by Selina Marie
“How can you do this? She’s our child!” she cries, screaming in his face. His hand rears back and I hear a smack ring out, an ear-splitting scream, and then it’s gone.
The screams are still piercing the silence and I don’t know how to wake up from this dream, this nightmare won’t let me free.
Hands are suddenly shaking me, not violently but hard enough, and when I open my eyes, thanking God that I’m awake, I realize that the screaming was coming from me.
Mel’s face hovers over me, her eyes wide in horror, her hands still gripping my shoulders.
“Hey, hey, Ems, it’s okay, it’s okay girl, I got you. It’s just a nightmare, I got you,” she coos softly.
Taking deep breaths, I calm myself down after a few minutes. Mel runs downstairs to get us a drink and something to eat, after I reassure her that I’m fine. The truth is that I am anything but fine.
One thing that’s clear to me though—and I am certain of it, is that it wasn’t a dream, fuck it wasn’t even a nightmare. It was a memory. I would’ve dismissed it as nothing more than a bad dream before, but back then I had no clue about my true identity.
The people in my forgotten memory were as obvious to me as it is day. They’re my real parents, my birth mother and father. If I’m being honest with myself, since discovering the truth about Felicity, I have wondered about them, maybe even considered searching for them one day.
The thought I have wondered and almost fantasized that my father is this great man, kind, loving and generous, had been eviscerated from my body the moment the memory registered as real.
My birth father is a monster.
The woman who cowered in the corner so broken and afraid, is my mother, and the chances of ever finding her are probably slim to none. I don’t know one thing about her, but it seems like she had cared, she had wanted me. My heart hurts from thinking of the memory and the suffering she must have endured from my father. One fact is blindingly obvious to me though, and that is that she hadn’t had a choice.
Mel comes back, her arms brimming with chips, dips, chocolate, sour Haribo, which she knows is my favorite, and all kinds of snacks and bottles of various fizzy drinks.
She throws them onto the bed, and we tuck in.
In my peripheral I can see her glance over at me every couple of minutes, checking on me silently. I know she’s worried about me, but I don’t want her to be.
“I’m fine, Mel,” I assure her, knowing exactly what she’s thinking. Turning toward me, she pulls her lips into her mouth, biting down, her eyes fanning across my face.
“You want to talk about it?” she asks, as she picks up a bottle of Fanta fruit twist, unscrews the lid and takes a big gulp of the fruity deliciousness.
“There’s so much. I don’t want to talk right now. I will, I promise I’ll tell you, but not now. It’s too much” I tear open the bag of Haribo and stuff my mouth full so that I don’t have to talk anymore.
Mel nods, a sad smile flashes across her face for a second but it’s gone a moment later. She knows I hate being pitied, not that pity is what she’d give me, it isn’t, but I don’t like all this emotional crap. It seems like that’s all I have been doing lately, crying, and I don’t want to anymore.
Mel nudges me with her elbow before grabbing the remote.
“So, cheesy movie or horror movie marathon?” she asks, wiggling around getting comfy and placing the snacks in between us. Like she needs to ask.
I give her a look which she reads right away.
“Right. Horror it is.” She presses play on a horror I haven’t seen before, we sink into the pillows and spend the rest of the day like that until the memories and events of last night are a little more muted, sitting in the back row of my thoughts.
◆◆◆
The next week passes in a blur, we go to classes and the more time I spend studying criminal law, the more I realized that I’m not that person anymore. The fire has gone, and I am not someone to waste their time on something unless I was totally sure about it.
The professors even mentioned it to me after the lectures; they pulled me aside, asking if everything was ok with me, how home life was, etc. Of course, I lied. The truth is, that the passion has fizzled out along with the illusion that I’ve had a mildly loving sister and mother.
Not having any direction, in terms of my career and what I want to do with my life, throws me off, and I have never felt so out of balance. I’ve always been so determined and strong-willed, and now I don’t know anything.
I end up speaking to my tutor and tell them I will be dropping out due to personal reasons, which isn’t in any way a lie.
Mel all but ordered me to stay with her, even though I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I was grateful. It meant I had to endure charity events hosted by her parents with her a little more frequently, but I could do it for her.
While Mel attends college in the city for dance, I spend a lot of my time doing mundane shit like cleaning, which is pointless because I swear the Carmichaels have an army of maids who leave not one speck of dust. I had offered to give them a hand when we crossed paths in the house, and you would’ve thought I had killed their families and their cat. The horror on their faces was hysterical and I held back a belly laugh so hard that I choked on my own breath. Their expressions went from shock to questioning my mental stability in a second flat. After that I left them to their devices not wanting to offend them further. I thought maids were supposed to be the humble ones, down to earth and friendly? Not the maids in this house it seems.
It’s gotten to the point where borrowing Mel’s clothes feels a little too much. I mean, I need my own shit, which is only normal. We drive into the city when the weekend rolls around and go shopping. Mel insists on paying obviously, which irks me to no end. I promised to pay her back when I could.
That’s another issue… will I still be unable to get a job now?
Whatever the outcome, I’ll still try. Fuck these asshole men controlling my life. The powerless feeling threatens to rear its head, but I stomp it down under my military boots as fast as the feeling brews. I won’t let these pricks have power over me anymore. I will somehow get a job, I will find my own place and I will make it work on my own. I thought I’d been independent before, even now it’s laughable. Here I am living off of my best friend and her family’s riches.
I will make it work, I have to.
Shopping has actually been quite fun, and it takes my mind off of things. By the time we’re finished, our arms are lined with bags full of so many items of clothing I could probably open up my own store. Back at the car we cram as much as we can into the back and when I climb in the passenger side, Mel’s frowning at her phone. She glances over at me looking confused and a little in awe.
“Em, is your phone on?”
“No, I turned it off the night of the party and haven’t looked since, why?” I ask, my brow furrowed wondering why she asked, anxiety prodding around in my belly.
“Lukas Elin just texted me.” Her eyes flash down to her phone and back up to mine. “He said if you don’t reply by six then he is coming to the house.” Her brows raise creating little lines on her forehead. I roll my eyes dramatically, looking unaffected, when inside butterflies are pinballing in every direction inside my stomach.
“What time is it now?” I ask, getting a little nervous, because I know he’ll follow through on his word.
“It’s five forty-four.” Her eyes widen slightly, and she chucks her phone over onto my lap and hits the gas.
Launching myself out of the car and up the stairs, I run over to the bedside table, punching the power button on my phone. I had two minutes to spare and my heart is erratic in my chest. My phone vibrates continuously as all of the notifications, missed calls and messages scream at me.
Thirty-six missed calls and forty-three texts.
Is he for fucking real?
I quickly open up our thread and message him, with only a minute left now.
M
e: What do you want?
The reply is instant.
Lukas: Cutting it real close there, Kiska
Lukas: You’re also too fucking late.
Me: What do you mean?
“Turn around,” a deep familiar voice startles me, and I spin around, a little yelp escaping my lips and I hate that he made me react. I should have fucking known he would still show up, granted I literally gave him a minute, but he would’ve had to have left his house at least ten minutes ago.
“You want me to stay?” Mel asks, ignoring Lukas’s presence as he stands just outside her bedroom door. She comes to stand by my side in an act of silent solidarity, letting me know she’s here if I need her.
I shake my head, sending her a half-smile in thanks. I think I hear her mumble something to Lukas as she passes him, but I’m not close enough to make out what it is.
Lukas takes four large strides until he’s standing directly in front of me. Seeing him now makes me realize how much I have missed him. The sharp angles of his jaw make me yearn to reach out and feel his stubble under my fingertips, which looks a little longer than usual.
Lukas’s eyes eat me up as if they have been starved of me, and I guess they have, because I do the same.
I move a step away from him, closer to the door but his grip kills any movement I make. Lukas’s fingers wrap around my neck as he pushes me against the wall. His grip isn’t tight enough that I can’t breathe but it is firm enough to make me squirm.
“What the fuck are you playing at, Emilia?” His voice is venomous, the tip of his nose presses to mine. His breath dances across my lips as I watch his mouth snarl a little.
“That’s fucking rich don’t you think?” I could literally cut off his dick right now with how fuming I am at him. I mean I won’t, but the feeling is there, nonetheless. It probably isn’t the brightest idea of mine, antagonizing him when he can so easily apply a little more pressure and then I’ll really be fucked. But I don’t fucking care. I’m furious. Yes, my body may react in weird ways when he’s close, but right now the burn of betrayal has me on fire, ready to pull him into the flames so that he can burn along with me.
I tip my head up at him defiantly, looking him dead in the eyes.
“I am not your girl. I am not your anything. You have zero claim over me. And who the fuck do you think you are coming over here like a fucking stalker?” My voice grows louder with each syllable until I am almost yelling, but I’m silenced when Lukas’s chuckle cuts through the air, breath expels out through his lips, blowing a tendril of hair across my cheek.
“You done?” he asks as his leg shifts until it’s in between mine, pushing them farther apart. The friction and heat I can feel coming off him is a distraction, and sure as hell not one I need right now. The bastard knows it too when his lip quirks up into a smirk.
“Not even fucking close. How about you? You done being a lying asshole?” I snap. He really has the audacity to be all up in my face after all the secrets he keeps?! Fuck him.
Lukas’s fingers are still wound tightly around my throat, and when he skims his thumb across the crook of my neck in a soft caress, it throws me off almost as much as his hardness pressing into my hip.
“You can pretend you don’t belong to me all you like, Emilia, but deep down…” Lukas trails his fingers with the hand that isn’t gripping my neck, down between my breasts, over my sternum and around to my hip, squeezing it almost painfully. “You know you’re mine.” he tells me as his fingers loosen around my neck, my pulse thundering beneath the delicate skin.
“And who exactly do I belong to? Which version? Lukas Evans or Lukas Elin? Because in my opinion they’re both fucking liars.”
He can play his little games all he wants, too many times I’ve softened in his hands when I shouldn’t have. Now I know why all of those times when something inside of me told me not to give him all of me, not to give him my heart, and I had desperately tried not to, and succeeded—for the most part. He had me fooled and the ice that had been frozen around the chambers of my heart had begun to crack and thaw.
But with each lie, each secret, each revelation the ice froze back into place, the layers may even be thicker now. Something passes over his face, and he looks angry.
Lukas’s body leaves mine as he retreats three steps back and I hate myself for immediately wanting him back on my skin. His fists are in tight balls at his sides, the tension in his face visible and the muscles in his jaw clench tight. He narrows his eyes as he looks at me.
“I owed you nothing. I didn’t need to tell you half the shit I did, but you know why I did?” His brows rise but he doesn’t wait for me to speak. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me the way you are right now. Maybe I just wanted you to know me, the real fucking me, Emilia.” He hits his hand into his chest, his expression pained and resigned.
“Not one person looks at me the way you do… did. They see what they want to see, but it’s never the truth. They don’t see me. So yeah, I fucked up and didn’t say anything because for the first time I wasn’t pretending. The feelings, every moment with you was real. No lies.”
My heart is screaming, vibrating through the layers of ice to say something, do something, but I can’t. Maybe in some fucked up way, his heart was in the right place and I think a part of me gets it—why he kept the things he did—but my heart is my priority.
My broken, mangled heart that is still sitting in my chest beating through the pain, is the one I need to protect. My eyes are still locked on his, Lukas’s own eyes dark, not with arousal this time. I didn’t notice before, but he looks exhausted. Damn if it doesn’t make my dark angel look even more sinful. Before I’m ready, his back is the only thing I see as he walks away from me.
So much for wanting to protect my heart because he’s dragging the shattered organ out the door behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lukas
I slam the shot glass down onto the bar top, having lost count of how many I’ve tossed back now. Nate is meeting me in about thirty minutes, though I have no fucking idea what time it is. After ordering another glass of whiskey my body tenses when I sense the energy around me shift.
“Evening, Lukas, trouble in paradise?” Alexander Grayson pulls out the barstool beside me and sits. I scoff because, unless he really is an idiot, he should know I am the very last person he wants to mess with right now. Alcohol swims through my bloodstream, and that combined with the shitty mood I’m in makes me one thing—fucking dangerous.
“I suggest you say whatever it is you came to say and get the fuck out. Not in the mood for your shit, Alexander,” I sneer, his presence irritating me a hell of a lot more than usual tonight.
Alexander Grayson is literally the last person on the planet that I want to be subjected to right now, being the only other father of the older generation of the Empire. My father and Andrew Caper used to rule with him—until Andrew Caper wronged them after getting The Empire involved in sex trafficking. That wasn’t the part that pissed them off though. They dabbled in sex trafficking constantly but this time it was child sex trafficking, which is the most vile and repulsive kind, maybe the assholes did have morals after all, probably not though.
Even though I am the last Elin man standing, I took over for my father, but Alexander Grayson still holds more power than me because I came into my position by default, not because—as he would say—I ‘earned it’. When Nate and I rule one day, you better believe even the mention of The Empire and sex trafficking in the same sentence will result in heads rolling, and it wouldn’t be the first time I‘ve done that. Right now seems pretty appealing actually as the monster who holds a few sins over my head watches me out of the corner of his eye like a preying vulture.
“I just wanted to make sure you know where you stand with the girl. Can’t have you spilling secrets that aren’t yours to tell, just because all of your sense has traveled to your dick,” he sniggers, patting me on the back standing from the stool, and leaving the vici
nity.
His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth and my fists ache to connect with more than a few faces tonight. I need to fight, and God help the next person to even breathe wrong in my direction.
A hand slaps my back and just as I’m about to spin and knock whoever it is the fuck out, Nate sits in the barstool his father had only just vacated.
“Shit, man, leave any alcohol in the bar?” His eyes scan over the dozen shot glasses and tumblers scattered on the bar in front of me. It’s safe to say I have probably drunk myself through a good percentage of the alcohol they have here, also that the bartender is shit as his job.
Nate waves his hand getting the attention of the bartender who immediately runs over to serve him, about time.
“I’ll take five of whatever he’s been drinking.” He nods his head in my direction, his eyes shift down toward the empty glasses and when he scowls at the young guy behind the bar, I swear he nearly pisses himself, quickly scattering to grab a tray and do his job. It’s not like he’s busy, it’s pretty dead in here tonight and the guy has been leaning against the bar on his phone in between making my drinks. We’re in a biker bar in the city. I’m way past the point of being tipsy, and Nate is rapidly catching up as he knocks back several shots and glasses of scotch.
“So, what did dickhead want? I saw him leave just before I came in,” Nate asks, referring to his father. True statement.
“Same old shit, man, just reminding me who holds the power,” I tell him, and I take a swig of liquor, welcoming the burn down my throat.
The door is thrown against the wall as a bunch of rowdy guys enter the bar. They clearly have no sense of volume control as one of them tells his buddies, along with the entire bar, how he "ate out some bitch’s pussy and she came seventeen times." Yeah, okay, sounds like someone has small dick syndrome. Just to clarify their stupidity, his friends smack him on the back shouting "yeah she fucking did."
