by Measha Stone
With a simple touch, she could soothe him. It hadn’t taken much more than that to draw out the darkness from within him. The need to devour and conquer. And he’d done both.
He had checked her for bruising on her neck again before leaving the penthouse. None. He’d been careful, but she was so fucking fair, so gentle—he had needed to be sure.
His promise to let her decide, to let her walk right out of his life if she chose to, kept screeching through his mind. Reminding him what a fool’s promise it had been.
Never had he gone back on a promise. But how the fuck would he honor this one?
Azalea opened her door and got out the moment he pushed the gear into park. He hadn’t spoken much to her that morning, mostly because he didn’t trust what he’d say. She’d touched a nerve, had soothed it, and now he didn’t know how to act. He didn’t deserve to possess such purity, such innocence, yet there she was, waiting for him to claim her.
He joined her at the garage door, linking his fingers with hers. She paused for a beat then relaxed in his grip.
With a nod, he opened the door and waved her inside.
“Peter! Fuck. Thank god, you’re back!” Daniel ran down the hall toward them.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked, pulling Azalea along behind him.
“Bellatrix is in Ash’s office,” Daniel said, a little out of breath either from panic or the job.
“My mother? She’s here?” Azalea pitched forward.
“Yes.”
“Okay. That’s fine.” Peter nodded again, tightening his hold on Azalea. “We’ll be right there. Is she alone?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, that’s just it. She’s not. She has four assholes with her, and two more outside in her car. Didn’t you see it when you drove up?”
Peter had been too preoccupied in his own fucking head to notice. He’d driven straight to the garage and not paid any attention to the front of the house.
“Peter, maybe I should talk with her alone?” Azalea’s soft voice penetrated the tension in the hall.
“No. Absolutely not.” Peter pointed at Daniel. “Did you get the information I wanted?”
Daniel looked at Azalea then back to Peter. “Yeah. You were right. Around the same time.”
Fuck. Peter took a deep breath.
“What? What’s going on?” Azalea pulled free of Peter’s grip.
“Azalea…” How to tell her? He needed more time, more information to show her.
“I don’t think Bellatrix is your real mother.” Peter turned around to face her.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened. “What? Why?”
“Well, you don’t look anything like her,” Daniel offered.
Peter would kick him later for that.
“So? She told me I took after my father,” Azalea quickly stated. “Look, whatever it is, we’ll ask her.” She touched Peter’s chest. “I’m not going anywhere today.” A promise. A vow.
After a long moment of hesitation, Peter nodded and led her to Ash’s office. Daniel followed, and Johnny was already stationed outside the office.
Peter pushed the office door open, and they both filed inside.
Bellatrix, though carrying a few more wrinkles than the pictures in her house showed, didn’t seem to have aged. Her dark, wavy hair hung loose around her face. Makeup perfectly applied.
“Oh! Azalea!” Bellatrix flung her arms open but didn’t step toward her daughter.
“Mother.” Azalea waited a beat then walked into her mother’s arms.
“I was so worried!” Bellatrix looked over Azalea’s shoulder at Peter, her eyes narrowing.
“I’m fine. I’m good,” Azalea said, pulling back. When she tried to move away, Bellatrix grabbed her hand, holding it the way a mother might hold a child’s hand to cross the road. But the grip was tighter. Had more purpose.
“When Santos finally told me what was going on, I came right home.”
“Everything is okay,” Azalea said again, looking back at Peter.
“Santos told me you took her, that you found her locked up in her room and took her. I should thank you. Santos shouldn’t have locked her door. He—acted poorly.” Bellatrix focused her attention on Peter.
The other men in the room stood along the wall with their hands folded in front of them. Trained monkeys waiting for the witch to give them leave to fly.
“I have some questions for you.” Peter ignored the stare of the men and walked around Ash’s desk.
“I have a few for you myself.” Bellatrix gave a forced giggle.
“Mine first,” Peter said coolly. He wasn’t buying the motherly act. It was poorly executed, but Azalea seemed comfortable with it. Probably because she’d never known true motherly affection or care.
“Who is Azalea’s father?” he asked, not sitting down in his chair, but pressing his fingertips into the desk.
“That’s an awfully personal question to ask. It’s quite personal, and frankly none of your business.” Bellatrix’s lip twitched.
“Does Azalea know him?”
“You’re quite nosy,” Bellatrix said.
“And you’re awfully secretive.”
“My secrets are mine,” Bellatrix said in a low tone. “Azalea, we’re going home, now.”
“Mother—”
“Enough.” Bellatrix snapped her attention to her daughter. “I understand you didn’t have a choice in coming here—” She turned her glare to Peter. “You were forced. But you will return home with me now.”
“She’s well past the age of consent. She will do what she wants, not what you tell her to do.” Peter stepped to the side of the desk, ready to move in if Bellatrix threatened Azalea in any way.
“She is coming home with me, and you can kiss my boots for not calling the police and reporting the kidnapping!” A gleam of raw rage simmered in her otherwise-controlled demeanor.
“What sort of business do you do with the Jansen family? Are you providing him with girls? Maybe young girls ripped from their families and sold to women like you?” Peter took another step, keeping his focus on Azalea ,but noticing the men starting to tense near the door. Daniel and Johnny were just outside, they’d be at his side in seconds if anything went wrong.
“Mother?” Azalea turned a confused look to Bellatrix. “What’s he talking about?”
“He’s a liar, Azalea. I told you. Men will say anything to get you to do what they want, and this man wants you. He’ll say anything to make me look like a villain.”
“You kept your daughter locked away!” Peter pointed out. “It doesn’t take much work to expose that.”
“I kept her safe.” Bellatrix jerked a nod. “And I still need to, apparently. We’re leaving, and if you so much as take a breath near my daughter again, you’ll see the consequences.”
Azalea tried to break free.
“Wait.”
“No. We’re leaving.” Bellatrix tightened her hold and gave a nod to her men. All four moved in, surrounding them. Johnny and Daniel rushed into the room, but her men already had their guns drawn.
“No. Daniel, no!” Azalea cried out when he pulled his gun. “It’s okay. It’s fine.” She turned her head, her eyes full of fear and uncertainty. “I’ll be okay. I’ll go home. Peter, you can come see me, or I’ll come here,” she said with a plea in her voice.
She’d go with Bellatrix to avoid bloodshed, but she wasn’t choosing her mother.
“You don’t have to go with her,” Peter said, reaching for her.
“I do. It’s okay. It’s fine.” Her voice cracked. She wasn’t fine.
Peter’s jaw tensed. Letting her go wasn’t an option.
Four men.
“Oh, for hell’s sake!” Bellatrix, apparently tired of the discussion, grabbed a gun from one of her men and pointed it at Johnny. Aiming low, she pulled the trigger, taking out his kneecap and making him crumble to the floor.
Chaos erupted. Johnny’s screams, Azalea’s cry, Daniel’s demand for her to drop the
fucking gun. Everything became background noise when Bellatrix took the gun and pressed the barrel to her daughter’s head.
“We are leaving. I’ve had enough of this silliness.”
“Mother?” Azalea froze, her eyes frantically searching the room.
Her men moved in closer. Daniel continued to train his gun on her, but with the huddle, he wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot.
Peter felt for his own gun and found nothing. He’d left it upstairs. Fuck!
Helpless, he watched as Azalea was spirited away, out of the office. He walked stoically down the hall, hearing another cry from Azalea when the huddled group met up with more of his men.
“Stand down,” Peter called, waving his hands. “Let her go.”
If they disagreed—and Peter was pretty damn sure they did—they kept it to themselves.
He’d find a way to get her back. He wouldn’t let her just disappear.
“Let’s go.” Bellatrix swept Azalea out the front door, the gun still pointed at her but no longer butted up against her. Two others jumped from one of the two cars parked in front. After ushering the two women into the back seat of one, they all jumped in and sped off.
“Lock the gate!” Daniel called, but there wasn’t a man positioned at the gate.
“Let her go. I’m not going to chance Azalea’s safety,” Peter said in a hard voice. His heart wouldn’t stop racing, and his mind kept focusing on Azalea’s fear. Replaying the utter shock on Azalea’s face when her mother pressed the pistol against her head.
“Safety!? Her mother just put a fucking gun to her head and took her!” Daniel bellowed.
Peter turned a cool eye on him. “Go take care of Johnny. Then I want every bit of fucking information you can get me on that fucking Gothel bitch.” Peter pointed at his men standing at the door. “No one leaves. We are going back to get her. She is not to spend one fucking night in that witch’s house! Not one fucking night!” Peter made his way up the stairs to his room.
He needed his fucking gun.
He needed to start making plans.
He needed to get a fucking grip and remind himself he would get her back. He would.
She belonged to him.
She belonged with him.
Chapter 21
Something died nearby. The rancid smell of rot consumed the small room where Azalea had been stashed. Not quite a cell—there were painted walls, clean sheets on the bed, but nothing like the comforts of her old suite at home.
Because her mother hadn’t taken her home.
After she’d pulled her away from the safety of Peter’s presence, she’d shoved her into the back of her mother’s Cadillac and driven several hours outside of the city limits. She had tried to ask where they were headed, but her mother had simply ignored her.
For two days, she had been alone in her current room. A small attached bathroom had enough room for a toilet and a stand-up shower. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet; the thin tiles long ago had lost any texture or coloring, leaving behind a dull, egg-colored floor. At least she’d been given a blanket and a pillow for the bed.
Her mother hadn’t bothered to explain anything. Hadn’t said a word after marching her from Peter’s life. And, now, she’d stashed her in this room. For what? To live out the remainder of her life in solitary confinement?
Was this a punishment? Or was something worse coming her way?
She could try to bang on the door again, call for someone—but, so far, her cries had gone unheeded. She knew someone was out there, on the other side, because every so often she heard footsteps.
The confinement reminded her of the first time she found herself locked in her suite. She’d cried for hours before calming down. Her mother had explained it was for her safety. She had been having a party and wanted to be sure Azalea was kept safe.
Fear had welled up in Azalea’s seven-year-old chest. Tears ran down her face, and when the darkness of night came, she crawled under the blankets and cried herself to sleep.
Only this time, Azalea was well past seven, and she knew the darkness wasn’t going to signal bedtime. This time, it would signal something much more sinister.
If only she had pressed Peter for more information about his suspicions about her mother.
I don’t think your mother is your real mother he’d said. How could that be? She didn’t remember there being anyone else in her life. Not even her father. There hadn’t been anyone.
The doorknob jiggled, startling her. Azalea stood, folding her hands in front of her, expecting her mother to breeze in as she always did after a stint of putting Azalea under lock and key.
“Get cleaned up. You’re expected upstairs in half an hour.” A man—one Azalea had never met before—with a large scar covering his left cheek, and beady black eyes threw a bundle of clothes on the narrow bed.
“My mother wants to see me?” she asked, attempting to keep the hope from reaching her voice.
The man sneered. “Bellatrix requires your attendance. Don’t dawdle. I’ll be back for you.” And with that, he slammed the door shut again, and locked it.
Azalea looked through the clothing, a soft linen dress, crumpled by his manhandling, and undergarments. If she went with wrinkles, her mother would be agitated.
Finding two small nails jutting out of the drywall, she pulled on them to make a hook and hung the dress. The steam from the shower should help get some of the wrinkles out.
She made quick work of washing her hair. The smell of the dank room had to have seeped into the strands. There was no hair dryer or curling iron, so she did the best she could with the thin towels she’d been given and her fingers as a comb.
Although she had no way of telling the time, when the lock unlatched again, she had no doubt the man had arrived at his promised time.
She stood in the center of the room, the dress mostly wrinkle-free, and her hair loose around her shoulders. He gave her a once-over, grunted, and motioned for her to follow him.
It had been dark when she’d been dragged into the small room, and she hadn’t been able to see her surroundings. But now that it was light, and she wasn’t being forced to move, she took in the dungeon-like appearance. Rooms lined the hallway on both sides. No windows on any of the doors, only large bolts.
She paused when she heard a whimper coming from behind one of the doors.
“Let’s go.” The man with his large hands reached back and pulled her forward again.
Who was that? Did her mother have girls down there?
Azalea stumbled but quickly found her footing and climbed the stairwell. Bright beams of light blinded her as she stepped onto the landing.
Shielding her eyes with her cupped hand, she blinked several times before she adjusted to the lighting.
“Azalea.” Her mother’s cold voice drew her attention. “Put your hand down. You look like a fool.” Her hand was smacked away.
Blinking away the last of the fog, Azalea focused on her mother. The epitome of perfection, as always. Not a single hair out of place, her makeup applied carefully, and her back straight as a damn broomstick. How is it Azalea hadn’t noticed until then how much her mother resembled the witches depicted in all the fairy tales she’d been told growing up?
“You showered. Good. We will have to do something with your hair, though. It needs to be blown dry and curled, I think. Yes, big wavy curls. And you need a bit of mascara to highlight those damn eyes of yours, and a touch of blush to showcase your cheekbones.”
Azalea jerked her face away when her mother pinched her cheeks.
“Why? And, where are we?” Azalea surveyed the room. Not unlike her mother’s office at home, the room was littered with self-portraits.
“We’re in my home,” her mother said with a tinge of relief, as though a weight were being lifted from her.
“But—”
“Oh, you know nothing, you stupid child,” Bellatrix snapped. “I am going to be so relieved when this is finished.”
�
��When what is finished? You’re talking in riddles!” Azalea had never raised her voice to her mother, until that moment. Enough already. She couldn’t take any more. Her body ached, her head throbbed, and she had no idea where the hell she was.
Bellatrix’s eyes widened at Azalea’s outburst. Taking steady steps toward her, she kept her hard gaze on Azalea.
Azalea’s head snapped from the impact of her mother’s hand landing fiercely against her cheek.
“You will mind your tongue,” Bellatrix seethed. Taking a step back, she smoothed her hands over her flat stomach, taking a deep breath.
Azalea’s cheek pulsated with pain, but she ignored it. Not wanting to give satisfaction to her mother—her obviously deranged mother.
“What happened to you?” Azalea asked, trying to grasp onto something—anything that would explain her mother’s sudden turn in behavior toward her. “Are you sick?”
Bellatrix laughed, a deep, sinister laugh Azalea could not recall hearing before.
The door to the room opened, and two men walked in, Santos hung limply between them. He raised his head, one eye swollen shut. His bottom lip was puffy and bleeding. Azalea doubted he’d be able to speak if he wanted to.
“Mother,” Azalea spoke softly. “I don’t understand. Why—” She stopped and took a shaky breath. “Why are we here? What’s happening?”
“Azalea, it’s time for you to take a husband,” her mother said with a sneer.
“Take a husband?” What the hell was happening? Her mother had always been too protective. Why would she even consider having her marrying anyone?
“Yes. Well, I’m not sure the man who buys you will actually make you his wife, or treat you with any sort of husbandly affection, but that doesn’t really matter.”
Azalea’s breath caught in her throat.
“Your little stunt the past few weeks almost ruined the whole thing, but luckily I came home in time to fix it.” Bellatrix walked around her, appraising her with her stare. “Did Peter, the meddling ass, did he take your virginity?” she asked, coming toe-to-toe with Azalea.
