Page 55

JAMES

O phelia is filthy. Dirty. A masterpiece.

Sweet too. So very sweet.

And she loves me.

She ran off to spare me suffering and pain.

Her emotions have been out in the open for days. They’re there, on her face. In her voice. In her touch. Her words.

In her actions. In this little escape attempt.

She thinks she’s protecting me.

I’ve seen this little selfless act coming from a mile away. The way her face twisted when I told her I’d kill the rest of the world if it meant that she could live.

She withdrew into herself. While I fucked her.

Now she’s here, in an attempt to save my son. Our relationship.

Sweet.

Yet unnecessary.

It might sound cruel that I don’t care if he lives or dies. It might go against every law of nature for a father to be willing to sacrifice his offspring.

But I don’t need Topher.

I care about him. I wish he weren’t my father’s replica. That he weren’t hell bent on taking what’s mine.

Unfortunately, this is what it’s come down to.

His life or Ophelia’s.

It worries her that I might regret choosing hers over his.

See? She’s sweet.

She also worries over nothing. I wouldn’t regret killing him if it meant saving her. Ever.

“Let me go,” she hisses. Adorable, how she still thinks she has any say in this.

“Shh.” I grip her tighter. “I told you. I have you. We’re going to play a little game, and you’re going to stay here for it. You’re going to stay with me for the rest of your life. This could either be your prison or your home. Makes no difference to me. Either way, you’re never leaving.”

I’m being as cruel as I sounded the night I visited her in the cell for the first time. When I stared into her pretty little cunt as if I were a gynecologist.

The only breathing woman I performed this check-up on.

The other one was a cadaver Dad’s gynecologist supplied for me and Oliver. Oliver checked his sacrifice later. Back then, the check-ups weren’t done on stage. That was Oliver’s idea. He didn’t want our sons to perform it, but he wanted a show.

I said I checked mine too back then. I lied.

“It’s a promise and a motherfucking threat,” I whisper against the shell of her ear. “One I’ll follow through with.”

“I’m doing this for you,” she groans, talking through clenched teeth.

This again. “I know. Shh.”

Oliver’s car idles when he reaches us. He’s on the phone, studying Ophelia and me without lowering his window. We have time until he hangs up. Two minutes, I’d say, since he was just talking to me before I buzzed him in.

Right after I hung up on Clara.

Right before I hunted Ophelia down.

“Act like that sweet captive you were in your cell.” My fingers dig into her flesh. She whimpers. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.” Finally, I sense the fight leaving her body.

When she struggles now, it’s all for show.

She’s being so good for me.

“Oh, and Sonnet?” I slip my hand over her mouth, returning Oliver’s grin with a smaller one.

Her body heat seeps into mine. I’m fighting to keep a straight face. It’s all I can do to haul her over my shoulder, take her back home, and fuck her. If I do, we won’t leave the room until she’s pregnant.

Until we’re old and gray.

Until our happily ever after.

But we need to kill our enemies first. We have to.

“Mmm?”

“Unless I specifically tell you to.” She’s light in my arms as I pick her up. She’s kicking the air, the driver door of Oliver’s car. The asshole laughs, his smile wide under the soft lights in the driveway. “Never run from me again. Never think I’ll be better off without you. Ever.”

Her delicate feet in the white flats slam on his car over and over again. She pushes back, knocks her head into my chin.

Ophelia’s way of telling me she understands.

Oliver clicks a button to end his call. Presses another one to lower the window. “You have a girl here.”

A good girl who screams into my palm. Who gets me painfully fucking hard for her.

“You brought me here so I can kill you?” He laughs as if we’re sharing a joke.

I don’t buy it.

He’d love nothing more than to kill me.

He’s done looking over his shoulder.

So am I.

“I brought you here to start something new.” Smirking doesn’t come naturally to me. I keep up the act, regardless.

“Hmm. That face, I’ve seen her before.” His repulsive eyes drag over Ophelia’s body. My woman’s body. I could kill him. Reach into the car and strangle him. Except then Ophelia would miss out on the fun. “Wasn’t she Topher’s sacrifice?”

“She was. Emphasis on past tense.”

He licks his lips. Ophelia leans into me, kicking his car again.

His eyes glint. It’s taking all of my restraint not to gouge them out of their sockets. “Feisty.”

“Let’s head inside.” I put her down, curling my hand around the back of her neck. Her pulse roars beneath my fingertips. I pretend to choke her. She pretends to gasp. Fucking precious. “Drive. Wait for us at the door.”

His smile wanes. “It’ll be faster if I drive you.”

“She needs to walk off her tantrum.” Degrading her in front of him grates on my nerves. It’s a necessary evil. Just like shaking her head. “I need her calm and ready to serve us.”

Her neck tenses. She knows it’s a ruse, yet the words hurt her.

That’s fine.

It’ll be worth it. She’ll see.

“Okay.” Oliver nods to himself.

Gutting him like a fish would be such a pleasure.

He drives off, and I walk Ophelia toward our home. Her skin is cold in my grasp, almost frozen.

“Serve? Seriously?” Her flats scrape along the driveway.

“Yes. Serve.” My gaze splits between her and the motherfucker we’re going to murder while I disclose the final part of the plan, letting Ophelia in on it.

“I—What?” I was nonchalant as I said these things. This must be the reason she’s mumbling. “Just like that?”

We’re closing in on the house. Oliver’s there, perched against his car, hands in his pockets. Watching us.

“Quiet, Ophelia. Make him believe I’m disciplining you. Make me believe it.”

Every feature on her beautiful face morphs, twisting with hate. Her shoulders are hunched. Eyes spitting fire.

Then she leans into me. An indiscernible movement that I only feel because I’m so close to her. Because I own her.

She’ll do as I say. Yes, she will.

Just like that.

“Topher knows about this?” Oliver waves at us. He’s changed from the suit he wore to the office into a dark pair of pants, a white dress shirt, and a tan wool pea coat.

The last clothes he’ll ever wear.

I’m aggressive as I haul Ophelia closer to me, a way to grab Oliver’s attention while I study his face. As I look for signs that Topher spoke to him.

Topher, who couldn’t have forgotten about Ophelia’s lock of hair. He avoided me on the ride home, then texted me a cryptic message about needing to talk.

He could’ve caused a scene next to Camden, his friend. Camden would’ve spilled my secret to his father.

Oliver’s expression is open. He knows nothing about what happened today.

Ophelia whimpers, “Please. No more. Can’t take it.”

Oliver’s attention on her intensifies.

While I eye him, the motherfucker is too busy imagining my woman naked to be plotting anything against us.

If he suspected anything, he wouldn’t be so lost in her. I’m thankful for the expensive bra that hides her nipples.

“Go.” His head snaps to me at my harsh tone. Curiosity flashes in his brown eyes. “Inside. Before it starts raining again.”

“James is right. We’ll continue the conversation there.” He steps closer, outstretching a hand.

About to put it on the small of her back.

Pulling her away from him is risky.

It’s an uncontrolled impulse.

“Up the stairs,” I bark, creating a diversion. “Fast. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Ophelia’s fake whimper is such a turn-on. I put aside the need to bend her over.

“After you, Oliver. Of course.”

He must be connecting the dots as he climbs the stairs and strolls into the house.

The days I’d spent alone at home. The metaphorical walls I added to keep the world out.

In a sick mind like his, the picture he must come up with is that I tortured Ophelia here. I’ve successfully led him to believe that I had my pretty little property locked against her will. Raped. Trained.

Ophelia whimpers again, and this time, it isn’t an act. It’s from my hand that’s about to snap her swan-like neck.

“I said, fast.” It’s not an apology. It’s the only thing I have.

I push her up the stairs, catching her when she slips. And in that short pause, my gaze bores into hers.

I’m fucking sorry.

Humiliation looks hot on you.

You’re such a good girl .

What actually comes out of my mouth is, “Stop embarrassing me.”

She stares at me beneath her thick lashes. Her eyes glint like a million diamonds scattered across the skies. “I’m sorry, owner.”

This girl. Her mouth. My dick is about to tear through my pants. I shake off the feeling and drag her into the house.

Oliver shrugs off his coat and hangs it in the coatroom, never taking his eyes off us. I don’t offer him small talk or an explanation, staying quiet until we’re in the living room.

Two armchairs are positioned exactly as I set them, next to the fireplace and close to each other. One for me. One for him.

Within arm’s reach.

I release Ophelia’s neck, dipping my chin. “Remember your training?”

“Yes.” Her voice is low. Hands clasped at her front.

“Is this the part where she gets down on her knees?” Oliver’s violent nature is out in the open. He’s been waiting for this opportunity for years. “It’s been a long day in the office. I could use having my dick sucked right about now.”

His fingers curl around his belt buckle.

“Stop.” You will never, fucking ever, have what’s mine . “I have something far better planned for you. Only the best for my oldest friend.”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re doing.” He taps his fingers on his thigh. A smirk tugs at his lips. “By all means, then. Don’t let me get in the way.”

“Thank you.” She bows her head to me, wringing her hands in distress as she turns her head to Oliver. “What would you like to drink?”

My pride in Ophelia and her convincing performance sparks a fire within me.