Finding His Strength: The Dirty Heroes Collection

by Stone, Measha

  “Autumn, don’t say things like that,” the short girl chastised the redhead. “If he wanted to do that, he wouldn’t have brought us to his own house. He would have put us in the barracks on the far end of the estate.”

  Megara’s stomach dropped. “Y-You’ve been here before?”

  “Yes. Before Jackson put me in one of his whore houses further north, I was in the breeding houses. There’s a large house on the estate for the women to be housed while waiting for their…” her gaze dropped, “stud.”

  Red hot anger ran through Megara’s veins. The house she’d seen on the route to the chapel. Had there been women locked in there, waiting to be used and abused while she took her vows to their torturer?

  “No one is entering any sort of breeding program,” Megara assured them with such force, her voice shook.

  “How do you know that?” Autumn asked. “You’re a woman. You have no power or say.”

  Megara swallowed around the insecurity lodged in her throat.

  “You have my word. If you wish to leave with Castor, that’s exactly what will happen.”

  The door opened again, and Sarah brought in another tray with coffee, a pitcher of juice, and a plate of fresh pastries.

  “I thought you all might like something a little sweet,” Sarah said, placing the plate of pastries on the table.

  “Thank you, Sarah.” Megara settled her stare on Autumn. “The door will remain unlocked. It’s a warm day outside. Feel free to roam the gardens out back and get some fresh air.”

  “Your husband—”

  “I will speak with my husband,” Megara said firmly, cutting off Autumn’s snide tone.

  Autumn inclined her head. “If you say so. Castor should arrive soon.”

  Megara gave a curt nod and looked at the other women. Autumn was obviously the leader of the small group. If they felt safer having her up front, Megara would respect that. The horrors these women have faced could not be measured by any experience Megara had, and she would not pretend to know how to help them heal. But she would do everything she could to give them their freedom.

  * * *

  “You can follow around in his shadow all you want, picking up what little scraps of hope he gives you, but I will not.” A deep voice came from Henrik’s office as Megara approached.

  “You may want to wait,” Oliver said from the armchair beside the door. He had one foot hooked over his opposite knee. “Castor’s here. And those two can get a little…loud when they disagree.”

  “I want to speak to them both, actually.” Megara opened the door for herself, leaving Oliver with his eyes wide in surprise.

  “Megara.” Henrik’s accusing tone shook her. She’d barely closed the door, and already, he was displeased with her. “I’m busy—”

  “I met Autumn, and the other girls,” she cut him off. Henrik’s wrinkled brow ironed out, and his lips curled inward.

  “You shouldn’t have gone up there,” he said in his low growl.

  “Megara.” Castor, she assumed, flashed her a wide grin. With his sandy blond hair and light-colored eyes, it wasn’t easy to see the resemblance between the brothers. “It’s good to meet you,” he said pleasantly, grasping her hands and holding them firmly between his own.

  “Are you going to sell those women when you take them?” she asked blatantly. Since she was a child, she’d been shushed and scooted out of rooms whenever conversations rounded to her father’s business dealings. Her mother had never answered her directly, and her father had redirected the conversation to anything else. But she knew whatever he dealt with it was dark. And wrong.

  She wouldn’t be hushed again.

  “Well, she’s direct.” Castor’s smile fell at the edges as his eyes darkened and his square jaw tightened. Ah, there it was. He was very much Henrik’s family.

  “Yes. It’s an issue we’re working on,” Henrik grumbled. “You can let go of my wife’s hands now, Castor.”

  Castor laughed and let her go, stepping out of her path so Henrik’s glare could settle directly on her.

  “You haven’t answered me,” she prompted, folding her arms over her chest.

  “No. I’m not selling them.” Castor glanced at Henrik. “That’s more my father’s trade.”

  “And you?” She raised her chin as she directed the question to Henrik.

  His stormy gaze sent a shiver through her, but there was no backing down now. She’d asked, and he would either answer or lie.

  “I explained to you—”

  “The rooms downstairs? Yes, I know. Breeding rooms. And the house the women are kept in while waiting to be bred—like animals.” She curled her fingers inward, pressing her nails into her palms. It was the only way to keep her tone down and manage her anger without letting it fly off the rails. “Are there women there now?”

  “Megara.” Henrik’s tone dipped. “I explained my father built those accommodations. He used them. Not me. That’s not what happens here.” He pressed his fingertips into his desk and leaned toward her. His dark eyes enveloped her. Was he trying to make her understand? She didn’t sense the intimidation she had when she’d first been brought to his house.

  “Are there women there now?” Megara asked again.

  Henrik paused a long beat. “No. Not at the moment.”

  “But there are, at times, women there? Held against their will?”

  “Transactions take place at the house. Yes. This was my father’s estate. He still runs his businesses through here. The boarding house has always been accessible to the other members.”

  Her stomach dropped. “You make money on these transactions? You obviously make plenty of money.” She gestured around the room. “You let these other members use your boarding house to wheel and deal women? How much does a beautiful woman go for these days?”

  “Megara, your place is not to question my business dealings,” Henrik said, but the heat fizzled in his gaze. A conditioned response to her question.

  “Yes, my place is to breed you an heir. You’ve made that quite clear, husband. But I’m asking you what your business is. I’m not asking to be a part of it, or to have a hand in it. Simply to know what it is. Do you sell women like your father? Do you breed them—not here of course, but elsewhere? Do you sell their babies to the elite of the city?”

  Henrik’s brow arched. “I provide neutral ground and protection.” He pushed off his desk and folded his arms over his broad chest.

  “Like with the McKinnly family?” she asked in a gentler tone.

  His nostrils flared. “Matthew McKinnly was working outside the boundaries of agreements made. I protected the agreement.”

  “And that’s when you found out Henrietta was helping McKinnly.” She hadn’t meant to poke into the pathetic affair of Henrietta’s death, but at least she could grasp what had actually transpired and how Henrik had become involved.

  “So, you’re the muscle behind your father’s slavery business,” Megara accused.

  “Don’t look so high and mighty, wife. Everything you’ve ever been provided since your birth has been gained off the labor of others. I’m no better or worse than your own father.”

  She swallowed back a gasp. He wasn’t wrong. Even with not doing the work, she definitely benefited from the company.

  “The women upstairs don’t belong to me as a product would belong to a manufacturer.” Castor stepped in with his explanation. “I’ve helped them escape one of the houses my father kept them in. I’m taking them to my uncle, where they can begin new lives.” He glanced over his shoulder at Henrik. “Independent of my father’s power.”

  “If you leave here with them and Father finds out I didn’t stop you—”

  “You would be sending them to their deaths if you turn them back over to him. And you know it.” Castor’s voice hardened.

  “He’s already suspicious of Haden’s intentions. He will see this as an act of aggression toward his authority,” Henrik explained, stepping around his desk and going toe to toe
with his brother. Though Castor did not match Henrik in height or build, his furious glare evened them.

  “If Haden were to make plans, to attempt to gain more ownership, more control, what side of the field would you stand?” Castor asked.

  Megara’s fingers fidgeted at her side. Brother pinned against brother because of the argument of their father…it wasn’t right.

  “Why do either of you have to pick a side?” she interjected, earning her a hot glare from Henrik and a curious one from Castor.

  “Jackson will disown anyone who goes against him,” Henrik stated as though she were a small child who couldn’t comprehend the setting sun.

  “Castor works with your uncle. Has he been disowned?”

  Castor laughed. “I disowned myself a long time ago. That’s why he has no claws in me.”

  “You could stop this then? You could stop being the neutral zone for these barbaric sales?” Megara asked. It was a foolhardy question. Even if he were to pull his resources, the sales would continue. Others would profit. There would be no end simply because Henrik wasn’t involved.

  “Castor…” Henrik’s tone held warning, “go see your girls.”

  “I’m sure Oliver can show me the way. I won’t be staying. I need to get them safely away before Jackson and Hera decide to pop in to check on the newly married couple.” He smiled at Megara, a warm, sincere smile. “I’m glad my brother hasn’t saddled himself with a wimp for a wife. I will be sure to be back in time for the wedding celebration. When is that again?”

  “Next Saturday,” Megara stated, keeping her eyes locked with Henrik.

  “I will see you both then,” Castor said before opening the door for his exit.

  “You shouldn’t have gone up there. I told you to stay away from them,” Henrik said the moment the door clicked behind her.

  “No, you didn’t,” she countered. “Besides, I was only making sure they were okay.”

  “You think I’m such a monster I would chain them up and leave them to starve?”

  “Would you?” She tilted her head to the side. “Your father, would he?”

  He rubbed his chin. “That bastard would. But I’m not him.” He sank into his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. “If Jackson finds out—”

  “Are you telling me as boys you and your brothers never kept secrets from your father?” She walked around the desk to his chair.

  “We aren’t boys anymore, Megara,” he said, looking up at her.

  She slid herself into his lap, feeling the strength of him beneath her fingers as she touched his neck.

  “No. You’re men. And men don’t have to sit in the shadows of their fathers.”

  Henrik wrapped his hand around her wrist. “Careful where you tread.”

  “You’ll have to choose someday. Do you chase after your father’s approval, or do you seek your independence?”

  “I don’t need his approval,” Henrik said in a raw growl.

  She smiled. “You want him to make you legitimate. That’s what I’ve heard anyway. Until he marks you as his legitimate heir, he’ll have something to dangle over you.” She lifted a shoulder. “Is that what keeps you involved in his business?”

  “You listen to gossip?” He lifted a brow.

  She laughed. “Not usually, no. But I don’t know much about you, Henrik.”

  He pulled her hand to his chest and held it flat against him. “What do you want to know?”

  “I was thinking about what you said, about how things don’t have to be hard between us.”

  He shifted in his chair, pressing his hard length against her ass. She laughed.

  “Some things will always be hard between us. And if you’re going to sit in my lap like this, you can be certain my cock will want you,”

  “Celeste will be here soon. We’re going to listen to a few bands play so I can hire one for the party.”

  “I’m going to have music filling the house all day?” A child being told to take his medicine looked more enthusiastic than Henrik in that moment.

  “I’ll keep them in the ballroom. Oliver showed it to me yesterday. It’s enormous. I can’t imagine why it was built.”

  “To have parties.” Henrik laughed. “My father built this house for himself before I was born. He and Hera used to have huge parties.”

  “The women upstairs…” Megara approached the subject gently, “they’ll be all right with your brother?” She’d entered his office ready to wage war, but he’d managed to contain her ire.

  Henrik’s mouth thinned. “My brother and my uncle don’t trade women. They have their own sins and do their own evil, but they don’t make their fortune off the backs of women.”

  “But your father—”

  “Is not someone I want to talk about right now,” Henrik interrupted. Wrapping his hand behind her neck, he dragged her forward and captured her for a kiss.

  Megara melted into him, pulling strength from him as he deepened the embrace, fisting her hair at the nape of her neck. The bite of pain he offered sent fire coursing through her veins straight to the very core of her libido. Only when she moaned did he release her with a knowing grin.

  “Now, suffer with your wet pussy until tonight.” He gave her ass a hearty smack. “Punishment for barging into my office and interrupting my meeting with Castor.”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He laughed. “You sure as hell did. Plowed in here as though you were those women’s saviors. They already have a hero, so leave it be.” He tapped her chin with his finger. “Now, let me get to work before I decide a hungry cunt isn’t enough of a punishment for you.”

  She blushed hard at the vulgarity of his language, but she wouldn’t bother denying her panties weren’t soaked through from his touch.

  Henrik helped her back to her feet and rose from his chair.

  “Oliver has your bank cards. I meant to give them to you yesterday, but I didn’t see you before you left.” Henrik picked up his cell phone and slid it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’m going to be busy all day. I’ll have Oliver drive you into the city and we can meet for dinner.”

  “We don’t need to go all the way into the city. I’ll cook for us here,” Megara said firmly. It would feel more like a home if she could make meals whenever she wanted.

  He tugged the sleeves of his shirt from beneath his jacket while staring at her. He was toying with her. The little edges of his lips curved upward. If he was trying to bait her into losing her temper, it wouldn’t work.

  “Okay, but don’t kick Gunter out of the kitchen. Let him help.” He kissed Megara on the cheek briefly. “Maybe he’ll learn something,” he muttered, then stalked from the room.

  Megara stood by his desk, her fingers touching the warm spot on her cheek where his lips had been. A casual peck. A goodbye kiss.

  A small bit of intimacy.

  It was a beginning.

  23

  Henrik loosened his tie and grabbed a bottle of scotch, pouring himself three fingers. His head throbbed. He sank into the comfort of the armchair facing the fireplace and stared into the dancing flames. The weather didn’t call for a fire, but he found the crackling soothing.

  “Henrik.” Oliver walked into the living room just as Henrik took his first sip.

  “Not now, Oliver. I’m not in the mood.” Henrik waved him away. The last of the women in the boarding house had been transferred. He typically didn’t oversee such details. These things had been going on since the beginning of time, and his men could handle a simple transfer, but after seeing the disgust in Megara’s eyes the day before, he decided it was time to get his hands dirty. It was easy to pretend things weren’t wrong if you never had to look at them.

  After the first frightened woman climbed into the SUV of her new owner, tears silently pouring down her cheeks, his mood had taken a turn. Watching the same action happen three more times had completely fucked his mood.

  “Neither am I, but here we are.” Another vo
ice darkened Henrik’s mood from behind him. Henrik moved his gaze to Oliver, who was glaring at the door.

  “I told you to wait out front,” Oliver said in a flat tone.

  “I don’t have all night,” Tristan said bitterly as he walked into the room, standing in front of the fire, cutting Henrik off from the only moment of peace he’d had all fucking day.

  “It’s fine.” Henrik sighed and waved Oliver away. “I’m sure this won’t take long.” Henrik sipped his drink. Whatever Tristan and Marco had to say, they would have to be quick about it. Henrik’s pounding head wouldn’t tolerate too much more bullshit.

  Oliver’s lips pinched together, but he said nothing else as he walked to the mantel and leaned against it.

  Marco walked into view and stood behind his brother, his hands fisted at his sides. He could pretend to stomach looking at Henrik, but apparently, he wasn’t as talented at schooling his emotions as his little sister had been.

  “What is you two need so badly you had to barge in here?” Henrik sipped more of his drink and leaned his head back against the chair.

  “McKinnly’s men,” Tristan spat.

  “What about them?” Henrik asked, his mood darkening by the second.

  “You’ve taken three of them on board. My uncle was under the impression he’d take over the crew left after Matthew was dealt with.”

  Henrik balanced his glass on his knee. “I’m not sure what gave him that impression. Nothing was promised.”

  Tristan’s chin rose. “He wants you to release the men you hired and encourage them to join our uncle’s crew.”

  Henrik laughed. “And he sent you two here to negotiate this deal?” He downed the last of his drink. “This isn’t a charity, boys. This is a business. I’ve hired a few men. They aren’t slaves. They are free to work for who they want. Tell your uncle to make them a better deal.” Henrik pushed off his chair, walking around Tristan to get to the bottle of scotch.

  “Then, as a member of his family, he’s asking for your help,” Tristan said, though the words sounded sour coming from him.