Rise of a Queen: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Duet Book 2)

by Rina Kent

  “Why not?”

  “Because psychopathy is genetic and I’ll never take the risk of having a child inherit Dad’s qualities.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Just because I escaped that fate, barely, doesn’t mean my offspring won’t — or the following generation, or the next. Being born without the ability to procreate is a blessing in this case, not a curse.”

  “It is what you make it to be, Aurora.” He strokes my hair back. “The world is at the tip of your fingers.”

  “It is not.”

  “It is now. I’ll bring the world to its knees in front of you. All you have to do is ask.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Why what?”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  “Because the world needs to bend the knee for my queen.”

  My queen.

  My mouth falls open and my eyes nearly bug out.

  Holy shit. I think Jonathan just called me his queen. I didn’t hear that incorrectly, right? It’s not a sadistic play of my imagination.

  Right?

  “Now.” His fingers sneak under my shorts, and my legs willingly open. “Have you been a good girl?”

  “W-what?”

  “Are you wearing the plug?”

  No.

  Shit.

  I was so excited about the phone call with Layla, I came down without putting in the stupid toy.

  “What will you do if I say no?” I murmur.

  “If I spank you, you’ll like that so I’ll go a step further.” His fingers sink into my folds and I arch my back against him.

  “A step further?” I moan.

  His lips find my earlobe and he whispers, “There will be no orgasm.”

  “Jonathan!” I protest.

  “Only good girls get orgasms.”

  “I won’t do it again.” I cradle his face with my fingers and brush my lips against his jaw, knowing how much he likes it when I kiss him. “Please?”

  “Try harder.”

  I plant kisses all over his cheek, his lips, his chiselled jaw, and even his nose and his eyelids. It’s the first time I’ve been so forthcoming about kissing him, but Jonathan doesn’t stop me. If anything, he loosens his hold a little to give me room to worship him.

  To take my fill of him like I never have before. As I continue my ministrations, he fingers me slowly until I’m writhing in his hands, begging for more.

  “Jonathan…”

  “What?”

  “More…”

  “More what?” He twists his fingers inside me and I arch my back against him.

  “T-that…that…please…”

  He pulls out his fingers and I groan against his face, but I don’t have to wait for long as he unbuckles his belt and slides his huge, throbbing dick inside me. We moan at the same time as he fills me whole. His fingers slide my wetness to my back hole using them instead of the plug as he thrusts slow and measured. His metal gaze never leaves mine as he fucks both my pussy and my arse.

  But those aren’t the only things he’s owning. He’s claiming me body, heart, and soul, and it’s completely out of my control. I can’t stop it, even if I wanted to.

  Jonathan might be feared by the world, but as I stare into his sombre eyes, I find safety, belonging — feelings I never thought I would find again. And because this is out of my control, it scares the shit out of me. At the same time, I don’t want to run away from it.

  “J-Jonathan…” I moan, gripping his neck like it’s a lifeline.

  “What, wild one?”

  “Harder.”

  He complies, his hand surrounding my throat as he brings me to the edge. He doesn’t stop, though. Not when I scream his name.

  Not when I writhe against his body.

  Not when I beg — no idea if it’s for more or for him to stop.

  He takes me in countless positions as if he can’t get enough of me. As if we’ll lose the connection the moment he’s out of me, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s the case.

  When he finally comes inside me, I’m so deliciously spent and sore.

  As I lie limp in his arms, a satisfied moan leaves my lips, and before I sleep, I murmur, “I want to go home.”

  He strokes my hair away from my face, his voice quiet as he repeats, “You want to go home?”

  “I’m sick and tired of running away.” A shiver runs through me. “It’s time I finally stand up in front of the monster of my past.”

  23

  Aurora

  Deciding to go home and actually doing it are two entirely different things. All I want to do is dig a hole and hide in it.

  However, the thought of running away like in the past cripples me. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t start anew, pretend I have a rebirth and go on with my life.

  The memories of lonely nights, trembling under the blankets, cause me to shudder.

  Besides, I can’t give up the life and the balance I’ve found. It’s not just about Layla and H&H. It’s also about Aiden, Levi, Astrid, and Elsa. It’s about Moses, Margot, Tom, and even Harris. It’s about the sense of family I’ve refound. And at the top of that chain, there’s Jonathan.

  The man who held my hand through it all and didn’t judge me, even when he thought I’d lost my mind. If anything, he promised to protect me — including from myself.

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve only had myself to rely on. Protection could’ve only been provided by me. Having Jonathan there brings a certain peace I’ve never experienced before.

  But it’s not just about the sense of protection he brings. No. It’s also about how he doesn’t allow me to get lost in the maze in my head. It’s almost as if he knows how dark it gets and pulls me out every time.

  I’m not sure what it is about him that allows him to read me so well. I doubt it’s because of the age difference, which, ironically, I don’t think about anymore, and when I do, it’s more with awe than anything else.

  Not only does Jonathan know me, but he also recognises my needs before I come to terms with them myself. He’s taught me that recognising one’s own strength and weaknesses is what makes you strive higher.

  With him, I feel both vulnerable and powerful. I can take on the world, but at the same time, I’m scared he’ll pull the carpet from underneath my feet one day.

  Because right now? I seriously cannot imagine my life without him. The fact that he was once my sister’s husband barely gives me pause anymore.

  I’m so sorry, Alicia. I’m the worst sister to ever exist.

  Our first stop as soon as we arrive in England is Birmingham.

  “I could’ve come to check on Layla on my own,” I tell Jonathan as the butler welcomes us inside Ethan’s Birmingham mansion — or palace. It’s a lot bigger than the one in London, and Moses had to drive a long time before we were able reach the entrance with its majestic lion statues and high towers.

  “You think I’d let you come to Ethan’s house alone?” The question is clearly rhetorical since Jonathan continues in that haughty tone of his, “Nonsense.”

  “Don’t be a jerk to him, okay?” I whisper in case someone is around. “We’re in his house, after all.”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not he looks in your direction.”

  I chuckle. “You can’t be serious.”

  He fixes me with one of his uptight glares. “I’m dead serious, and if you want me to prove it in front of him, I will.”

  “I don’t see what the big deal is. After all, you used to share women in the past.” And no, I’m still not over that.

  “The key phrase in your sentence is ‘in the past’. I wouldn’t even share a table with him willingly.”

  “So I’ve been wondering… If you guys weren’t fighting, would you still be sharing women?”

  He grips me by the waist, his fingers digging into my side. “Why the fuck are you asking these questions? We already established that Ethan, or
anyone else, is off the fucking table. I wouldn’t share you for the rest of your life.”

  “You mean your life?”

  “Your life. Death won’t stop me, wild one. I’ll find a way, even as a ghost.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” The masculine voice coming from our right pauses our conversation.

  Instead of letting me go, Jonathan keeps me planted to his side with a possessive hand at the small of my back.

  Ethan stands at the base of the stairs, placing a hand in his trousers’ suit pocket and smiling amicably. “Welcome to my Birmingham residence, Aurora. Jonathan, it’s been a long time since you’ve come here. More than twenty years, I believe.”

  “Not long enough.”

  I elbow him and whisper, “Play nice.”

  “He’s looking at you, so that’s a no,” Jonathan says in a voice loud enough for Ethan to hear.

  “Always a charmer, Jonathan.” Ethan smiles at him, but there’s no welcoming in it.

  The latter returns it with a scowl.

  The amount of testosterone around here is high as hell. I can almost taste it on my tongue.

  “Where are Layla and her parents?” I ask to dissipate the tension.

  “Mr and Mrs Hussaini went for a stroll, and as for Layla —”

  Ethan’s words cut off when a door opens from the other side of the room, and in comes Layla carrying basket of roses, throwing the petals at a solemn-faced Agnus. He doesn’t seem to enjoy it in the least, but he remains silent as she grins. “I could totally turn you into a princess, Agnus. If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

  Ethan laughs, and even Jonathan is about to smile before he seals his reaction, as usual. I’m beginning to see a pattern between Ethan and Jonathan. One is more open and the other is closed off. However, they have a lot of traits in common — the most important of all, their hunger for power. The more they have, the more they want. That’s why they clicked a long time ago.

  Jonathan is just more forthcoming about it. Ethan doesn’t show it as much, but that doesn’t deny his desire for it.

  Upon seeing me, Layla pushes the basket of roses at Agnus’s chest and runs towards me.

  I open my arms and she hugs me without protest. “I missed you so much, mate. Don’t you dare leave me again.”

  “I missed you, too, Lay.”

  “Come on.” She grips me by the hand. “We have so much to catch up on.”

  Ethan motions at the stairs and raises his brow at Jonathan. “My office?”

  “Play nice,” I mouth at Jonathan.

  “No,” he mouths back and I shake my head as Agnus abandons the basket of roses on a table and follows them.

  With the three of them there, I can only imagine what will happen in that office. Definitely not something I want to witness.

  Layla and I sit on a bench in the garden. The trees here are so tall, they block the horizon.

  “So?” she asks impatiently. “Details.”

  “Promise you won’t hate me?”

  “Never. Ride or die, remember?”

  I let it all out and tell Layla about my life ever since I was brought up in Leeds, and all the way to witnessing that crime, losing my sister, and the whole trial nightmare.

  While I speak, Layla’s expression falls and I think she hates me by the time I finish, but she hugs me again. Two hugs in one day is a first.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that on your own. You were so young.”

  I hold on to her and let the tears loose. It’s the first time I’ve talked about the whole thing and I’m so grateful that Layla is the one I got to tell everything that happened.

  She pulls back and wipes my tears with the back of her sleeves. “Johnny gets brownie points for taking you away from here so you could clear your head. His Daddy status is reinstated.”

  “You’re awful.” I smile through the tears.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, Lay.”

  “Which name do you prefer? Clarissa or Aurora?”

  “When I was Clarissa, I was happy, but it was at the expense of other people’s suffering. I don’t like being her anymore. I don’t like the memories associated with her or the fears she went through.”

  “Aurora it is, then. It’d be super weird to call you anything else.” She grins tentatively. “Why did you pick that name?”

  It’s my turn to smile as the memories of summer and marshmallow scent filter back in. “Alicia said if she had a baby girl, she would’ve named her Aurora. I guess it’s stayed with me.”

  “I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, mate.”

  “Are you being sappy right now?”

  “Who? Me? Never!” We laugh and she scoots closer, her expression morphing into one of seriousness. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I’m still thinking about it. Hey, Lay, don’t you miss work?”

  “Honestly? I’m going out of my mind here. You know I hate staying still, but it’s okay. I can take it.”

  “Well, I can’t.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I’m going to stand tall like I was supposed to sixteen years ago.”

  The following day, I go to the prosecutor’s office. I don’t tell Jonathan, because he’d stop me.

  I refuse to live my life in fear, scared about when they’ll come knocking on my door, or when they’ll catch me while I’m walking down the streets.

  Although I don’t share my plans with Jonathan, I make my way through the building, armed with his words to me.

  You did nothing wrong.

  He’s right. I haven’t. And now, I’ll own up to it.

  They take me to a white room with a grey table in the middle. I keep my cool as the prosecutor tries to intimidate me with his questions.

  The prosecutor, who introduced himself as Joffrey Dale, is an older man with a few decades of experience under his belt. It makes sense that they’re assigning him to an important nationwide case like this.

  His bushy brows are drawn together as if they were made to judge people. His suit is a size too big and his head is half-bald with a few streaks of hair combed in the middle. But that doesn’t take away from the sharp look in his light brown eyes.

  After a long silence, which he spends reading the file in front of him, Joffrey finally lifts his head. “We’ll start with the basics. What’s your name?”

  “Aurora Harper.”

  “Your legal one, Miss.”

  “Aurora Harper. I registered it.”

  He nods as if the information is new to him, when it’s most likely a tactic. Even the white room we’re in, which seems sterilised, must be some psychological trick. The police played them a lot on me back in the day, but I was too young to recognise them.

  “Why have you come here, Ms Harper?”

  “Voluntary questioning.”

  He fixes me with his bland eyes. “For what?”

  “Maxim Griffin’s parole hearing.” My hands grip each other on my lap, but I force them to loosen.

  “What’s your relationship with Mr Griffin?”

  “He’s my father.”

  “And you’re the Clarissa he’s accusing of being his accomplice?”

  I nod.

  “Are you admitting to his accusations?”

  “I’m admitting to being his daughter that used to be named Clarissa. That’s all. His accusations are entirely false.”

  He focuses back on the file, retrieves images of the murdered women, crime scene ones, too, and lays them in front of me. I force myself to stare at their faces, even though tears start rushing in.

  “Do you remember them, Ms Harper?”

  “Of course I do. I dream about them all the time.”

  “Who are they?”

  “My father’s victims.”

  “Do you remember their cause of death?”

  I swallow a deep breath, the air sticking in my throat. “Suffocation by duct tape.”

  “Do you know how l
ong it takes for death by suffocation?” The question is clearly rhetorical since he continues in his flat tone, “Normally, it’s twenty minutes, but in their cases, he left a small opening in the duct tape to slow the process. Their death processes ranged from four to twenty hours. They spent all those hours begging for air, only to find death.”

  “I know that! I also know he stalked them and made them feel like he was their dream on earth before he lured them to the cabin. I also know he cut their arms, played with their bodies while they suffocated, then kept the duct tape as a trophy before he buried them. I also know those seven reported victims weren’t his only ones, and that many other cases were closed for lack of evidence. So why don’t you look into those instead of this entire masquerade? Why the fuck are you allowing that sick bastard the right for parole?”

  Despite my outburst, Joffrey’s voice and expression remain cool. “Because, Ms Harper, we might have evidence that he wasn’t the only one involved in those murders.”

  “What evidence?” I laugh with a bitter edge. “I testified against my own fucking father. I brought him to you the day I lost my sister. If you have something against me, show it, but I know you don’t. All of you are playing into his hands.”

  “Then why did you escape the Witness Protection Program?”

  “I didn’t trust the police. They were aggressive and careless, and I didn’t feel safe in their company.”

  “Or you wanted to run and hide.”

  “If I wanted to run and hide, why would I come here of my own volition?”

  He opens his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door cuts him off. Before he can stand up, it barges open, and in comes a man looking to be in his early fifties. He’s slim and short, wearing an elegant striped suit and carrying a leather briefcase.

  “Who are you?” Joffrey asks.

  “Alan Sheldon. I’m Ms Harper’s solicitor. The voluntary questioning is over, effective immediately, Dale.”

  Wait. I have a solicitor? When did that happen?

  “Ms. Harper was ready to answer more questions.” Joffrey doesn’t hide the irritation in his tone, but he also stands his ground.

  “Not anymore. My client needs to rest before the trial.” Alan motions at me and I rise.