Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  Fuck him. I take this opportunity to show him just how much I hate him. To make it clear of exactly what he means to me. Spit comes flying out of my mouth, landing right between his eyes. I can practically see the steam that comes out of his ears as his face turns red, his eyes blackening even more.

  Reaching in his breast-pocket, he retrieves an embroidered handkerchief and choppily swipes at his face. At the same time, both of his henchmen come flying around the front of the chair. One of them strikes me across the face and a metallic taste fills my mouth. I don’t have time to think about it though, because I quickly notice the other picking up his foot to kick me, and he’s aiming at my side.

  I don’t think, just react. And the only thing I can really do is throw all my weight to the side so that when he does connect, there’s enough inertia in the same direction to make it less effective. The chair clatters to the side and my head taps the ground painfully.

  But thankfully, and I’m whispering up a prayer over this one, while he still lands one to my ribs, and it still takes my breath away momentarily, he doesn’t actually make contact with my stomach.

  I may not have saved my face, or head, or even my ribs, but I think my baby will be okay.

  Dominic glances at me lying on the ground before his gaze flicks toward the men above me.

  “Feed the bitch, give her some bottled water. But use the microwave in the room over. She can live off of ramen until she dies, or we find out she’s worthy of living. And with that, he stalks out of the room, leaving me with two men that I don’t trust with my care at all.

  Looks like I won’t be sleeping for a while.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “HERE, BITCH,” SAYS Dimitri—I’ve now learned their names, although I like to refer to him as Asshole Number One—as he shoves my bowl of ramen at me.

  I sniff it and something similar to relief flows through me.

  Oriental flavor this time.

  I’ve probably gone through an entire 12-pack of noodles, all chicken flavored, during the four or five—I think—days I’ve been here, which must be why they suddenly changed up the flavor on me. Part of me is thankful that I’m being fed at all, but I’m terrified my baby isn’t getting the nutrients he needs.

  Obviously, I don’t know what I’m having, but if I have my days right, today is the first day of my second trimester. In my mind, I picture a precious little boy who looks exactly like his father but is as stubborn as his mommy. These images are like little snippets of heaven as I sit here in Hell, awaiting the final judgment.

  Am I Dominic’s daughter, or aren’t I?

  Dimitri the Druggie, AKA Asshole One, cuts the zip-tie from my left arm but keeps the other secured to the chair. Throwing a spork in front of me, he goes back to reading a newspaper.

  Well, kudos to him.

  I’m surprised he’s cultured and sophisticated enough to even know his ABCs.

  Could’ve fooled me. I bet he can’t spell for shit.

  Sighing, I dig in, my eyes catching on my empty finger. The moment I was brought into the light where I could see and feel my hands, the first thing I checked was my ring finger. I wasn’t surprised to find it gone. I miss it as if it were my lifeline to Gray.

  I slurp some of the noodles. If I never have to eat freaking noodles another day in my life, I’ll be content; I won’t ask for anything else—once I’m safe from being killed. Speaking of safety, how long does a paternity test take to come back, anyway?

  “Shouldn’t Dominic have received the results by now?” I ask aloud to whoever is willing to answer.

  Silence. Complete silence. They don’t even lift their eyes from reading and texting.

  Soon. Hopefully soon. Once he does, maybe I can talk some sense into him. When he validates that I am, in fact, his flesh and blood he’ll treat me a little more like a human being. Instead of noodles, I might get sandwiches. Instead of water, I might get juice.

  I’ve come to appreciate all the little things I didn’t even know I had to be thankful for before. Juice; a hairbrush; lotion; clean clothes. I’m stuck in the same damn clothes I had on when I was taken. When I asked for another set of clothes and if they could wash the ones I was wearing they laughed and told me to wash them in the nearby sink when I’m allowed once a day to scrub up.

  It’s a tiny sink that you might see in a camper. It's shallow and holds about a gallon of water. When they denied my request for a towel to dry off with, I quickly discovered the offer for washing my clothes in the sink was just a way to get me to strip down voluntarily. Luckily, I was smart enough to ask for the towel before stripping down to nothing.

  Those fuckers.

  “Straighten everything up. The dudes upstairs just shot me a text. Boss is here. He’s on his way down now,” Jerome, the other guard, says in a rush.

  The two straighten up the area around them, tossing beer cans and empty snack bags into a nearby wastebasket. Jerking up my ramen container, they toss it too, even though I’ve only eaten a few bites. Just as it hits the top of the overflowing garbage, the doorknob squeaks as it begins to rotate, and I mentally brace myself for the entrance of the one person I envision as being the modern day Darth Vader.

  I even play his theme song in my head as soon as he appears.

  Dum da da dum, da da dum, da da da da dum.

  And unsurprisingly, my father’s face is a guise of expressionless resolve, just like the mask Vader wears. Onyx eyes regard me. I stare right back, waiting for him to hand out the verdict. Maybe he’s gotten the results back. Maybe he’ll finally realize he’s delusional and upgrade my accommodations from economy to a presidential suite. Or at least, update my stay to having plumbing and showering capabilities. Perhaps even a television so I can at least watch the news. At this point, I’d even settle for the Weather Channel being played 24 hours. Anything but having to listen to the maddening drip of the leaky faucet, the hum of a nearby appliance reminding me I don’t have access to food, and worst of all—his two cronies grumbling about how shitty life is.

  Are they just blind or do they lack the mental capacity to understand their surroundings? Pretty sure if I were in their shoes, I’d be thankful for my life no matter the circumstances. But yeah, back to the accommodations.

  This room seems to have been specifically designed for holding people captive. There’s the small sink, a mini-fridge, and a toilet which is in the corner out in the open. When I go to the restroom, I have absolutely no cover or concealment from Asshole One and Asshole Two. Something about that fact alone makes me think certain elements of this room were specifically chosen to break people down, to weaken their mental disposition.

  Dear ol’ Dad continues to stare, taking slow steps forward until he’s standing directly before me; so close, I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. If my bindings would allow it.

  Bindings. I suddenly remember Asshole One forgot to replace the ones on my left hand when he got caught up in the hassle of tidying up the room. My hand went to rest behind my back mindlessly without even realizing, where it’s still perched, untied.

  Fed-up with the suspense, I finally ask, “Well?”

  The corner of his mouth turns up in response. This isn’t a half-smirk he’s displaying, though. With his lip pulled back over his teeth, he’s snarling at me like a hyena. Reaching in his back pocket, he pulls out a packet of papers that have been folded several times into a square. Holding them out for me, I calmly divulge, “I’m tied up. You’ll either have to read them to me or hold them out for me to read to myself.” There’s no way I’m about to reveal one of his henchmen slipped up and forgot to secure me.

  He shakes the papers in my face angrily, taunting his knowledge over mine, then his hand steadies so I can read them myself. But before I begin, I just can’t resist the next words out of my mouth. “Didn’t expect you to read them to me. You could have replaced some missed memories, like how you never read to me at story time as a child.”

  Nostrils and eyes flare at t
he same time as he gives a simple command. “Read it, girl.”

  Girl. Not my girl. Not Valley. Not even Valentina. Just girl.

  That’s all I am to him. I’m not an individual or a person. I’m a generic object. Perhaps he sees me as a living organism, but I’m so far down the totem pole, I’m the bug he squishes with the bottom of his shoe and continues about his day, never once thinking about me again.

  From this acknowledgment alone, I’m no longer confident in what the papers will hold. Maybe he’s not as delusional as I thought. I scan the document, skimming over the non-important mumbo-jumbo the company could have done without including.

  My eyes land on the line, chance of paternal lineage, gliding across the page over a long ellipsis…

  I gasp. “What?” Sitting here, mouth agape, my eyes flicker back and forth between the bundle of papers and the man I was taught to believe was my father from day one.

  “Just as I always suspected. But that’s not all.” He flips to the next page. “Read this paragraph.”

  Doing as he asks, my head begins to spin. It takes me going round and round in circles with myself before I can even acknowledge exactly what it is I’m reading, and what it means. In summary, it says that the DNA is inconclusive for paternal lineage but there is a close relation between the two. Basically, it’s suggesting I’m fathered by someone related to Dominic.

  “But who?” I speak the words aloud as my brain attempts to process the information.

  Dominic scoffs like I’m a complete fool. He’s apparently already figured out what I’m having trouble accepting.

  “Do you even have to ask?”

  ~XoXo~

  Gray

  Three Years Ago…

  “I’m Valentina’s father…”

  Launching myself at the motherfucker in front of me, we tumble to the ground. Gravel bites into my skin, and although my body registers the pain, my brain doesn’t register the fact it’s supposed to give a shit and adjust accordingly.

  Fuck, I haven’t tackled someone like this since my high-school football days, and I can sure as hell tell the difference between pads and no pads.

  What’s this guy made of? Bricks?

  Having knocked the air out of the both of us, my lungs strain from lack of oxygen, but it doesn’t cause me to falter. Not even for a millisecond.

  Despite being on his chest, he’s able to launch himself upwards. Abdominal muscles contract as his back comes half a foot up off the ground. Rearing back, I throw all my weight into the punch, striking him in the jaw. I’m able to get one more good punch in before I feel the pressure of a blade at my throat.

  “Hit me again. I dare you. I’ll stick you right in the jugular.”

  “Fuck you,” I glare down at him with the full force of the hate I feel for him.

  He presses the blade into my neck so far it makes me cautious of even swallowing. Any further and he’s going to break skin.

  I raise my hands in compliance but shift my gaze around on the ground in search of something I can use as a makeshift weapon if need be. Nothing.

  “You and I are going to talk about my daughter,” he states as we both struggle to stand up from the ground.

  “You can eat shit. I’m not telling you a damn thing.” I square off with him, expecting that this whole “talk” could go any which way.

  His eyebrow drifts upward as his arms come to rest across his broad chest. “What if I told you your life depends on it?” he asks curtly, voice grating at my very last nerve.

  Does he actually think he can threaten me into giving up the girl I love so easily?

  Dipshit.

  “What if I told you I’d rather die than speak one word to you about her?” My fists squeeze at my sides in preparation.

  “You’d die for my daughter? That’s sweet,” he remarks with amusement. Then he adds, “You might be ready to die for her, but is your dad? Your sister?”

  I take a step toward him, already bringing my fist back up even as he shows me his knife again. I’m beyond giving a fuck at the moment.

  “Don’t talk about my family. Don’t bring them into this. There’s no scare tactic you can use on me. Threaten whoever the hell you want but you best be ready for a fight to the death. I’d die for them, and I’d die for V. She’s my family just as much as my own flesh and blood relatives.”

  The stranger nods his head thoughtfully at this, his eyes lighting up with something that isn’t volatile or menacing. “That’s exactly the answer I was looking for. You passed the test.”

  “Test?” I halt in my tracks, lowering my fist a few inches.

  “If you could help Valley, would you? Would you do whatever it takes to make things safe for her again? Would you help bring about the necessary changes so she could have a chance at a normal life?”

  Finally, something that causes me to falter, something that causes me to stop and break my train of thought from my intentions of beating another human being to a bloody pulp.

  “I’d do whatever it takes,” I answer honestly, my eyes boring into his so that he knows I mean business.

  “Anything?” he clarifies.

  “Anything,” I annunciate the syllables slowly.

  “Would you dirty your hands for her? Kill for her?”

  I nod through each question, shooting him a look that silently questions his fucking sanity.

  “What about sell your soul? Would you sell your soul for her?”

  Something about this question makes me pause. Even though it sounds theoretical, I’m no fool. This final question is loaded with so much more than theories and philosophies. It’s jam-packed full of innuendos and double-meanings.

  Weeks ago, Jay Lynch contacted me to inform me he couldn’t continue the investigation. It had reached a dead-end and he felt he wouldn’t be able to provide me with anything more than I already knew. Suspiciously, he refunded most of the money I’d paid and asked that I not contact him again. Hope blooms in my chance at the thought of a new opening, a new way in, even if it means going against my morals.

  Luckily, Valley getting under my skin has already desensitized me against doing things I don’t approve of in order to reach a desired outcome. She obliterated a huge chunk of my morals on first contact.

  Shrugging my shoulder nonchalantly, I say, “Show me where to sign.”

  His lips quirk up on one side, followed by his hand offered out for me to take in my own. I grip it firmly.

  “Jameson,” he states as we shake.

  Shocked, I raise a questioning brow.

  “Gray,” I volley back.

  ~XoXo~

  Valley

  “Uncle Jameson,” I gasp.

  Even though I should be wishing there was a mistake, that he’ll find out he received the wrong results and treat me with a little more hospitality than what I’ve been receiving, I don’t. Knowing I don’t come from him, there’s nothing but relief settling into my bones. For so long I feared I might sporadically morph into evil’s incarnate; that I’d turn into Satan’s spawn like it was some sort of genetic anomaly. Although I never shared those fears with anyone, they were once worse than the fear of Dom finally catching up with me. Now that he finally has, it’s ironic to hear they were unfounded.

  Dominic’s lip curls at his brother’s—my father’s—name, but I hardly notice. Pride overtakes me at the thought of the man I held in such high regard as a child. He was the only man I’ve ever thought acted like a true fatherly figure to me. Now, so many things he did, things he said, the way he acted toward me, it all makes so much more sense. Everything is finally falling into place. These lingering questions about the strange relationship between my mother and Jameson are being answered. And with all of that, lost memories are suddenly coming back to me like the holdings of a dam have just been busted apart for the first time.

  Over the years, I was concerned for my mother. The fact she had never known true love from someone. I’ll admit most of those feelings didn’t set in until I fell in
love for the first time myself, but once they did, boy was it all overwhelming. I found myself saddened by the notion Mom was lonely. I was hit with waves of extreme guilt that she gave up her life, and kept everyone at bay the same way I had, just to keep up our act. I felt like if I wasn’t in the picture, she would have had more options.

  But now, it’s obvious I was wrong. Mom has had someone all along, and it may have been long-distance; it may have been dangerous and risky even; but it was deep and all-consuming. I can’t help the fact a smile of contentment creeps over my face.

  Seconds after that smile begins, I realize it was a terrible misstep on my part.

  “My brother is going to pay. Him and that whore I once called wife,” Dominic’s voice growls menacingly the same moment his palm strikes my cheek. The resulting pop seems to shriek through the room, my ear on that side ringing. As my cheek heats from the sting, my fury reaches the boiling point.

  I’m so incensed, my vision has become splotchy and I can hardly see Dominic’s face because there’s a dark spot over it. That doesn’t stop me. Remembering I still have a free hand, I allow it to swipe out and return the favor. It connects with his cheek like a rocket shooting off.

  “You’re dead, girl.”

  Those are the last words I hear before the whole left side of my face is lit up with raw pain, and for the second time in less than a week, everything goes black.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  EVEN GOING IN and out of consciousness, my brain is still filtering through a million different memories that were suppressed over the years. How I never caught on to the fact Jameson was my father, I don’t understand. He never made me feel invisible the way I did in Dominic’s presence. I was the first person he greeted when he came around, even skipping over my mother. He held so much affection for me, brought me gifts out of the blue all the time, whispered words of encouragement in my ear. Those words helped me realize I was strong long before it was ever required of me. He always reassured me I could do anything I wanted, that I was talented and smart even if I was still coloring with crayons and writing two paragraph short stories that didn’t make much sense at the time. My love of reading stemmed from him, and writing poetry and keeping a journal just fell into place because of that. So many memories, so many hints of my true identity, but I was too deaf to hear them. Until now.