This Cruel Love (A Dark Hearts Stand-Alone Novel Book 2)

by Nikki J Summers

  True to his word, Jackson sent a driver to collect Justin at midday. My haggard, grey-faced fiancé stood next to the shiny, black Bentley, looking like he was on his way to the gallows.

  “I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to you for so long. Three months feels like forever. I’m gonna miss you so much,” he moaned, as if this was our final goodbye.

  The painful lump in my throat thickened to an unbearable level, and I tried to swallow it down and stifle the sobs that were fighting to break free. I felt bad letting him go off and check himself in, without someone being there to see him to the door, but I had to stay strong. He wasn’t a kid, and besides, I needed to be here for my own ‘collection’. If I wasn’t here when Jackson sent his second minion to do his bidding, I had no doubt we’d be in a shit ton of trouble. More than we were in already.

  “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this,” I said with false bravado. I couldn’t let him see how anxious I felt. I didn’t want him questioning my resolve, or my alibi for that matter. I needed him focused and ready to begin his recovery, not worried about me back home.

  I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, hoping I could convey what I felt without putting it into words. I was finding it hard to speak. My love for him and my hopes for our future were all I had to cling on to. They helped to keep me focused on the end goal. Our happily ever after.

  “I’ll be home in no time. Clean, healthy, and ready to be your husband.” He winked at me and I chuckled, even though I felt anything but jovial.

  “I’ll miss you so much, Rye. But I need to do this. I should’ve done this months ago.”

  I gave him one last hug, breathing him into my memory for the long days and nights ahead, then reluctantly, I let him go.

  “I’ll come and see you the first chance I get.”

  Truthfully, I had no idea whether Jackson would allow me to visit. Would it go against his rules? To be honest, I didn’t really care. He wasn’t my keeper and if I wanted to see my fiancé, I would.

  “You know, sometimes they ask the family to stay away. I guess it’s so we can focus on our recovery, you know, without the pull of the outside world drawing us back into bad habits.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “I’m not a bad habit.”

  “Of course you’re not. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry, Ryley. I guess what I’m trying to say, and failing miserably, is that I think I need some time on my own to do this. I don’t want you seeing me when I’m fighting my demons. It won’t be pretty.”

  Who was he kidding? I’d seen him at rock bottom. Nothing fazed me now, and I told him as much, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “I feel like I need to do this alone. Please, Ryley. Just give me this one thing. Three months to get myself together, and then I’ll come back to you. The old me will come back to you.”

  When he put it like that, who was I to argue? Having the old Justin back was the end game, after all. So I relented, agreeing to see him in three months. I knew without a doubt that I’d be counting down every damn second until I was in his arms again.

  We hugged each other like it was the end of our world, only dragging ourselves away when the driver coughed, then remarked on the state of traffic and the long drive ahead.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to go back home.” Justin gave me a regretful smile. “I’ve always felt so guilty about your mum and dad. You need them, Ryley, and they need you.”

  I nodded in agreement, but I couldn’t meet his eyes in case he saw the guilt hiding behind my smile.

  “Say thanks to your dad for settling the debts for me. I’ll pay him back every penny once I’m back on my feet, I swear.”

  I hated lying to him, but it was for his own good. We needed a clean slate. We deserved it.

  He climbed into the car, and as it pulled away, I noticed a familiar figure across the road, leaning against a black sports car. I prayed to God that Justin hadn’t seen him before driving off. Why Jackson Caine felt the need to watch our misery was beyond me. He made my blood boil. He really was devoid of all humanity.

  I folded my arms and stalked over to where he stood, looking smug as hell with his dark grey suit and aviator sunglasses to hide his evil glare.

  “One hour,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “I don’t have to see you for one hour. Give me that at least.”

  He threw something over to me and I caught it.

  “What’s this?” I held up the black key card, knowing full well what it was.

  “That is the key to your new home,” he said with a wicked grin. I didn’t share in his enthusiasm.

  “The key to hell, you mean. Your place will never be my home.”

  He smirked and turned his back on me then. I did the same and stalked back across the road to go and hide in my true home for as long as I had left. The rev of the engine as he sped off made me jump out of my skin.

  “Asshole,” I muttered, and then I smiled. I was going to make Jackson Caine rue the day he ever invited me into his life. If he thought he was in for an easy ride, he had another thing coming. I was going to make his life pure hell. Hell for the devil he was.

  “Well, this isn’t at all what I’d imagined. Where are the shackles and chains? The fire and brimstone?”

  I don’t know who I was talking to. There wasn’t anyone else in Jackson Caine’s swanky apartment. He’d had one of his numbskull security guys pick me up at one o’clock, and he’d brought me straight up to his penthouse apartment. It was awesome. The evil overlord had indeed created his own version of heaven.

  The entrance hall was all plush cream carpets and chrome fixtures, with a black baby grand piano off to the side. Did the demon actually play as he was plotting his command in Hell? He probably struggled playing Chopsticks. He looked like the kind of guy to be all show and no delivery. I couldn’t see any sheet music, or anything to indicate that he played, so I figured my assessment was spot on. I sniggered to myself as I headed into the living room. It took my breath away, seeing the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a spectacular view of the city. Grey velvet sofas ran around a large glass coffee table. A huge T.V., bigger than any I’d ever seen, was mounted on the wall, and gadgets were dotted around everywhere. He liked to feel powerful and in total control of his domain, that was for sure.

  What surprised me the most though, was the extra little touches here and there. White roses were arranged in vases, and cushions placed perfectly on the sofas. There was a silver rug in front of the modern fireplace that looked so soft, and in any other circumstance I’d have gone straight to it and lay down, run my fingers across the delicate threads, but not here. Did he have a woman living here with him? No man I’d ever met kept fresh flowers or scatter cushions. No man like Jackson Caine, anyway. Was I reading this all right?

  I heard my phone ping with an incoming message, and I yanked it out of my bag, expecting to see Justin’s name. The message was from an unknown sender. I should’ve guessed he’d have my number already. I couldn’t deny that my heart sank slightly, knowing it was him.

  Jackson - Your room is down the hall, the second door on the right. Unless you’ve changed your mind and want to share my bed.

  Like that was ever going to happen.

  I’d rather sleep in a wasps’ nest.

  I threw my phone back into my bag, but a response came through straight away.

  Jackson - And there I was thinking we were bonding.

  He was delusional.

  Don’t worry, I’m sure your soulmate is out there somewhere, pushing a pull door. Happy times all round when you meet her.

  I did enjoy winding him up. It was a shame I couldn’t see his face as he read my messages. Twisting the knife at just the right time was my forte, after all.

  Jackson - Well just so you know, the trash gets picked up tomorrow. Be careful they don’t take you too.

  Did he just call me trash? Hell no, I wasn’t letting that one go.

  Trash? Really? What language are you speaking exactly, because it sounds like
bullshit! Don’t you have anything better to do than phone stalk me?

  I sat down on the ridiculously comfy couch to wait for his reply. I couldn’t keep the smile from spreading over my face as the dots continued to dance around. This was actually fun, in a weird, sadistic way. Well, it was a welcome distraction from the pain of missing my boyfriend, and having to do the devil’s bidding for the next three months.

  Jackson - You’re such a treasure, aren’t you? I’d happily bury you...alive.

  Treasure, bury, ha! He thought he was so funny.

  And there it goes again, that feeling of Deja Poo. You know, when I think I’ve heard all of this crap before. Go and make someone else’s day hell, Lucifer.

  My sensible side was urging me to turn off my phone and end this now, but where was the fun in that? My sassy side always won out.

  Jackson - You have a pet name for me already, that’s sweet. You do know, Lucifer means light bearer. I’m glad you hold me in such high esteem.

  Trust him to put a positive spin on it.

  Hmm, light like the sun... painful to look at or be around for too long. Or maybe a star? Because let’s face it, one of these days you’re gonna crash and burn.

  Point to Ryley, take that asshole.

  Jackson - We can’t all be perfect like you, can we? It must be so exhausting, putting make-up on both of your faces in the morning.

  Whatever, asshat. Bring it on.

  As fun as this is, I have better things to do...like check out my prison for the next three months.

  I was expecting a message back about prisons and dungeons, or something slave related. What I got totally threw me.

  Jackson - I’ll be home around seven with some Chinese. What do you like?

  Jesus, did this guy actually think I’d eat food with him and play house like some kind of fool?

  I’d like to not see your smug-ass face unless I really have to, so stuff your Chinese.

  I was actually salivating at the thought of a Chinese, but I wasn’t about to let him know that.

  Six hours later, the aromas of sweet and sour and other Chinese delights wafted their way down to my new bedroom/cell, but I tried really hard not to let them affect me. The cheese sandwich I’d made in haste before he came home looked so unappealing. I still stuffed it in my mouth in an attempt to appease my hunger. I didn’t want to go out there. I didn’t want to see him yet; I didn’t feel ready. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like we hadn’t spoken, or argued before, but this time, being on his territory with no way out, it all felt different. It was more personal, and I wasn’t one step ahead this time. He held all the power and I didn’t like it.

  He hadn’t come knocking on my door last night. I spent most of the evening dreading the impending visit, but it never came. I heard him out in the living room watching T.V., then having a shower in another bathroom down the hall. But I had no desire to come out of my assigned room to see him. I felt much safer locked up in my plush ‘cell’, trying to ring and message my boyfriend. I got no response. I should’ve realised he’d have his phone confiscated as soon as he checked into rehab. But I’d still hoped for some contact before he turned it in for ninety days.

  My stomach rumbled as I rolled over in bed and smelt the freshly brewed coffee permeating through the apartment. Damn, I was going to have to bite the bullet and go out there, wasn’t I? Either that, or starve to death in here. The lure of decent coffee and maybe a pastry or two was too tempting though. Even I would run the gauntlet of the devil for that kind of start to my day.

  I threw on my skinny jeans and a vest top, and cautiously ventured out of the room. I fluffed my wayward curls into some semblance of a style as I crept down the corridor and into the living room. I could hear movement in the kitchen, the usual clinking of cutlery and clattering of cups and plates.

  “Hello, love. You must be Ryley.”

  I jumped out of my skin at the sound of an older lady’s voice behind me. I turned to see a woman in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, smiling at me. She had her dark brown hair tied up into a bun, and the polish and duster in her hand gave her identity away. So that’s who puts the feminine touch to his lair. His housekeeper.

  “Erm, hello.” I winced, feeling like a teenager caught out by her parents the morning after the night before.

  “I’ve brewed a fresh pot of coffee and there’s pancakes and waffles in the kitchen. Fresh fruit too. I wasn’t sure what to get you for breakfast. Jackson said he had a guest staying, but I’m not used to catering for anyone else, only him.”

  Her kind eyes went all fuzzy when she talked about him. I decided then and there that she must have a soft spot for all things occult. How else could I explain her warm, fuzzy glow when she looked towards the closed kitchen door, thinking about the owner within?

  “That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to go to any trouble on my account. I’ll eat anything.”

  She rubbed my arm as if she were soothing me. Why? I had no idea. Then she turned on her heels and went off down the corridor, humming some classical tune as she went.

  I braced myself, taking a deep breath in, and then I headed into the kitchen.

  “And so she appears. I thought you were avoiding me.”

  “I was.”

  I stood, still clutching the door, not trusting my feet to make the short walk over to the island in the middle. It was a shame really, because there was a feast of fruits, yoghurts, French pastries, waffles, and pancakes piled up in the middle. It looked amazing, better than a hotel breakfast spread, and I loved those.

  Jackson stood, leaning up against the marble work surface, sipping his coffee, all poised and ready to attack. He was dressed in his usual uniform; black tailored suit, white shirt, dark grey tie. He looked ever the gentleman and totally the sinner that he was. He was smirking at my discomfort, no doubt revelling in the fact that I was uneasy. I wanted to pick up the nearest croissant and throw it at his head. Why did he have to have such a massive hold over mine and Justin’s happiness? I hated him, and I never hated anyone.

  “I just met your housekeeper, or is she another one of your whores?”

  I felt bad as soon as it came out of my mouth. I didn’t think for a second that the gentle, lovely lady I’d just met was anything other than an employee to him. But my brain didn’t work on the same time-zone as my mouth when I was around Jackson Caine.

  His face screwed up with disgust as he pushed away from the counter.

  “Don’t ever disrespect Sylvie in my presence again.”

  He strode over to where I stood and glared down at me. I wilted under his scornful demeanour, but stood my ground as best I could.

  “She is a lady and a very respectable housekeeper who’s worked for me for nearly a decade. She’s been married to the same man for forty-two years. I doubt you and your druggie boyfriend will make forty-two weeks.”

  The vitriol he was unleashing should’ve made me turn and run, but I wasn’t a quitter.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it. She seems… nice.”

  He appeared taken aback by my apology and moved a step backwards.

  “She is.”

  He spun round and stalked over to the sink, pouring the rest of his coffee down the drain as he spoke.

  “Eat. Sylvie wanted to make you feel at home so she brought all this for you. God knows why.”

  I huffed at his final little dig at me.

  “Well, she’s nice, isn’t she? Not like some people I could mention. She must be the yin to your yang.”

  He smirked that stupid, handsome, devil smirk that made me want to punch something, and pushed past me into the living room.

  “Your sparkling wit and humour will be required tonight, Ryley.”

  Why did he always have to say my name like it was a dirty thing?

  “Great, can’t wait,” I replied in a sarcastic tone as I rolled my eyes at him.

  “You can keep the eye rolling to a minimum too.”


  How had he seen that? Was there a mirror in front of him? I rolled my eyes again anyway.

  “Fine. Anything else, Master?”

  “I’ll send your outfit over this afternoon. Be ready for seven sharp. I don’t like being kept waiting.”

  Like hell was I going to be dressed like a bloody Barbie doll. Who the hell did he think he was? He’d probably send over a string bikini style bondage dress or some other slutty outfit.

  “I have my own clothes. I’m quite capable of dressing myself,” I snapped back.

  “Not to my tastes, you’re not.”

  The bloody cheek of him! Was he attacking my taste in clothes now? Okay, so I didn’t wear designer suits every day like him, but I was no slob.

  “I’ll wear what I want.” I fought the urge to stomp my feet. I wasn’t ten years old, but he was certainly treating me like I was.

  “No, you won’t. I’ll send your outfit over and you will wear what I tell you. This is an important event, not a frat party.”

  He spun round to face me, just as I was doing my third eye roll of the morning.

  “Don’t push me, Ryley. You come dressed as I see fit, or this little deal of yours becomes null and void.”

  What an asshole. If he thought I was going to roll over and play nice, he had another thing coming. I was no pushover.

  “Fine,” I lied. “Anything else, Sir?”

  “Yes, drop the attitude. You’re not a teenager anymore. I need you to dig deep; really, really deep, and find the lady that lies within you… somewhere. You’ll need to put on your best act tonight and charm some very influential men and women.”

  “Being on your arm and looking like I’m enjoying it will be an act, trust me. I’ll be winning Oscars before these three months are out.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t fuck it up. Think you can handle that?”

  He could go take a run and jump. There was delicious food and coffee waiting for me in the kitchen; I was so over this little exchange.

  “I don’t fuck up… ever.” I smiled.

  “No, you just get engaged to fucked up, don’t you?”