Page 53 of The Devil's Deal

TEN YEARS AGO

I’d always dreamed of running away from home as a child. It took many years to get here, but now, at eighteen, I’m finally there.

Handing the cab driver some money, I grab my small suitcase and fling the car door open. It takes me a moment to get out as I clutch my airline ticket in my hand.

Paris, France. That’ll be my new home.

Staring at it, the back of my nose aches, wishing my mom was coming with me like we always talked about. But I’ll be doing this for the both of us. My heart lurches in my chest, practically spiraling down into my stomach.

If my father finds out, he’ll kill me. But I’ll be long gone by then, hoping he never finds where I’m going.

Finally slipping my feet out of the car, I grab the suitcase and roll it down onto the pavement, closing the car door behind me.

The cab speeds away as I make it to the door leading into the airport. Stepping inside, I scan the screen above my head, finding my gate, but as I begin to head that way, I gasp.

Fear like I have never known before swarms every inch of me until I lose all sense of control. Until my body shudders with despair and dread.

My father is here with a dozen men.

He found out.

How did he find out?

No. No. I can’t go with him. He can’t take me.

I back up a step until I hit someone. “I’m sorry. I…”

I turn around apologetically, but I don’t find a stranger. I find one of his men. The man grips me by my elbow, cementing me in place until my father draws toward me.

Feet turn to inches until his menacing smile is before me.

My heart drops into the pit of my stomach, my inhales freezing within my lungs at the sight of his victorious grin.

I’m dead. He’s going to kill me. Or force me into a marriage with Michael.

What have I done?!

“Don’t make a scene,” he warns, his tone low. Deadly.

His arm goes around my shoulders as he walks me back out of the airport and into one of his black SUVs.

He shoves me into the backseat, taking his place on the other side of me. The driver gets us onto the road. My father doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t so much as look at me.

I want to beg for forgiveness, for a second chance, but I don’t have it in me. I will never beg this man for anything.

Once we arrive home, he steps out first, coming around to my side and opening the door.

“Let’s go,” he barks out.

An icy shudder skates up my spine when I step out, following him into the house where hell will be waiting for me.

Once the door bangs to a close, his fingers wrap tightly around my upper arm and drag me up the stairs. I practically jog to keep pace with him. When we reach my room, he opens the door and throws me inside as I fall onto the cold, hard floor.

But the sound of the door locking, the key turning…that’s a sound I’ll never erase from my memory.

My pants grow heavy as I right myself, trying the door, knowing he locked me in, but hoping I imagined it.

But I didn’t.

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