by Diana Ames
Thoughts of her shattered expression and the heartrending sobs that had racked her body made him worry that she might have harmed herself. Ordinarily, she seemed confident and put together, but Anton knew better than anyone how deceiving looks could be.
Could the thought of losing a story destroy her so completely? No. There has to be more behind those shouts of corrupt monarchs and denied children than just a story.
Convinced he was about to find Alondra with her wrists slashed from his razor, lying in a puddle of her own blood, he rushed into the bathing chamber for the second time. He stopped short when he saw Alondra curled in a ball on the floor beside the large tub. He didn’t see blood running from her body anywhere, so he breathed a little easier and took a moment to assess her appearance.
Anton could see that the thin hospital gown was hanging open and had bunched around her waist. One breast peeked out at him. He groaned a little as his cock pulsed from the sight of the exposed creamy white skin. He tried to focus on her face. Even closed, her eyes were swollen, and the tear streaks leading to her chin were a good indication that this breakdown had been caused by more than just the loss of a story.
When he could no longer endure watching her lie on the floor, Anton crouched and touched her shoulder. A low growl escaped his lips as he couldn’t help but notice how soft her skin was. He cursed under his breath and nudged her again. She responded by curling up tighter into herself. Anton lost what little patience he had then and just scooped her up into his arms.
Alondra didn’t uncurl or snuggle into him, which disappointed him more than he was willing to admit. Anton carried her into his bedroom and gently laid her on his bed. He watched as her body reacted to the mattress now supporting it. He nearly smiled when she stretched like a cat and then snuggled into the soft pillow and jersey knit sheets, giving him a better view of her breasts. He grabbed a blanket before he could be tempted further, and then he covered her before leaving the room.
When Anton left his bedroom, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and plopped down on his sofa. Taking a page from Damian’s book on drinking, he uncapped the bottle, slammed back a long gulp, and savored the burn.
He couldn’t believe how screwed-up everything was. How had Damian managed to keep Alondra in line for nearly a month? Anton couldn’t do it for a single day. Taking another chug of the whiskey to bury the depressing thought, Anton focused on her reaction to the test results.
She had been too emotional over this for it to be just about a story of a woman she believed was innocent. There had been too much pain in Alondra’s words, and he could still hear her voice in his mind.
“Don’t you love your own son?”
“How can you deny him?”
“What’s going to happen when your son grows up and wonders why he looks more like you than his father?”
Anton replayed her questions over and over, trying to find answers he could live with. Of course he loved Dominic, and he could show that love as an uncle just as easily as he could as a father. He had denied Dominic because no child deserved to know that he had been a product of incest, kidnapping, and a test-tube pregnancy. And it wasn’t his own features he worried about Dominic seeing in the mirror as he grew. Anton had tried to make sure all photos of Gilly were removed from view, and he’d hoped the scandal would dissipate before Dominic was old enough to understand the whispers.
Anton brought the bottle to his lips again and again, trying to escape the torment, but each drink of the amber liquid only sent him further and further into the dismal recess of his mind until he finally passed out.
“Hello, Uncle Anton,” the attractive young man said, sitting down in a chair in Anton’s office.
“How are you today, Dominic?” Anton said.
“I’ve found the perfect woman, Uncle. She’s intelligent, wise, and beautiful.” Dominic grinned at his uncle. “I know you’ll love her as much as I do. There’s just one slight problem.”
“Well, my boy, if she’s everything you just said, you can overcome a slight problem,” Anton reassured him.
“You see, there’s an age difference,” Dominic said, shifting in his chair.
“How much younger is she?” Anton asked warily. He really hoped Dominic didn’t have his heart set on a child bride.
“She’s not younger, Uncle. She’s older…much older.” Dominic looked uncomfortable. “But don’t judge her by her age. Meet her first, and then tell me what you think.” He jumped up and ran to the door. He pulled a tiny woman into the room. “Uncle Anton, meet my future wife, Gillian Portsmith.”
Anton sat straight up on the sofa and fought the urge to vomit. He was shaking and sweating profusely, and he wasn’t sure if it was the foul whiskey in his belly or the nightmare. Clumsily, he rose to his feet and stumbled his way into his bedroom. Falling onto his bed, he curved around a pillow and passed out again.
***
Gilly was in her cell, illuminated only by the glow of the dimmed overhead lights in the quad.
For a few minutes after Stephen had left her, she had been upset, but she’d recovered quickly when the guards had retrieved her from his office. She had known the musky scent of sex must have been lingering in the air when one guard had looked at her from head to toe and licked his lips.
It was only a matter of time before the guards who escorted her through the prison would figure out that Stephen was fucking her in his office on a daily basis. Then, she could put her backup plan into motion. From the way she had been eye-fucked, she wouldn’t be surprised if she had a late-night visit as early as tonight.
“No show tonight, Portsmith?” a guard taunted from the mesh window of her door.
“Not in the mood to be watched,” she said, rising from her bunk to stand in front of the window.
“Too bad,” he said in a low voice. The guard leaned in close to the bars and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Maybe a little company,” she whispered. “Gets awfully lonely in the cell all by myself.”
“Hmm…” he said, eyeing her exposed cleavage. “This cell has too much exposure for company. Who knows? Maybe something’s gonna happen, and you’ll need to be moved real soon.”
With a small smirk on her face, Gilly watched him walk away. Everything is falling into place exactly as I’d planned.
CHAPTER 22
She was being held down, and he was on top of her. His weight pressed her into the thin mattress, and she could feel the rickety springs digging into her back. With one meaty hand covering her mouth, she was having trouble breathing. She tried not to panic. She had to stay calm if she was going to get away this time.
She usually barricaded the door closed before she went to sleep, but she’d been feeling sick, so she’d fallen asleep before dinner. He always tried the door every night until he got lucky.
“Don’t fight me, you little bitch,” he said in her face.
The strong smell of beer and cigarettes nearly gagged her.
“You know you want it,” he said as he shoved in between her legs.
She writhed under him, trying to dislodge his heavy weight. She tried to kick him, but she couldn’t get enough momentum with him wedged between her thighs. Her tiny fists had no effect at all as they fell on his head and back.
When he lifted his lower body up to adjust his clothing, she took the opportunity and bucked hard. Her action took him by surprise enough that he shifted half off of her, and she squirmed out of his hold. She bolted for the door, only to be brought up short by a hand jerking her long hair.
“You little cocktease,” he growled. “You’re gonna get what you’ve been asking for tonight.”
He threw her toward the bed, and her head slammed off the cheap nightstand. She was dazed as he was on her again. As she felt the pain rip through her lower body, she turned her face into her pillow and cried.
Alondra was so ensnared by the nightmare that she didn’t realize she’d awakened. She fel
t weight on her, and she smelled the scent of alcohol. As she started screaming and thrashing, she swung her arms and connected with a head pillowed against her bare breasts.
“Ouch!” the body on top of her said. “What the fuck is your problem?”
His words and voice didn’t register with her. She was stuck in the mind and body of the thirteen-year-old girl who’d been used and abused.
“Get off of me! Leave me alone!” Alondra screamed in a shrill tone, still swinging her arms.
***
When one of her legs shot out and connected with Anton’s abdomen, he’d had enough.
He threw a leg over hers and struggled to grab her swinging fists, the entire time yelling her name. When he finally managed to pin her down, he realized her eyes were open, but she wasn’t seeing anything that was happening in this moment.
“Alondra!” he yelled right in her ear. “Snap out of it.”
Her frantic screams quieted to whimpers, but she still had that glazed look, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Alondra!” he yelled again.
“Please stop,” she sobbed. “Please.”
“Oh dear God,” Anton said in a hushed, terrified tone.
It finally occurred to him that she was having a flashback of some sort of abuse. He felt sick to his stomach with her pleas for mercy because he’d heard those pleas before. Instead of mercy, they had only incited him to more violence, to inflict more pain. But he didn’t feel violent right now. Her whimpers and cries weren’t exciting him at all. He just wanted her to snap out of it and come back to reality where she could meddle in things that weren’t any of her business, make his life difficult, and spike her hair until he was afraid of it poking his eye out.
Anton swallowed hard and silently begged for forgiveness. Then, with his free hand, he slapped her hard, trying to avoid her splinted nose. The crack rang through the room, and the begging came to an abrupt halt.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Alondra screamed. She struggled against his hold on her, and appeared surprised when he just let her go. “Why are you in bed with me? Why am I in bed at all? What the fuck were you trying to do, Anton?” Furious, Alondra scrambled off the bed, breathing hard.
“You might want to…” Anton reached for a shirt on the floor and tossed it to her.
Alondra let out a shriek when she realized she was naked to the waist. She snatched the shirt out of the air and turned her back to him as she slipped it on.
“What did you do to me?” she demanded when she spun back around.
“Who hurt you?” Anton asked quietly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied. “Did you do something to me while I was asleep? Why were we in bed together? You’d better start explaining!”
“Alondra,” Anton said, moving toward her slowly with one hand extended, “you were caught in a flashback. I know someone hurt you.” His voice was low and smooth, portraying a calmness he didn’t remotely feel.
“I wasn’t caught in anything, except for a bed with you,” she snapped. “I want to know what the hell happened—right now!”
“When I came back into the bathing chamber last night, you were asleep in a ball on the cold floor,” Anton told her, taking another step in her direction. “I carried you in here and tucked you in. I don’t know how I ended up in here with you. The last thing I remember was settling in on the sofa with a bottle of Damian’s favorite whiskey.” He was only a few feet away now, his arm out like he was approaching a wounded animal that had been backed into a corner.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asked him.
“I have no idea,” he told her. “All I know is, a minute ago, I woke up from being punched and kicked, and you were begging someone to please stop. I know someone hurt you, Alondra. I just need to make sure you’re okay right now.” He gulped. “I’m kind of afraid to get too close. You’ve got one hell of a right hook.”
“Oh my God,” she muttered and shook her head. “You’re an idiot.” She pushed past him. “Go make me something to eat, princey,” she said before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
***
Anton couldn’t believe he was actually cooking her food just because she told him to. When she’d ordered him to fix her something to eat, he’d just blindly left his bedroom and complied. He could only figure that he was slightly traumatized by seeing the aftermath of abuse, even if she had denied being abused.
He couldn’t believe how perfect her mask was and how quickly she had been able to don it. The few minutes last night when they had screamed at each other and the moments before he’d slapped her into reality were the only times he’d seen her with her walls down. From what he’d seen, she was a mess under her tough exterior.
Is Karma showing me what I’ve done to the women in my past? Is being attracted to a woman so obviously damaged my punishment for being a brutal beast most of my life? Oh God! Are the women I’ve left behind as damaged as Alondra?
The ringing phone snapped him out of his pensive deliberation. He set the spatula on the counter and turned the flame down on the bacon before snatching up the receiver.
“Hello?” Anton said sharply into the phone.
“Sire, I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday,” a voice responded.
“Who is this?” Anton demanded.
“It is Dr. Melianos, sire, Ms. Burkheart’s attending physician. I have preliminary test results for you.”
“Well, what are they?” Anton asked impatiently.
“Um…you directed me not to give the results over the phone—”
“Just spit it out. I don’t have time for a face-to-face right now,” Anton snapped. He wanted answers to the enigma of a woman currently in his shower.
“Well, you see…”
***
Alondra put her head under the water, completely disregarding the bandage on her nose. Tears were streaming down her face, and her entire body felt like it had been locked in a freezer. She hated the nightmares. When they’d plagued her for too many nights in a row, she would resort to sleeping pills. The pills would put her so far under that she never remembered if she dreamed. Since she’d been in this country though, everything had seemed like one big nightmare—sleeping or awake.
Alondra allowed herself a few minutes to dwell on the past. If she didn’t, it would pop into her head at the worst possible moment later.
After her father had murdered her mother, the police wouldn’t identify the man or acknowledge that he was a visiting dignitary of any kind. Shuffled into the foster system at four years old, she’d been placed in a good home with a caring family. Her foster parents had done their best to help a traumatized little girl recover from tragedy, but they couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t allow them to get close to her. By age ten, she’d been through four foster families, and then she had been placed in a group home for problem children. A sadistic man only there to find victims had run the group home. She’d spent her days dodging abuse from her fellow orphans and her nights praying her door wouldn’t open.
At sixteen, she’d gotten a part-time job and paid to take a general equivalency exam. With her high school diploma in hand, she’d applied for emancipation from the State of New York, and she’d won. She’d left the group home with nothing but the clothes on her back and a couple hundred dollars she’d been able to hide.
Taking a deep breath, Alondra stood up straight and finished her shower, determined that she’d spent enough time reminiscing about her dysfunctional childhood. As soon as she got out of this bathroom, she was going to get answers.
***
Anton was hanging up the phone when Alondra came into the kitchen. He moved over to the stove and dished up the sizzling bacon onto a plate. Slamming the plate down on the table, he gave her a hard look.
“Sit down,” he said harshly. “It’s time for some truth.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Alondra said, pulling out a chair and si
tting. “I want to know why you don’t acknowledge your son.”
“Yeah, well, I want to know just who you are,” Anton said.
“Why do you keep asking me that?” Alondra practically shouted at him. “I’m just me—Alondra Marie Burkheart. I’m a reporter from New York City. I was sent here by my editor to investigate…” She hesitated.
“I know what you’re investigating,” Anton said bitterly. “But now, I want to know the truth. Why are you really here? Who are your parents?”
“What? I just told you why I’m here. What does it matter who my parents are? You are making no sense!”
“Just tell me who the fuck your parents are!” he screamed.
“My mother’s name was Brenda Burkheart. I was four years old when my so-called father murdered her. I don’t know who he is or was. I’ve never even seen his face!” She jumped to her feet and moved to the counter. Slamming her hands down on the marble surface, she continued, “All I ever knew about him were the little snippets my mother told me. She said my father was royalty, and someday, he was going to take us across the ocean to live in a castle.”
“Are you sure your father murdered your mother?” he asked quietly.
“The night she…” Alondra swallowed hard. “The night she died, I woke up to yelling downstairs. I went to the top of the steps. She wanted him to marry her and take us away. When he told her he was already married and that there was no divorce in the monarchy, she threatened him with exposure. She was going to go to the press and tell them about me, so he would be forced to acknowledge me.”
Alondra turned back to face Anton, her eyes clear and bright with anger. “I fell asleep while leaning against the banister. When I woke up in the morning, I found her body. I don’t know how long I was alone with her, but I screamed until I damaged my vocal cords.”
“Well, that clears up a lot of things,” Anton said more to himself.
