by V. F. Mason
“Take it like a man, Ryder,” comes my father’s reply, stilling me in the disgusting arms, while the hope in my soul that he loves me at least a little bit crushes so hard the pain envelops my entire system, and I gasp in shock. “I gave you a family name. Now you need to earn it.”
Earn it? What does he mean by that?
“Don’t worry, Alistair. He’ll earn every letter in the MacAlister name.” They share a laugh, sadistic and scary in its nature, sending chills down my spine in anticipation of what might come next.
Living in this house has been worse than being in a brothel, because at least my mama loved me. She always cooked delicious food while hugging me at night and telling me beautiful stories about valiant knights who save princesses in castles.
However, somehow deep down, I know that wherever they’re taking me will be worse than here, and I already live in hell.
My insides scream in despair just imagining a place worse than hell. I’m afraid I won’t survive it.
The men continue their walk toward the main door, when Jaxon races down the stairs toward me, yelling, “Ryder!” He runs faster, ready to lunge after me, when our father grabs him by the neck, freezing him on the spot.
“Let me go!” He wiggles from side to side, doing his best to evade the tight grip but without results, tears streaming down his face when he calls my name again. “Ryder!”
But even the future heir to the throne cannot change my fate.
Standing up, I crack my neck, hating the echoes of the past swirling in the air that make me question our relationship all over again.
He might not be the villain in my story, but he contributed to it without his knowledge.
I bet if he knew the full truth, he wouldn’t be so eager to talk to me for all the guilt he shows me now.
I wrap my hand around the phone. “This conversation is over. If you cannot handle four guys in your own city, maybe you shouldn’t be called the head of the Irish mob.”
“Your job will be considered an act of breaching the treaty.” A beat, and then, “We always had a less-than-stellar relationship with them. Then Cillian fucked up and created trouble.” I will never get back the time I wasted on this shit. “It took me months to settle it, because they never forget anything. And we both know their combined worth allows them to never be swayed by any territory or wealth promised.”
“You have to watch your men better, then. Have a nice evening, Jax.”
“Ryder, please.”
My brother never begs or pleads, ruling his empire with an iron fist, so for him to even utter this word means only one thing.
Shit must be really serious.
Sitting down, I rest my elbows on my knees and rub my eyes, wondering why the fuck all the brotherhoods think everyone’s lives revolve around them? Besides, the majestic fuckers can do their research and see I have nothing to do with my family. “How is my job an act of breaching the treaty?” A chuckle slips past my lips. “Are MacAlisters banned for life?”
Either way, I don’t give a fuck.
My reputation and deeds precede those of my siblings, so I don’t see myself having trouble with any of them.
And if they do?
They can all fuck off.
“Because Octavius’s little sister attends that university.” Taking a greedy pull from my cigarette, I wait for him to elaborate, and he does. “She is the apple of his eye. Nineteen, sheltered, and innocent. He basically raised her.”
Exhaling the smoke all around me, I lean back on the couch. “I don’t fuck around with students. So you can tell Octavius Reed his sister’s virtue will stay intact.”
Jaxon growls on the other end, clearly frustrated with my reply. Sometimes, the displays of the extremes of his emotions are highly amusing.
Not now, though. He’s ruining my after-kill glow with his yapping.
“This is not my concern—or his, for that matter. Trust me, whoever touches his sister is a dead man. I think that girl will stay a nun for life,” he mutters, finding even the idea of me pursuing her laughable, not that he’s far off. I’ve never in my life been interested in anyone or anything sheltered or innocent. The words reek of boring and exhausting, while life to me is all about pleasure and fun. “However, you being so close to her ruffles their feathers and can be seen as if I’m threatening her safety.”
“I’m not in the habit of kidnapping or harming women either.” Something cold settles into me, and the cigarette pauses midway to my mouth. “Are you?”
He must read the dead note in my tone, because he says, “No. Women are not part of the business. Unless they can be used as bait.”
Well, at least he didn’t follow in our father’s footsteps. The fucker sure loved to keep all the women hostage in the brothel and forced them to do shit they hated.
I will never forget how my mom took long showers and cried after every single one of his visits, her body again covered in fresh bruises.
“Why are you hurting her, Daddy?” I slap his back while he tries to kiss Mommy, who hits his chest several times, whimpering in distress. “Stop! Stop!”
He turns around swiftly, knocking me down, and then grips my shirt, raising me up and tilting my head so I can meet his stare.
“Because my name is Alistair MacAlister. And we MacAlisters can do whatever the hell we want. Our power here is absolute.” He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing it so hard he cuts off my air, and my mother screams in the distance as his men keep her pressed to the wall. “Having this family name is a privilege. And no bastard of mine will tell me to stop.” He throws me away, my back hitting the nearby wall. I cough loudly, my throat throbbing from inside out. “Learn to obey, boy, or this mother of yours won’t live long enough to indulge in raising your whiny ass.”
The memory hits me like lightning, disturbing the old wounds that would never heal, and anger zaps through me, my fists clenching and bending the cigarette in two. I ignore the burning sting, welcoming the pain that grounds me in the present and doesn’t let me be swallowed by the onslaught of emotions, which no longer have power over me.
After all, that tortured boy no longer exists.
I killed him a long time ago in order to survive and become a man.
A man who is not afraid of anything or anyone, especially not four guys deeming themselves kings, who grew up in luxury and think they can dish out orders I’ll follow like their little bitch.
“I’m going to Chicago. If Octavius Reed has a problem with that, he can find me there. I’ll send you the address.”
“Ryder—”
“Bye, Jaxon. And for fuck’s sake, stop calling me.” With this, I end the call, drop my phone on the table, and get up. Walking back out to the terrace, I gaze at New York City illuminated by thousands of shimmering lights, showcasing the majestic beauty of the city. Hundreds of cars are driving on the roads with people rushing somewhere, always moving and never really sleeping.
My hometown, the city I vowed to live in until my last dying breath to spite my father who sent me into the pits of hell.
However, for the first time in years, I’m going to take a break and reside in Chicago, because my old professor, a man who once upon a time took in the starved and beaten boy and gave him a dream, called me, needing a favor I could never refuse.
Octavius Reed can sleep peacefully though.
I will never be interested in his sister.
After all, my one true love will always be this city and never a woman.
Because love for a man like me means obsession bordering on insanity, trapping a woman in my darkness with no boundaries or rules that would drive them mad and hopeless.
And I will never subject anyone to such a fate.
Especially not an innocent, sheltered heiress with a vicious fucker for a brother.
Chapter Two
“I tasted the forbidden fruit…
and my heaven on earth turned into hell.”
Estella
* * *
> Chicago, Illinois
Two weeks later
* * *
Estella
Glancing in my compact makeup mirror one last time, I put it back in my bag and mutter, “I’m so dead!” Hooking my fingers in the handle, I address my driver. “Thank you, Henderson. See you at five!”
“Estella, don’t!” he yells, although it’s too late.
Hopping from the slowly moving car in the stalled, heavy traffic leading to the university gate, I race toward the massive white campus buildings glistening in the distance. The harsh wind slaps my cheeks and billows my hair backward, sinking coldness into every bone.
A loud boom of thunder echoes in the sky, causing a bird to squawk loudly above. Briefly glancing up, I notice how dark clouds gather, ready to deliver pouring rain on unsuspecting mortals, indicating autumn’s arrival in all its glory.
The enormous grounds surrounding the university, famous for its architecture and beauty, display the rapidly changing color scheme into red, gold, and brown. Heavy trees, spreading over the magnificent landscape, sway with the wind and drop their leaves in huge piles. The flowers no longer bloom, although they still proudly show off their beauty, which will be short lived.
My sneakers pound the ground as my bag bounces wildly on my arm. I’m not paying attention to how my white dress flaps around my legs, flashing way more skin than I would prefer to the passing students, because the vibration of my phone urges me to speed up.
“Estella!” someone shouts my name, and I turn my head to the right, seeing a math classmate sitting on one of the benches by the huge marble statue created to pay homage to one of the original founders’ favorite poet.
Although the location is known more for countless make-out sessions.
He waves at me, his sandy-blond hair pulled into a ponytail, and I groan inwardly.
Even though the guy hasn’t said anything, his constant attention toward me ever since I started college almost two months ago couldn’t be missed.
Quin probably lost count of how many times he’s asked me to help him with our group project the past week, which still surprises me to no end.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and despite being on the leaner side, the jeans and T-shirts he constantly wears showcase his body in all his handsomeness that makes all the ladies fawn over his looks.
Not to mention his eyes can charm any of them into doing whatever the hell he pleases, and according to rumors floating around, he has done it on numerous occasions.
Why bother with mousy, plain me, who everyone back in high school called a freckled pumpkin, when he has such a broad selection among the opposite sex?
My looks don’t exactly inspire high passion, a fact proven over the years and one disastrous date that turned into a problem that haunts me to this day.
Well, that and my brother, who sends fear into people with his presence alone, whose sinister smile promises retribution to whoever dares to go against the invisible borders he has drawn around me, warning everyone to stay away in order to protect me from the inevitable hurt.
After all, love is a privilege we can never afford in our house.
Precisely why I do my best to avoid Quin, even though his persistence inspires my curiosity, and my stomach flutters whenever he stays late with me in the library or talks to me in front of everyone.
My brother would squash him under his thumb though.
A trembling good guy won’t pass the dragon to get to the princess in the ivory tower, so my rebellion against my brother’s order would be pointless and leave me alone in the end, since Quin would run for the hills.
The older I become, the more I come to the conclusion I’ll probably die single, because the only men who can rival my brother in strength, power, and wealth are his three best friends, and none of them would ever go for me.
A shudder rushes through me just at the prospect, as they’ve all been in my life for so long I consider them my brothers too.
Crushing on my brother’s best friends is not my story.
Noticing Quin getting up from the bench, I snap out of my thoughts and shout back, “I’m super late for class! See you at lunch!” However, he doesn’t listen to the hidden hint coating my words and chases after me, reaching me in record time.
The air hitches in my lungs, squeezing my chest hard, and I slow my pace to fast walking that he easily keeps up with. I glance down to my wristwatch, groaning in frustration at how the hand shows I’m ten minutes late.
“You’re never late,” Quin says, swinging his backpack in front and putting his book inside as we move toward one of the buildings.
Greek poetry—we even have the same taste in literature.
A humorless chuckle slips past my lips. “You don’t say.” I guess my time obsession didn’t go unnoticed by my university friends.
The Reeds are never late for any function or responsibility, because we know how to respect and value our time and everyone else’s.
Or at least that’s what my brother drilled into me from an early age, and I soaked it up, because essentially, he raised me, so his words trumped Mom’s or… my father’s.
Quin’s voice doesn’t let me dwell on my last thought and fall down the painful spiral where only hideous memories remain. “Don’t be nervous. I’m sure all the rumors about him aren’t true.”
My brows furrow as we enter the building. The silence greeting us is interrupted only by our shoes tapping on the marble along with our hushed whispers. “Rumors?”
My Greek and Roman mythology professor, Dylan Smith, who is in his seventies and can be described as a hovering grandpa, never had any rumors attached to him as far as I know.
Despite that most students found his delivery boring and outdated, with his monotonous tone lullabying us all to sleep on more frequent occasions than I care to admit, everyone loves him and always signs up for his classes. They fill up within an hour.
And it was just my luck that I managed to snag myself a seat, considering I settled on this university at the last minute and enrolled in their Classical Studies program.
One year of hiding in Greece after high school graduation to lick my wounds made me appreciate the culture in ways I never anticipated, so I couldn’t imagine studying anything else.
Quin nods, tapping on the book in my hand, as we stroll through the hallway leading to massive stairs right in the middle, passing by various glassed shelves holding the university’s trophies and plaques for most honored students. “Dylan Smith quit.”
I halt my movements at this information, my mouth opening and closing several times.
“Yep,” he says, reading my reaction right. “Apparently, he got an offer he couldn’t resist.”
“In the middle of a semester?” Considering his brilliance and various accolades over the years, I’m not surprised he might have quit, but knowing how much he loves his students, all this sounds so odd to me. “Maybe he had a family emergency?”
Quin huffs, snagging the book from my hand, and pulls me by my elbow to the right toward the class auditorium.
Uneasiness that’s always associated with male company washes over me, and I snatch it back as we come closer to the class, and he explains further, “My dad offered him anything he wanted to remain here, but he stayed relentless, deciding to move to the other side of the globe.”
Right. I forgot Quin belongs to the powerful clan, and they are pretty much the major shareholders in this university.
“Although, when he heard who Dylan offered as a replacement, he got over it quickly and couldn’t wait to send the old man on his merry way.” He doesn’t let me dwell on it much as he adds, “I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it before. That’s all everyone has been talking about.”
My brows furrow. “It’s Monday. Where would they be talking about it?” I ask in confusion, hooking some strands of hair behind my ear.
He shrugs. “In all the group chats. And social media.” He frowns. “You’re part of them, right?” Conc
ern mars his features, and he snatches out his phone, clicking on the display a few times before smiling. “Yeah, they added you. You haven’t checked it?”
My cheeks heat up at this question, and I sigh in resignation, despising having to explain myself once again. Despite my young age, I’m not really into sharing every aspect of my life on social media or care much about my phone unless I have to carry it around for safety reasons. It frustrates my friends to no end, and they have better luck sending me an actual letter than a simple text.
“It must have escaped my mind.” I force a laugh and then reach for my book as we come to the door. “Thank you for your help.” Internally though, I groan at being now fifteen minutes late to my class and giving a bad first impression to a new professor who apparently is such a big deal even the dean is excited to have him. “What’s his name, by the way? The new professor?”
Instead of answering my question, Quin presses the handle and fires one of his own. “Would you like to go out with me?”
Blinking in surprise, I open my mouth to reply, and when a slight breeze dances over me, mortification sweeps over me when I realize the door to the auditorium is open and probably everyone heard Quin.
Almost all the students are staring at us, and there is even a snicker echoing in the air.
Just great.
Practically ripping my book from Quin, I enter while a man stands by the desk, his muscled back to me, wearing black jeans, a dark-brown sweater, and heavy leather boots.
Such a contrast to Professor Smith’s old washed-out suits, and a tingle flashes through me, confusing me to no end.
He writes something on the board, the marker moving flawlessly on the plastic, and he shows no indication of hearing us or acknowledgment of our presence.
Maybe the gods have finally decided to be kind to me and spare me this humiliation.
Quin mouths, “Later,” and gently closes the door behind him while I have no choice but to go to the middle of the auditorium to the stairs leading up. My best friend, Morgan, is already waving like a maniac and pointing at my saved seat.
