Chapter 11
Eleven
My eyes filledwith rage as Henry raised his leg to kick Jordan again. The guests hadn’t witnessed him beating her in the hallway off to the main ballroom. As a result, he had done some major damage—a split lip and bruises on her body.
I lost my shit.
One punch sent him flying through the champagne tower, hundreds of coupes shattering on impact.
He cried out in pain, but I didn’t care.
At that moment, I didn’t care about anything other than her.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to Jordan, running my knuckles over the cheek he had smacked. A red, angry bruise marked her perfect porcelain skin. I planned to—no, I needed to—murder him for this.
Jordan nodded shakily, stunned. It was all the clearance I needed.
My eyes landed on the pathetic excuse of a man trying to fumble his way out of the pile of broken glass. His arms flailed comedically as he struggled to balance on the wet floor. Sparkling liquid cascaded down his body, drenching his pretentious clothes.
I lunged for Henry.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he shouted, eyes wide with horror. He had never seen me lose my shit before.
I tackled him to the ground. Punch after punch landed on the sick fuck’s jaw. Blood dripped down his face.
Jordan was by my side within seconds. She wrapped her arms around my biceps to pull me off.
“Xander, stop!” she shrieked. “You’re going to kill him.”
Good.
That was the mission.
The sounds of laughter died away in the main ballroom, and the music had abruptly stopped. The others must’ve heard the commotion.
Horrified guests trickled into the hallway and gasped as they gathered around the scene. Bystanders murmured hushed rumors and floating theories of what started this one-sided fight between father and son. Camera phones were out to document this monumental family moment.
“Enough! Xander, please,” Jordan pleaded desperately as Henry’s face lolled to one side. Her blonde hair had fallen into messy strands, and her cheeks flushed with exertion as she struggled to separate us. She clung to my arms, blue eyes flickering with determination. “Please, stop. Everyone is taking photos. You’ll lose everything if you continue. This isn’t worth it.”
She was wrong. It was worth it. She was worth everything to me.
I paused when her face contorted with fear, eyes darting between me and the nearly unconscious man. Cursing internally, I let go of Henry’s collar and let him slump against the ground.
“We have to leave.” I grabbed her hand and hauled her outside.
“Where are we going?”
I glanced around to find Henry’s minions charging toward the hallway. He kept a security team on retainer for these parties. They manned the front of the house to ensure uninvited guests didn’t sneak in. These affairs were usually much too refined for internal conflict. This was a first.
“We have to leave. Now!” I repeated as they gained on us.
Throwing my suit jacket around her shoulders, I turned away from them in favor of the back entrance.
Jordan was forced to keep up when I tugged at her hand, stunned. She stumbled right as I smelled the hint of champagne on her breath. It seemed she had indulged in one too many. Perhaps it was for the best. The alcohol would numb the pain until I could tend to her injuries.
Taking advantage of her momentary lapse in judgment, I purposefully walked past the exit and led her to my rental car parked out back.
I opened the passenger side door and practically hauled her inside, clipping in her seat belt before rounding the car and turning on the ignition. Peeling out of the driveway, I left the festering chaos in the rearview mirror.
I glanced at Jordan, who had closed her eyes and was out like a light, a combination of the alcohol and physical trauma driving her to exhaustion. Brushing a thumb over her cheek, I bit back my ire for not getting to her faster.
I was busy speaking to my cousin and now regretted the lapse of time I allowed.
Never again.
Jordan sat up straight once we arrived at the port. “Where are we?”
I parked the car without answering.
The moonlight cast slivers of light onto the water, highlighting our main attraction—a luxury yacht towering over the other boats. Jordan stepped out to study the imposing yacht. As we neared the white vessel, the wind blew through her hair, carrying a salty scent.
Jordan’s heels teetered on the wooden dock. “Whose boat is this?” she asked, taking in the multiple levels and decks that seemed to stretch forever. Large windows allowed a glimpse inside the lavish interior.
“Mine. I bought it with my cousin.”
“Damon?” she asked inquisitively since he was the business mogul.
“Caden,” I corrected. “We bought it together as a business venture.”
Her brows shot up in surprise. I didn’t blame her. Caden only cared about science and his life’s work, not business, monetary gains, or even ethics. I was surprised when he proposed this undertaking but agreed since I’d been searching for new opportunities to increase my investment portfolio.
“Why are we here?” she asked.
Instead of satisfying her curiosity, I grabbed her hand to lead her inside. She stopped to study the name carved in italics on the side of the boat—Olympus.
We crossed the ramp and stepped inside the yacht. Waves crashed against the side of the boat in rhythm with her heartbeat, which I could hear loud and clear even from here.
The boat’s staff glanced in our direction as we hopped on board. I’d already messaged them about our arrival. A section of the boat was to be blocked off for our use, and we were not to be disturbed. I didn’t want anything spooking Jordan.
“Hello, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Good evening, sir.”
I greeted them with a curt nod, but when I noticed a few of them do a double take at Jordan, I glared them down until they got the hint.
“Why’re we here?” she asked again.
“It was the only place my father wouldn’t think to look for you. I presume you don’t want to see him?”
Jordan took a careless step back, fear rising behind her eyes at the mention of Henry Maxwell. When she took off the jacket wrapped around her, my gaze landed on her arms marred with bruises from that asshole. My thumb grazed the mark on her cheek next.
“Has he done this before?” I asked, barely keeping a lid on the ire from earlier.
She shook her head.
“Then why?—”
“I told him that he had a tiny dick.”
A small noise of amusement slipped past my lips as I guided her to the common area.
Jordan marveled at the living room sprawling over the second deck. “My God, this place is like a mega yacht.”
I nodded. “It is. Caden and I are launching it for luxury travel to the Bahamas. There are fifty suites with the capacity of hosting eighty guests and up to twenty-five staff members.”
I told Caden I’d be taking the boat back to Canada, though he might not have agreed had he known the nefarious reasons behind it.
“Oh.” Her eyes tracked the oversized chandelier while I walked around the counter of the fully stocked bar and wrapped a block of ice in a clean dish towel. Reaching underneath the sink, I grabbed the first aid kit as well.
I led Jordan to the couch and fed her aspirin. She held the ice to her cheek as I applied ointment to her bruises. Although I was quiet while treating her arms and legs, my insides writhed with anger for letting him inflict this pain on her.
I should’ve killed Henry.
At least the bruises appeared superficial. A hot bath might do the trick. I reached for the hem of her dress to inspect the rest of her injuries.
“What are you doing?” She grabbed my wrist, alarmed.
“I need to check your bruises.”
She smoothed down her dress and shook her head in violent protest.
“I have to see if anything’s broken, baby,” I murmured gently, somehow managing to keep my voice level.
After a second failed attempt, I let it go.
“Fine. We’ll do that later. What do you need right now?” I asked instead.
She glanced at the bar. With a reluctant sigh, I conceded to her unspoken request. Alcohol wouldn’t interact with the low-dose aspirin I gave her; I’d learned after years of treating hockey injuries. For now, the wine might numb the emotional trauma and the physical pain she refused to let me check.
She wordlessly accepted the glass of red wine I fetched for her, savoring the dry taste with small sips. We sat in silence as I took the block of ice and pressed it to the bruises on her arm.
When I lowered the ice and said, “Jordan,” she broke down in tears.
“How?” she asked in between sobs. “How could I have been so wrong about him?”
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Jordan slowly revealed everything that happened tonight. She rocked back and forth on the sofa as she relived Henry’s assaults.
My jaw clenched as she spoke, barely able to keep it together.
The only saving grace was that Jordan no longer appeared in pain.
I returned to the bar after she polished off her glass. This time, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey for myself and returned with the wine bottle to top her off. Going to jail for murdering Henry would hardly serve a purpose, and Jordan was the only thing keeping me from acting on that impulse.
Perhaps we both needed to take the edge off.
I sat across from her on the wooden coffee table. For a long while, we drank in silent commiseration. Generally, I had a high tolerance for whiskey, but for the first time in years, I overindulged, just as Jordan did the same. She was shocked by tonight’s events, and I was pissed at myself for letting it happen.
Shaky hands raised a cup to her lips. “Thank you,” she finally spoke after the deafening silence.
“You’re welcome.”
Jordan shook her head. “I didn’t mean the wine.” She was insinuating the fight with my father. “Thank you,” she repeated. “No one has stood up for me before.” She downed the wine and muttered, “God, it felt good to see him fall through the stupid champagne tower he made me put together.”
My lips quirked. “Poetic justice.”
“Part of me wished I were a bigger person and didn’t take satisfaction in it, but?—”
“Take it from me. Being the bigger person is overrated.”
I spent years being called an old soul, the bigger person, the mediator. It didn’t bring me happiness. The closest I came was doling out justice to my asshole father and Jordan acknowledging that I did it for her.
We were mere inches apart as I held the wrapped ice to her cheek. My breath fell on her lips when I leaned in and whispered, “I’ve learned to put my needs first.” I didn’t filter the way my heated eyes watched her, letting her draw the conclusion. “Fuck the consequences.”
Furrowed brows graced me, trying to dissect the meaning behind my words.
I topped off her glass—finishing the bottle—as those glossy eyes analyzed mine. The way she stared at me made my throat constrict.
After her ordeal tonight, the last thing she needed was for me to stare at her like she was the prey and I was the hunter salivating for a good chase. But Jordan fucked up by giving me those doe eyes. Didn’t she know?
If she gave me an inch, I’d take the whole yard.