by Sabre Rose
CHAPTER NINE
RYKER
Everly sits on the couch, arms folded across her chest and glares at me, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. “Are you just here to check up on me?”
I walk around her room, picking up books and studying the back covers without reading a word. “I told you I was bored senseless. And since when haven’t I been allowed to visit my little sister?”
She frowns. “Since you’ve never done it before and I’ve been here for months.” Her frown deepens. “Months.”
I look out the window. It is raining. Everly is supposed to be on a study period, but instead, she’s made a nest on the couch and binge-watching some remake of her favorite book from when she was a kid.
“Why don’t you take me on a tour? I’d love to see the school, see where you go to class, eat your lunch.”
She makes a humpf sound. “It’s raining.”
“It’s raining,” I mimic. “Come on, Ev. Show your brother some kindness and indulge him for a bit, huh? I’m injured. You should feel sorry for me.” I flap my arm hopelessly, and batt my eyelashes until she relents and laughs.
“Fine.” She bends down to tug on her shoes. “But don’t think you’re going to start a habit of this. I’ve got my reputation to think about and being seen with you isn’t going to help it one bit.”
I pick up a cushion from a chair and biff it at her.
She laughs and catches it, poking out her tongue. “Come on.”
She takes me around the school, ducking into the classes which aren’t filled with students, into the library and the cafeteria. Everything reeks of privilege. Privilege I could have never hoped to provide. The school is the only one in the country known to be a pool for scholarships to universities all over the world. If Everly makes the most of it, she will go far. Hopefully far away from here. Far away from the Attertons. I don’t care if I have to work for them for the rest of my life to ensure it.
When we walk into the gym, there are pairs of people dressed all in white. They are fencing. Fucking fencing. Dancing back and forth like some sort of graceless star troopers. One of them takes off his mask when Everly walks in and waves to her.
“Who’s that?”
“No one.” But pink blushes her cheeks and I know it’s not no one.
He begins to walk toward us, mask held under his elbow, his wobbly sword thingy clutched in his hand.
“Who do we have here?” he asks, throwing his spare arm over Everly’s shoulder. My skin prickles at the familiarity and Everly ducks away from him, grinning goofily.
“Michael, this is my brother Ryker. Ryker this is Michael.”
Michael grins widely and offers his hand which I shake reluctantly. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I just like to keep an eye on Everly here. Make sure no idiots are trying to lead her astray, you know? Dad asked me to keep an eye out. He’s good friends with Mr Atterton.”
There’s something about the way he speaks to me that sounds like a warning and I narrow my eyes. “Who’s your father?”
“The name’s Gorman.” He nods, then winks at Everly.
The name brings ice to my veins. Gorman is another stockist, so to speak. He makes Attertons’ operation look like a boutique store. That’s the thing about Senior, within the criminal world he’s not big game, but he is well known and well liked. He has eyes everywhere. Even here, it seems.
“Well, thanks for keeping an eye out for my kid sister.”
Everly groans. “Kid sister? I’m sixteen, Ryker. Pretty much an adult.”
“You can’t even vote.”
“No, but I can drive, have sex and drink.”
I ignore the have sex part, choosing not to even think about that in regard to my little sister and concentrate on the drinking aspect. “What bars are letting sixteen-year-olds buy alcohol?”
“I’m not buying it, stupid. But that doesn’t mean I’m not drinking it.”
“Don’t worry there, Ryker.” The boy slings his arm around my sister again. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Everly thinks it’s a joke and laughs heartily, her eyes darting to the boy for approval. It makes me sick. Even here, she is not free of them.
I return home feeling worse than when I left. Yanking open the cupboard, I pull out the bottle of whiskey, determined to get utterly shit-faced and turn up the volume so loud the bass thuds through my ears and drowns out all other thoughts. Fuck the horses. Fuck the stable boys. They can deal with it.
After half a bottle, I rip my sling off and toss it out the window. It’s supposed to come off tomorrow anyway. What difference will it make if it was a few hours early?
After three-quarters of the bottle, I can’t stand still. The room sways and I lower myself to the couch, hoping to stop it from moving.
Mia keeps crashing through the thud of the music. The sound of her voice as she sang to me, so sweet, so innocent.
What was the name of that song?
I put the bottle down so I can search through the pockets of my jeans, looking for my phone. It was something about a flower. Something about the color pink. I type ‘pink rose’ into the search engine but all that comes up are fucking pink roses.
Someone pounds on the door. I look around, my eyes finally focusing on Cameron’s face peering through the window.
“What do you want?” My voice is slurred.
“Let me in,” he hisses. He looks back toward the mansion.
The steps to the door are painful. It seems to take me a lot longer than it should, and the lock on the door is difficult to snap open, but eventually I manage and Cameron barges in.
“Took your time.”
“Sue me.” I go to lean against the kitchen bench but somehow miss and stumble, my arms flailing to balance me. Pain bites my shoulder and I curse.
“You’re drunk.”
“So what if I am?”
Cameron lowers himself to the couch, picking up the bottle of whiskey and inspecting the contents. “Nothing. I’ve just never seen you drunk before. I didn’t think you drank.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Fuck. I’m not having a go. I just came to tell you something but I’m not sure if now’s the best time.”
“Why not?”
Cameron just lifts his brows and glances at the bottle again. “I’m worried about your reaction in this inebriated state.”
“My reaction to what?” I shake my head, trying to clear away the alcohol-soaked cobwebs.
“She’s here.”
“Who’s here?” It appears I’m only capable of asking questions in this inebriated state.
“Your girl. Mia.”
The alcohol flees my system. “What?”
“She’s here,” he repeats, as though he hasn’t just announced the end of the fucking world. “I’ve just finished dumping her in a room Junior had all done up for her. He discovered the police were looking for some guy that perved at her at the bar she was taken from. Turns out that guy was me.” He laughs. “I was just there to keep an eye on Junior, but apparently she noticed me or something, and told the police she suspected me of being the guy that wanted her.” He takes a swig from the bottle. “Ah.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “That tastes good. What brand is it?”
“Get back to the fucking story.”
“Calm down. Keep your panties on. Anyway, as soon as Senior gave him the go-ahead after clearing things with the police or something, Junior came up with this scheme where I would chase her down the street and he would be the knight in fucking armor that would rescue her. The guy’s loose a few screws, I’ll tell you that for free.”
I’m compelled to my feet, adrenaline pumping through my veins. “Where is she?”
Cameron just shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“You just said you dumped her in a room in the mansion. Which room?”
He shrugs again. “You know that place. It’s like a fucking rabbit warren. I couldn’t find
the room again if you paid me to. It was on the third level, south side. Other than that, I wouldn’t have a clue.” He drinks from the bottle again and I leave him to it, ripping open the door and tearing down the stairs.
I want to race into the mansion and throw open every door until I find her. Somehow, stupidly, I had hoped that Junior’s threat of hurting her if I went near her meant that she was safe from him as long as I stayed away. It was naïve of me. Naïve and foolish. I should have known there was no way they would let her go free. What they want, they get. It’s the fucking family motto.
I storm past the mansion and walk around to the south side. It’s night. It’s dark. She likes to look at the stars. I pace along the edge of the fence, my head craning to search each window for a glimpse of her. I want to call to her. Be her fucking Romeo, but I’ll only bring unwanted attention.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, pacing back and forth but I never see her. She doesn’t come to the window. She doesn’t see me watching and waiting for her.
The sun is rising by the time I make my way back to my little home. I climb the stairs wearily, and crash onto my bed, the alcohol, the lack of sleep and the painkillers finally catching up with me.
CHAPTER TEN
RYKER
“With your permission, I’d like to return to work.”
Senior sits behind his desk while his wife leans against it, arms crossed and watching me. She doesn’t hide the way her eyes scan my body, inspecting me from head to toe. The pair have a strange relationship, some sort of arrangement that allows them their own unique indulgences. I used to feel sorry for Katriane, stuck in a loveless marriage, until I discovered she was just as sick as her husband. She’s tried to lure me into her bedroom on many occasions. She was successful only once and the experience scarred me. Literally. She had me bound when she did it. Took the cigarette out of her mouth and pushed it into my skin, laughing when my flesh sizzled. She’s a sadist. It runs in the family.
Senior glances up at me. “The doctor said you shouldn’t strain yourself.”
Katriane smiles and bites her lower lip. Her hands rise to where her shirt peeks open and she undoes one of the buttons, pushing her chest out. Her husband just continues to scribble notes on a pad.
“I’m bored senseless, sir. I need something to do.” I don’t tell him I need an excuse to be back inside the mansion to search for her.
He sighs and rips a sheet from the notepad, folding it in half and handing it to his wife.
“Well, it would be useful to have you back in action with this wedding coming up tomorrow. All three of us have been invited and I feel like we should attend, although, no doubt, it will be tedious. The son of a rich wanker I invested with into a casino in the city. I guess it’s the polite thing to do.”
Katriane studies the note, then nods to her husband and smiles at me. Pulling herself away from the desk, she saunters over.
“How’s the shoulder, hmm?” She walks her fingers up my arm and I stiffen.
“Fine, thank you, Mrs Atterton.”
“Oh, we’re much too close for that.” Her hand falls down my side and grazes my crotch. “You know you can call me Katriane.”
“Leave the boy alone, woman.” Senior chuckles.
Katriane winks and walks out the room. I adjust my shoulders and crook my neck.
“You should really learn to relax, Ryker, or is my wife not to your liking? Prefer them a little younger? A little more innocent?”
How the fuck do I answer that?
Senior gets from his desk and walks over to the window. I decide the best course of action is to ignore the question.
“The wedding, sir. Would you like me to attend alongside you? Drive you perhaps?”
“No, no. That won’t be necessary. I’ve got the new kid for that.”
For some reason, the thought of someone replacing me makes me uncomfortable, even though I’d leave this life in an instant if I knew that Everly and Mia would be safe.
“I do need someone to keep an eye on things here though. Be my point of contact for the day while we’re away. I’d feel more comfortable if I knew you were around to sort any problems that may arrive. Cameron will be here too if you need a hand.”
“Yes, sir.” I try to hide the eagerness in my voice. A whole day without them to look for Mia. I step closer and see him watching the dappled mare race around the track. “How’s the training of Junior’s mare coming along?”
Senior glances at his watch. “Good, not that he’d know. The boy is far more interested in tinkering on the piano than horses. You should have heard him in there today.” He shakes his head. “I fear to think what will become of my empire once I’m gone and he’s left in charge. Maybe I should look at a different heir? What do you think? Do you think that Junior’s got what it takes to run this place?”
Again, another question I don’t know how to answer. “I think that you know your son far better than I do.”
Senior chuckles. “Very evasive answer, well done.” He turns from the window. “I must go down for dinner. Show yourself out when you’re ready.”
I follow him out the door, watching as he takes the main hallway to the dining room. I know my way around the mansion like the back of my hand. Unlike Cameron, I’ve chased Everly through the corridors and played hide and seek too many times to get lost. Turning in the opposite direction to Senior, I make my way through the passageways, keeping an eye out for any sign that might tell me where she is.
I’m heading toward the south corridor when I almost run into Junior, the anger pouring off him palpable.
“Move the fuck out of the way,” he hisses.
I press myself into a doorway to allow him to pass and that’s when I hear her.
“Ryker?” She stops before me, her eyes wide with wonder. “You’re here? You’re okay?”
Panic slices through me as her hand reaches out to stroke my face. I want to melt into her touch. I want to gather her in my arms and inhale her. And I almost do.
“Mia?”
She’s dressed in a red gown, makeup covering her face, a different side of her than I’m used to seeing. She’s exquisite. She always has been. Make-up or none. In a gown or naked. None of it makes an ounce of difference to her beauty.
My hand hovers in the air but then I look at Junior and the fury in his eyes makes me remember his promise.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls, stepping in front of Mia and blocking her from me.
Go near her again and I will make sure she pays for it.
I rearrange my features and tear my gaze away from Mia. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” And then I blink, reminding him that I remember his promise, and hold my hands up. “Well? Are you just going to keep standing here or am I free to continue on my merry way?”
Junior leans close. “Stay away from her.”
He’s smaller than me. I could easily take him in a fight, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Especially Mia. For a moment I allow myself the indulgence of imagining taking her hand and running away. How far would we get before someone was sent to find us? Would we make it to the city? Would we make it to Everly before he did? Where could we hide that Senior’s eyes couldn’t reach?
“And don’t go running to my father telling tales, either. She’s none of your business anymore. Remember who you are. Remember who I am.”
“Don’t worry.” I sink my fingers into his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “I won’t say a word.”
And then I just stand there and watch as he drags her behind him, her eyes locked on mine until he hauls her out of sight.
sebastian
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SEBASTIAN
I drag Mia inside and slam the door shut. She’s on the ground before me, her eyes wide, her skin pale. She shakes her head as I advance, scrambling backward over the carpet, fear palpable in her eyes. It makes me fucking hard.
Rage dances in my blood. It burns, making my movements stilted and jagged. My heart be
ats so loudly it sounds like a drum inside my head. And then there’s the buzzing. The electrifying mix of arousal and rage which threatens to overwhelm me. If I was in the mood for music, I would massacre the notes. I would pound my fingers over the keys until they bled. But it is not music which lights a fire in my veins this time.
It wasn’t enough that my mother mocked me. Her sanctimonious words set my blood boiling but they did not light the fire of rage. That was Mia. Mia and Ryker.
The way she looked at him.
The way she reached for him.
It keeps replaying over and over in my mind like a broken record, the needle scratching over my synapses.
All I see is red.
I should have left him to die when I had the chance. No. I should have taken the knife from his shoulder and plunged it into his chest. Who does he think he is? Does he really think he can take what is mine?
He tried to hide it, but the lust was plain to see in his eyes. He wants her. But she is mine.
I let out a growl of frustration and keep stalking toward her. Mia is pressed against the wall, her eyes filling with tears, her beautiful breasts heaving with each panicked breath.
“Please, Maestro.”
She holds a hand out between us as though it will stop me. As though she has any control over the situation. I’ve tried to be patient with her. I have barely forced her to do a thing even though visions have been constantly flashing through my mind of her bound and begging, her choking on my hardness, her with a tear-stained face, and lips abused and swollen.
My father insisted I didn’t have the patience to train her. He thought I lacked the self-control to not punish her too hard, but I have already proven him wrong. I’ve shown her mercy time and time again and yet she still doesn’t love me. She would choose him over me. I know it as surely as I know the rhythm of Pachelbel’s Canon in D, the piece my tutor made me play over and over until it became a form of torture.
