Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
ARI
Asearing pain in my head wakes me up, and my body jolts awake but doesn’t move.
I try to open my eyes, but the light almost burns my retinas, so I close them again before taking stock of my situation.
The quick look I got showed something similar to The Order’s warehouse but more run-down.
A little less five-star murder hospital and a lot more shack of horrors.
My wrists are tied to a metal chair, the rope digging into my skin as I try to test out my mobility.
With little to no movement available, I can really only flex my fingers, which is useless if I can’t reach any of my weapons. Note to self: thigh strap knife is a fucking wasted accessory in a floor-length gown.
Okay, I will just have to wait.
I’m not sure how long I sit under the harsh lighting in what appears to be an empty warehouse, but by the time the steel door opens, I can at least keep my eyes open.
Three guards walk in, followed by a man I would know anywhere.
Not because I have been personally acquainted with him, but because if The Order had a true rival, it was this sick bastard himself. Jameson Cartwright.
The Cartwrights probably hold just as much power as The Order.
Public perception painted them as real estate moguls with their main investments being their casinos, but what most people don’t know is that their true investments aren’t something you could get from a bank.
These investments included high-end art, rare artifacts, and precious stones.
And while some of their transactions were legal, there was a reason their properties were locked up tighter than a bank vault.
Their properties were their own private museums.
The Cartwrights were conmen and women willing to play and fight dirty to get what they wanted. Blackmail was their modus operandi, and they thrived on other people’s suffering if it meant they would win and take what they want.
Looking up from his phone, Jameson finally addresses me as he takes a knee in front of me, his voice cutting against my skin like sandpaper.
“Don’t worry, little one—” I spit at him for the use of the nickname, the wad landing on his cheek just under his eye.
“I’ve texted your savior to come get you.
He’s on his way now.” Wiping his face, he puts a few steps between us before leveling with me again.
My gut sinks. Aiden. He’s on his way here.
There doesn’t even appear to be a large number of men on the property, but I haven’t seen the outside.
For all I know, a couple hundred guards surround the building.
The only small reprieve is knowing that he would bring an army with him, not for his sake—the crazy bastard—but for mine.
“The last time I checked, the Araneaes didn’t play with the Cartwrights. Has something changed?”
Jameson has a smug smile on his face, like he knows something I don’t. “The Order took something of mine, and I intend to make them pay.”
This was a trap.
“You do know that Aiden will destroy you, yes?”
He lifts his brow. “You think I texted Aiden?”
A loud slam echoes across the warehouse as the metal door is slammed open. And strolling in without a care in the world is Anthony fucking Araneae.
“You texted Anthony?!” I look at Jameson, my eyes wild, my confusion clear. “I don’t understand…”
The smile that takes over his face is evil incarnate. “You’re in for a real show, little one.”
But the closer Anthony gets to us, the more unsure I am about who has the upper hand. Because Anthony’s entire aura would make you think he was winning despite the facts.
“Ahh, Jameson. To what do I owe the unholy pleasure of being in your presence?”
Jameson’s jaw almost drops. I can sense it, but he keeps it together, straightening his tie and fixing Anthony with a blank stare. “Cut the shit, Araneae. You took something that was mine, and I am here to make you pay.”
Anthony shrugs his shoulders. “So you know about her? How did you find out?”
Jameson almost looks offended by the accusation that someone could pull one over on him. “I finally found footage of the night you killed Maria.”
If possible, Anthony’s smirk grows wider than his face.
What. in. the. actual. fuck. is. going. on?
It was like watching a tennis match without a clear leader.
Anthony lifts his chin, making him appear even taller. “Is that what this is about? Maria?”
Jameson’s patience, if you can call it that, starts to crack as his anger surfaces. “Of fucking course it’s about Maria. You killed her when you found out she was my mistress.”
So, Anthony killed this guy’s mistress. This seems like an awful lot of hassle to go through for a good cunt and maybe a few feelings.
“A mistress that died twenty-two years ago, Jameson. Why are you still hung up on this?”
A twenty year old grudge is the reason I’m tied to a chair right now in an abandoned warehouse and not sitting on Aiden’s dick. You have got to be joking.
Anthony truly looks like a cat that ate the canary. Taking a cigarette from his pocket, he lights up and takes a deep inhale, blowing the smoke in Jameson’s face. Jameson is done talking. He takes his gun from underneath his belt and points it at Anthony.
Not even the smoke can hide Anthony’s smile as he says, “Did you know that Maria was pregnant?”
For the first time, Jameson falters, the gun in his hand shaking a little. “What?” he bites out.
Anthony shakes his head as he takes another drag. The asshole isn’t even sweating after admitting to killing a mistress and her unborn baby.
Jameson refocuses on the gun, the fury pouring off of him in waves. “Did you kill my mistress, knowing she was pregnant? You killed my fucking child?” Jameson is almost screaming at this point, and I am sure whoever this guy has outside can hear.
Anthony takes the final drag of the cigarette, then puts it out with his shoe. Staring Jameson directly in the eye, he says one life-altering word: “No.”
Jameson’s anger bursts from him as he waves the gun around. “What the hell do you mean, no!?” His voice turns to acid, giving a glimpse as to why he is the current head of the Cartwrights. “What did you do to the baby?” Jameson cocks the trigger as he waits.
And with more arrogance than one should possess, Anthony responds, “The babe was already born, Jameson. You just didn’t know. She didn’t want you to know.”
Jameson turns and shoots an entire cartridge of bullets into the far wall.
At this point, I am not even sure why I am here.
If Jameson really wanted to get to Anthony, he would’ve taken Aiden.
But Aiden was supposed to be in the car with me.
He was in the parking lot while we waited.
Until Anthony dragged Aiden away unexpectedly.
And the night outside the arena was dark, and I was alone. Making myself an easy target.
So maybe it wasn’t me they were really after, but I was simply available.
Okay, brutal realization. However, it meant there was a strong possibility that I would at least make it out of here alive. Maybe a few scratches, some light torture. Fine, I was going to get through this. I was going to see Aiden again. Those beautiful gray eyes and that devious reaper’s smile.
But the next words out of Anthony’s mouth destroy everything I ever thought I knew about myself. “Jameson, I’m not sure why you felt the need to shoot the wall like a child when she’s in the room with us.”
She. She. A fucking girl.
Jameson had a mistress who gave birth to a baby girl.
He spins on his feet to look at me, and it confirms everything that I am thinking. There aren’t any other women in the vicinity it could be.
Jameson Cartwright is my actual father.
“You’re lying,” he spits at Anthony, but doesn’t take his gaze off me.
Anthony laughs at that. “Can’t you see it, Jameson? She’s the spitting image of you. Maria told me before she died about your baby. Wanted me to save the child and bring her to you to raise. But how does that help me? What would I get from that? Nothing.
“But my Elena, she wanted a baby girl desperately, and that was something I couldn’t give her.
So I took the baby and gave her to Elena as an anniversary gift.
I told her that some lowlife scum fathered her and the baby needed a new home—which was the truth.
I’ve never seen Elena as happy except for the day Brodie was born.
I knew right away that I’d made a good decision, with the added bonus of knowing you would one day find out about Maria and try to destroy me.
Only to have your life turned upside down with the knowledge that I raised your daughter.
Gave her my wife’s maiden name, Ashbourne, and raised her under my roof. ”
Silence has taken over the warehouse. Even the guards are unsure what to do. When I find my voice, Anthony looks over at me. “How could you do this to me?” I feel the tears slipping down my face as I speak. I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Without an ounce of remorse, Anthony starts heading for the exit as he calls over his shoulder, “Enjoy your night, Cartwright. I’ll see you at home, Ari. Take peace in the knowledge that he’s not going to kill his only daughter.”
Anthony left me here. Just walked right the fuck out.
Jameson and I are at a standstill. He lowers the gun but doesn’t holster it, just lets it hang loose in his hold. Not that it matters, since all the bullets are now in the wall.
“I don’t know what to say,” is what I go with when I finally break the ice.
He shakes his head. “You didn’t know?”
“No, I was always told I was the daughter of someone who wronged the family and needed to die.” My body is shivering in the chair despite the warehouse being fairly hot in the late spring weather.
“And you were fine with that?”
“No, but I didn’t know anything else,” I huff. Who the fuck would be okay with their father being murdered? But it was all I had ever known.
Jameson shakes out of his apathy. “Well, we will need to prove his story true,” he says under his breath, but loud enough that I can hear. He gestures for a guard to call Alexander, the Ashton of the Cartwrights, if I am assuming correctly, to draw my blood.
We sit in silence until Alexander arrives, carrying a large duffle bag. The man is absolutely tiny, but the look on his face would have me giving him a ten-foot radius. All tattoos, piercings, and slick hair, the man’s anger radiated around him.
Taking a syringe from his bag, he draws my blood, which fills the test tube, and then places it in a sealed baggie, telling Jameson they would have the results in a few hours.
Jameson watches him go, but Alexander doesn’t get halfway out of the room before Jameson tells him to hold up.
Turning to me, he says, “Listen, I am going to go with Alexander. You’ll stay here until we get the results…
” He trails off like he wants to say more but abruptly turns and follows Alexander out.
Well, I am tied to a metal chair, I can’t imagine where he thinks I will go.
As the warehouse clears out, I am left alone wondering what the actual fuck just happened? I can’t even tell if this was a fever dream brought on by a hallucinogenic in the paralytic that man from the town car stuck in me. In fact, that seems far more likely.
There was no way I could be Jameson Cartwright’s only biological daughter. The heir to the Cartwright fortune, business, and name. My head is splitting, so I shut my eyes and find myself drifting.