Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Stone, Measha

  “And you expect me to marry you?” The question fell from her lips with a sort of desperation. Not that she wanted him to relieve her of her duty, but she wanted to understand it. Why was she being forced to marry her cousin’s killer?

  “I do.” Henrik nudged her chin up with his knuckle. “It won’t be as horrible as you’ve conjured up in your mind, I’m sure. I have no desire or need to have a wife.”

  “Marriage in name only?” she demanded, as though she expected better for herself. She couldn’t possibly think, given her position in the world—the sole child of Christian Creon—she would marry for anything other than duty.

  Henrik dropped his hand from her chin, finding the touch too intimate for his comfort. “We know nothing of each other. That’s what this dinner is all about. Let’s get back to our families. Maybe by the end of the evening, you won’t be so afraid of me.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Not a single waver in her voice.

  “Like I said, we know nothing of each other,” Henrik said.

  “Henrik, son. Don’t be greedy and hog Megara all to yourself. There will be plenty of time for that after the wedding,” Jackson’s voice boomed.

  “Dinner is ready to be served.” Mrs. Creon appeared again, her husband at her side.

  Henrik offered his arm to Megara, but with a cool demeanor, she brushed him off and walked ahead of the group toward the dining room. He dropped his arm with a chuckle. A woman with a fire inside her.

  A challenge he would enjoy conquering.

  4

  Megara placed her fork diagonally across her plate and folded her hands in her lap. She’d survived the first course with little conversation directed her way, thankfully. The conversation flowed between Jackson and her father easily. Megara knew very little of her father’s work, but it was enough to know she wanted to stay far away from it.

  “You barely touched your meal.” Henrik pointed his knife to her untouched chicken from beside her.

  “Perhaps something—or someone—has made her unable to stomach her dinner,” Tristan said from across the table. “She is still grieving, after all,” he added, keeping his gaze locked on Henrik.

  Megara tensed. Her father should not have made her cousins come to dinner. Forcing them to sit at the same table with the man who killed their sister would only fuel their anger, and Tristan and Marco weren’t known to keep their hatred in check.

  “I had a large lunch this afternoon.” Megara spoke up. “That’s all.” She picked her fork back up and stabbed a mushroom, bringing it to her mouth while glaring at her cousin. Provoking Henrik would solve nothing. It would only cause trouble between the families. Jackson Olympus ruled, and no matter how much power her father held, he still had to bow to Jackson’s dictates, just as she had to follow her father’s with her marriage.

  “I’m sure I can find a way to comfort her. She’ll forget all about mourning the death of a traitor.” Henrik picked up his glass of wine and took a long sip.

  “Tristan…” Jackson broke into the conversation, stilling her cousin’s move to get up from the table. “Your uncle was telling me earlier you plan to open a chain of restaurants on the south edge of town.”

  Megara’s eyes snapped up. That had been her dream.

  Tristan’s jaw eased slightly, but his hands remained fisted on the table. “Yes. Marco and I have been looking at locations for the past week. Two restaurants along the riverwalk.”

  “Two?” Megara shoved another mushroom into her mouth.

  “Yes, each will be a different sort of cuisine. Not a typical chain. We’ll merely own both,” Marco answered with a frown. It was her plans being laid out on the dinner table for her to see and never touch. Her cousins were taking her future. And why not? It wasn’t as though she were going to be using it now.

  “Megara might be useful in helping with your menus,” her mother chimed in with a smile. “She’s a culinary genius.”

  “You can cook?” Henrik asked with a tilt of his head.

  “Everyone can cook,” Megara answered firmly.

  “Henrik can use someone useful in his kitchen,” Hera said. Megara stiffened at the undercurrent in her tone. She’d emphasized his kitchen. Because it wouldn’t be hers. Nothing in his life would ever be hers. Nothing in her life would be hers either. In order to make peace, she was being sacrificed.

  Her stomach rolled, and she put her fork back down. If she forced anything else past her lips, she was sure it wouldn’t remain there for long.

  “Breakfast in bed,” Henrik purred. “An idea I can get used to.” He laughed.

  Megara put her hands beneath the table to keep everyone from seeing her white-knuckled fists. Impossible, arrogant man. And she was expected to marry him.

  Jackson swung the conversation back to Henrik and Christian, leaving Megara in peace. The course was swept away, and dessert was placed in front of her.

  “We need to speak with you privately,” Marco whispered in her ear from beside her. He pushed away his dessert.

  “Why?”

  Marco raised his left eyebrow. “If I were to tell you here, it wouldn’t be private, would it?”

  She sighed. Henrik continued his chattering with his father. “After dinner.”

  “Dinner has been wonderful as always, Aunt Maria.” Tristan placed his napkin over his untouched cake.

  “Leaving already?” Henrik asked as Tristan stood from the table. “We’ve barely had a chance to speak.”

  Tristan’s anger swept through his gaze before he managed to shove it back. “There’s plenty of time for that before the wedding, I’m sure.”

  “Do you have to leave already?” Maria started to rise.

  “Let them go, Maria. Young men have better things to do than talk of wedding arrangements,” Jackson said with a wide grin.

  “Yes. Of course.” She shoved her chair back. “I’ll walk you out,” Megara said. Henrik gave her a curious glance.

  Megara escaped the dining room and hurried behind her cousins as they made their way to the front door.

  “What did—?” Her question was cut off by Marco’s quick shake of his head. He opened the front door and gestured for her to follow them outside.

  The moon shone bright in the night sky as they walked her to their car. Marco checked behind her.

  “Okay.” He nodded to Tristan.

  “You can’t marry that murdering bastard!” Tristan demanded, his lips pressed together in a thin line, showing off the tension in his jaw.

  “Tristan…” Megara touched his arm, “if I go against my father and Jackson Olympus, there will be a war. People will die. Our family will suffer.” Her chest ached for the pain she witnessed in his eyes. His younger sister was gone, and his cousin would be linking the murderer to his family.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.” Marco stood beside his brother. “You don’t have to marry him, and we can keep the family safe.”

  Megara dropped her hand to her side. “How?”

  Marco leaned forward. “We’ll take you away—hide you and cause an accident. It will look like you died, but you’ll be safe. Tucked away.”

  Run away. That’s what they were suggesting. She would never see her father or mother again—never see her friends or be herself again.

  But she wouldn’t be married to Henrik Hercules either.

  “It can’t be that easy.” She protested softly. “How can you hide me? And my parents…they’ll think I’m dead.” She shook her head. She couldn’t do that to them. “Imagine if your mother or father were still here, how horrible this would be for them. Losing Henrietta. How can you ask to put my parents through that?”

  “How do you think they would feel knowing you were to marry their daughter’s murderer?” Tristan spat, his hurt turning to anger.

  “Tell me how you’ll hide me. If I’m found, they won’t just go after my family. They’ll go after you. You might not be so lucky to have your neck snapped,” she argued.

  “You’
ll be safe. We have a spot south of here. The families might fall on bended knee for Olympus here in the north, but down south, he has less power. Once we have you across the border, you’ll be safe. You’ll have a new name, a new life.”

  “One in solitude?” She’d be giving up everything. But she’d be gaining a freedom she never dreamed possible. Complete independence.

  “No. We’ll come—after it’s all finished. After we are certain there’s no doubt of your death, we’ll follow you.”

  “The restaurants,” she stated, her own bitterness burning her tongue.

  Marco shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just something to show we’re anchored here. Gives them no reason to suspect we have plans to leave.”

  “We would not steal your dream from under you,” Tristan said firmly. “In the south, you can do everything you’ve ever dreamed of, and you won’t be at the mercy of men’s decisions.” He put words to her heart’s desires.

  Megara took a small step back, as though the power of their offer could knock her from her feet. Her future was hers to grab. No one should hand it to her, and no one—not even her own parents—should take it from her.

  Marrying Henrik guaranteed her a life of nothingness. Polite small talk at dinner parties. Forced to give birth and raise as many children as Henrik decided. Watch from the side of life as he ran with those he chose, including women. She’d be forced to pretend her life was happy and full while her husband treated her coldly and indifferently.

  Taking her cousins’ offer gave hope to a miserable alternative. She could free herself of the chains the Creon name had given her. Find a true love. Find unadulterated happiness and success.

  “I would be completely free?” she whispered, not daring to say the words too loud.

  Tristan grabbed her hands and squeezed. “As free as you wished. We would be there, supporting you, helping you, but your destiny would be yours to map.”

  She swallowed back her gasp of hope. She had always known the risk of dreaming. As the only child to Christian Creon, she never dared think she’d be married to a man she loved, but she had been foolish enough to believe she’d be allowed to follow her own path. Henrik was not a man who would see her as anything more than a possession to use when he chose and disregard whenever he saw fit. She’d be locked away on his estates to play the dutiful role of daughter-in-law to the great Jackson Olympus.

  This was her chance. Her only opportunity.

  “When?” she asked in a hushed voice.

  Tristan’s lips curled into a victorious smile. “Very soon. We need time to set up a few things. Two days at the most.”

  “Megara.” Henrik’s thunderous voice shook her.

  She froze. Had he heard?

  Turning toward his voice, she found him still standing on the front steps of the house. Surely far enough away he could not have overheard what they were talking about.

  “Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Tristan gave her hands one last squeeze and let her go. Marco opened his car door and climbed inside while Tristan walked around the front of the car to his own door. By the time the car started up, Henrik was behind her. She could sense him. Power and arrogance seemed to bubble around him.

  “You were gone a long time,” Henrik said from behind her as the car drove down the long drive.

  “I was talking with my cousins,” she said, then spun on her heal, nearly knocking into him. He was closer than she’d thought.

  Henrik studied her face for a moment. “They can hate me. I understand why they do. But you’re going to be my wife, I won’t tolerate hate from you.” His eyes darkened as he spoke.

  She swallowed, wetting her dry throat.

  “How can you ask for anything other than that after what you did?” She raised her chin. As much as her insides trembled at the sight of him before her, she would not let him see it.

  He relaxed his posture, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “She was your cousin. But I know you weren’t close to her. I know you saw her for what she really was.”

  True. Henrietta was a horrible person. She stole what wasn’t given, and she never learned the meaning of loyalty. A spoiled child who grew up rotten on the inside. Megara did not share the pain of Henrietta’s death with her cousins, but Henrietta was family. That meant something.

  “She was my cousin.”

  Henrik tilted his head. “She sold out your family.”

  “Blood is blood,” she could only say in response. Because of Henrietta, several of her father’s men were killed, and several were still locked in prisons while her father maneuvered them from the system.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I will expect the same loyalty from you as you are giving her.”

  Megara’s nails dug into her palm.

  “Your cousins’ restaurants...” he quickly changed the subject, “you didn’t seem happy about what they have planned.”

  “Of course I’m happy for them,” she lied.

  His left eyebrow arched. “Don’t ever lie to me, Megara. Not even small, petty lies.”

  She kept silent, unsure how to work around him.

  “Why do their plans upset you?” he asked again, not letting the subject drop.

  “I didn’t know about their plans until your father mentioned it.” She stayed neutral on the topic. Telling him about her own dreams would probably result in laughter. He’d be able to use the information against her, and she wouldn’t give him ammunition.

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, studying her. “You aren’t hoping to find a way out of this marriage, are you?” He surprised her with his question. He couldn’t have heard them. He may be stronger than all men, but he could not have that power as well.

  “Why do you want this marriage?” She turned the question. “I don’t see how this benefits you.” Surely, he’d want to pick his own wife.

  His mouth firmed. A warm breeze blew a lock of his dark hair over his brow.

  “I have my reasons.”

  Not exactly forthcoming.

  “And I have my reasons for not wanting it,” she said, instantly wishing she could stuff the words back inside her mouth. Offending him was the same as offending Jackson.

  Instead of rebuking her, his lips spread into a wide grin, showcasing a deep dimple on his left cheek. A subtle rumble morphed into a full laugh.

  “You aren’t a meek little thing, are you? That’s good.” He inclined his head. “You would probably not survive our wedding night if you were weak.”

  She took a step back.

  “No.” He shook his head, his expression sobering. “Never retreat from me, Megara. Never think to run away either.” He closed the gap between them.

  A lump formed in her throat as she tilted her head back to look up at him. His dark gaze locked with hers.

  “This marriage will happen. Willing bride or not.” His nostrils flared. A moment ticked by, then another. Still, she could not get her mouth to work, or her feet to take her away from him.

  With his words, he cemented her resolve.

  Willing bride, she would never be.

  Tristan and Marco would make good on their promise. They would get her away from Henrik Hercules, and she would be free to make her own way in the world.

  She would never marry Henrik.

  Never.

  5

  “There you are,” Jackson said, a wide grin dancing on his lips. “It’s late. I was looking for you all morning. Are you just getting up?”

  “I’ve been up for a while. Went for a run,” Henrik responded. He hadn’t slept past sunrise in years. Too many things to accomplish to sleep all day.

  Henrik gestured to his office and led his father inside.

  “I wanted to talk with you about your brother.” Jackson got straight to the point after he closed the office door.

  Henrik chuckled. “You’ll need to be more specific than that.”

  “Castor.”

  “Okay. What about Castor?” Henrik sunk into his chair and steepled his h
ands. His father remained standing, tucking his hands into his pockets, his eyebrows pulled together.

  “I have my suspicions he’s teaming up with Haden.”

  Jackson’s younger brother, Haden, owned the minority portion of the Network. He controlled the southern families. Two brothers with vastly different objectives. Jackson wanted to be profitable at almost any cost. Haden enjoyed taking whatever he wanted when he wanted, because according to him, everything was his.

  As the saying goes: absolute power corrupts absolutely. Haden was the poster model for it.

  “Has he said anything to you?” Jackson asked.

  “No,” Henrik answered honestly, but didn’t mention the shipment. Whatever was in it, Henrik would deal with without his father’s help.

  Jackson heaved a heavy sigh. “I want him out of the south. I want him up here with us.” He gripped the back of a chair and leaned forward. “I want him away from Haden.”

  “You know what keeps him away,” Henrik stated.

  “He needs to stop acting like a child.” Jackson waved a hand through the air. “Hera has always wanted what’s best for you boys.”

  Henrik’s brow raised. Best for them. When she sent Castor to a boarding school in the mountains and sent Henrik to a school along the southern boarders, instructing the administrations to block communications between them, she’d done so in their best interest? For a full year, Henrik and Castor were kept apart from each other and their father.

  “Such as this marriage?” Henrik queried.

  “We’ve already discussed that,” Jackson shot at him, uncorking a decanter.

  Henrik nodded. “Right.” He pushed off his chair.

  “This connection with the Creon family will do more than just smooth over the death of that girl,” Jackson repeated the same lecture he’d given before. “Christian Creon has a strong force. If Hera is right about Haden still wanting to make a move to overtake us, we will need their loyalty. What better way to keep them in check than to bring them into the family?”