He comes to bed wearing a fresh pair of boxers. I tense. Will he punish me now? I know it’s coming, and the wait is agonizing. When he settles down and pulls me to his side, confusion consumes me. I don’t understand the small acts of comfort he offers. What does he really want from me? No matter what he says, it’s not only my money or pleasure. It’s revenge for what Harold did to him. Maybe he wants to drive me truly insane. Maybe he wants me as crazy as the world believes I am. I’m scared he may succeed. I’m not immune to his hands or lustful intentions. I hate him with a deep-sated intensity, but he knows how to make my body come alive when my heart has been dead for so long.
“Go to sleep,” he breathes against my neck.
His arm is heavy across my stomach, anchoring me to the bed. How does he expect me to sleep like this?
“Damian?”
“Lina?” he drawls.
“When are you going to do it?”
“Do what?”
“Punish me.”
A second passes. “Do you deserve punishment?”
“I know you want to for the wedding dress.”
“Mm.” The sound is a dark statement, a validation.
“Just do it.”
His lips skim my shoulder. “You’ll learn.”
“Learn what?”
“Everything happens on my terms.” He draws a circle around my navel with his thumb. “Close your eyes. I have a long day ahead.”
The surprising thing is when I do, I sleep better than I ever remember.
Damian
I watch my wife’s sleeping form when I get up at dawn. The black garb isn’t deserving of her fair skin and flushed cheeks. She needs soft pinks and vibrant reds. But that’s not the real reason it irks me. The real reason is she still mourns for a husband she possibly loves and cares enough about to honor his departure from this world with black. The bastard might be dead, but it lights a flame of jealousy in my chest hot enough to incinerate my heart.
I consider her closet, her ugly dresses, prim nightdresses, and black ballerina flats. Zane told me she refused to go shopping for a wedding reception dress. I anticipated it. Her refusal gives me the answer to how I’ll deal with that punishment she brought up last night. I’ll hit her where it’ll affect her the hardest, and it won’t be spanking her glorious bottom.
With a last look at her peaceful form, I get dressed, closing the bathroom door to not wake her. Then I set off to conduct the business of the day, starting with seeing my father-in-law.
We meet at the Irene Country Club for breakfast. He’s already there when I arrive, reading a newspaper like he’s got no care in the world. Unbuttoning my jacket, I sit down at the table.
He puts the newspaper aside. His tone is sarcastic. “Married life seems to agree with you.”
“If you ever come near my house again, I’ll cut off your ear.”
He gives a little start. “She’s my daughter. I have a right to see for myself that you’re not abusing her.”
I smirk. “Make it both ears.”
All pretense of superior calmness vanishes from his demeanor. “What do you want? I have work to do.”
“I’m afraid you don’t.”
A waiter approaches with a pot of coffee and pours two cups.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks when the waiter is gone.
I take tremendous joy in sliding the contract toward him that proves I am, as of today, the major shareholder of Dalton Diamonds, soon to become Hart Diamonds.
It takes him a while to find his words after he’s scanned over the content. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The look on his face is a moment I’ve anticipated for a long time, and I’m not disappointed. His deathly pale skin and furious, helpless expression are extremely gratifying.
“You son of a bitch.”
Taking a sip of my coffee, I lean back in the comfort of the luxurious chair. “You messed with the wrong man, Dalton.”
He slams the contract down on the table. “I’m still a shareholder.”
“Thirty percent. You’re outvoted.”
His lips curve in a nasty way. “You just dug your own hole. That dump is worthless. It’s depleted.” He turns smug. “Seems like you bought yourself into bankruptcy.”
I’m not putting my cards on the table. Not yet. I shrug. “Your daughter’s money is paying for it. What do I care?”
He fists his hands on the table. “I contest the buy-out. They had no right selling their shares without giving me a chance to better your offer.”
“You’ll be too busy filing appeals.” I hand him the letter from my lawyer.
As he reads, his hand goes to his chest. “Mis-fucking-management?” He shoots me a hateful glare. “You can’t do this.”
“You ran the operations.” I smooth a hand down my tie. “You gave the go-ahead to excavate, despite the geological reports advising against it. You knew the investment wouldn’t warrant the diamond deposits from the riverbed gravel, yet, you were too greedy to let the opportunity pass. You withheld those reports from the investors, got your buddy, Jack Clarke, to issue a new report, and sold the mine to them as inexhaustible for twenty years. Six years are up, and I give it one more. You’re every bit as accountable for the foreseen losses as what that forecast claims. I will sue you for every penny you’ve got and make sure it’s a nice, big scandal all over the news. When I’m done with you, no one in the mining industry will want to touch you with a ten-foot pole.”
He jumps to his feet. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
I regard him calmly. “Never been saner.”
“I won’t go down, Hart.” He points a fat finger at me. “Mark my words.” With that he storms off, making the heads of the other diners turn.
He’s going down. For what he did to me, death is too easy for him. I want him to live the last years of his life in utter misery. His old-man heart better not stop beating on me, because his ruination has just begun.
Damn, I’m starving. I’m so elated I can eat two full-course breakfasts.
Lina
When I wake up, I’m alone. Damian must’ve already left for work, or that’s what I’m bargaining on. I dress quickly and go downstairs. Russell greets me cheerfully. Is the man ever grumpy?
“Do you know where Damian is?”
“Out on business. He’ll be back tonight, but if you need him, I can call.”
“No.” I add quickly, “I don’t want to bother him while he’s working.”
“Anything I can help with?”
“Nothing, but thanks.”
There’s no time to waste. I rush to the study. My anxiety about being locked in won’t allow me to close the door. Leaving it open a crack is a risk. It’s asking to be caught, but I want to work quickly, and I can’t focus when I have to vent off a panic attack.
I start with the desk, going through every drawer, not that I expect Damian to leave the evidence he’s blackmailing Harold with lying around. It’s probably in a safe or locked away, but my meticulous side demands I eliminate the unlocked and obvious hiding places. Checking for hidden keys, I go through the desk like I’d gone through Harold’s so many fruitless times, looking for clues to the whereabouts of my child, and like those times I come up empty-handed. Not in his desk. I look around the room at the paintings. Once I’ve established there are no safes behinds any of them, I lift the carpets. I tap my feet on the floorboards, listening for a change in sound that may indicate a hollow space or loosened board. Running out of hiding places, I check the folders on his desk. They’re all branded with a Dalton Diamonds logo. I’m flipping through the top one on the pile when the door suddenly opens all the way and Zane strides in.
He jerks to a stop when he sees me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Straightening quickly, I try to keep the guilt from my face. “Looking for something.”
“I can see that. What exactly are you looking for in Dami’s files?”
I think fast
. “A cheque. He was going to give me money for bat boxes.”
Zane crosses his arms. “Why would the cheque be in a file?”
“I don’t know. I was just looking around the desk.”
He lifts a finger while extracting his phone from his pocket. “Stay right there.”
I already know who he’s calling before he hits dial.
“Zane, please. I don’t want you to bother him at work for a cheque. I can wait.”
“Shut up.” He turns his back on me. “Dami? Just caught your wife snooping around in your study. What would you like me to do about it?”
My heart beats cold as he listens to Damian’s response. If Damian gives him permission to hurt me, Zane will make it matter. He hates me enough to put everything into it. My heart trips over a beat as Zane looks back at me from over his shoulder.
“She says she’s looking for a cheque for bat boxes.”
Another small silence passes as Damian replies.
Animosity contorts Zane’s features. “I’ll tell her.” He pockets the phone. “Get the company to send him the invoice.”
“I’ll do that.”
He tilts his head toward the door. “Get out.”
Zane scares me because he’s stronger and bigger, but I’m less intimidated knowing why he hates me. “Does that mean the study is off-limits? This is, after all, my home.”
His face turns so red it shows through his bronze skin. “Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”
Russell appears in the door. “Is there a problem?”
“It’s solved,” Zane replies. “Your presence is unneeded.”
“Mrs. Hart.” Russell holds the door for me, offering his unspoken protection.
I take it gladly, sailing past Zane and feeling his stare burn on my back all the way into the hallway.
“The way I’ve been taught,” Russell says in a lowered voice, “men don’t swear at ladies.”
There’s arrogance in Zane’s tone. “I’m not doing anything her husband isn’t.”
No, he’s not. What does that say about me? I’m not high on either’s list when it comes to respect.
The day evolves with me eating as if it’s going out of fashion. I steal bread rolls from the table and add them to my stash. Between meals, I search room after room on a pretense of getting familiar with the house. I start with Damian’s closet, looking in every drawer and going as far as searching his jacket pockets.
When I’m too despondent to carry on, I get Damian’s email address from Russell and send him the quotes from the bat box companies before venturing outside to find out where the bats are nesting. There’s nothing under the gutters or in the trees. I contemplate asking the gardener, Andries, but he looks at me so sourly I decide against it. Russell, who’s following me around at a respectable distance, finally asks what I’m looking for. He says he’s never spotted any bats, and that it was probably just a bird.
Deciding to take a look under the summerhouse awning, I make my way to the pool, but stop short when I spot Anne drifting on a float. I’m standing behind the ornamental scrubs where she can’t see me. She’s wearing a red bikini that shows off her curves. She’s rounded everywhere I’m not, and her skin has a healthy, tanned color. Drifting in the inviting blue water with only her fingers submerged, she’s a sight to behold. Lovely. Womanly.
I both envy and resent her for her freedom. It’s over thirty degrees. The sweat trickling down my back reminds me how overdressed I am for this heat. No one is stopping me from going to the pool. It’s what’s stopping me, the horrible scars and their meaning, the shame of anyone knowing.
“Why don’t you take a dip?” Russell suddenly asks next to me.
Not having heard him coming up, I jump a little. “I’m good.”
“This is your home.” His gaze trails to Anne as if she’s an intruder.
“Is it?”
Immediately, I want to bite my tongue. I shouldn’t have said that. Not to him. I already went too far with my honesty yesterday. His look is understanding, and it only makes the situation worse. My cheeks heat with embarrassment at what I’ve just admitted, and to Damian’s employee, no less.
I turn back for the house. “Do you stay on the property?”
“I go home. Clock off at eight or nine.”
“Who’s standing guard at night?”
“There’s a regular shift that comes in.”
“Do you know Damian personally?”
“I only work for the security company he employs.”
“When you clock off, do you go home to a family?”
He stops to look at me. Oh, no. That didn’t come out right. I gave him the wrong idea.
I quickly add, “I’m just curious to know if you have children.”
“We don’t discuss our private lives. Protocol.”
“I understand.”
I hurry to the house, feeling like an idiot for trying to make a friend. What the hell am I thinking? Damian’s guards are not my friends.
As I’m stepping through the door, he says, “I don’t have children.”
Offering him no more than a polite smile, I dash up the stairs and wash up for dinner. I’m hungry again. Jana left early, but there’s a casserole on the hot tray in the dining room. As I sit down at the table, I swallow a sigh of disappointment when Zane walks through the door. Anne follows, wearing a wrap around her bikini.
“What’s for dinner?” she asks. “I’m starving.”
Zane gives me a hostile look while his sister piles her plate high with rice and meat. After we’ve served ourselves, we eat in a strained silence. We’re halfway through the meal when the front door flings open. Damian walks through it with big, angry strides. His face is dark, his anger barely contained.
Two men drag a third over the step. Damian doesn’t stop to acknowledge us through the open door. He heads straight down the hall toward the kitchen, the men following. Russell shuts the door with a stoic face, staring straight ahead.
What’s going on? I push back my chair, but Zane grabs my wrist.
“It’s not your business,” he says.
“Let go.”
For once, he obliges. His smile is sardonic. “Suit yourself.”
As I stand, Anne follows. Rushing through the house with Anne on my heels, a terrible urge to get to Damian drives me. Something bad is happening. I have to stop it.
The kitchen is empty, but the backdoor stands open. A light comes on in the storage room across the courtyard. The room is windowless, but a sliver of light seeps underneath the door. I hurry toward it, vaguely aware of Anne telling me not to go there. My hand is on the doorknob even as Anne jerks at my arm. Shaking her off, I turn the knob. The corrugated iron door swings open with a squeak. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t the man Damian’s guards dragged into the house bent over a worktable with his wrist clamped in a vice. The world seems to stop turning at the same time it falls away from under my feet. Damian is holding a meat axe, and contrary to earlier, his demeanor is disturbingly calm.
Chapter 7
Lina
“No,” I scream at the same time as Damian brings down the axe.
His eyes widen in alarm when he notices me, but it’s too late. The momentum carries his action forward. Various sounds mix in a terrible orchestra of horror. A dull thud falls on the wood. The man’s howl tears through the room. Blood spurts from his knuckle. His finger rolls to the edge of the table, and my scream continues silently in my chest.
“Close the fucking door,” Damian barks.
I’m shaking in the frame, my gaze frozen on the scene. One of the guards steps forward and slams the door in my face. I can’t move. It takes tremendous effort to shift my feet, to lift my hand back to the door to help the poor man my husband is torturing.
“No.” A hand locks around my arm.
I look up at the owner to see Russell at my side.
“You can’t change what’s happening.”
Panic squeezes
the breath from my chest. “I have to.”
“He deserves it.”
Terrible screams come from inside.
I’m lightheaded, as if I can’t drag in enough air. Resisting the urge to press my palms over my ears, I say, “Nobody deserves that.” I should know.
“It’s over,” he says in a placating tone. “Go back into the house.”
I free my arm. “I don’t take orders from you.”
Coldness settles in his eyes. “Whatever you say, Mrs. Hart.”
Anne shakes her head when he’s gone. “You should listen to him.”
Stress makes me snap at her. “To do what? Finish dinner while a man is losing his fingers?”
She cocks a shoulder. “Damian will be upset about your interference.”
I can’t believe how blasé she is about this. “We need to help that man.” I go for the door again, but her words stop me.
“You’re only making it worse for the guy.”
“What?”
“The more you plead his case, the more Damian will make him suffer. He’s jealous that way.”
“Jealous of what?” I exclaim.
“Of a woman’s concern.”
“If that’s true, he’s a monster.”
Another scream. Am I the only damn person in this house who wants to stop this?
“You can’t handle Damian, Lina, but don’t worry, not many women can.”
Leaving me with the insinuation of that statement, she saunters back to the house. Russell’s form is visible through the kitchen window. She stops in front of him. I can’t make out what they say to each other, but they’re both tense. It takes me one second to decide on a course of action. I grip the knob firmly. Before I can turn it, the door swings open and none other than my husband stands before me. Spots of blood cover his white shirt and a lock falls over his forehead, but other than that not a strand of hair is out of place. His face is composed.
Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel Page 11
