supposed to be in prison for another year and a half.
Deliberately shaking myself free of the hazy memories his name invokes, I remind myself that the Shamrocks would know if he was mysteriously released early. Zeke would have flown me out of the state if that was the case. There’s no way he’d allow me to wander, unaware and oblivious, around the same city as Alex.
And, if Zeke somehow didn’t know that Alex was out, then Gabriel would.
News of that magnitude wouldn’t slip by unnoticed.
There’d be a media frenzy.
Signs of my personal Armageddon.
Reporters invading my privacy again.
The Chosen Cherubim re-emerging from their slumber to torment me.
Forcing myself to cling to my steadfast belief in the men I trust with my life and the system that came close to failing me, I offer one last glance past the living room that spans the distance between me and the front door, then I edge the rest of the way around the corner. Eyes fixed on my clearest route to safety, I hike up my skirt to the top of my thighs and sprint as fast as I can to the exit.
“Please be unlocked. Please be unlocked.” That one sentence, repeated over and over, is a prayer, a benediction, a promise, and a worry. “Please be unlocked.”
When I reach the door and twist the handle, my shaking hands impede my escape. I try again, my shrill cry of impatience loud in the empty room. The knob turns, the door pops open. As I squeal with delight, the sound of someone rushing toward me from somewhere in the house turns my glee into desperation.
Light of foot, powered by survival, I fly out of the door and into the front yard. The gravel path crunches under my bare feet. Something digs into my heel, a burning jolt of pain flares in its wake. I barely register the puncture wound, intent as I am on making it to the road I can see at the end of the driveway. Arms pumping, I scream for help, even as I try my hardest to save myself.
I reach the head of the concrete drive.
An arm curls around my waist.
I’m lifted off my feet.
Slung over a shoulder.
The impact steals my breath.
With urgency, I gulp down air, open my mouth, and scream again, “Help! Fire! Rape! Help!”
A large hand swats my arse with a stinging slap. I gasp, more from the shock of being hit than the actual pain. The sudden intake of breath causes the cologne from the bedroom and the living room to flood my senses, and my sedative-affected, trauma-defected mind floods with every memory I have of the man carrying me back inside the house of horrors.
“Now, now, Lily .” Alex’s velvety smooth voice mocks me. “Calm down. You’re already bleeding, we don’t want to do anything to make it worse, do we, angel?”
Terror rises within me. Unshakable and inexorable. It lodges in my throat, choking me. A strangled sound filled with despair and rage somehow escapes around the boulder. Desperate measures, impossible plans, a prayer for death to arrive before Alex can hurt me again, fuels my struggle. I kick my legs, punch him in the back with all my strength, jam my knees into his stomach, try everything I can think of to break free of his grasp.
I fight like my life depends on it.
Alex laughs at my efforts.
He kicks the door shut behind us.
The lock clicks into place.
Trapping me.
Dooming me.
As reality sinks into my terrified mind, my body trembles uncontrollably.
No.
This can’t be happening.
Not again. Not again. Not again.
As my head spins, I start to feel faint. My mind races without aim, refusing to accept the truth. Alexander Kingsley is my worst nightmare. I’ve spent the last four and a half years putting myself back together after experiencing this man’s brutality, and just as I start to embrace the possibilities of the life that I’ve built from the ruins he created, Alex returns to destroy them.
“Put me down, Alex. Please ,” I plead in a shaky voice while my brain scrambles to find some much-needed composure. It fails to manifest, so I end up begging him to see sense. “You’re not supposed to be anywhere near me, you know that. If you let me walk out of here now, I won’t tell the police and your parole will be safe.”
My nightmare chuckles at my request. He slowly lowers me down the front of his body, thrusting his groin against mine when our pelvic areas meet. My feet have barely reached the ground before I’m backing away from him.
My retreat is fruitless. He won’t let me go.
Grasping the top of my arms, Alex pulls me onto his lap after he sits down on the brown leather settee. All fight leaves my body at his touch, my trembling increases to atomic levels.
“Please, let me go.”
When I hear buttons being pressed on a keypad, I realise that my pleas to leave are going to fall on deaf ears. I’m stuck—not only because of the locked door and security system—but because this man scares me to death. I know if I mess up my escape again, he’ll make me pay in the most painful way.
I need to bide my time, so I don’t make another mistake.
“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your reunion,” Hugh announces.
He chuckles as he walks past us and out of sight.
Knowing that Hugh is the lesser of the two evils facing me, I stare with longing after Alex’s best friend, silently willing him to take me with him. Alex gently grasps my chin, tilting my head until I’m forced to meet his eyes. He looks exactly the same. Dressed in a perfectly pressed shirt and a pair of expensive trousers, a pair of the ridiculous leather loafers I spotted back in the bedroom cover his feet. Nothing’s changed. His gaze is a warm chocolate-brown, his skin lightly tanned, his full lips rose-pink and kissable. The chestnut hair that sets off Alex’s traditionally handsome features remains full, luscious, and wavy. Aside from the light scarring curling up from the corners of his mouth, prison hasn’t taken any discernible toll on his looks, which annoys me more than it should. I was certain that, despite my pleas not to stir up Alex’s father and my dad’s decree that Alex was off-limits, Zeke arranged for some of the MC’s boys to rough him up at a minimum.
I have heard whispers that he got to Alex while he was in hospital. The Glasgow grin supports that secret. But, I fully expected him to secretly take matters into his own hands permanently. The knowledge that Alex has been healthy, safe, and sound while I’ve endured procedure after procedure to mend my body is disheartening.
Eight broken bones.
Fractured pelvis.
Ruptured spleen.
Punctured lung.
Internal bleeding.
The five surgeries.
The blood transfusions.
The rehab to walk again.
The months of agony as I healed.
I’m sure he’s read the laundry list of damage he wrought, but the main two ways in which he ruined me were kept out of the medical report the court ordered. My destroyed mind; the cutting and the PTSD I still battle through.
And my ruptured uterus.
The children I once saw in the distant future are unlikely to eventuate.
“Lily, angel, surely you understood that we’d meet again today?” Alex asks, purring the words at me with sadistic pleasure. When I try to shake him off, his embrace tightens to the point of pain. “My freedom wouldn’t have been complete without you by my side.”
Hearing the voice that lives in my head addressing me in the real world sends slivers of icy fear down my spine. As his remark sinks into my consciousness, I realise that he hasn’t been released on parole or home arrest.
Alexander Kingsley is a free man.
In the eyes of society and our legal system, he’s paid his debt for the crimes committed against me. Today’s meeting is preordained, set by the devil himself, leaving me to fend for myself when he came to claim the pieces of me that he didn’t break the night of my eighteenth birthday party.
Tears of anger and frustration leak from my eyes. I’m angry at myself for dropping my guard. Angry that I failed to adequately prepare for his return. I was complacent. Na?ve, once again. The bravery that I believed I’d uncover before Alex’s return is missing.
It continues to elude me.
Probably always will.
In truth, some of the rage that flares within me is directed at Zeke. Even if Alex’s father shielded the news of his son’s release from the media, this isn’t something Zeke would’ve overlooked. He keeps tabs on Alex—on the Maddison clan and their allies. My obliviousness wasn’t a mistake. My fiancé deliberately kept me in the dark that a release date had been set, no doubt for what he’d consider to be noble reasons, but come on…
I could’ve done with a heads-up that my nightmare was set to resume.
Because as much as I lied to everyone around me, I knew I hadn’t seen the last of Alex when I watched him being led away in cuffs after his sentencing.
He’s too insane to accept defeat from his prey.
Too monstrous to concede his inane claim on me.
I thought I would be strong enough to meet him head-on, and with Zeke and the Shamrocks at my back, when the time came.
In seventeen months.
More fool me.
“ Shhh , angel. I’m not here to hurt you,” Alex soothes.
He rubs his hands up and down my arms, and I stiffen. When he brushes his thumb across my cheek, I remember that I’m crying. I lurch away from him, his touch makes me feel dirty, desperate to wipe away the signs of my weakness, but he curls his fingers around my upper arms, and pulls me to his chest.
“It’s so good to be able to touch you again,” Alex whispers against my cheek. He acts as if I’m willingly here, allowing him to hug me, as he presses soft kisses to the corner of my mouth. The insanity that I was once blind to is clearly displayed today. “This time, our relationship will be different… you’ll be good. I’ll be stable. We’ll work together to find common ground—a way to make your demons play nicely with my monster.”
My demons?
I want to tell him that he is my only demon.
But I remain silent.
I can’t upset him.
I need to lull him into complacency before I escape.
One chance, that’s all I have.
If I make my move too soon, he’ll kill me.
After he toys with me.
Beats me.
Breaks my bones.
Takes his fill of my body.
Destroys me from the inside out once again.
My anger coils, hot and ready to spring in my stomach, as I take stock of the fact that biding my time is my only way through this nightmare.
It never should’ve come to this…
Fuck my father and his calls for restraint.
Fuck the repercussions from the Trinity.
Fuck the Maddison clan and their threats.
I should’ve let Zeke kill him.
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” The change in Alex’s voice—a monotone, robotic quality that I’ve heard only once before rips me out of my regrets. I shake from head to toe, a trauma-response, a self-preservation tactic, as my flight, fight, and freeze kicks in. “He’s the problem. Always has been. I know you ran to him the second I was gone… but you’re mine, not?—”
“Don’t blame Zeke for?—”
I’m aware I’ve made a big mistake the second my fiancé’s name falls from my lips.
Alex’s expression morphs from arrogant certainty to infuriated in a split second. I immediately brace for the upcoming explosion. He doesn’t leave me hanging, standing with calculated abruptness, so I topple backward off his lap and onto the carpeted floor.
As soon as I’m at a disadvantage, Alex unleashes his anger.
He slaps me across the face twice, one strike with his palm, the next a backhand.
When I cower, waiting for another strike, he changes tactic to pull me to my feet by the front of my shirt. I’m barely upright when he grabs my hand and tugs me behind him. I see that we’re heading for the bedroom where Hugh cornered me and decide that I need to distract him. Being locked in a room will impede my chances of escape. Being in the vicinity of a bed might put ideas in Alex’s head.
I can handle his rage.
It’s his lust that I fear.
“What is wrong with you?” I question, pushing him as hard as I can in the chest with both hands. He staggers backward a couple of steps in surprise at my attack. “Why won’t you just leave me alone? You need to go away. You’re completely crazy. I’m not yours, and I never will be. I hate you.”
I swing at him, hitting his chest and stomach as I unleash my fears and frustrations. Pulling my right arm back, I punch him as hard as I can in the mouth. Blood bursts from his bottom lip while I shake my fist out and swing again.
Five years, seven months, and three days of fear, anger, and hurt finally find the correct outlet.
I’m out of control and ready to rip him apart with my bare hands.
I want to hit him, choke him, humiliate him… kill him.
I want him to feel everything he made me feel before I end him.
Always one step ahead of me, Alex ducks my follow-up punch and grasps me by the throat. He subdues me with little effort. Forcing me onto my tiptoes, he shoves me backward. My shoulder blades connect with the wall. The pain snaps me out of my reckless headspace, yet I continue to fight him as he lifts me until my feet are no longer touching the ground.
A sick sense of déjà vu engulfs me, my traumatised mind recognises this position from five years ago. I scratch at the fingers he’s used to encircle my neck. Two of my fingernails snap. After kicking at Alex’s shins, I attempt to headbutt him. I’m fighting for breath, black spots float through my vision, but I don’t give up.
I won’t.
I can’t.
Alex manhandles me, crowding me until I’m trapped between his heavy body and the wall. He licks the blood from his split lip, leaning down to whisper in my ear, “I’ll let you hit me once without punishment because I hurt you in the past. Just this once, though. Every time you step out of line from now on, I’ll punish you or one of your family.” He licks the shell of my ear before he continues with calm menace. “Remind me… how old’s Nate nowadays? He has his driver’s permit now, doesn’t he?”
My body falls still at his mention of my youngest brother.
Alex knows me too well.
I’ll do anything for my siblings. Sacrifice my safety. Destroy my dreams. Walk headfirst into an ambush if I thought it would save them. Last time, Alex used my twin against me, and it almost worked. It makes sense for him to broaden his range to encompass all my brothers.
“What about Zeke?” he asks. I lift my gaze to meet his. A manic gleam glistens in Alex’s dark eyes, lighting his devious expression from within. “I bet you’d drop to your knees and suck me off if I had a gun to his head.”
When I remain stoic in the face of his threats, he squeezes my neck tighter and continues to search for a way to break me. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Lily? You’re mine, and you’re going to stay with me this time. If you fight me on this, the people you love are going to get hurt, one by one , until you have no one left.” Alex leers down, staring at me with feral, glazed eyes. “Do I need to show you how serious I am?”
Straightening my spine as much as I can in this position, I fix unblinking eyes on his, and jut my chin. The strong, defiant, and wilful parts of my personality that I’ve spent the last five years rebuilding won’t let me bow down to this monster again. He can threaten my brothers, Zeke, Slash, Nadia, the entire club, as much as he wants, because I know that they’re safe this time.
Even though he’s managed to take me, he can’t get to them.
My abduction will have the entire club on red alert.
My fiancé. My brothers. My cousin. Slash. Cub. Hunter. My uncles. They’ll unravel his plans, then they’ll help Zeke put this madman in the ground for daring to come after me again. As angry as I may be at his secret keeping, I can feel it in my soul that my wild and unyielding fiancé is going to rescue me.
With this certainty infusing my spine with steel, I continue denying Alex the response he wants. “I don’t care if you’re serious or not, all I care about is never seeing your face again.”
A smile curls across Alex’s lips, delight igniting in his gaze when I make it clear that I’m not going to bend for him. “This is what I love about you, angel. You challenge me like no one else.”
Love?
He doesn’t know the first thing about it.
Nuzzling my ear with his nose, his free hand closes around my breast. Vomit rises in my throat. I swallow it down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my fear. Alex drops his hand to pull my shirt from my waistband, then he tugs hard. The buttons pop. My shirt falls open, exposing my bra to his gaze. Even as my mind warns me that I’m in a precarious situation, caught in a position that ended badly for me last time, I remain steadfast. I keep my gaze locked on his, unblinking and stoic. The arsehole tweaks my nipple, pinching the sensitive nub until it goes hard, then he twists until I whimper.
“Come on, angel… admit that I’m right. Bend for me.” Alex’s voice is tender, almost loving, a contradiction to his nasty touch and his even nastier words. “Bow down. Show me that you understand that you’ll lose everyone if you refuse to submit to me.”
I shake my head, not only at his threat, but also to clear the pain.
After licking the shell of my ear, he sinks his teeth into my lobe with enough force to cause maximum pain without breaking the skin. I try to stay silent, to absorb his savagery without reacting, until he bites down again and blood trails along my jaw. It drips down my throat. Alex saws his teeth over the wound, and I scream. The noise is caught in my throat by Alex’s choke hold, a harsh, suffocating sound that makes him smile. He laps at the blood, tracing the strained cords of my neck with his tongue before he encourages my acquiescence. “You can do it, angel… make this end. Drop to your knees for me.”
As the initial flare of pain in my ear recedes, I regain my will to fight. I pull against the hand around my throat and stomp on his foot with as much force as I can manage. Alex barely acknowledges my attack, except to slam me back against the wall when I try to knee him in the groin. My bare foot has little effect against his loafer as I stomp his toes a second time, but when I manage to jam my knee into his inner thigh, his leg buckles, and his temper snaps.
Shaking with rage, Alex slams me against the wall twice more, not with his full strength, but enough to hurt, enough to make me rethink my bravado for a heartbeat. Black spots dance across my eyesight when he squeezes my throat to the point of blackout and shoves me against the wall for the fourth time. The back of my head bounces off the plaster and my legs turn to jelly. Unable to breathe, energy wilting, consciousness hanging on by a thread, I sag in his grip.
Alex uses my weakness to his advantage. He pushes up my skirt, wedging his thigh between mine. I squirm, trying to keep my legs shut, but he’s incessant, and manages to get his knee not only between my legs but against my core. I hoarsely scream at him to let me go, headbutting him as hard as I can when he doesn’t.
All I achieve is another bout of dizziness because he doesn’t stop.
Not even for a second.
When I headbutt him again, he slaps me across the face. I wobble on the spot and he slides his hand to the apex of my thighs. Using the weight of his body to pin me against the wall, Alex finally releases my throat.
I draw much-needed gasps of air as I pray this is over.
Instead of letting me go as I’d expected, he rips the crotch out of my panties. I try to slap his hands away, but Alex easily pins me to the wall again. He strokes between my legs with surprising softness. My entire body shudders in disgust while I try my hardest to block out the memories his vile touch is dragging to the surface of my consciousness.
I can’t go through this again.
It’s like he can read my mind because the second that realisation hits, Alex grins. Seeing his smile is the final straw. I mentally admit defeat, my head sagging against his shoulder as I try to drop to my knees.
“Stop,” I whisper, tears streaming down my face. “I’ll bend. I’ll kneel. I’ll do whatever you want… just not that. Don’t do that to me again.”
He leans away from me, widening his stance to put some space between us, even as he holds me against the wall and refuses to allow me to kneel like he demanded. “Too little, too late, angel.”
With two fingers, and clinical precision, he thrusts inside me. I scream, fighting to get away as he pumps his fingers into my body again. My skin crawls. My mind rebels. I hiccup, unable to catch my breath. The walls I built around my trauma crumble. The dirtiness, emotional, mental, and physical, the poison Alex left inside me five and a half years ago, it floods me. Drowns me in memories. I smell his cologne, feel his hands clutching me to him, violating me.
Trapped between past and present, the future ceases to exist.
Alex licks his fingers, grinning at me the entire time. “Still taste like honey.”
My stomach revolts.
My mouth waters.
Bile burns my throat.
I vomit down the front of his shirt and all over his shoes.
“You dirty, disgusting?—”
“Venom’s here.” Hugh interrupts us before Alex can finish his vile character assessment, and all hell breaks loose at the news he announces. “Alone, by the looks of it.”
Whatever humanity remained in Alex is extinguished. He punches me in the face, and as I wilt from the blow, scoops me into his arms. He hurries through the house, throwing me on the bed before spinning around to lock the door. Jabbing at the wall, he pops open a hidden control panel and arms the room. When he hits a second button, the shutter on the solitary window lowers and we’re left in the dark for a moment.
I expect Alex to attack me after he flips the switch, and the bedroom is filled with light, but he doesn’t. Instead, he glares at me. I’m in no state to defend myself, emotionally spent and physically drained, however, I still smile in the face of his desperation.
“He’s going to kill you.” My grin widens. Blood runs down my chin as I glare at him with one eye. “You’re going to die a failure… with my vomit all over you.”
Alex doesn’t acknowledge me. Instead, he hurries into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself. When I hear the shower turn on, I curl into a ball on the bed, rolling onto my side to take stock of the security measures protecting the room. I spot motion-sensor cameras in each corner and one above the door. A telltale red dot on each wall that denotes perimeter lasers. I’m familiar enough with the system because of the state-of-the-art setup Cub installed at the Shamrocks compound to know that I’m not getting out of here while Alex is in the shower.
My only hope is for Zeke to reach me before Alex comes back…