Page 9 of Taken By The Vampire King

“How much, Dad?” My voice came out low, but not because I deliberately pitched it that way. Because fear had seized control of my vocal cords, and it was all I could manage.

Dad shook his head and groaned.

I asked him again, aware of Nicolas’s Dupont’s gaze on me like he was searing a brand to my skin, but I didn’t dare look at him. As many times as I asked Dad how much he owed, I wasn’t sure I truly wanted to know.

But the casino owner cleared his throat. “It’s a vast amount, far exceeding one-hundred thousand dollars.” There was no real sympathy in his hard words. Just statement of fact as my knees weakened and I placed my palm flat on the wall for support as he continued in that same eerie, all-business tone. “These legal documents allow me to take possession of this building—”

“My home,” I whispered as pain tightened a band around my chest.

“And also a business.” He shuffled the paperwork. “The Pour House?”

I met his eyes, and although he’d phrased the name as a question, it wasn’t. He knew exactly what the documentation entitled him to, and he wasn’t asking my permission.

“There’s no way.” I forced the words past my lips as I took stiff steps to the nearest chair. “I can’t afford to settle those debts.”

On top of the bills and mortgage repayments, and the refurbishment that clearly needed doing… Eye-watering gambling debt. My next inhale caught in my chest, and for a moment, I struggled to release it, like the air I needed to survive could kill me as easily as sustain me.

I shook my head against the truth of what Dad had done this time. Why hadn’t I known? Well, this was truly it. No matter what I tried, my efforts to keep us afloat would never be enough.

“Dad.” My whisper was a noise of pain and censure. Disappointment and disbelief.

His betrayal was a gut punch. Everything was about to be taken away. Perhaps this was what rock bottom looked like.

“Leia.” Dad held his arms out, his eyes pleading. “Just listen. It’s all going to be okay. I’ve been trying to extend my credit. I just need one big win and then I can stop. I can make everything better. I can fix up this place, make it so you don’t have to work so hard. You can stop worrying.”

“I’ll never stop worrying, though, will I?” I hissed the words, too angry to yell. My eyes itched like a bitch as I withheld my tears. Neither of these men deserved to see my sorrow.

“I’ll fix it.” But Dad wheedled the words like a child, and I’d heard that tone often enough over the years that I knew he was only begging for one more opportunity to screw up.

“I’m done listening, Dad.” I held my hand out to emphasize my point and I looked away, not meeting the piercing gaze of Nicolas Dupont, either.

And then traitorous hope reared its head, as it always did. Maybe I was just looking at this all wrong. I didn’t need to give up. The battle wasn’t lost until I stopped fighting. I curled my hands into fists, tightening them until my knuckles gleamed and strained white against my skin.

“You need to eat.”

I turned my attention to the casino owner, the messenger I most definitely wanted to shoot, but he looked as if he hadn’t spoken, even though the soft words had been laced with unexpected concern.

“I need to fix this shit, is what I need to do,” I said.

Dupont’s flicker of a smile was mocking with a touch of indulgence, and irritation flared hot through my veins. I didn’t need this guy humoring me. I tensed my jaw and squeezed my fists harder, resting them in my lap.

“I’ll fix this by any means necessary,” I said. I couldn’t just lose everything. I couldn’t fucking allow Dad to rip it all away. Everything I’d held on to and built… My thoughts faded to the white noise of static as I met the businessman’s eyes. “There must be something I can do.”

“Well…” Dupont screwed up his mouth a little like he was considering something. Then he passed the paperwork to Dad. “If I can just draw your attention back to the subclause you just dismissed? A recently added item of collateral, I believe, if you note the date? Make sure you read it carefully.”

Dad bent over the paperwork then shifted so a shaft of the dust-mote filled sunlight shone directly on the pages before bringing them closer to his face like he was trying to find the right level of focus.

He made an animal-like noise of grief and his face paled as he turned to look at me.

“What?” My whole body was rigid. “What the fuck did you lose now?”

Surely there was nothing else? Couldn’t Nicolas Dupont see he already had everything, that he was literally sitting in the ruins of our lives? I crept around to be closer to them so we could talk this through.

But Dupont just turned toward Dad like they were in the middle of a private negotiation, his broad shoulders—made all the broader by the well-fitting suit that clung to his muscular back—effectively preventing me from participating in the conversation.

His voice rumbled back to me. “If you agree to honor the subclause, I’ll forgive everything else.”

I exhaled a sudden breath. Well, shit. That was a no brainer. “One subclause and everything else remains ours?” I asked, but neither man looked at me.

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