Page 1 of The Loathing

CHAPTER ONE

AMORA

Standing in my bedroom, I look out the large, sash windows overlooking the orchard. The mist sat just above the apple trees, a low cloud covering most of our grounds. The flowers were dead and wilted, the grass with a light dusting of frost, just over the tips. It was very picturesque, beautiful even. A heavy sigh left me as my eyes pulled from my view and dropped to the floor.

I couldn’t quite believe this was happening. After being taken on my way home from work by two masked men who put a sack over my head, I knew it was them. They were sending my father a warning. They didn’t lay a finger on me. I was taken to an unknown location before having the sack ripped from my head. But the cowards kept their masks on then offered me a cup of tea. That night, they dropped me home with a note telling my father what they promised to do next.

So now I was being sent a bodyguard to keep me safe in my own home. I was livid, but dad promised no one would get to me here again.

I would be safe.

I would be protected.

But what worried me the most, was if Xavier Archibald couldn’t protect me, then who could? I had no clue what had happened, all I was told was that I was being looked after and may have to go away for a couple of months.

“Amora, darling…” I heard my mother’s soft voice as she stepped into the room.

I spun quickly, my long, red hair swooshing as I did.

“Don’t.” My tone was clipped and short. “You could have stopped this…” I steadied my gaze on her. Her brows furrowed and her lips dipped down at the corners. My words upset her, but she and my father had upset me more.

“Amora, you know we are doing this with your best interest at heart.”

“Cut the crap mum, seriously.” I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms across my chest and walking for the door.

I bet Xander and Ezekiel wouldn’t have been locked away with some bodyguard like a damsel in distress if this happened when they were my age.

But of course, daddy’s little soldiers were grown and working for the family business.

I scoffed as I reached the top of the stairs, my father’s icy glare on mine as he stood at the bottom, waiting for me. I looked like my mother did when she was my age, pale, almost translucent skin, and deep, fiery red hair. But my eyes? I had my father’s. One ice blue, one a deep brown. My face was scattered in uneven freckles just like the constellation of stars on a clear night sky. They were mainly on my cheeks and across my nose. I was petite and slender.

“Amora,” my father’s strong, gritty British tone was thick as I ran my hand down the oak stair banister.

“Traitor.” I snapped as I walked past and headed to find Betty. Oh Betty.

Walking into the large kitchen, I sunk into the chair at the end of the dining table as I drummed my fingers on the surface.

“Hello darling,” Betty looked at me with sadness in her eyes, but her voice was upbeat as if she was trying to hide the pain she was feeling.

“Hey,” a small smile crept onto my face as I looked at her, but my eyes were filling with tears.

My mother is a wonderful mother, but Betty was like the cool auntie that snuck alcohol into my bedroom when I shouldn’t be having it. She was the best and I would most likely miss her the most. Betty turned to see my father and mother walk into the room, both with their heads held high, chins lifted, and their eyes cast down. You would think they were royalty; I think my mother forgets that she abdicated the throne for love. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head from side to side as I looked out the large, French patio doors that led to the gardens, a deep sigh leaving me.

“Betty, leave.” My father snapped at her. Betty did as she was told and disappeared into the pantry. She was a lot frailer now and age wasn’t on her side, but my father still treated her like he always had. Like a servant and not part of the family. It made me sick.

“You’re so mean. Why do you talk to her like that?” I snapped back at him, my head spinning quickly so I was facing both of them. My eyes roaming up and down their bodies.

“It’s done out of endearment. Betty knows my ways; I have never pretended to be something I am not.”

“Well, I think you’re rude.”

My father shrugged his shoulders up, one corner of his lip turning up slightly as his eyes burned into mine.

“Stop with the attitude princess, it doesn’t suit you.” He quipped as he dropped my mother’s hand and walked over to me, pulling out a chair to sit down.

“I don’t have an attitude, I am just annoyed that I must live with some giant, old, oversized nanny. You wouldn’t have done this with your golden boys.” I taunted.

“Amora,” my father’s tone was low and gruff as his eyes hooded slightly but I didn’t miss the warning laced within his voice.

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