The Devil's Daughter

by Ophelia Bell

He gives a mirthless chuckle. “I suppose not. Tell you what, if that’s what you want, I’ll give you twenty minutes after we get you settled. You can ask me anything, and I’ll answer honestly. But first, on with the tour.”

  He tilts his chin down the corridor. “This level houses the guest quarters and my stateroom. There are two staterooms, actually, so you’ll get one. The twins can pick from the other guest rooms, which are almost as nice. Staff quarters are just below. Dining room and galley are just above us on the forward deck. There’s a whirlpool one level above that, and a pool that way.” He points back past the elevator. “And if you need to blow off steam, the staff deck has a small gym. This deck is completely private. The only personnel allowed here are housekeeping, who will only come when requested. You can’t even see the pool from any of the other decks.”

  He pushes open a door and steps through into a room more spacious and well-decorated than the bedroom I’ve been using in his penthouse. Slanted windows curve halfway around, facing the forward deck. The view is filled with the deep violet of twilight over the ocean, and the center of the room is taken up by a king-sized bed covered in white linens trimmed with blue and gold. The walls are textured paper that matches the linens, and the floors are covered in thick, pale carpet.

  But the room itself isn’t the most intriguing thing. I head straight for the door on the starboard side that leads out onto a private deck and walk around to the front, then lean against the rail, tilting my head up to the sky just to feel the wind on my face.

  I’m still absorbing the crazy detour my life has taken, struggling to acclimate to the changes that keep coming, one after the other like a row of dominoes toppling. For some reason, being here is the first moment in months I’ve felt like I could breathe enough to make sense of things.

  “Everything okay?” Drake asks. He sidles up beside me, and I open my eyes and turn to face him.

  “Is it going to sound nuts if I tell you I feel freer here right now than I’ve felt in weeks?”

  “Not at all. This boat holds some of my fondest memories. Some of my freest. It’s like being here lets me shed an uncomfortable skin, become someone new, even if it’s temporary.”

  A lump forms in my throat at the suggestion that it’s temporary.

  “Elle? What’s wrong?” Drake says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “What happened to enjoying the freedom? You look like you just got the rug pulled from under you. Was it something I said?”

  Letting out a shaky breath, I blink back unwanted tears. “Sort of. I don’t want to go back. I know we only just got here, but I didn’t realize how much of an escape I needed until we landed. Ever since I found out Arturo’s my father, it’s like the hits keep coming to the point where I’m not sure I’m equipped to fend them off. Actually, I think it started before that—when J.J. was killed.”

  His brows twitch in confusion, and I have to clarify. “That was Mason’s name before. Julian, Jr. He was named after our dad, and evidently had a major complex about not following in our old man’s footsteps, so he changed his name for good once he came home.”

  “Right. He’s the Lazarus. That’s not a surprising reaction, all things considered. I understand the need to distance oneself from a toxic parent.”

  “That’s how it was for Mason, but for me, changing my name doesn’t feel like enough. Dad was scary, but I still wanted to please him. Though now that I know he wasn’t even my biological father, I’m not sure why I still worry about what he would think about the things I do. Would this internship have finally made him notice me?

  “And what about Arturo? He hasn’t said more than a few words to me since Sam and Toni came home. And even then, it was just an apology. Does he even care that I’m his daughter? What does that even mean to him? Am I just another valuable possession he needs to pay good money to keep safe? Does he even care that I have feelings? Fuck, I don’t even know what it should mean to me that I’m his and not Julian’s.”

  I suddenly feel ashamed of blurting out all these thoughts, but he absorbs them in silence, watching me with his hands resting on the rail.

  I close my eyes again and take a long, deep breath of salty night air to try to calm down. “Fuck, so much for feeling free.”

  Drake doesn’t look the least bit fazed, though, and I’m eternally grateful that he seems to understand. He gives me a nudge of solidarity with his shoulder. “I wish I could answer those questions for you. One thing I know about Arturo is that he does genuinely care about his family. He would have preferred it if you went to live with him, but he knew how much school mattered to you. Your brother Maddox lives with him, right?”

  “Yeah, Maddy said he intervened when Arturo was pushing for me to move back to LA. I could’ve transferred to UCLA easily too. But Sam and I left LA for a reason. We needed to get away from our dad, but stay close enough to be there if Mom needed us. There was no way Sam would leave San Diego, and I didn’t want to move away if he wasn’t moving too.”

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you stayed in San Diego. But Flores knew even before this threat that you cared about school, otherwise I doubt he’d have approached me about your internship last year. My point is that the man isn’t oblivious to you, or what matters to you. Maybe he’s just trying to give you space until you’re ready to come to him, to accept him.”

  I heave a breath and meet Drake’s gaze. “That’s a nice thought, but why is he waiting? He’s known all along that he’s my father. He’s had every opportunity to claim me as his, to take me in, take me away from that awful man who raised me…”

  The rage and hurt that well up surprise me with their volatility, but I can’t stop the tears now. I smack the rail in frustration, then again when the sting provides me some small release.

  Drake grabs my hands before I can hit the rail a third time and pulls me into his arms. “Shh, you’ll hurt yourself. Come here.”

  He tightens his arms around me, and I’m mortified to find myself sobbing into his chest while he gently strokes my back. Eventually his warm hold and the spicy scent of his aftershave calm me down, but I still cling to him, too starved for affection to let go. His arms are strong, his body solid and substantial. It’s like a hug from Sam, only somehow infinitely better, because I didn’t realize until now how much I craved Drake’s touch. But it’s something I shouldn’t want, so I need to be satisfied with the gesture and move on.

  I sniff and pull away, thanking him without looking when he hands me a handkerchief from one of his pockets.

  He leans lower on the railing, stretching his back as he braces his forearms on the metal bar. The breeze toys with his hair as he regards me. He’s still in his dress slacks from work, but has lost the tie he usually wears, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His blue eyes are striking against his darker hair and tan skin, and the bruising under them doesn’t detract from their intensity. Now they spark with something that makes me wonder what he’s kept hidden all this time behind his cool, professional demeanor. I’m not even talking about his secrets—just him.

  It’s like I’m seeing a different person instead of the uptight man who offered me sanctuary when my safety was threatened. This is someone who would be honest with me, who wouldn’t wall himself off the way I felt he did when we met on the day he hired me. Everything about him screamed inaccessible from that first moment, but now… he’s different. He just held me through an irrational bout of tears and handed me a hanky after.

  “Drake, if I ask you something, do you promise to give me an honest answer?”

  “I said you could ask me anything, so ask away.”

  “You saw the video.”

  “I did,” he states, straightening to his full height. Then he wraps his hands around the balustrade and holds tight as if bracing himself for a storm.

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  6

  Elle

  I avoid looking at him and instead grip the balustrade right beside him, hoping his answe
r doesn’t rip me to pieces.

  He takes a breath and I close my eyes, suddenly wishing I could take back my question. But when he finally begins to speak, the low, quavering timbre of his voice threatens to drag me under.

  “Have you never looked in a mirror? Because if you could see yourself the way I do, you wouldn’t be as terrified as you look right now. You might be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on. I knew that the second we met, but I couldn’t let it affect me because you’re my employee. I didn’t know you were Arturo’s daughter then, only that you were important to him for some reason. And now …”

  He lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Now that I know the truth, I know how very fucking dangerous it would be for me to answer your question honestly, and not just because of who you are. The thing is, context is everything. How I saw you… on that tiny screen…”

  He pauses long enough that I open my eyes to try to see what’s holding him back. He looks almost anguished.

  “What about the screen?”

  “Elle, I think you should know that I don’t date women for a reason, and it isn’t because I’m not attracted to them. It’s because I want to experience them in a way that’s … not healthy. What you did spoke to the very fucking core of that shameful desire.”

  “You were triggered? Were you traumatized somehow?”

  He winces and shakes his head. “Nothing like that. It’s more of an unhealthy fetish. Seeing you half-naked on video was like my kryptonite. You asked if I liked it—I more than liked it. It made me want things I’ve managed to keep buried for years.”

  I’m thrumming with adrenaline at how close he is to sharing his deepest secrets. He gave me a hint earlier when he mentioned his compulsion to watch. Was this what he was talking about?

  I need to know everything, but I’m scared to press for more, scared it’ll spook him and make him shut me out. So I shift gears, despite my desire to keep him talking about his secret shame.

  “So this is why you’re bi? Do you find it easier to be with men? Do you like Ben and Baz more than me?”

  His eyebrows shoot up and he chuckles. “You are infinitely likable. It isn’t a matter of scale—of who I like more. I just find men less of a minefield in terms of complexity, probably because there’s no mystery. And whether I like either of them is moot, as long as they both despise me. Though I’m hopeful that Ben will come around.”

  “They don’t despise you. They’re just overprotective, which is kind of their job.”

  “They’re just the right amount of protective, but I think it’s less about doing their job than how they feel about you. I don’t think you realize how much you mean to them.”

  I shrug. “We’re just friends.”

  “Are you sure? Because unless they’re both gay, I find that highly unlikely. They’ve known you for far longer than I have, and it’s only taken a week for you to get under my skin. Hell, one fucking dance for a camera was all it took for me.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’d know if they wanted more. One of them would have made a move, surely.”

  He reaches up and curls his hand around the back of my head, thumb stroking along my pulse point, which only makes my heart pound. He leans close, brushing his lips along my cheekbone as he grips my hip with his other hand and pulls me tight against him. A hard ridge of heat presses against my abdomen, and I gasp at the shock.

  “This kind of move?” he murmurs into my ear. “You think they don’t think about it constantly? Because I have wanted to do this since the moment I set eyes on you, but didn’t, because I knew better. The twins aren’t idiots. You have four older brothers who are all scary as hell, and that was before it turned out you were a killer’s biological daughter.”

  I clutch at the front of his shirt, dizzy from his proximity, from the revelation that he even wants me to this degree and that the twins might also. “So why aren’t you running for the hills?”

  “Because they don’t scare me. They’re toothless next to the darkness I keep buried inside myself.”

  “Will you show it to me?” I ask, pulling back and staring up into his face. His eyes are pools of desire so terrifyingly intense I know I’m out of my depth by even asking. “I want to know you, Drake Stavros. Show me your darkness.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “If you get to know my brothers, or Arturo, they aren’t as scary as you think. Maybe shining a light on what frightens you might make it seem less terrible.”

  He stares down into my eyes, then says, “You really mean it, don’t you?”

  “It’s better if you don’t have to face it alone, right? Maybe I can help.”

  He tightens his grip on my nape and I instinctively arch closer, core hot with awareness of how very aroused he still is. He takes a breath, then nods.

  “Tonight after dinner, when you’re alone in your room, I want you to call me on the new phone Baz gave you. My number’s programmed into it like I asked. Call me and turn on your camera, then set the phone somewhere I can see you. Just let me watch you, that’s all.”

  “Should I do anything special?”

  “Nothing you wouldn’t normally do alone in your room, even if that means doing a strip tease for the camera.” He smirks at me, and I can’t help but chuckle.

  “That wasn’t a normal occurrence, I hope you know.”

  “I just want to see you. That’s all. To watch. It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you know I’m watching and you’re okay with it.”

  “I can do that.”

  His expression fills with a kind of fearful reverence that makes me feel far more powerful than I have any right to. Then his features soften and he cocks his head, leaning closer.

  Just as his mouth grazes mine and I’m about to melt, a faint “ding” of the elevator sounds from the hallway beyond the bedroom door.

  We both put as much distance as we can between us. Then I turn and rush inside just as a knock sounds against my door and Ben calls, “You guys in there?”

  “Come in!” I call, plastering on a smile when the door cracks open and Ben sticks his head in. I’m elbow-deep in my bag, pretending to unpack, when all I’m really doing is trying to hold my shit together and not look like I was just about to make out with Drake.

  Ben saunters in with a nod and an impressed smile. “Nice digs. I grabbed the room just down on the port side. I think there’s a mirror to this room on that side too, but the door was locked.”

  “That’s because it’s my room,” Drake says, stepping in from the balcony looking as calm and collected as ever. “I’m going to get cleaned up. You two find your way up to the dining room soon. Dinner will be served whenever we’re all ready.” He pauses and fishes into the pile of detritus strewn across my bed, then hands me my phone.

  “Don’t lose this,” he says before he strides out the door.

  7

  Drake

  I can’t sit still after my encounter with Elle. I don’t know what came over me. Why did I say all those things? I got caught up in the moment—being on this boat always breaks down my walls, lets me pretend like I’m a different person than the man who holds dominion over a billion-dollar shipping corporation. I was just Drake with her, a man with a shameful past longing to be truly seen.

  But now I have to wait, and join her and Ben for dinner knowing what’s in store for me later.

  Instead of pacing the halls, I head to my stateroom and change into gym shorts and sneakers, then take the stairs down to the gym. It’s empty at this time of evening, since the staff are busy, probably scrambling to make it look like they don’t mostly lounge about while I’m not here. I step on the treadmill and set it to a fast pace, hoping to run out my agitation until I’m too tired to feel it.

  It helps some, the muscle fatigue leaving me languid and my mind blank until I make it back to my room and climb into the shower. That’s when I start fantasizing about what she might show me later.

  Fuck, I’m no be
tter than whoever planted all the cameras, though I’m fairly certain the person who did it knows my secret and knows that stunt was the perfect taunt to get to me, to dig into that old wound. I have to assume the cameras were put in by the same person who sent me that threat to emphasize that they could get to me, to try to force my hand to step down as CEO of Typhon. I left Baz with access so he can look into it.

  But that doesn’t matter now. We’re far from the penthouse and all those cameras, and this time Elle knows I’ll be watching. She agreed to it. And while I doubt her offer will help rid me of the shame, it’s still an itch I can’t help but want to scratch. At least there’s a touch less shame in it if she knows I’m watching.

  When I make it to the dining room, they’re both seated already and seem deep in conversation. I hear a third voice coming from a speaker and realize Baz is on video on a phone propped up in the center of the table.

  “Drake’s here,” Elle says. “Tell him what you found.”

  “You have a progress report?” I ask, pulling out the chair at the end of the table and sitting down to face the small screen filled with Baz’s face.

  “I found at least a dozen cameras—bedrooms, bathrooms, gym. Even your closet and wine cooler. There are at least three aimed at the pool. Whoever put these in didn’t want to miss a second. I’m trying to trace the source. I got as far as a cloud server where the recordings are stored, but that’s it. No idea who owns it, but I’ll keep looking.

  “That other lead you gave me didn’t pan out—they covered their tracks too well. But I managed to piggyback a trojan horse virus onto the files, so whenever they log in to download them, I’m hoping to nail down their location, which I can do from the boat once I get there. You want me to get Karl Thomas up here to sweep the place now that I’m done tracing the camera feeds?”

  “Not until we track the person down. I want them to keep thinking their identity is safe.”