by K. Webster
The bruises on my neck and tits are too dark to cover up. Not that I want to. A small part of me craves to rebel against my father. To let him know I went out into that world and was used by men. It’ll be the worst fuck you. With a smirk, I search through my closet for the most revealing dress, to showcase all my bruises. I settle on a fitted, red silk gown. It hangs off the shoulders and dips low on the chest. The slits are high on each side of the long skirt, revealing all the fingerprint bruises Koyn left behind. I step into some nude Jimmy Choo pumps and then dress up my ears and wrists with glittery jewelry. A pang of loss hits me in the gut when I realize my tiara headband was left at Koyn’s.
I blink back tears and straighten my spine. I can’t be weak. Not here. I walk over to my door and knock, knowing Renaldo will be waiting. With a soft click, he unlocks the door and rakes his greedy stare down my front.
“Cover those,” he snipes.
“I already tried,” I lie. “Now move, asshole.”
He allows me to push past him. I storm down the hallway with false bravado. Inside, I’m trembling. I don’t want to see my father. I don’t want to be here. Carefully, I make my way down the stairs and into the dining room. Daddy sits at the end. A chair is placed beside him. All the other chairs have been removed. A half empty bottle of cognac sits on the table and his face is ruddy, which means he’s halfway to being fucked up.
Great.
He turns his head and points at his cheek. Like the trained dog I am, I walk over to him and plant a wet kiss there. Before I can pull away, his hand captures my throat. His bloodshot eyes rake over my exposed flesh, making him snarl with fury.
“Koynakov did this to you?”
Koynakov?
“Yes.”
“Motherfucker.” He caresses my neck. “To get back at me?”
I tug from his hold and rub away the soreness. “What? No. Why would you say that?”
“Francis, bring dinner. My daughter is famished.”
I’m used to his ignoring me or changing the subject. This time, I don’t mind because it means he’ll leave me alone while we eat.
But what happens after we eat our meal?
After an exhausting dinner watching my dad get drunk as shit and ranting about how fucking rich he is, I managed to escape back to my room. Even though I was locked back inside, it felt like a haven. I stripped out of the dress and threw on a nightgown before falling back into bed. I tossed and turned, dreaming of Koyn.
Warm hand on my stomach.
Up, up, up to my breasts.
I moan and push my ass out, seeking the feel of his cock pressed against me. He ruts against me, his fingers tweaking my nipples. I beg and plead for him to push inside me. To come and make me his. He ignores my pleas, but instead slides his hand between my thighs. Rubbing and rubbing until I’m whimpering with pleasure.
More.
I need more.
He tears off my gown and pushes me onto my back. His body nestles between my thighs. I hear the familiar tear of the foil on the condom before he rolls it on his dick.
Wait.
No.
Koyn doesn’t—
All thoughts escape me as he thrusts all the way inside me. I run as fast as I can in my head. Away. Away. Oh, God. So far away. With each thrust, he reminds me I belong to him in every way.
I want to scream, but no one will come. They never do.
Instead, I slap and claw and shove to no avail. He easily pins me down, calls me Juliette, and groans out his release. Then, he pulls roughly out of me, stumbling to pull off the condom. The bathroom light flicks on. I hear him peeing. A cough. He clears his throat. Then the room goes dark again.
I remain frozen in the bed, caught between dream and reality. The throbbing between my thighs reminds me it’s not a dream at all. Hot tears roll down my temples as I bite hard on my lip to keep from sobbing. Please go away.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he slurs. “See you at breakfast.”
Click.
The moment he’s gone, I curl into a ball and drag the pillow to my face. I cry and scream into it, wishing I could suffocate.
I’m in hell.
Koyn delivered me himself.
Two months later…
They took away all the sharp things. My crowns and trophies could be used as weapons. Or tools for self-destruction. The mirrors have been removed because glass is bad. My room has been stripped to nothing. When I behave, I’m allowed out to eat with my father and to hang out with him in his office. Sometimes he lets me browse the Internet because it keeps me from asking him questions. I use that time to look up my obsession.
Koyn.
Or should I say Jared Koynakov?
All the pictures of him are from ten years ago. He was much like my father, a business mogul. Rich. Famous. Revered. In his expensive suits, he was mouth-wateringly handsome. Such a far cry from his rough, dangerous older version of himself. From my hunts, I learned that his wife and daughter were brutally murdered and he fell off the grid after that. Closed up his company and retired. His brother is Jeremy Koynakov, federal agent of the FBI. I’d remembered him wearing the FBI jacket when they took me, but now it’s been confirmed. I wonder if the FBI knows what shit he gets up to in his spare time.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the wall, thinking about all the information I came across on Koyn when I hear voices. Deep and loud. My heart rate ratchets as hope snakes its way into my heart.
Koyn.
He’s come to save me.
I sit up in bed, not worried about hiding my nudity. Clothes were taken from me days after I came back. I’ve gone so long without them, I don’t even miss them. All that matters is seeing Koyn’s handsome face. The “X” scarred into his brutal face. I want to crawl into his lap, push his dark hair to the side and kiss every scar. Beg him to take me back home.
Click.
“You have a guest, Miss Genworth,” Renaldo grits out, anger lacing his tone.
I grin at Renaldo. “Let him in.”
My smile falls when he steps out of the way. A biker walks in, but it’s not my biker. It’s Magna. His eyes are wild and feral. The knife he wields is bigger than my forearm. I gasp in shock.
His anger melts away as he rakes his stare down my naked body. “Been losing too much weight, Beauty Queen.”
I lift my chin and glower at him. “Get the fuck out of my house. My daddy will kill you.” It’s an empty threat and he knows it.
He flashes a predatory grin at me. “He’s the one who gave your bodyguard permission to let me in. A deal’s a deal after all.”
“What deal?” I demand, pulling my sheet over my body.
“You.”
I shake my head. “No. You can kill me.”
“Nah, killing you isn’t part of the deal.” He unbuckles his pants. “But this is.”
Scrambling back, I all but fall off the side of the bed in my attempt to escape. He takes his time, amused at my fear, as he strips away his clothes. My heart races inside my chest.
“On your knees, Beauty Queen.”
“No,” I hiss out. Then, I yell to Renaldo, “Help!”
Magna laughs. “No one is going to help you.”
And then he pounces. Quick like lightning. His hand strikes me, sending me flying into the wall. I’m dizzied by the hit and I blink away my daze. He hits me again, this time with his fist. Pain explodes over my cheek as I’m knocked onto my ass. I flip over and crawl away, headed for the bed, hoping for escape.
It’s then his heavy body covers mine.
Naked.
Flesh to flesh.
No.
I check out.
Completely shut down.
Give up.
This life is too much.
I’m vaguely aware of the pain. The stretching. A bare cock inside me. Fucking hard and cruelly. My mind drifts to Koyn. At least that pain I enjoyed. I craved that pain.
Seconds feel like hours.
Minutes take eternities.
When I think I’m completely dead inside, I feel the flood of heat. I wait for more abuse. A blade. Taunting.
What I get is glorious nothing.
Shuffling. Footsteps.
Click.
Koyn
“Want some company, Prez?”
I tear my eyes from my computer screen, blinking several times to wet my eyes, and then glower at Stormy. “I’m working.”
“Same as every day for the past two months,” she hedges, eyes narrowing as she steps closer to my desk. “You did the right thing, you know? Letting her go.”
I crack my neck, trying to ease the tension there. “What do you want?”
“Can’t I just want to hang out?” she asks, turning on her Southern charm as she sits on the edge of my desk.
Her eyes flit to my screen but there’s nothing to see there. The moment I heard her voice, I flipped out of the screen I was working on. What has my hackles raised is why the fuck she keeps looking at it. Stormy’s a nosy bitch, but sometimes it goes beyond that. If I had more proof, I’d say she was a rat.
The thought of having a rat at my compound makes me want to rip the heads off any motherfuckers who even dare to think about crossing me.
“It’s snowing,” she says in a pouty tone. “It’s boring.”
“Where’s Filter?” I ask, casting a glance past her into the hall. “Or do you care anymore?”
This gets her attention because her back straightens. “Of course I care.”
“You’re awfully cozy with my brother lately. What did you call Copper?” I smile evilly at her. “Oh, that’s right, you like calling him Jeremy.”
I lift my brow, waiting for her to lie to me and tell me he told her.
Her face goes blank. “Krista called him that a while back. It just slipped out when I was mad.”
I cross my arms over my chest and study Stormy. She has this beautiful biker bitch vibe going on, but she’s not stupid. In fact, her eyes always gleam with intelligence. It’s why she and Filter have always been a good fit. He’s smart as hell too. I just hope she’s not smarter than him. That could be a problem.
“Where did you say you came from again?” I ask, cocking my head. “Afton?”
She bites on her bottom lip. “I said it was a small town outside of Afton.”
Smart girl.
Cover your tracks.
“Hmmm.” I rake my gaze down her front, inspecting every detail. I want her to know I see right fucking through her. She’s stuck her nose in my business one too many times and now I’m fucking suspicious. “Get me Halo and go find someone else to bother.”
She flashes me the fakest smile ever. “On it, Prez.”
The moment she’s gone, I go back to what I was working on. Obsessing over Genworth. I should be focused on Putnam because he’s ghosted once again, but I can’t let go of the uneasy feeling. Copper says it’s because I want to keep the girl. Maybe. I just have a hunch. Something I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I flip open Genworth’s network and continue my combing. His firewall was airtight as fuck, but I needled my way into it because that’s what I do. What I’ve always done. What I’m really fucking good at. I analyzed the setup and located the soft areas right away. Once I found them, I wormed into it. His network is beautiful. I admire the handiwork of someone similar to myself, who is obsessed with perfection and order. Everything is airtight. For everyone else. It’s admirable. I locate his contracts right away with the NSA. His hands are dipped into about every pot available. It’s no wonder he’s a billionaire. I skip past all the obvious stuff and start looking for the hidden stuff. A man like Genworth is a man like me—we hide in plain sight. His deepest, darkest shit won’t be in some file labeled: Don’t Touch. It’ll be in something regular and orderly.
A folder stands out and seems to blink at me.
November 2009.
I rub at my chest over my shirt where my tattoo is. I try desperately not to think about that month or that year. But just seeing it has my heart clenching painfully.
The file is corrupt inside the folder.
Or so it seems.
It’s hidden behind a file named November_2009.error and from the looks of it to just anyone, it’s unusable and broken.
I’m not just anyone.
I pretty much wrote the fucking book on this shit.
Quickly, I rename the file to an exe file. When I open it, it blossoms like a rose, revealing to me hundreds of video clips, recordings, documents, screenshots, pictures, and more. What has my blood freezing in my veins is the name on the first picture I see.
Koynakov.
I click the picture open to find my old building in downtown Houston. The next picture is my Escalade. Another is a headshot I had on my website. So many pictures of me from when I was the owner of my company all those years ago. My stomach turns when I find a picture of Ellie at the gym. Ellie at the store. Ellie on the front porch.
What. The. Fuck.
It gets worse…there are multiple pictures of Blaire.
At the salon. At school. At the movies.
Why in the fuck does Genworth have all this shit on my family?
Tears burn my eyes as I stare at my daughter. So innocent and young. She didn’t fucking deserve to die. I choke on a sob, grief threatening to suffocate me, and drag every goddamn file off his network. I don’t just copy. I take. I take what’s mine. I replace the file with a dummy one encrypted with a virus that will blow his shit up if he even thinks of trying to open it. Once I have it off his network, I start combing through the entire folder. There are recordings of Genworth and Putnam. Plans. All it takes is one listen to the first recording to learn that Genworth hired Putnam to kill me and my family.
They failed at taking me, but they took my girls.
This motherfucker was instrumental in destroying my fucking soul, and I turned around and handed his baby girl back to him like it was the honorable goddamn thing to do.
Rage billows up inside me. Black. Thick. Toxic. I want to get my hands around the throats of every motherfucker who was a part of this.
Why?
How in the fuck did these two assholes get together in the first place?
I dig until I find something that Halo had been sniffing out, but just hadn’t arrived there yet. Weapons across the border. I remember back to what Copper had said.
“Firms kind of like the one you owned. Those private contractors had gigs with the NSA and were basically selling smuggled weapons back to the government at astronomical prices. All in the name of national defense.”
Genworth was a private contractor.
This was their one gig with the NSA.
Until I was out of the picture.
It smacks me right in the fucking face. I was Genworth’s competition. He wanted me gone so he could steamroll through and get all the contracts. Greedy fucking asshole.
He’s going to pay.
Holy shit, he’s going to pay.
I spend the next three hours creating a web only I can walk on and then keep the string tucked away for later.
But now?
Now I make a plan to take his most valuable asset.
His daughter.
It’s only fair since he fucking took mine.
It’s conveniently Church night, not that it would have mattered. I was going to call a big ass meeting regardless. Even Copper was allowed in on this meeting, despite not being patched in, because this was bigger than the Royal Bastards.
This was revenge.
Something we’ve all been thirsting for since the day I met each of them.
“So what’s the plan?” Halo asks, frowning more than usual.
He’s pissed. They’re all pissed. We delivered Genworth’s prized possession right to him. Fucker probably laughed his goddamn face off. She’s been back home with her daddy for two months, living the pampered life, all while he celebrates at having pulled a fast one on us. It explains why he seemed afraid to see me and then sur
prised when I handed her back. He also must think that with an army of security guys and cameras galore, he’s safe.
He will never be safe.
I’m coming.
But not for him. Not yet. Not until I make him suffer. Make him feel one fraction of how I felt all those years ago.
“We’re going to take his daughter,” I grind out, crossing my arms over my chest.
Copper scowls because he fucking knows me.
The rest of the guys think I’m some goddamn hero.
“She’s safer with us,” Bermuda agrees, nodding.
Dragon snorts, popping him in the back of the head hard enough to send his ball cap flying. “Not to rescue, dumbass.”
Copper’s jaw clenches and I can hear his teeth grinding together. “What are your plans exactly with PG?”
“Her name is Nicolette Hadley Genworth. Not PG. Not Pageant Girl. Not Hadley. Not sweetheart or angel. She is a tool,” I growl out. “A tool we’ll use to poke and cut and stab at Genworth until he’s been wrought of every single drop of who he is.”
Dragon’s green eyes glitter with violence—the only one of my men who doesn’t need to be told twice.
The rest need convincing.
“I watched Putnam rape my daughter. My little fucking girl.” My voice cracks. “She begged for me to save her. I was helpless.”
Halo frowns and Bermuda pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Everything I have ever done in this life is to get to this point. To seek justice on the ones who stole from me. Putnam and Genworth are the ones responsible. There will be casualties along the way.” I meet each of their stares with a hard one. “If you want out, rip your patch off now and go. I thought we were brothers.”
No one moves.
“We’re one-percenters. Fucking outlaws. We’re not the heroes in anyone’s goddamn stories. Understand?”
