Page 6 of Wicked Angel

Instead, her smile widened, and my stomach dropped. “Who finally told you?” she asked.

“Told me?” I repeated, shaking my head. My chest felt hollow and strangely sore, as if something had punched right through me. I rubbed a hand over it absently as I tried to think of something to say, some way to get out of this. “Don’t you think I should’ve been more than told?” I snapped. “I should’ve been fucking asked! If this bastard has to choose one of us—”

“One ofus?” Jackie laughed, the sound like a sharp piercing horn in my ear. So loud, it made me flinch away. “No, kiddo, not us—you. Congrats, you’re getting married before me. Gotta say, I'm a little bit jealous." She didn't sound jealous. Instead, she sounded almost pleased—amused.

Out of respect for our dad and our mom, despite her passing, I’d refrained from being too angry with Jackie in the last seven years, but right now, it was really hard not to want to smack her face. She had a personality and an ever-present tone that made it clear she was laughing at everything and everyone around her. As if the world was a comedy she couldn't help but chuckle at, no matter the circumstances. And unfortunately, most of it had been centered around me, including today.

This can’t be happening.But even as that thought echoed through my head, I knew the truth. The fact that Jackie seemed so amused to know something about me that I didn’t, made it painfully clear that this wasn’t the horrible joke or the ramblings of an elderly woman slowly disintegrating into insanity that I’d hoped it would be.

“How did you find out before me?” I demanded. “If I’m the one getting married, then why wasn’t I even involved?”

Jackie shook her head at me. “Oh, sweetheart.” The endearment sounded caustic and sarcastic coming from her lips.

I gritted my teeth as she approached. Jackie and I were related by blood, but that was where our relationship ended. Where I preferred to sink into the background, reading books and studying while secretly planning and hoping that one day I could leave the family behind and start a normal life—she was … well, ambitious was a polite way of putting it. For as long as I could remember, and since I’d realized what our family did for money, Jackie had been preparing to take over the Price empire whenever our father finally stepped down. She’d been convinced that because I was so dead set against it all, she would be the only choice, and she’d blatantly said as much.

I loved my father—honestly, I did—and I knew he loved me. Because of that, I had foolishly misled myself into thinking that one day he'd support me in trying to have a future outside of the mob and my role as a woman born into the Price Empire and let me go to college. Otherwise, what was the point of the last seven years?

Is it purposeful?I wondered.Is he angry with me? Because I told him that I wanted to move out?The reminder of the acceptance papers sitting on my nightstand stung.

Is this a punishment?Can I talk him out of it? Make him see reason?He wouldn't even have to pay for my tuition. Not that we couldn't afford it, but I'd worked my ass off to ensure I got a scholarship covering everything. He and Jackie might have felt perfectly fine living in the shadow of danger, but I wanted out.

There was only one instance in which I’d been grateful for the wicked men that surrounded my family, and that was seven years ago when I’d asked one of them to kill the person who’d taken my mother from me—the man from the funeral. It was the one and only time I’d allowed myself to ask something of the dark criminal world into which I was born.

“Why?” I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. “Why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he at least ask me?” I repeated.

“Little Angel.” Jackie’s heels clicked against the rich mahogany floor as she moved closer. The tight, low-cut dress she wore tightened around her thighs with each step. The way she said my name made my insides churn and irritation build. Fuck, she was such a bitch. I wanted to smack the shit out of her every time she said it in that condescending tone. “Daddydoesn’t need to ask your permission for anything.” Her words were mocking. “You should’ve realized it by now. Men like him can do whatever they want.”

She was right. As much as I’d wanted to hide from it, run away from it these last several years, the truth was that my father was no different than any other man in this dark godforsaken world. He controlled. He ruled. He made the ultimate decisions. It was as if I’d been picked up and dropped back a hundred or more years in the past when women were little more than commodities. That still didn’t explain why she seemed to be so okay with that, in any case.

Stopping in my tracks, I spun to face her. “Why aren’tyoufreaking out?” I demanded.

Jackie came to an abrupt halt and tilted her head to the side as she considered me. Her deep brown eyes were lined with a black that contrasted as much as it could with her olive complexion. She pursed her red lips as I waited for an answer. When it came, though, it wasn’t what I expected. With an indifferent shrug, Jackie smiled back at me. “It doesn’t really affect me, now, does it?” she said. “So, why would I care?”

A growl rumbled in my throat. Of course, she would think that. The urge to slap her resurfaced, but I refrained from doing so. “No,” I said again, shaking my head. "This is a mistake." My hope was a valiant little thing, blossoming in my chest even when I knew, deep down, it was a fragile thing that was easily broken.

“Well, I hope, for your sake, dear sister, that the man Father’s chosen isn’t some fat, bulbous old fucker,” Jackie said, making the light snack I’d had earlier curdle in my stomach. I felt lightheaded and uneasy. I turned away from her, hating the image that popped into my head. Enjoying what she was doing to me, she continued. “Or maybe he’s bald and mean. Oh dear, what if he beats you? That would just beterrible.” Jackie’s slender arms came around me from behind, and she pressed herself against my back.

The expensive scent of her perfume choked me. I said nothing.

“You want my advice?” she asked.

I looked back at her. Jackie was offering me advice? “Why?” I asked.

Jackie pressed her lips to my ear. “Conquering a man is easy business, little sister,” she whispered. “Even if he’s ugly and old. All you need to do is spread your legs and keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell him about your daydreams, don't tell him about that little college you want to go to and how all you want is to benormal. Pretend to be interested in everything he says or does. Treat him like a king, and don’t complain even if he hurts you.”

My hands curled into fists. No. No way in fucking hell would I just lay back and take it. “I need to figure out how to get out of this,” I said, mostly to myself.

A chuckle rumbled against my spine as Jackie laughed again. Her arms released me, and she pulled away before stepping around to my front. “You won’t,” she said. “It’s already been decided. Just take my advice. It’ll be so much easier for you if you do. The sex is for him, not you. Just stay loyal long enough to give him a son and then you can play around with a man who knows how to truly please a woman."

Her words collided in my mind and the image of some strange man with graying hair and a belly that trembled like jello crawled over me. I tried to keep my breathing even as the thought sent me into a mental tailspin, but it was no use as the fear quickly turned into a physical anxiety attack. Without another word, I jerked away from her and dashed down the hallway, heading straight for my father's office.

Jackie’s laugh followed me as I ran, like the horrifying wail of a banshee. I hurried toward the double wooden doors that marked his office as fast as my legs could carry me. As it came into view, I didn’t think about stopping or knocking, I reached for the handle, turned, and stumbled into the room.

“Dad! We need to talk, I—” I came to an abrupt halt as I realized he wasn’t alone.

My eyes landed on the man looking over his shoulder from where he sat in front of my father’s desk and stayed there, unable to turn away.

Even from where I stood, I could tell that this man was tall. His shoulders were wide—wider than the chair he sat in. When he turned to face me, I felt my mouth go dry. Eyes as piercing and blue as the ocean, with a light stubble coating the lower half of his face that matched the same dirty blond shade of his hair—he appeared distinguished in a way that I was most certainly not. Though he wasn't quite as old as my father, he was older than me. Mid-thirties if I had to hazard a guess. Probably twice my age. There were fine lines around the edges of his eyes—crow’s feet—but the rest of him appeared big and brawny. Like he was a Viking who had somehow fit himself into the suit of a modern man.

---