Anger rolled through Henrik like a tornado ready to touch down. His brother was behind this.
“You’re someone’s girl. You have my father’s ownership mark, and my brother was transporting you somewhere. Except Castor and my father don’t do business with each other, so you’re going to tell me what the fuck you were doing on that car. Is Castor returning you?”
She laughed. “Returning us? No.”
Henrik thought for a moment. Fuck.
“The ship that came into port, it was going south, not north.” Castor was playing with fire he couldn’t contain, and now it had set ablaze on Henrik’s land.
“Castor rescued us.” She raised her chin.
“Castor sent you to your deaths! If my men hadn’t heard you girls in the crate, you’d still be sitting in there, dying just like that girl.”
“Lillian was sick when we set sail. Nothing contagious, but she needed care your father refused to provide.”
Of course, because they were product, not people. Why spend resources on rotted fruit? Toss it from the bin and replace it with something new.
Castor had told him not to look inside the crate. He’d warned Henrik it would be safer for him not to know what he transported.
If Jackson found out about the girls being routed down south, he would be furious. To find out his sons were behind it—immediate disownment.
“Why not sail all the way down to the ports in the south? Why stop here?” he asked.
“You’d have to ask your brother.” She shrugged. “You aren’t thinking to return us?” She shot out of her chair, hands on her hips. “Castor won’t allow it!”
“Castor has no power here!” he yelled back at her. “You’ll stay here under my authority. Until Castor gets his ass here to explain all of this, you and the others will remain on the third floor.”
“Prisoners.” Her cheeks flamed red. When Megara’s cheeks bloomed with her ire, Henrik’s body reacted instantly to the sight. But with this woman, he only felt the need to get her out of his office.
“Call it what you want.”
“We won’t go back.”
He set his gaze on her until she finally found some sense and backed up a step.
“You’ll go where I say to go. Once Castor gets here, I’ll decide what’s to happen. Until then, you and the others just sit tight and don’t cause me any trouble.” He walked to the door and yanked it open, signaling for the two men standing outside. “Take her back up to her room. Make sure the girls have all been fed and get them some clothes. They’ll be here another day or so. No one is to leave that floor.”
“Of course.”
Henrik gestured to Autumn. “Well, go.”
Her nostrils flared, but she gave no more argument before following the men from his office. Whoever she was, she hadn’t been at one of Jackson’s houses for long. She had too much confidence, too much bravery, to have been living among the trainers and customers.
Henrik dialed Castor while walking to the kitchen, but there was no answer. The fucking coward was hiding. If he was stealing women from Jackson’s houses, there would be a big fucking price to pay.
“Sir,” Gunter greeted him. “I was just getting ready to prepare lunch. Was there something you wanted?”
“I’m looking for my wife. I thought I would find her in here.”
“Oh, she was here, but she left about half an hour ago. I believe she mentioned meeting with a friend to discuss preparations for the party. I know she’s wanting Chef Ramone, but I am ready and able to assist in any manner needed.” He squared his shoulders and raised his chin. He looked more like a soldier at arms willing to risk his neck in battle than a private chef.
“Megara is in charge of all that. Whatever she wants is fine with me,” Henrik responded. “Don’t worry about your position here, Gunter. Megara may kick you out of the kitchen every now and then, but you will always have a place here.” Hera had offered Gunter employment countless times, but he’d refused them all. Loyalty went both ways.
“Thank you, sir.” The stiffness fell away from Gunter’s posture. “Oh! A shipment just arrived a few minutes ago. Several cases.”
“Good. Have them stored in the cellar. I want a bottle brought to dinner tonight.” Henrik wrapped his knuckles on the kitchen island.
“Of course.”
“Henrik.” Oliver entered the kitchen, a deep frown on his lips. “Your meeting with the McKinnlys.”
“Are they here yet?” Henrik asked.
“In your office,” Oliver said. “Have you decided what you’re going to give them?”
Henrik pushed through the kitchen door. “I’m not giving them anything. They can fall in line or follow in Matthew’s footsteps.”
“What about Creon?”
“What about the old man? He got what he wanted. With Matthew taken out, the crews are available for hire. I never promised I wouldn’t be making a move on them,” Henrik explained. “Who’s with Megara?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.
“I sent Michael. She was meeting Celeste at Medusa’s Grill, then she was planning on shopping. He’s called in with an update. She’s safe,” Oliver assured him.
“Good. Keep it that way. Nothing happens to her.” Henrik’s tone dipped with the command.
“Of course,” Oliver said when Henrik continued to glare at him. “I’ll let Michael know to check in every hour.”
“Do that. And let him know it’s his head if anything happens to her.”
Oliver’s lips twisted up into a grin. “I will relay the message.”
“And wipe that smirk off your face.”
Oliver shook his head. “Not in a million years.” He gestured toward the door. “The McKinnlys are waiting.”
Henrik didn’t have time to pound Oliver into submission, but he’d make time later.
20
Megara stepped out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind her when a flash of red caught her eye from down the hall. A woman, not much younger than herself, darted across the hall and rounded the staircase leading up to the third floor.
She followed her to the stairs, only to see her disappear onto the floor. Taking the steps two at a time, Megara hurried to catch up to her. Calling out might have gotten her to stop, but Megara hadn’t decided whether she wanted to speak to her.
Was Henrik keeping his mistress on the floor above him for easy access? If he wasn’t in the mood for Megara, he’d just saunter upstairs for a quick fuck? Nausea rolled through her at the thought. Of course he’d have a mistress. It wasn’t like they had a marriage built on the foundation of love and trust. It was a business arrangement. He could do whatever he wanted. But to do so right in front of her…it was disrespectful.
When she reached the top step, the woman was gone, but a closed door caught Megara’s attention.
She froze. Should she confront the woman, or speak to Henrik? Would ignoring the whole thing be better? Henrik might get angry at her for poking around in his personal business.
Chewing on the corner of her lip, she played out the scenarios in her mind. Henrik in a rage would frighten the devil himself, she was sure. Could she handle it if she provoked that sort of anger? She touched her ass, where the belt had left a bruise from the whipping she’d gotten.
But such open disrespect…it was intolerable.
Risks be damned, she’d take the whipping, but she would not stand by while he housed his mistress above her head.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she rushed down the stairs and burst into his office, only to find it empty.
“Megara?” Oliver stepped inside with a quizzical look. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” She waved a hand in the air. “Where is Henrik?”
“In the dining room. He just asked me to come get you. Dinner’s ready.” Oliver pointed down the hall.
Dinner. Right.
“He couldn’t be bothered to get me himself. He sent you to fetch me? Like a dog after a ball?�
� She brushed past him, ignoring his response.
She’d spent the entire afternoon with Celeste making plans for a party to celebrate her marriage. A celebration. How could she even pretend to be happy about a union that was forced on her. And now it seemed her husband was hell bent on treating her like some secondhand ragdoll.
“Megara.” Henrik’s deep voice stopped her as soon as she entered the dining room. He stood at the head of the table, staring at her with a wrinkled brow. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She blinked away her thoughts. Ranting at him would give him the wrong idea. She couldn’t allow him to know what sort of affect he had on her, or what his disloyalty meant to her. She needed to approach this calmly, in a manner that would make him understand she would not be disrespected but could care less what he did when he wasn’t with her.
“Your cheeks are red,” he pointed out when she approached the table.
She touched her face lightly. Flushed from rushing around, that’s all. Not because she was in his presence, and he was wearing a black polo shirt that clung to his body like a second skin. And it had nothing to do with the smoldering grin he flashed her when he mentioned her blush.
“It’s warm in here.” She looked away from him and made her way to the chair beside his.
He cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll have the temperature lowered.”
She nodded and took her seat. “Good. Thank you.” The aroma of braised chicken and sweetened roasted carrots drew her attention to the plate before her. She’d lost her appetite even for such a delicious looking meal. Damn him and his mistress.
“Megara,” he said firmly. “Something is obviously upsetting you. You’re glaring at your chicken.” His tone suggested amusement, but when she glanced up at him, his eyebrows were raised.
She cleared her throat. Better to simply rip off the bandage.
“Yes. Actually, I would like to talk with you about something.” She grabbed the glass of wine and took a large gulp.
Sweet red.
Corruption Red. She blinked and took another sip.
“Did Chef Ramone send this over?” she asked, lifting the glass.
“No. I ordered a few cases,” Henrik said, sliding a piece of chicken into his mouth. “You wanted to talk to me about something?” he reminded her after he swallowed. She still stared at him silently.
He’d ordered her wine? In one day, he’d had cases of her favorite wine shipped from Fox Valley? Even Chef Ramone had to wait at least a week for delivery.
“Yes,” she said, putting the wine down. She’d analyze the sweet gesture later. “I ran into your mistress on my way down here. And although I understand a man like you will probably always have a woman under his protection…” she paused for another sip of wine. Courage came in all forms; her preference was sweet red. “I won’t have her housed above my room. This estate is vast, and I’m sure she would be more comfortable in a guest house. I noticed a house on the way to the chapel the day we got married. Maybe that would be more suitable.”
His tongue roamed over his bottom row of teeth as he leaned back in his chair, remaining silent.
“It’s extremely disrespectful to have her in this house, and although I had no choice in marrying you, I will not tolerate such a blatant act of disrespect. I won’t have you disrespecting me like this.” How many times was she going to blurt out that word?
He cocked his head, still silent.
“I wouldn’t disrespect you in such a way, and I expect the same consideration in return.” Her tone wavered when his jaw set hard.
“If another man touches you, I’ll break his skull.” His dark tone lowered as his expression blackened. “As for my mistress, I’m curious. You aren’t upset by the idea of me having another woman, you just don’t want her to live here—in this house?”
Her throat dried again, making it difficult to answer him. She took another gulp of wine.
“It’s not considerate to wave your affair in front of me like that,” she explained. His heated stare sent an electric fire through her veins. He couldn’t really be taking exception to her not wanting his little whore to live in the same house as her.
“So, you don’t care if I have another woman? Someone I’ll kiss, and fuck, and give pleasure to? You’re fine with that, so long as it’s not here?” An unknown warning rang in his wording, but she found herself lost.
“Well, if you really want a baby, it would make it more difficult if you spent all of your…” Flames should have burst from her cheeks at the impact of such heat rising in her face.
“My what?” he asked, back to being amused.
She cleared her throat, then downed the last bit of wine from her glass. Where was the bottle?
“Jansen!” Henrik yelled, keeping his stare locked on her. “Jansen!”
“Yes, sir.” A man dressed in a fine tailored suit entered the kitchen.
He released some of the pressure of his gaze by moving it to Jansen. “There are a few women on the third floor. Pick one of them—the best looking. Have her waiting for me in my bedroom naked and sprawled on my bed.” He turned his stare back on Megara. “I’m going to fuck her tonight.”
Megara’s heart sank.
“Unless…” He leaned forward in his chair, “my wife would like to change her answer.”
“You would be so cruel.” She set her jaw. Boiling emotion raged inside her. He’d be right beside her room, touching another woman, kissing her the way he had kissed her, touching her the way he’d touched Megara. The little moments of intimacy they’d shared would mean nothing.
“Cruel would be making you stand in the room to observe.” He grabbed her hand on the table. “Tell me you don’t care if I touch another woman.”
She studied him. Did he want her to admit the idea of his hands on another woman made her ill just so he could relish in doing exactly that? Did he have no empathy?
“Or tell me you’d cut off the head of any woman who stared at me too long. But be truthful, Megara. There is no second chance.” His thumb caressed her palm. Her heart beat so hard, it whooshed in her ears. What was the right answer?
He raised his eyebrows, waiting, always waiting for her to answer him correctly.
Honesty. It was one of his demands of her. He wanted her truth. Always her truth.
“Why should I care…” her voice trailed off, leaving the lie unfinished. Because she did care. She shouldn’t, and her mind tried to convince her it didn’t matter. That he could do whatever he wanted so long as he left her alone, but when he stared at her like that, like he wanted to devour her with one touch, like his hunger for her would never be quenched, her heart blocked out all reason.
“I shouldn’t.” She pulled her hand away from his. A single tear slipped down her cheek, but she brushed it away quickly. She raised her chin and centered her gaze on him. “I don’t want any other woman touching you…or you touching her.”
His lips cracked into a wide grin.
“Jansen, get out of here. Make sure the women were fed and lock their fucking doors. One was wondering around. Now, they can all pay the price.”
“There’s more than one?” She leaned back in her chair, confused.
“There are five women staying in the rooms on the third floor. They belong to my brother—”
“They are women, not cattle,” Megara stated with heat.
He put up a hand. “A debate for another day,” he conceded. “He’s coming tomorrow to collect them.”
“So, the woman I saw…”
“They were told to stay on their own floor. I didn’t want you to see them, but apparently one of them was as brazen as you are.” He grabbed her hand again and squeezed. “I do not have a mistress, and I will never have a mistress. I have a wife, and there isn’t a single thing I need that you will not provide me.”
As romantics went, he failed. But the promise to never betray her either openly or privately flooded her with relief.
“And if I bore you? I don�
��t have as much experience as some other women,” she said quietly.
He laughed. “Bore me? Woman, I don’t think that will ever be a problem.”
The heavy weight on her chest fell away.
He pointed to her plate. “Gunter’s afraid you’ll boot him out of his job, so eat everything on that plate. I don’t need that old man dying of fear.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said. “As much as I love cooking, I don’t want to do it all the time.”
“I thought you wanted to be a chef. You interned with Chef Ramone, the best chef in the city.” He sipped his drink.
“I wanted to run a restaurant. Have my own business. Getting my degree was the first step. I had hoped to work for Chef Ramone for a year or so before getting my own restaurant.” She cut into her chicken.
“Your father knew this?” he asked.
“Of course.” She bit into a roasted carrot. Gunter was an amazing cook. She would never replace him, though she would have added a tiny bit of paprika to the carrots.
“And he let you believe it was possible?”
“He let me think I could have anything in the world I wanted. The world was mine.” She quoted her father, then shook her head. “I was an idiot for believing him. My mother did try to warn me. The hours of lectures on being a proper hostess, wife, mother—I just thought she was against my dreams, but she was preparing me for the reality.”
Megara sighed. Had she really said all of that out loud? When she caught his gaze, her heart fluttered into a gallop. He was intently listening. Nothing else had caught his attention. He was completely focused on her. A powerful thing, his attention.
“Finish your dinner.” Henrik jerked his chin toward her plate. “I want to go upstairs.”
She glanced at the clock sitting on the buffet table. “It’s barely eight. Too early to sleep.”
His wolfish grin sent a shiver down her spine that traveled right to her clit.
“Who mentioned sleeping?”
21
“How did you get to be this old and remain untouched?” Henrik asked Megara as she stood, naked, in the center of his bedroom. Her long hair fell around her shoulders. The ends of the large curls brushed the tips of her pink nipples.
Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 13
