Cruel King: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Jillian Quinn

  We also had my bodyguard standing watch at the top of the stairs. I’d considered climbing out my window, until I realized the fall to the back patio would kill me. There was no way out of my house without walking past Brian or one of his men, whichever one was on duty.

  “There’s nothing you can do now but wait.” Carmella lowered her voice and cupped her mouth with her hand. “He can’t keep Stephan in jail forever. He’ll have a trial.”

  “But what if Stephan doesn’t get bail, and the only way I can see him again is in the courtroom? I’ve been trying to reach my dad all day. He hasn’t answered a single phone call. All I got from him was a text message that his personal shopper would be over this week to fit me for the dress I’m wearing to my engagement dinner.”

  “What would talking to him do for you at this point?” She fluffed the pillows behind her head and sank into them. “He’s not a man you can reason with.”

  “I want to beg for Stephan’s freedom. I will do anything, even if that means marrying Karl to save Stephan.”

  “Stephan doesn’t want that for you.”

  “I have to do something.” Curling my legs into my chest, I sighed. “I feel so helpless in all of this. At least if my dad would answer the damn phone I could make a deal with him.”

  “Sounds like the deal has already been made for you. Wait until he gets home from his business trip.”

  He was on travel for the week to Washington D.C. to vote on an education bill. When he was off doing real political business, he was not to be disturbed, and yet I’d called him over one hundred times and left him insane amounts of voicemails and text messages.

  His rules were meaningless after what he’d done to Stephan. There was nothing he could do to keep us away from each other. An arrest and an arranged marriage were nothing compared to the life I wanted to spend with Stephan. He would wait for me, as I would for him.

  When the ten o’clock news started, I tapped Carmella on the arm to gain her attention.

  She wiped the sleep from the corners of her eyes and looked at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I pointed at the flat screen television hung on the wall over my dresser. “They just announced an update about Stephan and a development in the case.”

  With my father out of town, Carmella was taking full advantage of his absence, about to pass out next to me. She worked hard, far too much for someone in her late sixties. I wished for a better life for both of us, one where we would be free of our jailer.

  I stared at the screen in horror as my father spoke at a press conference about Stephan’s arrest. He kept his comments brief, refusing to answer most of them. Not until the final question did my heart pound in my chest.

  “Is the arrest of Stephan DeLuca in any way related to your son’s accident?” a reporter asked him.

  Mark’s death had been ruled a suicide, since there was no proof of foul play. Like me, some of the press had their doubts about my brother’s death, and it was all because of what I’d said at my brother’s funeral.

  “We’re not ruling out any possible leads,” my father said, and then left the stage.

  “Wow,” Carmella said under her breath. “That poor boy.”

  All I could do was nod. I had no idea what to say.

  Stephan was about to have another crime he didn’t commit pinned on him. My stomach turned, the acid rising up the back of my throat choking me. I hugged my knees to my chest and held them tighter, wishing I were wrapping my arms around Stephan.

  For minutes after the coverage switched to the local news, I couldn’t speak or move. My eyes were fixed on the wall behind the TV, unblinking. My entire body was paralyzed from the fear that shook through me, rocking me to the core. Stephan would never see the outside of a jail cell if they added the murder of my brother to his charges. Stephan was at the event that night. In fact, my dad had insisted the DeLuca family be there.

  Did he set Stephan up to take the fall all along?

  Chewing on my fingernails, I thought over every word spoken at the press conference. I couldn’t wrap my head around the situation. There was too much information to process and not enough time to digest it. My life was moving fast, all because my father had planned for all the chips to fall into place at the right time. And I was the fool. I was always the fool when it came to him.

  My power has no limits, he’d said to me hundreds of times over the years to remind me I had none.

  Stephan was in jail—because of me.

  Stephan’s life was over—because of me.

  I could never forgive myself. But I hoped he would forgive me for getting him involved in this mess.

  “I should have stayed away from him,” I confessed to Carmella. “If I hadn’t lured him into my suite, none of this would have happened.”

  She ran her fingers along my forearm, my skin dotting with tiny bumps from her soft touch. Ever since I was a child, she’d done this to comfort me. I needed all the warmth I could get at a time like this. Other than Stephan, there was no one I wanted next to me more than Carmella.

  I rolled onto my side to face Carmella, and she smiled.

  “You should get some sleep, Isabella. It’s been a long day for you.”

  I laid my head on the pillow. “More like a long couple of years.”

  She squeezed my hand. “It will all work out. Get some rest.”

  Once I closed my eyes, a tear slid down my cheek and hit my pillowcase. It was for Stephan. Even though I wanted to cry until I couldn’t stop shaking, I pushed the thoughts from my mind.

  My man would want me to stay strong for him. For us. There would be an us, even if it killed me.

  It was dark inside my bedroom, not even the light drifting in from the hallway when I awoke to a muffled sound. I blinked a few times, my eyes attempting to adjust to my surroundings. The noise I’d heard came from Carmella, who was struggling to break free from the cable ties binding her hands together. She tried to scream, her voice muted by the scarf covering her mouth.

  I reached for her and strong hands wrapped around my stomach. A man lifted me off the bed, and I used the mattress to get enough traction to kick my leg behind me. My foot made contact with his body, and he groaned. He smelled of cigarettes and musky cologne, which burned my nostrils.

  “Get off me.” I tried to elbow him in the stomach and missed. “Brian,” I yelled, and the man’s hand found my mouth, the scent of tobacco on his skin enough to knock me out.

  “No one can hear you,” he whispered in my ear, his breath on my lobe causing me to still in his arms. “She’s being difficult,” he said to a man behind him, reaching his hand out for something.

  I couldn’t see either of their faces. Only smelled them. Listened to them breathe.

  He gripped me harder, cutting off the circulation. I leaned forward to break free from him with no success. In response to my action, he squeezed tighter, his muscles brushing against my side as he jammed a needle into my neck. The sharp sting caused me to scream out in pain, the sudden pinch making my skin burn. I tried to fight it with everything I had left in my body, but the drugs won out.

  After what could have been hours or days later, I tried to open my eyes, but a handkerchief covered them. My hands were bound behind my back. I tugged at the ties around my wrists with my fingers, only fucking myself even more than I already was. The plastic tightened its hold on me, making it impossible to do more than roll onto my side.

  I listened for a sound, a constant whooshing as if we were in a car. A few minutes passed before we stopped, and the car jerked me forward, forcing me to rock from side to side. The pounding in my head combined with the waves of nausea that washed over me made my stomach turn. My tongue was like sandpaper, my mouth so dry I couldn’t even form enough spit to add some moisture.

  I’d never done drugs before. This was the first time, and it wasn’t by choice. Whatever they had given me was enough to knock me out within seconds.

  You can do this, I told myself, repeating it in my hea
d as if it had become my personal mantra.

  Stephan was in jail, for however long my father decided. Carmella was tied up the last time I’d seen her. Brian didn’t come to my rescue, which meant the men who’d taken me had gotten to him, too. Maybe he allowed them.

  Did my father do this to me?

  He’d already done so much to our family and to Stephan, I wouldn’t put anything past him. He was pure evil, the Devil reincarnated.

  But would he kidnap me? I’d wondered from the second I read the results of Mark’s paternity test if he had ordered one for me, too.

  Was I his? Would he go to such lengths to force me to marry Karl Vos if I wasn’t his? Nothing made sense to me anymore.

  After a while of driving on what felt like a highway, we slowed to a stop. Doors opened and shut, followed by someone opening the trunk where I was locked inside. Someone grabbed me, dug their fingernails into my skin, and lifted me over their shoulder. In the distance, I smelled the saltiness of the water that crashed softly against the pier.

  Where are my kidnappers taking me?

  We moved forward, my legs bound at the ankles and hitting the man who was carrying me in the back. I did my best to make it hurt more each time my bony knees made contact with this jerk. It wouldn’t help me break free, but it gave me some satisfaction.

  He walked closer to the water until his feet hit wooden planks. I assumed by the sounds of the water and the scent of the sea we were at a dock. Another man was next to us, with a few following behind judging by their footsteps.

  “About time,” a man said in front of us. “We’re about to leave.”

  Fear shot through me, my body growing rigid from the threat. My system went into overdrive from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wanted to fight, with everything I had left, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Everything hurt, from my head to my toes, the worst pain centering in my gut, where I knew deep down inside I was screwed.

  And no one was coming to save me.

  Because Stephan was right about one thing.

  He wasn’t the hero in my story.

  It was up to me to save myself.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Isabella

  After what could have been hours or days later, I tried to open my eyes, but a handkerchief covered them. My hands were bound behind my back, and a cloth was stuffed in my mouth. I attempted to tug at the ties around my wrists. The plastic tightened its hold on me, making it impossible to do more than roll onto my side.

  I listened for a sound, a constant whooshing as if we were in a car. A few minutes passed before we stopped, and the vehicle jerked me forward, forcing me to rock from side to side. I’d never done drugs before. This was the first time, and it wasn’t by choice. Whatever they had given me was enough to knock me out within seconds.

  You can do this, I told myself, repeating it in my head as if it had become my personal mantra.

  Stephan was in jail, for however long my father decided. Carmella was tied up the last time I’d seen her. Brian didn’t come to my rescue, which meant the men who’d taken me had gotten to him, too. Maybe he allowed them.

  Did my father do this to me?

  He’d already done so much to our family and to Stephan I wouldn’t put anything past him. He was pure evil, the Devil reincarnated. But would he kidnap me? I’d wondered from the second I read the results of Mark’s paternity test if he had ordered one for me, too.

  Was I his? Would he go to such lengths to force me to marry Karl Vos if I wasn’t? Nothing made sense to me anymore.

  The trunk opened. Someone grabbed me, dug their fingernails into my skin, and lifted me over their shoulder. In the distance, I smelled the saltiness of the water that crashed softly against the pier.

  We moved forward, my legs bound at the ankles and hitting the man who was carrying me in the back. I did my best to make it hurt more each time my bony knees made contact with this jerk. It wouldn’t help me break free, but it gave me some satisfaction.

  He walked closer to the water until his feet hit wooden planks. I assumed by the sounds of the water and the scent of the sea we were at a dock. Another man was next to us, with a few following behind.

  “About time,” a man said in front of us. “The ship leaves in ten.”

  Fear shot through me, my body growing rigid from the threat. My system went into overdrive from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wanted to fight, with everything I had left, but I couldn’t move a muscle. Everything hurt, from my head to my toes, the worst pain centering in my gut, where I knew deep down inside I was screwed.

  And no one was coming to save me. Because Stephan was right about one thing. He wasn’t the hero in my story. It was up to me to save myself.

  I wished for death. Because at least in death, I would find peace. Being held captive by my father was one thing. I’d grown accustomed to his methods of torture and knew how to navigate them. But strangers were different. I didn’t know how to control the situation. I hadn’t seen any of their faces, didn’t recognize any of their voices.

  The men who’d drugged and kidnapped me from my home were handing me over to the men who waited for us. My head spun from being hoisted over his shoulder and thrown from side to side like a ragdoll.

  He slid me down his chest, my hands and feet still bound together. With a firm grip on my shoulder, his rough touch was all that kept me from falling flat on my face. He shoved his hand to my back and moved me forward. I stumbled, lost my balance, and then fell into the hard chest of another man. His steady hand slipped to the back of my neck. He squeezed tight and dragged me.

  My feet hit the wooden planks beneath me, ripping open my skin. These animals pulled me from my bed in my pajamas without even giving me a pair of shoes to wear. I shivered from the chill that ran up my bare legs and arms. The tiny shorts and snug tank top weren’t enough to keep the breeze blowing off the water from seeping into my bones.

  “Throw her in,” a man growled.

  In the water? His words caused me to panic even more, and with the fabric stuffed in my mouth, I could hardly breathe.

  Not until we were inside the vessel and someone said, “She’s bleeding all over the place,” did he consider to lift me.

  He carried me in his arms, my head rested on his shoulder. As much as I wanted to kick and scream, I had no voice, no strength. I’d never felt so hopeless in my entire life.

  We walked through the ship, which smelled of cigar smoke, fish, and salt water. The combination of the scents made my stomach turn. My brain was fuzzy from all the drugs injected into my bloodstream. A small part of me wished they would dose me again so I could forget everything that had happened in the past week.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in their possession before I woke up in the trunk. The details of the night weren’t precise, and the harder I tried to remember, my head buzzed. It was too much to process. Was Carmella okay? Was she already on the boat? My anxiety intensified when I thought of her bound and gagged on the bed next to me, helpless.

  The man stopped and pushed open what sounded like a heavy metal door. He lifted his feet as if he had to clear something beneath us before he stepped inside a room. A second later, I slipped from his grasp, his hands freeing me from his clutches. I was falling, feeling like I would never land. It was a long drop and a hard one at that. My shoulder broke the fall, and a searing pain shot down my arm.

  Every bone in my body hurt from the drugs and lack of sleep. But now a red-hot blaze licked my skin, creating a dangerous fire I couldn’t contain. I rolled onto my side. A lumpy mattress, which had a rancid smell emanating from the material, was beneath me, and my stomach lurched all over again.

  A girl made a muffled sound next to me.

  “Shut up before I shut it for you,” the man barked at her.

  He hunched down next to me so I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Time to take your medicine,” he hissed, and then jammed a needle into my neck.

/>   My eyelids grew heavy from the drugs. Of all the years of my father’s abuse, I thought I would have been more prepared for this situation. But I was wrong.

  Chapter Thirty

  Stephan

  I stared at the stupid prick on the other side of the interrogation table, with my hands folded on top of it, grinding my teeth together. Anger seared through me. I was blind with rage and sick of having FBI agents take turns asking me questions. They were out of their minds if they believed I would ever tell them a single fucking thing. I wasn’t my father. I didn’t turn on my family.

  “How well did you know Mark Parisi?”

  I gave him a bored look, which wasn’t forced.

  Admitting I’d ever helped Mark or Senator Parisi would only make me look guilty. Did I threaten a United States Senator? Fuck, yeah. Was it stupid? Of course. But I wasn’t about to admit to shit.

  “Is it true you had an argument with Mark Parisi on the night of his death?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, shooting daggers in his direction.

  Where the hell did he get that idea?

  He knew he hit a nerve with his question. Not the smartest move on my part to show even the slightest reaction.

  “Did you push Mark Parisi from the rooftop on the night of July twenty-first?”

  I could see where this was going. Senator Parisi had set me up to take the fall for his son’s death. After Isabella made a public claim at Mark’s funeral, reporters were looking into the accident. No one— not even the police—could find evidence of foul play. How the hell did they think they could pin Mark’s death on me? There weren’t any cameras on the roof. No one saw him fall. The only evidence was his body flattened on the sidewalk.