Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Stone, Measha

  “Two, you never leave this estate unless I’ve given permission. You will have a security detail with you at all times, and I need to know where you are so I can have them ready.”

  That wasn’t so bad, but she still reeled over the first rule.

  How dare he talk to her in such away. Bark like a puppy! It would be a cold day in hell before she did anything so humiliating for him.

  He unbuttoned his shirt without moving on to rule number three. The space filled with his heavy silence. His heated glare sent an electric chill through her.

  “What’s rule number three?” she asked, her hands fisted at her sides. Growing up, she’d been beneath her parents’ thumb. Every rule, every dictate had to be followed. Any disobedience would make her father look bad, and she put every effort to be his shining daughter so when she grew up, she would have her freedom. What a waste.

  Henrik dropped his shirt to the floor.

  “Are you wearing panties?” he asked while he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants.

  She blinked several times before her brain finally found her voice.

  “Of course I am.” She smoothed her hands down the skirt of her dress.

  “Take them off,” he ordered and unzipped his jeans.

  She couldn’t help herself, her gaze wandered downward until she saw the thick nest of curls peeking out from his unzipped pants. She closed her eyes and turned her head.

  “You should go to your room, Henrik,” she said, stammering over the first word.

  “Rule number one, Megara.” He held a single finger up and took the short steps needed to gobble up the space between them.

  She barely reached his chin, he was so tall. Everywhere was muscle. She’d seen plenty of men with a sexy six pack in magazines, but Henrik outdid them with his eight pack. A deep cut of muscles sculpted his chest, his shoulders, his arms. When her gaze traveled down again, she swallowed at the obvious V of his abdomen, pointing her in the direction he most likely wanted her eyes to travel.

  “Henrik—” Her words were cut off by his hand wrapping around her throat. He walked her back to the post of the bed. Her back hit the wooden frame, sending a jolt of pain through her.

  He swatted at her hands when she tried to pry him away and leveled her with a dark glare.

  “What was rule number one, Megara?” he asked in his deep tenor.

  “Don’t tell you no,” she struggled to say.

  “Take off your panties.” He let go of her and stepped back. “If you want to keep them in one piece,” he added.

  “Henrik, please,” she whispered her plea. “We aren’t married. We should wait.”

  His dark brow arched over his left eye. “Your father left you here in my care.”

  “Please…” She took a small step to the side, but he caught her arm, his viselike grip shooting more pain up through her shoulder. “No!” She tried to yank free, to get away from him, but he was too strong.

  With what felt like a flick of his wrist, he had her spun around and bent over the side of the bed. Grasping for the bedding, she tried to climb up onto the bed, sure she could launch herself over the other side.

  His hands flipped her dress up, and in one tug, her panties were ripped from her body.

  “Henrik!” She kicked her foot back at him, but he caught it and shoved her leg up on the bed, leaving her with only one foot to balance herself.

  “I told you what to do if you wanted to keep them,” he said as though he were chastising a small child for losing her toy.

  His belt jangled, the sound registering in her mind as a red alert. He pressed her into the mattress with only one hand while he positioned himself behind her.

  “Please,” she begged. He couldn’t. This couldn’t be the way this happened. She could not lose herself like this. “No.” She lurched forward again, but he only pressed harder against her back. If he increased his pressure, he could snap her spine, and she didn’t doubt he would if she continued to resist him.

  The thick head of his cock pressed against her sex. She fisted the bedding and whimpered.

  “This didn’t have to be like this, Megara. But you broke rule number one.” He gripped her hips, digging into her flesh. The pinch of his fingernails on her skin distracted her long enough for her mind not to register the hard push of his cock into her body.

  The intrusion burst through her soul, and she screamed. A burn like she’d never felt before blossomed in her pussy, the stretch almost too much to bear.

  “Henrik. Please, Henrik,” she begged, still trying to get her second leg on the bed so she could get away from him.

  “Stay still, Megara. It will be good practice for you.” He withdrew briefly and plowed forward again.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, but as he continued to thrust into her over and over again, she bit down on her lip. He would not gain one sound from her.

  The pain eased slightly as her body accommodated him.

  “Ah…fuck, there. See.” He smacked her bare ass. “Now your pussy’s nice and wet. And fucking tight.” He pulled her hips back into him, thrusting even farther into her and filling her painfully so.

  The taste of pennies spread onto her tongue as she bit harder into her lip to keep her cries to herself.

  She’d lost everything now.

  He grunted and thrust hard into her, then stilled. “Fuck,” he groaned from behind her. “Fuck, that was good.” He leaned over her body until he came into her view. She closed her eyes. She would not look at him.

  His tongue ran along her cheek, collecting her tears. “Sweet and salty. Just like you, Megara.” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple and withdrew from her body.

  She unclenched the bedding and shoved her dress back down over her ass, carefully putting her bent leg back down. Her thigh had been stretched too far. She’d be sore for a few days, but not bad compared to the ache between her thighs.

  “Clean up and get to bed. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.” He zipped up his pants with a grin.

  She clenched her teeth.

  He swiped his shirt off the floor and tossed it over his shoulder on his way to the door. “Don’t leave the suite, Megara. This is the only warning you’ll get. If you disobey—” He tilted his head. “Well…just don’t.” He winked.

  “What do you want from this marriage? Why force me?” she blurted to his back.

  He turned around, standing in the doorway of his own bedroom. “It doesn’t really matter what I want, does it? We’re getting married, you’ll have my children, and I’ll be named a legitimate heir.”

  Heir? He was doing all this so he would be entitled to part of his father’s fortune.

  “It doesn’t have to be all bad between us, Megara. It can be good,” he said warmly, as though the last five minutes hadn’t happened. As though he hadn’t just taken her like some rutting animal.

  “I will never love you,” she vowed with fisted hands.

  He straightened his stance, a blank expression washing over his features.

  “I’ll never ask you to,” he said, then closed the door between them.

  9

  Henrik’s phone rang as he slid the suit jacket over his shoulders. After pushing his ear bud into his ear, he answered.

  “Hey.”

  “Good, I caught you before you left for the church,” Castor said.

  Henrik tugged on the cuffs of his shirt. “Getting ready now to head there.” He glanced at the closed door blocking him from seeing Megara in her suite. He’d heard her shuffling around already, so he knew she was awake. Breakfast had been sent up to her, but he doubted she’d touched it.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Castor asked.

  “It’s not really up to me.”

  “Isn’t it?” Castor hinted at the truth of the matter. Henrik could refuse his father’s command, but it would mean turning his back on him as well.

  “Jackson called me last night,” Castor said after a long pause.

  Henrik
stilled. “And?”

  “He demanded I come north.” Castor laughs. “Demanded. Like he has any real power over me.”

  “He has power over all of us,” Henrik reminded him.

  “Only over those who want his approval,” Castor said quietly. The prospect of being legitimized as an heir didn’t fit into Castor’s plans. He’d written off Jackson’s offer of granting it to those of his sons deemed worthy of the Olympus legacy. A tender spot between brothers that didn’t need much more than a feather’s touch to draw out the pain.

  “So, you aren’t coming,” Henrik said.

  “Not while he’s there with Hera. Once they go back up to their own estate, I’ll come for a visit. I’d like to meet my sister-in-law.” He laughed.

  “And the shipment?” Henrik jumped to the heart of the matter. Talking about Megara like she was anything more than a forced playdate gave too much legitimacy to what would happen in a few hours at the church.

  “It will be there in a few days. Douglas McCain will be there to take possession.”

  Henrik leaned against the bedpost, his gaze dancing over at the door when he heard voices. “What’s in the shipment?” he asked.

  “Nothing you need to worry about. It’s better you just stay clear.”

  “Haden’s shipment?” Their uncle’s dealings with transporting banned drugs through the north was often overlooked because of his relationship to Jackson, but Henrik wasn’t to be used in the process. He wouldn’t help his uncle. It would go against Jackson.

  “So many questions.” Castor sighed. “I’m asking you, brother to brother, stay out of it. Douglas will be there in a few days.”

  “Fine. You’ll owe me, though.”

  “I’ll take one off the many you owe me,” Castor joked. “You go, get married, and follow Daddy’s orders.”

  Henrik tensed. “And you, brother, go follow in our uncle’s footsteps.”

  Castor laughed. “Someday, you’ll see how free I am in comparison to you. You think you have everything, or will have it all once the old man gives you the legitimate nod, but you won’t.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Yeah.” Castor’s laugh died. “Good luck today, Henrik. And try not to be too big of an asshole to your bride. This is no more her fault than yours.”

  Henrik clicked off the phone. After the previous night, he had cemented the label of asshole firmly on himself. Taking her so roughly, it hadn’t been his plan going into her room, but her defiance had gotten under his skin. Her future was no more in her control than his. She needed to understand that quickly.

  They needed to get moving to the church. The sooner the deed was done, the sooner he could get back to work.

  He opened the adjoining door slightly, enough to hear the conversation.

  “You shouldn’t have pushed him,” Maria chastised. Did Megara tattle to her mommy?

  “He’s a monster.”

  “He’s a man,” Maria countered. “And men can be tamed, but you can’t openly defy him.”

  “If he beats me to death or fucks me to death as he did Henrietta—it will be my fault?” The loathing in Megara’s tone was warranted, but it still scraped against his ego.

  “Do you think I enjoy this?” Maria’s voice lowered. “My only daughter married off to a bastard?”

  Henrik’s jaw clenched. It had been many years since anyone dared used that word in regard to him, at least in his presence.

  “There are many reasons to hate him, how he was born isn’t one of them,” Megara stated with some exasperation. “It’s no more his fault his father did what he did than it is mine that Henrietta did what she did. Yet, we both must take the consequences onto ourselves.”

  The tension building in his neck released.

  “You confuse me. One moment, you look ready to climb out the window to get away from this wedding, and the next, you’re defending him.”

  “Like I said, there’s plenty of reason to hate him.” Megara walked past the door, her white dress sweeping across the floor behind her. “And I do,” she said with such finality, Henrik’s brow furrowed.

  Henrik left the door narrowly ajar and stepped back. He’d give her a few more moments of peace before she was called downstairs to the car. She could ride to the church with her family, safe from his presence.

  It was a tiny thing, but she’d earned it.

  10

  The drive to the church wasn’t long enough for Megara to get her nerves to settle down. They hadn’t even left the estate.

  Her father exited the car first and walked up the stone steps, disappearing into the church without any words of encouragement or love to Megara. Her mother waited until the driver stood with an umbrella to shelter her from the light drizzle before she followed, again in silence.

  Did neither of them understand the horror she was about to enter? How could she make them understand what a monster Henrik truly was? He’d already shown his black heart in the manner he killed Henrietta, and then to force Megara the way he did. Truly a monster. How did they keep their eyes closed to the truth?

  Megara stepped out of the car beneath the cover of another black umbrella that appeared. She thanked the man holding it and picked up the front of her dress to climb up the steps.

  “Your parents are already seated at the altar,” the man explained when they were inside the church entranceway. As with Henrik’s house, the decor seemed cold at first glance, but beneath the harshness of the architecture and artwork lingered a warmth of soothing dark colors and textures. She could only hope the decor mirrored the owner, but she wouldn’t bother with hope. It failed her too often for her to place anymore trust in it.

  “Thank you.” She looked at him with curiosity. “I’m sorry, you look familiar, but I don’t recall your name.”

  He folded the umbrella and leaned it against a wall near the door.

  “Oliver,” he answered with a warm smile. “Henrik wants you to join your parents.” He gestured toward the open door leading into the main church. Her mother and father sat in the front pews of the congregation, and Mr. and Mrs. Creon were already seated across the aisle. Marco and Tristan stood at the altar, hands clasped in front of them, fierce expressions planted on their faces.

  “My cousins…” She pointed to them. They weren’t standing on her side of the church.

  “Henrik wants them standing beside him,” Oliver explained. He didn’t seem happy with the decree, but if he worked for Henrik, there would be no defying him.

  Megara only nodded in understanding.

  “He’s not…I mean…shouldn’t he be up there?” It was tradition for the groom to wait for the bride to walk down the aisle. Though, it looked like her father had no intentions of walking by her side. Had her thwarted plan of escape turned him so sharply against her? He wouldn’t even give her a chance to explain, to beg for him to understand.

  Not that he ever would. Or could.

  “He said to bring you to the altar.” He picked up a bouquet of white roses and handed them to her. “And to give you this.”

  Henrik had thought to arrange a bouquet for her?

  She held onto the bundled stems and took a deep breath. Down the aisle was her future— her prison.

  She stepped forward, clenching the roses tightly. A thorn pierced her palm, and she hissed as a small bead of blood formed.

  “Why aren’t you down there yet?” Henrik’s deep voice echoed in the chamber. His father turned in his seat to look toward them, then faced forward again and whispered something to his wife.

  “I was just about to go,” she defended herself.

  Henrik took her hand and twisted it until her palm was exposed.

  “You cut yourself.”

  “A thorn.” She nodded toward the flowers.

  He brought her hand to his mouth and swiped his tongue across the small puncture. A current of warmth flooded her at the gentle gesture.

  “Be more careful,” he ordered, dropping her hand. He turned to Oliver. “T
ell the priest we’re ready. I’ll escort her down.”

  “On it.” Oliver disappeared through a door, she assumed, leading to the rooms meant for the priest.

  “There’s no music.” She halted her step when they reached the aisle.

  He raised both brows. “There wasn’t time to plan the wedding of your dreams, Megara. Your choices led to a hurried ceremony.”

  The chastisement in his tone hit the target she was sure he was aiming for. He wasn’t wrong. If she hadn’t been so easily persuaded she could change her destiny and have a real chance at happiness, this would all be different. She could have pushed the ceremony off for perhaps months. She could have found a way to maneuver her future with Henrik as her husband. She might have even gotten to know him enough to feel more than just blanket distrust and disgust.

  She looked down at the roses in her hands. White, pure, innocent. She was none of those things.

  “Are you going to walk down on your own, or do I really have to go full caveman and drag you by your hair?” he asked, though his tone softened a bit when she glanced back up at him.

  “I’ll go.” She squared off with the aisle again. She could do this. She could say the words, repeat the vows, and look at him. She could be the woman she was supposed to be. And when the time came, she could close off her heart and soul to the desire to feel loved. Because he would never give her that, and she could not allow herself to be vulnerable to him.

  He would not give her that pain.

  He’d already given her enough.

  As she took her first step, he laced his fingers through hers, squeezing gently. Her hand dwarfed in his grip. His stride was larger than hers, and she found herself having to hurry to keep up with him down the aisle.

  The priest stepped out from a back room, Oliver in his shadow, and made his way to the front of the altar.

  Megara caught her father’s eye. She gave him a warm smile- the closest thing to an apology she could offer. . Did he understand her regret for the embarrassment she caused him? How much she wished she could take back what she had planned? His gaze only lingered on her for a breath before he turned away. Would he ever forgive her?