by Katee Robert
“I am only back for the week.” She’d answered Anderson’s summons because she had no choice. Family was family, no matter how little she wanted to do with the associated business. Her modeling paid for pretty much anything she wanted, but Eliza was hyperaware of each passing year. She had an expiration date stamped on her forehead, and the money would dry up the day it hit. If she didn’t find a replacement income before then, she’d be forced to rely on King money to live.
Which meant coming back into the Kingdom Corp fold like her mother had always wanted.
She slid into the backseat and scooted over so her brother could join her. As soon as he closed the door, she turned to face him. “All right, spill. Anderson wouldn’t have summoned me back here for anything less than an all-out emergency, but he was sparse on the details.” She tried not to resent him for that, but she didn’t try very hard. As the oldest in the family, Anderson had always been destined for the CEO position within the company when their mother finally stepped down. No one had expected it to happen so soon, though.
Bellamy sat back with a sigh and loosened his tie. If Eliza wasn’t aware of how dire the situation was, her brother showing up in a suit was enough to have alarms blaring. B preferred to dress casual, and as the head of security for Kingdom Corp, the only people he normally had to deal with on a regular basis were either family or his team. He wouldn’t throw on a suit unless he’d just come from a meeting with an outside component.
His obvious reluctance to speak had her straightening. “You might as well tell me now. I’m going to find out soon anyway.”
“Elliott is back.”
Elliott. Never Father. Certainly not Dad or Daddy.
Bile rose in her throat, but many years of learning to control her expression kept the reaction off her face. “He’s been back before.”
“Not like this. He’s not crawling around, asking for money. He’s trying to step into the void Lydia created when she left town.” Bellamy met her gaze, his hazel eyes showing a concern that left her cold. “I thought Anderson would run him out of town, but for some reason he hasn’t—and he’s forbidden me to do it.”
Anderson had always stood between his siblings and the rest of the world, even with the eight years between him as oldest and Eliza as youngest. Maybe especially because of that age gap. When Elliott moved out, Anderson was twelve and Eliza was only four. He’d taken on a more adult role, rather than the protective older brother the way Bellamy was.
Of course, he hadn’t interacted that way with Journey.
She shook her head. No use thinking about that bullshit now. She was here because he’d called. If things went well, she’d be on a plane jetting off to a new photo shoot inside of a week. Worst case, it might stretch into two. Anderson couldn’t expect her to stay longer than that, and she would refuse even if he tried to keep her in Houston.
She wasn’t back.
She refused to be.
* * *
Journey rolled over and picked up her phone. Seven missed calls—Anderson four times, Samara once, Frank twice. She dropped her phone and buried her face in her pillow. Getting out of bed felt like too much energy right now. She’d stayed late in the office last night, working to mediate between two sales teams who had clashed over a mismanaged project. Technically, that wasn’t Journey’s job, but yesterday her father reassigned their boss to a different department, so yet more requirements had been loaded onto her until a replacement was found.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing it on purpose.
I do know better, and he is doing it on purpose.
She growled into her pillow. It was Saturday. She might work more Saturdays than she didn’t, but she wasn’t technically required to. There should not be so many damn phone calls waiting for her. They also weren’t going away, and she wasn’t going to get any rest until she dealt with them. Phone calls meant important, but not an emergency. If it was an emergency, Anderson would have sent someone to her apartment—or come himself. Ditto with Samara.
Frank…
Well, she wasn’t ready to deal with Frank yet.
Coward.
So what?
She dialed Anderson before she could think too hard about the fact that she’d agreed to be in a fake relationship in order to bring down her father…I’m living in a soap opera. All I need is an evil twin showing up and I’m good to go.
The line barely rang when Anderson answered. “Are you okay?”
Journey sat up. “Yes, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
His pause spoke volumes. Because you’re a basket case combined with a tub of gasoline just waiting for someone to strike a match to watch you go down in flames. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer. I was worried.”
“There’s this thing called sleep. You should try it sometime.” Even if she hadn’t slept much last night. Every time she drifted off, that fucking recurring nightmare slammed into her. Running, always running, weights on her heels, footsteps sounding in pursuit, an enemy closing in behind her. And lining the trail, every single person she knew, none of them stepping forward to help. She always woke up just as hands closed around her upper arms, a scream trapped on the inside of her lips.
But she couldn’t tell Anderson that.
Journey put everything she had into sounding calm and in control. “We can’t focus on the enemy if you’re so concerned about me that you’re letting it distract you.”
“Fuck, Jo, you’re my sister. Of course I’m concerned about you.” Footsteps sounded like he was pacing, probably in his office. “We’ve barely had two seconds to talk since he showed up, but I don’t like this. It’s more than the whole bullshit about declaring people unfit. That’s just a distraction while he does whatever he’s actually here to do.”
Ice cascaded down her spine. She drew her legs up, even though she knew making herself a smaller target never actually worked. “What’s his real goal?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He cursed. “I’m sorry, Jo. I’m not trying to scare you. I’m just worried he’s going to go after you.”
Her mouth went dry and shivers worked their way through her body. Memories rolled over her, one after another. The edge of a razor blade against her hip, Elliott’s casual voice in her ear warning her to stop shaking. The scream trapped in her throat as she hid with Eliza and Bellamy in the attic and listened to Anderson draw their father away. The hot curling iron.
Say something. You have to say something or he’s going to ignore that childhood promise and then you’re going to lose him.
Her breath hitched, but her voice came out halfway normal. “I can handle it.”
“Jo—”
“I can handle it,” she repeated, sounding like she actually meant it. “Anderson, you have to trust me on this.”
He hesitated for so long, she found herself holding her breath. Finally, he said, “I’m willing to let you play this out how you want, but the second I get proof that you—any of you—are in physical danger, it’s over, Jo. I’m stepping in, and this time I will take care of the situation.”
No way to misunderstand what that meant.
“I understand.” She hesitated. “Anderson?”
“Yeah?”
“What if it really is that simple—that he just plans to take over and stay?”
Only the soft sound of her brother’s breathing let her know he hadn’t hung up. Finally, Anderson said, “I don’t want to see you in the office today. You can work remotely if you’re going to insist on working, but there’s nothing here that requires your presence.”
Journey closed her eyes. That wasn’t an answer, which was an answer in itself. He didn’t know what he’d do any more than she did. Despite everything they’d accomplished since those horrible years trapped in that house, they were still in danger of being outmaneuvered by their worst nightmare.
If she wouldn’t let Anderson act as shield, she could at least remove her presence so he wouldn’t
be distracted worrying about her. “Okay. I’ll see you bright and early Monday.”
“Stay safe, Jo.”
“You, too.”
She hung up and stared at her bedroom door. She hadn’t felt safe for months. She looked for the shadow in every light space, never truly letting her guard down.
Except here.
With a locked door between her and the rest of the world, she could settle in. At least in theory.
Journey sighed. Spending the day watching cheesy movies and hiding under her covers sounded like a dream…but it was too close to truly hiding for her pride to handle. There were emails to answer, and she hadn’t done a deep clean of her apartment in too long. Once those unsavory tasks had been conquered, she’d spend an hour or two cooking up a meal to reward herself.
Or maybe that’s just a different kind of hiding.
Shut up.
She took a quick shower and called Samara after she got dressed. Since her friend didn’t pick up, Journey sent a quick text: Phone tag—you’re it. She couldn’t deny the slightest bit of relief that she didn’t have to deal with Samara yet, though. Her friend was one of the smartest women Journey knew, and it would take her all of two minutes to realize something was wrong and rush to her side. It made her smile to think about—she’d do the same for Samara—but Journey wasn’t ready to throw open her closet door and let the skeletons out. Samara didn’t see her as damaged goods now. Maybe she wouldn’t even if she knew the truth.
But Journey couldn’t guarantee it.
And because she couldn’t, she wasn’t willing to take a chance.
She stared at Frank’s name on her phone. It had been two days since they spoke last. Maybe now was the time to call and figure out the first step in his plan.
Someone knocked on the door as she walked out of the bedroom. Journey froze, trapped between the desire to dive back under her covers and pretend not to be home and the need to not act like a goddamn victim another goddamn second.
She took the first step, and then another, making her way past the kitchen to the front door. What the hell? Journey paid through the nose for this place in large part because of its excellent security. No one should be able to get to her floor without being buzzed up first. Whoever was on the other side knocked again, more insistently this time.
It’s a trap.
She edged closer to the door, as if whoever was on the other side could burst through at any moment despite the heavy-duty dead bolt. A quick check through the peephole had her heart slamming into her throat. No.
Her father braced a hand on the door and smiled. “I know you’re in there, sweetheart.”
There was no use pretending she wasn’t. He wouldn’t have shown up unless he was sure she’d be here. Journey rested her forehead on the door and closed her eyes. “Go away. I might have to deal with you in the office, but you’re not welcome in my home.” If she concentrated, she could almost pretend the thread of fear in her voice wasn’t there.
“It’s your choice.” Elliott sounded perfectly reasonable. “It’s come to my attention that Eliza is back in town. I’m due for a visit with my wayward youngest after all this time anyway.”
Journey pressed her forehead harder against the door, the throbbing pain doing nothing to diminish her panic. She knew what happened next—what always happened next. No matter how calm or rational he seemed, Elliott would take his anger at Journey out on Eliza. Eliza, who had just arrived back in Houston and would be staying at a hotel. If he could get into Journey’s building without raising any alarms, a hotel would be child’s play.
Her sister would be hurt because Journey was too cowardly to stand her ground.
She took a shuddering breath and threw open the door. “What are you doing here?”
Her father walked into her apartment and shut the door behind him. “We haven’t had a chance to reconnect, sweetheart. We’re due for a talk.”
A talk. She took several large steps back, edging toward the kitchen island. “You’re here. Talk. Then leave.”
“I’ll leave—when I’m finished.” He didn’t move from his spot, his gaze sliding over her living room and kitchen, tainting everything in its wake. The fact that he was here at all contaminated her safe space.
She glanced over her shoulder, weighing the chance of making it to her bedroom and locking the door behind her. While the outer door to the main hallway was reinforced, the interior doors weren’t. Easy enough to kick down if he’s motivated. No, she’d have to see this through one way or another. She tried to swallow past her fear. “What do you want, Elliott?”
“Elliott,” he mimicked. His easy smile didn’t reach his eyes as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Is something wrong, sweetheart? You’re acting rather combative considering all I’ve done is stand here.”
He’s baiting you.
She gritted her teeth. There might not be any witnesses, but any reaction would only encourage him.
Doesn’t matter. React now or react later when he escalates. He always gets what he wants.
A sob caught in her chest, and she couldn’t hold her ground any longer. Journey walked to the fridge, putting the kitchen island between them—and putting herself within reaching distance of the knife block on the counter. The knife wouldn’t help. She’d watched enough true crime shows to know his superior reach and strength would only turn the weapon against her. It still made her feel better. A gun would be better.
She took her time pouring herself a glass of orange juice. Treat him like a hostile employee. It wouldn’t work for long, but it gave her the ability to clip out her words. “It’s my day off and you’re in my home, uninvited. Forgive me if my attitude is not up to par, but we don’t have a relationship outside of work, and we will continue not having a relationship outside of work. If you have a concern within the confines of Kingdom Corp, you’re welcome to email me and I’ll take care of it as quickly as feasibly possible.”
Elliott laughed, the sound oozing across the distance between them. “Fuck, you really are Lydia incarnate, aren’t you?” He stalked closer and stopped just on the other side of the island as if gauging how quickly he could get around it. “You’re just as much of a bitch as she ever was.” His smile took on a sly edge. “But we already knew that, didn’t we? If it was possible to cure you of that particular personality trait, my methods would have worked when you were a child.”
All the air disappeared from the room. She grabbed the edge of the counter to stay on her feet, but it didn’t stop her from swaying. “Fuck. You.”
“Is that any way to talk to your beloved father?”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do more than watch him round the corner of the island as he approached her. Journey tensed, a sound coming out of her mouth like a trapped animal. “Don’t touch me.”
He ran a single finger over her cheek, the soft touch taking what little strength was left in her legs. Elliott watched her sink to the ground, warmth bleeding into his blue eyes for the first time since he walked through her door. “You should know by now that you don’t have a say.” He crouched in front of her, too close, his sickly sweet breath choking her. “You’re mine, sweetheart. You and your precious little sister and your brothers. You’ve always been mine, and you’re always going to be mine. Don’t think for a second that any of you can keep me from what I want.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, a soft touch that heralded a closed fist or some kind of pain both more creative and horrifying.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Someone was at the door.
Elliott jerked back, and she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor. He pushed smoothly to his feet and disappeared. She lay there, her cheek against the cool wood floor, and listened to him open the door. He’ll get rid of them and then…
Then the nightmare would really begin.
A smooth voice saturated the dread pooling around her. “Everything good here? We had a complaint about someone trespassing.”
Frank.
* * *
Frank stared at Elliott Bancroft for several long seconds and then looked over the man’s shoulder and into Journey’s apartment. No sign of her. It might not be enough to put him on high alert…if he hadn’t seen security footage of Elliott bribing the guard at the security desk to get access to Journey’s place. The man hadn’t been inside her apartment for long, but Frank knew all too well how quickly things could get deadly. He’d gotten there in time. He refused to believe anything else.
But he might not have if he hadn’t quietly purchased this building months ago when Beckett first started having issues with his wayward family.
If Frank hadn’t tasked one of his men to keep an eye on the place a couple of days ago after he’d agreed to help Journey.
If, if, if.
He still couldn’t see her. Where the fuck are you, Duchess?
He smoothed out his anger and banished his concern, leaving no trace of it in his face or voice. “Where is the owner of this apartment?”
The man gave him a charming smile. “She stepped into the shower. I’m not sure what this business about a trespasser is, but there’s nothing wrong here.”
Frank studied his face, finding no evidence of lying. Which just went to show exactly how dangerous Elliott Bancroft was. He glanced behind the man. The open floor plan didn’t leave a lot of hiding places, and even if Journey was that willing to dodge Frank, she wouldn’t be doing it while her old man stood there chatting him up. Bedroom. Bathroom. That’s it. The shower wasn’t on. Not surprising since Frank doubted Journey would just casually get into the shower while the enemy was in her apartment.
He met Elliott’s gaze. The man hadn’t recognized him, which was just as well. He was like all the other old rich assholes in Texas—he assumed Frank was the hired help based on the color of his skin. That used to irritate Frank to the point where he wanted to shove his identity—his power—in their faces.
