Page 8 of Kneeling for Daddy
“I would expect nothing less of you, little sister.” His voice as smooth as vodka. “But you also know I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“Necessary for who?” I shoot back.
“For you. For our family. Forus.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, pressing my palm against the cool leather seat. “For me? Really? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels likeI’mbeing sacrificed foryourconvenience.”
He leans back, seemingly unbothered by my tone. “You’ve been sheltered your entire life, Ani. Protected. Father made sure of it. And I will ensure that continues, no matter whose last name you take.”
The SUV jerks forward as our driver follows the Range Rover into traffic. The Kings don’t drive slow, and the city isn’t exactly forgiving. I watch the taillights ahead of us, my pulse going faster than I’d like to admit—our speed only partially to blame.
“I want assurances,” I insist after a moment of silence. “I want to know that you’re still going to take care of me—financially, yes, but also… my safety. My future. Everything.”
“You’ll have them,” Alek quickly responds, matter-of-factly. “You think I’d hand you to someone who couldn’t protect you? That’s the whole point of this arrangement. The Kings are dangerous, yes, but they’re also the kind of dangerous that keeps other men away.”
“I don’t like this, Alek,” I grumble, folding my arms. We know hardly anything about these men, including Nikolai. From my experience of relationships in my own family, these men are pretty much all the same—violent to the world and equally brutal to the women who are unlucky enough to be married into this mess. My father’s—and now my brother’s—status has protected me my entire life. I’m not naive enough to think that protection will carry on behind closed doors with my soon-to-be husband.
“You don’t have to. You just need to learn to accept it.”
I don’t respond. The reality is too close, and I hate when he’s right. The tinted glass beside me reflects the sharp line of my jaw and the pale sweep of my hair pulled back tight. I appear strong and untouchable, a facade I have mastered during my life. But inside, my stomach is a knot of dread about the future he is forcing me into.
The city outside is a blur of motion—yellow cabs darting between delivery trucks, pedestrians swarming crosswalks, storefronts flashing neon and gold lettering. The Range Rover weaves through it all like it owns the asphalt, and our driver follows without missing a beat.
“You promise I’ll still have access to my accounts?” I press, because I know how men like Alek think.
“Between what father left you and your marriage, you’ll have more money than you’ll know what to do with,” Alek imparts, his eyes not leaving the black SUV immediately ahead of us. “And if you want out at any point—if it becomes unbearable because he’s cruel—you come to me. I’ll handle it.”
“You’ll ‘handle it.’ How?” I narrow my eyes and swallow down the questions I actually want to ask.How cruel is too cruel? And what do you know that I don’t?
He glances at me, the look in his eyes telling me the answers I already know—to both questions.
“Right,” I huff, shifting my gaze back to the window. Idoknow. And if I’m being honest with myself, that’s part of what worries me. Alek has always been protective of me, but if father instilled anything in him, it was family first.Thefamily, not me.
We cross an intersection, horns blaring somewhere to the left—pulling me from my quickly darkening thoughts—and I turn to find a cyclist flipping off a delivery truck. Ahead, the Range Rover swings down a narrow street. Alek’s SUV follows, pulling alongside a building that looks completely unremarkable except for the polished black door and discreet brass plaque. “Where are we?” I ask, though I already know.
“The courthouse,” Alek answers, reaching for the door handle as the SUV rolls to a stop. “Using the judges’ entrances is going to draw a little less attention than walking through the front doors.”
“Of course,” I murmur, stepping out into the heavy, pre-storm air.
The Kings are already heading inside. Nikolai pauses at the door before going in, his eyes falling on me for a second. His eyesare narrow, and his jaw is tight, annoyance carved into every hard line of his face.Good. The less he wants this partnership, the easier it will be for me to be inconvenient enough to make it collapse on its own. The sooner I’ll be able to head back to Armenia. To my home.
Alek keeps pace beside me, his hand at my elbow as we pass through the entrance. Inside, it smells faintly of chemical lemon polish and old books. The woman at the reception desk barely glances up long enough to recognize the King brothers before buzzing us through. Tightening his hold of the back of my arm, Alek draws my attention and gruffly whispers, “I expect you to do as you’re told and not embarrass me.”
I don’t answer, and he squeezes again, hard enough that I wince. Yanking my arm from his, I quietly hiss, “I already said I’d fucking do it.”
I’m sulking. No point in pretending otherwise.
My mood has been circling the drain since last night, and now it’s just sitting there at the bottom, dark and ugly. Fluorescent lights in the courthouse lobby hum overhead as we walk in. The building smells of dust, paper, and regret. The latter of which is fitting, since I’m apparently here to sign my life away.
My boots echo against the polished tile, every step feeling heavier than the last. Enzo is keeping pace beside me, looking way too smug for someone about to watch me commit legal suicide. Cillian is a few steps ahead, like he’s leading a damn funeral procession. Which, in a way, he is.Mine.
“I could just put a bullet in his head,” I whisper under my breath, burying my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “Pretty sure that would also fix this problem.”
“That’ll fixoneproblem,” Enzo sighs, not bothering to hide his growing annoyance, “but it’ll give you twenty others. Like, you know, us ending up in matching prison jumpsuits.”
“This assuresoursafety,” Cillian adds, not even bothering to turn around. His voice is steady and infuriatingly reasonable. Stopping on the landing, he turns, and I’m met with his unblinking stare—the kind that makes lesser men reconsider their life choices. “You don’t have to love her, Nik. You just have to marry her.”
“Sounds romantic,” I bite back.
