Page 7 of Savage Possession
Inside, the house is colder still. The hush is damn near deafening, to be honest. What the hell is going on? My mother’s touches are long gone, replaced with white marble and dark wood. I pause in the foyer, staring up at the crystal chandelier, longing for color, for sound, for life.
I head for the stairs, but my father’s voice stops me. “Be ready for this evening. I had a dress delivered to your suite. You are not to deviate from that option.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Grayson’s gaze tracks me as I ascend.
My room is exactly as I left it. The white satin dress lies across my bed, its glossy sheen catching the last of the sun. It’s beautiful, but impersonal, like everything else my father chooses for me. I pull off my skirt and top and slip the creamy material over my head. My hair, snow-white and wild, tumbles over my shoulders. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—blue eyes too bright, freckles standing out against pale skin. I look like a ghost.
On my nightstand sits the book Ash gave me. My heart aches as I trace the cover, sliding out the battered bookmark. Ash’s number is scrawled on the back. I want to call him, to hear his voice, but to what end? I can’t go to him. Not with my father’s thumb holding me down.
I tuck the bookmark under my pillow, as if it might offer a wish, a way out.
Downstairs, the house is filled with shadows. I follow the hum of voices to my father’s office, the heavy oak door open, lamplight spilling onto the rug. The air smells of old books and tobacco, the sharp tang of bourbon poured over ice. I step inside, heart racing.
My father sits behind his desk, jaw set. Grudge sprawls in a chair, boots planted on the rug, cut draped over the arm like he owns the place. Two of my father’s enforcers hover in the corners. Their lips curl like I spit in their beers at lunch.
I pin them with fake indifference before facing my father.
“Father, I’m ready—” I start, voice wavering, but he silences me with a gesture.
Grudge grins, his beady black eyes raking over me. “You said she was smart, but she’s blind to how dirty you are, old man.”
An angry flush hits my cheeks. My father ignores him and I do my best in doing the same. “Tonight isn’t about guests. It’s about you.”
A chill settles in my bones. That doesn’t sound good. Shit. “Oh? I see.” No I don’t, but I know better than to sound contradictory
He doesn’t look up from the papers in front of him. “You’re going to marry this man. It’s best for the family.”
With that realization hits.
“The briefcases? You sold my hand in marriage?” What a low down filthy shitty thing to do.
Heat from the depths of hell scorches my face. Truth be told, it’s eating me up from the inside out. Acid burns at the back of my throat, too. “What’s in it for you? Just the money, that's it? How much?” I pause and take a deep breath. “Why?”
Father lifts his gaze, cold and sharp. “Power. Get the idea of love and fairy tales out of your head. Marriage is a business deal. I’ve invested in you since birth. It’s time to give back.”
I swallow hard, rage and heartbreak mingling. “Mom married you for love. Are you saying she was foolish to love you?”
His eyes narrow. “Fuck yes, girl. What did I just say?”
I dig my nails into my palm, using the sting to keep myself upright. “She’d slap you if she were still alive.”
He laughs, bitter and hollow. “She’d put a blade through my heart if she knew a tenth of what I’ve done since burying her. You’ll do this for the family. Tell yourself it’s in her memory if you must, but in one hour, you’re walking down the aisle to the president of the Vultures.”
“What about the other man? The one with the briefcase?”
“A different part of the same deal, baby.”
Grudge stands, swaggering his lean body in my direction. He reeks of chewing tobacco, leather, and gasoline. His eyes are pits of blackness, his smile a slash of menace. Just like the man.
“No.”
“If you don’t, the bayou gets another body and I take over your empire, anyway. I need your father’s money. He needs my ruthlessness. Win-win.”
I tilt my chin up, voice steady with a force I don't recognize. “Then you two marry each other and leave me out of it.”
His husky laugh has my skin crawling. “Life don’t work that way, little bitch. Your hand keeps your pops here in line. He wants something only I can provide given my parish is right in the path of his dealings. And you are my guarantee he don’t fuck me over. Do your duty or I’ll make you wish you had.”
I can’t help myself. Sarcasm shields my fear. “It’s “doesn’t”, not “don’t”, moron. And I refuse. There’s no way I would marry you, let alone let you put a hand on me.” Focusing on the menial details is easier than processing my father’s betrayal.
