Three Divisions: Crescentwood 1

by R. A. Smyth

  “I have business to attend to. Go spend time with your friends.” He dismisses me, giving me a meaningful look before heading out of the ballroom. Looking around the room I realise that Mr. Donaghue is also missing. Needing a breather, and wanting to get as far away from Mr. Belmont as I can, I decide now is as good a time as any to do some spying.

  Keeping a safe distance, I sneak slowly down the hall, sticking to the walls like glue in an effort to cling to the shadows and not be spotted. Following my father, I watch as he heads away from the ballroom and towards his office, quickly opening the door and stepping in when he arrives there.

  Just before he closes the door, I hear him greet Mr. Donaghue, who must have already been in the room waiting for him. Knowing there is no reason for anyone else from the party to be on this side of the house, thus reducing my risk of being discovered here, I decide to stay and listen to what I can through the door.

  Slowly, I sidle up to the door, and cautiously lean my ear against it, hoping that will be enough for me to make out whatever the two of them are discussing on the other side.

  My heart is hammering in my chest causing blood to pound in my ears. If I get caught here, I’m dead, no two ways about it.

  “My son,” Mr. Donaghue hisses out with such disdain you wouldn’t think he was discussing his only child, “is causing problems. I’ve handled it for now but I may need you to step in if things escalate. I can’t have him messing things up for me, now of all times.” I can just about make out what he is saying, the volume of his voice fluctuating as he presumably paces back and forth within the room.

  “That’s fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” my father replies with nonchalance, not fazed by whatever will be required to ‘handle’ Preston.

  Just as my father starts to speak again, a phone starts ringing from inside the office.

  “What?” My father barks out, presumably having answered the call, snapping at whoever on the other end of the line.

  “When?” he demands again, followed by a moment of silence where someone must respond to his question.

  “I’m in the middle of something. Check it out and I’ll be up when I can,” he states with authority, before presumably hanging up as I hear Charles speak next.

  “Problems?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” Robert replies shortly, “what’s the other problem you needed to talk to me about?”

  “This guy. He’s been digging around and asking questions he shouldn’t be,” Charles explains, likely having handed my father a picture or name card or something.

  “Doesn’t mean he knows anything.”

  “I have security footage of him sneaking around in my office at work. Not that there is anything there for him to find, but he’s persistent. He’s had it out for me since I became Governor and I can’t have him digging around, especially now. I won’t allow him to interfere with my plans.”

  “Alright. I’ll put my men on it. They are in need of some action anyway. Turns out, security isn’t as exciting a job as they anticipated and they are starting to get impatient. This won’t go unnoticed though.”

  Robert and Charles discuss all of this so casually, but based on what I’ve heard I’m pretty sure these two monsters are talking about threatening or killing whoever gets in their way. What the fuck is wrong with these people? They discuss murder as if it’s the natural solution to all their problems. Fuck, for these assholes it probably is. They have clearly done it before and gotten away with it. Hell, it was only a week ago I watched my father murder a man in the room behind me.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it, just deal with him,” Charles asserts impatiently, “I have some competitors I need help eliminating too. I’ll send you a list of names. The next auction will be at the end of the month, I will need a number of your men available on the day.” Charles says ambiguously, only serving to raise more questions about what ‘business’ these two are involved in. Something involving The Feral Beasts, whatever it is.

  “Now, have you upheld your side?” My father enquires with a hint of a threat in his tone. Anyone else would be shaking where they stand, but Mr. Donaghue just snorts at my father’s attempt to intimidate him.

  “Of course, I have. Three of your men will be paroled by the end of the week.”

  “Good.”

  After a moments silence, Mr. Donaghue speaks up. “A new shipment should be here in a few days. I’ll have someone arrange to take you to the house when it arrives, so you can see the operation. It should be easy for you to replicate back in Oregon and show others how to set up.”

  “And where are we with arranging a meeting with the others?”

  “We’re getting there. You need to prove yourself first. Just do what I have asked and we will talk again.”

  “Fine.” My father finally grinds out, annoyed at having to cater to the likes of Mr. Donaghue. “That’s everything then? I should get back before people notice I’m missing.”

  Knowing the conversation is coming to a close, I quickly duck into the alcove across from my father’s office. I just get out of sight when the office door opens, and Mr. Donaghue steps out. He looks up and down the corridor before sauntering back towards the party.

  I stay in my hiding spot waiting for my father to leave before daring to move.

  After waiting there for what is probably ten, fifteen minutes, there is still no sign of my father coming out of his office. Perhaps he isn’t planning on returning to the party like he told Mr. Donaghue.

  Knowing I can’t afford to stay hidden any longer in case someone comes looking for me, and not wanting my father to return to the party and find me gone, I decide to risk it and step out of the alcove.

  Of course, this is when my father chooses to open his office door and spots me standing in the middle of the hallway like a deer caught in headlights. Fuckitty fuck.

  “What are you doing here?” he snaps, glaring at me while a vein pulses on his forehead. Fuck. Shit. Fuck

  “I…eh….I came to find you. You’ve been missing for a while, and people were starting to ask where you’d gone.” I justify, trying to think of a plausible excuse as to why I could be here.

  Before I can think any more on it, my father reaches out and grabs me roughly by the arms, dragging me close to him.

  Tilting his head, his eyes narrow in suspicion as they bore into mine, as though he’s trying to read my thoughts.

  “Were you in my suite tonight?” He asks out of the blue, his voice low and threatening. My eyebrows pull together in confusion. Why would he think that? Was someone else in his suite tonight?

  “What?” I splutter out, “N…N…No. Of course not.”

  “If you were spying on me girl, you will regret it,” he snarls, getting right in my face. “I’ve been playing nice and so far you have served your purpose. That could change at any moment and I can assure you, you won’t like it if I suddenly have no use for a teenage girl,” He continues to threaten, his voice low and eerily calm. God, does it petrify me.

  Having seen what I saw, the other week, in the room right across the hall, I am painfully aware of one thing in this moment, my father, Robert Montgomery, wouldn’t hesitate to murder me if I became a complication. This is a truly horrific reality I’m just now, in this moment, fully grasping.

  Of course, I knew my father didn’t care about me. I knew he would probably kill me if he had to. However, seeing the reality of that snarling in my face, looking at me like I’m a bug he would love nothing better than to squish, it’s nothing short of terrifying.

  I am his own daughter, his flesh and blood, and he wouldn’t blink an eye if he killed me. I wouldn’t even be a distant memory. He would just forget I ever existed and move on.

  What does that say about my life, about me, that my only living relative, my own father, isn’t interested in keeping me beyond his own gain? Well, fuck, that revelation isn’t anything short of completely and utterly depressing.

  Unable to form words, I simply nod back
at him. He continues to stare me down for another minute before dragging me up the hall behind him, back towards the ballroom. He still has a death grip on my upper arm and I know it will leave bruises tomorrow. Hell, I’m surprised my shoulder joint is still in its socket with the way he has been yanking on it, but I refuse to show any weakness in front of this asshole, despite my racing heart and sweaty palms.

  Instead, I do my best to keep up with his huge strides in my high heels – frig, it’s a miracle I haven’t already gone over on my ankle in these death traps - and stumble up the hall behind him.

  As we pass the final alcove in the hallway, before reaching the foyer and heading back to the party, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Looking back, I see Barrett hiding in the dark, staring back at me with wide eyes. Our eyes connect and he gives me a sad smile before I am pulled around the corner and back into the ballroom.

  I have no idea how much he saw, or what it means, and I don’t have the time right now to process any of it. Now that I am back in the same room as sleazy Mr. Belmont, the rest of the one-percenters and a father I can’t afford to piss off any further, I need to stay focused and keep my wits about me. God, when will this party finally be over?

  Chapter 15

  My father doesn’t let me out of his sight for the rest of the night. In fact, for the most part, he maneuvers us around the room in such a way that he can maintain his iron tight grip on my upper arm or around my wrist, causing the bones to rub together painfully, as though he’s expecting me to run.

  Running doesn’t sound like a bad idea right now, and I’m itching to flee. Everything in my body is screaming at me to get away from him, get away from this house. Only, I have no idea where the fuck I would go. With the power of his criminal gangsters, or whatever the hell they call themselves, behind him, he would track me down before I made it to the next town over. No, unfortunately, I can’t run right now. I’ll have to bide my time and come up with a plan, for my own sake.

  After another hour or so of endlessly boring conversations, people are finally starting to filter out and head home. I glimpse my father gesture his head to someone, and see a guard stepping out from behind a huge sculpture thing in an alcove by the main ballroom doors. What the hell? Has he been there all night? Are there others?

  I quickly cast my eyes to the other alcoves and statues in the room, trying to see if I can spot any more guards, but I can’t see anyone.

  The guard makes his way across the room to us as my father turns to me, looking menacingly at me to ensure I know to take the next words that come out of his mouth very fucking seriously.

  “You’re done here for the night. You’ve played your part and are no longer needed. Dave here will escort you to your room where you will stay for the remainder of the evening. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

  This last question is said in such a deep, sinister tone that all I can do is nod my head, wanting to get away from this man, this beast, as soon as humanly possible. How can I be related to him?

  I nearly jump out of my skin when Dave places his meaty hand on my shoulders, squeezing tightly to ensure I co-operate, and starts directing me across the room and out the door.

  Casting a last look around the room, I realise the other one-percenters have already left. I caught some whispers earlier about there being a party at one of their mansions after this, so I’m guessing they have all cleared off there where there are no adults to interfere with all their teenage debauchery.

  Dave continues to keep his hand firmly on my shoulder until he’s shoving me through my bedroom door. “You heard your father, little girl. Stay here. I’ll be watching,” he threatens before stalking off back down the hallway.

  I can feel his and Robert's hands all over me and it makes me feel disgusting. I’ve gone days without being able to shower properly or using minimal amounts of shower gel and shampoo when we couldn’t afford to buy more, but I have never felt dirtier than I do right now.

  Without any further hesitation, I head straight to my bathroom, kicking off my heels and unzipping my dress as I go. Turning on the shower, I remove the insane number of pins holding my hair in place and take off my make-up before climbing under the hot spray.

  I take the longest shower of my life, not caring that I am wasting water, while I literally scrub myself raw. My skin is bright red and tender to touch by the time I finally feel clean enough to step out. Underneath the redness, I can already see the faint outline of bruises forming around my wrist, upper arm and shoulder.

  I was scared earlier, in the presence of my father, terrified really, but now that’s fizzled out, and I’m left with all this pent-up anger. That fire of hatred and outrage is stoked and running through my veins, and I can barely contain my rage as I wrap a towel around my body and step back into my bedroom.

  As I head towards the bed to turn on the bedside light, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye, over where my reading nook is, causing me to release an embarrassingly girly scream.

  I’m already on edge from everything that has happened tonight. One more scare may cause a friggin heart attack.

  Before I can throw my bedside lamp as a substitute weapon to whatever deranged fuck decided to break into my bedroom, the light by the reading nook is turned on. Sitting in the chair, looking cool as a cucumber, and acting as if he owns the place, is Barrett fucking Belmont.

  Yes ok, I admit, I am a tad hysterical right now.

  “What the fuck are you doing in here?” I snap out at Barrett, still refusing to lower my makeshift weapon. After all, the last time Barrett came anywhere near me, I found myself locked in a shed for several hours. Call me paranoid, but I just don’t trust him.

  He gives me a slow once over, his eyes heating with lust as he takes in my current attire.

  Ah, yes, I’d forgotten I’m only dressed in a towel, since I wasn’t expecting any unwanted visitors this evening.

  Setting my lamp back where it belongs, I move to my wardrobe where I’m out of sight and I put on a tank top and leggings, feeling less exposed and vulnerable. Once dressed, I head back into the bedroom, ensuring there is plenty of space between the two of us. I glare daggers at Barrett, letting him know I haven’t forgotten I asked him a question, which he hasn’t answered yet.

  He slowly gets up from the armchair, looking like a fucking wet dream, and stalks across the room towards me like he’s hunting prey.

  With every step he takes closer to me, my brain seems to short-circuit, taking with it any common sense I have. It’s the only reason I can think of as to why I let him do what he does. Once I’m within touching distance he slowly lifts his arm, stretching his hand out towards me, giving me time to tell him to stop, but I don’t. He gently strokes the tip of his fingers over the faint bruises on my upper arm, massaging the skin. I just watch him, shivering at his touch, as his soft caresses replace the brute force which was applied to mark my skin.

  “I needed to see if you were ok,” he murmurs, so quietly I almost miss it.

  Not knowing what to say, I continue to stand and stare at him, taking him in, as he slowly trails his hand down my arm towards my wrist. His eyes narrow as he notices the fingerprint-shaped bruises starting to emerge there too, moving his fingers to gently massage the discoloured skin.

  “Has he hurt you before?” He growls out softly, still keeping his gaze on the bruises at my wrist while his fingers continue their soothing motion, like he can’t bear to look away from the damage until he’s healed it.

  Still in mute mode, all I can do is shake my head in response.

  “You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone,” he promises, not believing me. Why should he? If he wasn’t aware before, the display of aggression he saw tonight would clue him in to the type of man my father is.

  Coughing to clear my throat so my voice comes out strong, not wanting to show him any weakness or let him see my fear, “I’m fine Barrett. I can take care of myself.”

  At my remark, he qu
ickly snaps his eyes up to mine, narrowing them as his anger focuses on me now. Stupid testosterone-filled male thinking a mere woman can’t handle herself.

  A growl escapes from his throat before he can control himself.

  “I know you can take care of yourself. I’ve fucking watched you strutting around, thriving in this hellhole, like it's a walk in the fucking park,” he snaps out, “but whether you know it or not, your father isn’t a good man. He may be capable of more than either of us know.”

  Yeah no shit, he’s capable of murder. Not that I’m about to tell Barrett that.

  “What are you doing here Barrett?” I ask, exasperated, and suddenly completely exhausted. “Shouldn’t you be at some one-percenter party, letting one of your little followers suck you off or whatever?” I gripe, only serving to anger myself at the thought of some little bitch all over him. What the hell is wrong with me?! I shouldn’t care what chick is all over Barrett. I DO NOT care what chick is all over him.

  Giving me his cocky signature smirk, Barrett just banters back, “Jealous, sweetheart?”

  “No, Definitely not,” I scoff, “I couldn’t care less who or what you do in your spare time.”

  Barrett takes a step towards me, crowding me and forcing me to step back in order to maintain some space between us. We continue this dance until my back hits the bedroom wall.

  “You sure about that? You sound awfully sour for someone who doesn’t give a damn.” He goads, his face so close to mine he doesn’t need to raise his voice above a whisper. He pushes his heavenly muscular body up against my own, causing all sorts of goosebumps to erupt over my skin as his body heat collides with mine, igniting a raging inferno.

  He brings his lips close to mine, our pants in sync as we breathe in each other’s air. I can feel his breath against my lips as his hand strokes down my arm, causing me to shiver and eliciting a knowing grin from him.

  “I think you might care more than you want to, more than you’re letting on. Your body definitely contradicts what you’re saying,” he murmurs against my lips as his other hand toys with the waistband of my leggings before he pushes his fingers underneath them. He groans when he realises I’m not wearing any panties.