by V. F. Mason
She huffs loudly and then snaps, “Can you just go tonight, Lila? I booked this meeting and wouldn’t want to anger my friend.” The way she says it, as if I must do it, rubs me the wrong way, but more so the fear skirting the edges of her words. She is practically vibrating with it.
What’s going on with her?
But despite my better judgment, I remind myself of all the things she has done for me through the years, and instantly guilt slips into me. I nod, even though this whole situation seems shady.
Professor Megan was the first person who believed in my painting and advised me to enroll at the university, even though my parents were against it. She’s taught me several techniques and has always taken the time to listen to all my worries.
The least I can do is see this guy and ease her frustration. With so many projects to check and the graduation coming up next year for our class, I imagine she has a lot on her plate.
“Don’t worry, Professor. I’m gonna go now.” She glances at the door again, and I follow her gaze but see no one through the glass window. With a last reassuring smile, I leave the room, not noticing how she sits on the chair, her face a picture of despair.
After all, she just fed me to the wolves.
“Are you sure it’s here?” I ask the cabbie when he pulls up next to a rusty, old building. There are several people drinking on the sidewalk and laughing loudly, while whistling to a female passing by.
She flips them the middle finger and continues to walk while I blink in surprise.
You wouldn’t see such behavior on the Upper East Side; that’s for sure.
Several trash bins with their tops open, contents overflowing, are scattered through the streets, and buildings have graffiti all over them. The night sky only adds to the picture of doom and misery around it, not exactly playing in favor of this place.
“Well that’s the address you showed me.” He looks through his window and then at me. “That being said though, I can take you home.” He waits a beat and then says, “For free.”
For a moment, I’m tempted to take him up on his offer. The neighborhood seems dangerous, and with recent gangs going crazy in the city, everyone is cautioned to be extra careful.
But Professor M’s desperate face comes to mind, and I decide to honor my promise, because she wouldn’t have sent me here if it wasn’t important to her. “No, that’s all right.” I give him a twenty and quickly get out of the car. My bag hits the door, and I groan, “Please, not my paint.” I quickly check that nothing spilled and walk toward the third building, and the same guys whistle.
“Hey, pretty girl.” I keep my focus on the door and speedily head there as another whistle erupts. “Look at those legs.” And then I hear footsteps echoing on the concrete and one of the men ends up next to me.
I gasp, startled, and shift to the side, but he grabs my hand and halts my movements. “Let me go,” I say, reining in the panic slowly building inside me.
He lifts his hands up and mutters, “Hey, calm down, lady. We’re just shitting around.” Then he pushes something in my hands, and I see it’s my notepad. “You dropped it on the sidewalk.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat up in mortification, because I practically accused the guy of God knows what. “Thank you.”
“No worries.” He scans my appearance from head to toe and then asks, “Visiting someone?” He looks at me, then at the building, and then back at me, like my presence here unsettles him on some level.
Why does he care anyway? “Something like that. Thanks again, but I gotta go,” I reply, not wanting to share anything else with the man. Nice or not, you can’t trust strangers these days.
Finally, I find the building, get to the second floor, and knock on the door three times, noticing how different sounds emanate from various apartments, either moans or whimpers. The smells in the air are so disgusting I have to breathe into my notepad, which still has lavender scent on it.
The building reminds me more of a cheap motel with the stains on the walls and only one light flickering brightly above me.
In less than a minute, the door opens, and a man greets me wearing a clown mask. Before I can ask anything, he wraps his hands around my neck and drags me inside, shutting the door behind him.
And that’s the beginning of my nightmare.
* * *
New York, New York
Fall, 1980
* * *
Lila
“Fuck,” I mutter, and the lady next to me gasps, sending daggers my way while Sorcha chuckles, albeit covering it with her glass.
I just wink at the old hag and nudge her elbow. “Don’t tell me you never curse, Lydia?” Her cheeks heat up, and she lifts her chin, while my mom shakes her head at me from the other end of the room, suspecting I said something inappropriate, as always.
I raise my glass at her and take a large sip, not caring in the least how this affects my family.
It’s not like they gave a shit about my well-being all those months, so I say you harvest what you plant. “Your grandfather probably rolls in his grave,” Lydia mutters to me, something between disgust and a grimace etching her face as she scans me from head to toe. “Just look at you!”
I follow her gaze to study my black T-shirt, my high-waist jeans, and my knee-high black leather boots that only add to the whole rock-girl attire. A few colorful bracelets adorning my wrists and two huge oval rings dangling from my ears probably look out of place in the rich Manhattan gathering, where the richest of the rich came to celebrate my dad’s latest win.
He became a senator, after all.
“Looks good to me. Why? You have another suggestion?” I inquire, and as she opens her mouth to say something, her grandson interrupts her.
“That’s enough, Nana. Stop harassing the poor thing.”
Sorcha turns around and focuses her stare on the statue made out of gold that my dad recently bought on the black market—not that anyone here knows that, of course.
As far as anyone else is concerned, he got it as a gift from one of his rich “investors.” And apparently no one is knowledgeable enough to recognize it as being one of the Renaissance art pieces, which means most museums would kill to have it in their possession so they could introduce it to the world.
But no one cares about that, only about the prestige such things give.
I sigh and smile brightly at Eugene. I haven’t seen him in forever. Ever since I fell from grace.
He still wears three-piece suits, black, heavy glasses that constantly slide down his nose, and oversized white shirts that only emphasize his lack of physique. It baffles me that he still hasn’t changed his style. Maybe if he did, then fewer people would bug him about it and consider him their bitch.
“Thank you, darling,” I murmur, patting his arm, and he beams at me, while sending a warning glare to Lydia.
She huffs in annoyance and then pushes between us, heading toward the north wing where there is a game of poker about to start. “Sorry, Lila. I’ll talk to her,” he assures me, and I shrug, oddly touched by his protectiveness.
“It’s nothing new.”
Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I can’t catch it. “It will end.” There is such confidence in his voice I almost believe him, but then I remember we are talking about Eugene here.
Eugene Harrison is heir to the oil throne; his family is one of the richest in Texas and has so much money it makes them richer than sin. Private jet, five corporations, apartments all over the globe, you name it. All doors are always wide open for them, and they never struggle for anything in life.
With the click of their fingers, they can make even the most powerful men in town bow to them.
And while all this information should give enormous confidence to the heir of such an empire—Eugene is an only son in his family, or in the generation really—it’s almost a curse for him.
He is always so quiet, so meek, and never argues with anyone over anything. Guys often make fun of him,
while girls prefer to stay away, finding him too nerdy. I even remember how one of the starlets claimed he knew nothing about kissing a woman, and how being touched by him felt like the biggest torture.
He doesn’t have many friends and mostly spends his days tripling his companies’ money. He is rarely seen anywhere, and women in his circle consider him a doormat.
“You don’t believe me,” he says, and for a second, a slight grin appears on his face before he covers it up with his whiskey glass. “I’m not as weak as you think I am.”
“Well, Lydia is a dragon. Who can blame me?” I tease, and he relaxes, chuckling and then taps my nose out of the blue.
“And you need to remember that before antagonizing her,” he warns.
I blink at the touch, and then our stares catch, and I blink again, because unfamiliar sensations rush through my veins, filling me with confusion and electricity that prickles my skin.
I’ve never thought hazel eyes could be so mesmerizing.
“She won’t harm me,” I assure. Well, maybe she would have tried, but life has harmed me already as it is. Besides, on the list of all the shit that can happen to me, Lydia is like a mosquito who bites but never brings much pain, only a sting.
Stepping back, I clear my throat, and he immediately straightens, and for the first time, I detect an unfamiliar trait that surrounds Eugene.
Dominance and power.
Maybe he has changed in the last year after all?
“I’m gonna bounce,” I tell him, before I do something stupid like find him attractive, or worse, dwell on the emotion swirling inside me.
I’ve known him for the last two years, for crying out loud; surely, it’s too late to feel any kind of attraction to the guy. Especially to one who can’t even talk back to whoever sends insults his way.
“Leaving so soon?”
“Soon? I’d say too late.” Noticing my father’s glare from the end of the hall where he stands with his campaign staff, I shift uncomfortably. “First, I need to face my father dearest.” With a final pat to Eugene’s chest, I quicken my steps and mentally prepare myself for the blows that will come from my parents.
Not physical, as they would never allow any kind of bruises to mar my skin, but mental. The ones that leave unseen scars and last a lifetime.
“Here she is.” Dad grins at me, wrapping his arms tightly around my middle while the guests watch us, and I do the same, even though he murmurs in my ear, “I told you not to come, you fool.”
I lean back, smiling at him brightly while winking at his managers. “Of course I’m here. How could I have missed my dad becoming a senator?” I extend my hand to his head manager, Rick. “It’s such an honor to meet the man who made it possible for my dad.” The man puffs his chest, loving the praise, but then he freezes when I say, “You even did a good cover-up for his whorehouse in North Carolina. I don’t have a clue how you’ve managed to do that. I’m impressed.”
His cheeks heat up while his team glances between each other, not knowing what to do.
Dad, though, has no such problem. Instead, he throws his arm over my shoulders, and tells them cheerfully, “I’m sure you are all tired. Have a drink and some food. I’d like to talk with Lila alone.” They nod and leave us. As the soft jazz music starts to play, Dad drags me to the dance floor, painfully digging his fingers into my palm. “Everyone is watching, so keep the smile.”
“Well, my smiles don’t come cheap,” I say with a singsong voice and laugh loudly as he swirls me around on the dance floor, then slowly find the beat of the music together. I’ve learned to fake it so much it’s a wonder I didn’t go to acting school.
“Why are you here?”
“Because of your blackballing me, Father.” Fury is lacing my tone as I remember how Juliet rudely pushed me outside right after Dad’s lawyers showed up, spitting his orders.
Apparently, Daddy dearest put the word out forbidding me from working in galleries—not if they didn’t want to be closed permanently.
He chuckles, although it lacks any humor. “Still, it doesn’t explain your presence. You challenged me once, claiming not everyone lives by my order. You see the error of your ways now?”
I still when the memory of the night a year ago flashes in front of me, and with it, bringing unbearable pain that sometimes wakes me up at night.
So many truths discovered, so many secrets uncovered, so many hearts broken.
I quickly shake my head, blocking away the images, and focus on the problem at hand. “Not really, but I thought you’d be fair. I guess I should be honored,” I say nonchalantly.
His eyes narrow, as he asks, “Honored?”
“Yep. I mean, if you weren’t scared of me making it on my own, you wouldn’t have created obstacles.”
The veins in his neck strain so hard, and along with the redness marking his cheeks, it’s almost comical. By his rigid posture, I know he is barely containing his anger. “You little piece of shit,” he grits through his teeth, and I wince inwardly, but keep the grin he so hates intact.
“Oh well. That’s what happens when people tell you the truth.” The song ends, and Mother joins us, holding a glass of champagne in her hand while she raises it to someone behind me.
“Enough, you spoiled girl,” she seethes, and then addresses Dad. “Lucian is here.” And that’s when I feel the hair on my nape stand up along with radiating heat coming from behind me.
A heat that sends disgust through my system, and goose bumps erupting on my skin, indicating the presence of this man is not wanted. But when did he care about that?
“Lila,” he says, and I gather all my courage before spinning around to face the most handsome guy I’ve ever seen in this world. But also, the one who doesn’t deserve to breathe, considering what he does.
“Lucian. I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you, but we both know I’d be lying.”
Mother gasps in shock while Dad curses quietly, but Lucian just chuckles, finding it fucking amusing it seems.
“Ah, Lila. You are truly magnificent. And wild,” he murmurs, touching a lock of my hair, and I turn away from his touch, hating it.
Lucian Cortez is an heir just like Eugene, but with several differences. He is powerful, dominating, confident, and people flock to him like tan does to skin. No one ever goes against his word, not if they want to live anyway.
He is one of the most powerful and dangerous men in New York, and there isn’t a woman in this town who wouldn’t want to be his.
Except me.
“I do my best to stand out,” I reply, and then throw over my shoulder, “Dad, please fix the issue. You wouldn’t want me to use my connections, would you?”
Fear crosses his face as he quickly glances at Mom, but she just frowns in confusion, and he exhales.
Yeah, fear is a powerful tool. Even senators have dirty little secrets that their teams won’t be able to cover up if someone spills the beans. I should have just mentioned it in the beginning; then I’d have spared myself another disappointment in life.
Satisfied with how this conversation went, I kiss them on the cheeks, keeping the show intact, and pass by Lucian, my whole attention on the gate, because I know Sorcha will be waiting for me in the garden.
But he grabs my elbow, pulling me against his chest and probably ignoring all the people staring at us. “Mustangs can be wild all they want, but I manage to tame them. It’ll be the same with you, Lila,” he whispers, lazily trailing his gaze over me. “I’d love to have you in my bed.”
“Don’t hold your breath, because it’ll never happen.” He might be irresistible to everyone else, but not me. I’m not attracted to dark assholes who think they can rule my life.
I leave the suffocating place, since my mission is done, but what I don’t know….
I’m being watched by two men, and while their agendas toward me are slightly different, both of them want to own me in their own darkish way.
And I just challenged both of them.
*
* *
Him
She flashes the housekeeper a grin for the last time right before waltzing off to the gate, while no doubt each person in the room watches her every move.
She is sensational news to the elite, reminding us what might happen if one falls from the glory of this life and lives among mortals. Her lush, curly, dark locks sway from side to side, cascading down her back while her boots click loudly on the marble floor. Her long legs draw attention to her perky ass, which calls me to squeeze it tight and bite on it, leaving my marks imprinted there forever.
I notice the men murmuring among themselves, no doubt admiring her shape too, and the beast inside me roars, demanding justice, but I keep it at bay.
The glass in my hand breaks, and a woman next to me gasps, quickly throwing a napkin over it. “Oh my God. Does it hurt?” I don’t pay her any attention, instead freeing my arm from her hold, because her touch alone repulses me.
I want and need only one woman to touch me, and that’s Lila Lockwood.
She is mine, has been mine from our first meeting.
She doesn’t know it; she doesn’t even suspect, but she is mine.
And the time has come for her to know though, because I cannot wait anymore.
She will either be mine willingly… or else she’ll have to suffer.
Either she is mine, or no one’s.
There is no middle ground in this chase of ours.
Chapter Three
New York, New York
Fall, 1979
* * *
Lila
Wincing, I shift to the side when piercing pain assaults my head, and my eyes scrunch shut, while my nose twitches upon registering a bitter smell in the air.
I rise up a little, but with a cry, fall onto my back, hitting it painfully against… concrete? “What the hell?” I murmur through my dry throat, swallowing a little, hoping to get some kind of relief, but it doesn’t help much.
Our house’s shiny marble floor shouldn’t feel this bad. Was I drawing before going to bed and fell asleep in front of the fireplace?
