Page 5

five

Lucy

When I awake in a large, dark penthouse, I must admit that I’m not only confused.

I’m mortally petrified.

“Hello, Lucille,” his voice says from the far side of the room.

His eyes are pinned on me in the dark, only the lights of the city beneath us illuminating his face.

But I don’t need to see his face to know who he is.

I’ve memorized his voice for years on end. I’ve heard it in both my dreams and nightmares.

And now, I hear it, taunting me as I blink away the haze and migraine that overwhelm my mind.

The last thing I remember is leaving my work and being abducted by some strange man in sunglasses. I don’t remember where we went, how we got here, hell, I don’t even remember what he used to knock me out.

I lift my hand and feel around my temple where the soreness pulses. A tender, swollen lump rests on the side of my head and I do my best not to panic.

I’ve survived Damien Reed once, I can do it again.

“Why am I here, Damien?” I whisper, trying my best to sound bored or at the very least annoyed.

Definitely not afraid.

But, I’m not so sure he believes me. Especially when my voice cracks on the last word.

He smiles at me, teeth gleaming white. It’s not a particularly happy smile. In fact, it resembles a wolf baring its teeth right before it snaps its jaw on its prey.

And right now it seems that not only is Damien the hunter, but I am his prey.

I stand still by the chaise. The dark green, velvet fabric is taking up my vision and I let it practically swallow me whole. I keep my eyes fixed on it because I refuse to look back up at the beautiful monster who’s trapped me here.

“What, you don’t like my penthouse?” He scoffs in fake disgust and my fist balls at my side while the other presses into my throbbing head.

“I’d like it better if you would’ve simply invited me,” I hiss as tears start to well behind my eyes.

Don’t cry. Don’t let him see your fear.

“You know I’m not one for formal invitations,” he growls, and I sniff back the terrified tears that threaten to fall.

He’s right. He’s never been the type for any of the invitations my family was so fond of giving. He practically never showed to any of my father’s lavish and over-done events. I would hear Megan bitching and moaning to her aristocrat friends about it over too many martinis while I would draw in my notebook in the corner.

He’s also not the type to enjoy any bit of formality.

In fact, when I saw him in the store earlier today, it was the first time I had seen him look so sophisticated. He hates suits. Hates styling his wild, dark hair. Megan would bitch and nag about that too.

Damien likes to be wild through and through. He thrives off being unkempt and free. He’s not one to conform or be told what to do. Which surprised me when he married my older sister. She is nothing but control. All law and order. As is the rest of my family.

But I’m getting sidetracked here.

I can’t forget that this wild man not only divorced my sister, but he just had one of his men knock me unconscious and kidnap me.

“I’m assuming the door is probably bolted.” I sigh and he clicks his tongue at me.

“Smart girl,” he praises, but it doesn’t sound much like praise at all.

“And there’s probably a line of guards spread all throughout,” I say as I rub my forehead, trying to scrub the migraine away.

“You’d guess right,” he says, and I scoff.

“My father trained you well, I see,” I say with a humorless, clipped laugh.

And that gets a reaction out of him.

An angry one at that.

He gets up quickly as he slams his hands on the desk. A glass shatters on the floor and I jump from the sound.

“Let’s get one thing straight, princess.” He sneers and I want to roll my eyes at the nickname.

After all this time, I’m still nothing but a child to him.

“That man taught me nothing. Your family did nothing for me. Nothing but raise hell for me,” he growls, and I look up at him, hate blazing in my eyes.

“That’s a lot coming from you, Damien. They did more for you than they ever did for me, and I was their fucking daughter,” I say with both of my fists balled at my sides now as anger seeps through me.

“God, you’re just as spoiled as Megan. I’m surprised you’re no longer together. You really are the perfect pair!” I shout and move away quickly.

I rush to the door, not caring if it’s locked. Not caring if there are guards standing outside of it. If I die here, then I’ll die trying. I’ll die screaming for help even though no one will hear me.

Not like anyone ever has anyway.

He catches me before I reach the handle. He hauls me back and slams me against the marble counter adjacent to the doorway. The edge digs into my spine and I yelp before he clamps his hand down over my mouth.

He looks into my eyes, his pupils so largely dilated that they almost look black. No trace of that beautiful hazel in sight.

“You’re lucky I don’t slap you for that,” he growls as his face inches closer to mine.

My eyes widen as his hand clamps down harder. There is nothing in my view but him. Right now, my entire world consists of Damien Reed and I hate every moment of it.

“You’ve spent your whole life playing the role of the victim that not once have you realized that you’re no better than them. You’re just as spoiled. Always whining and crying because how could anything possibly happen to a Fairchild?” He growls and the tears I tried to keep at bay spring forward now.

Because that is the furthest thing from the truth.

This man doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know the abuse or struggle I’ve survived through. All on my own.

But that’s not what hurts.

What hurts is that he said that, all the while remembering the night he saved me from the most sadistic attack I’ve ever endured, putting my father’s drunken fist to shame.

He saw me on the ground of that alley. He watched the man zip his pants and kick me to make sure I was still breathing. And then he practically beat him to death.

How could he say those things after that night?

He watches the tears fall from my eyes and wet the skin of his rough fingers that press down over my mouth. He doesn’t soften from them. He doesn’t apologize or realize the true effect of his words. In fact, I don’t think he’s even capable of understanding the gravity of them. Because right now, I don’t think he’s staring at Lucy Fairchild.

I feel like he’s looking at my sister.

He thinks I’m her even though I’m nothing like her.

“You’re nothing special, Lucille,” he spits.

“You had everything handed to you. Everything I have, this empire I’ve built, has come from blood, sweat and tears. Not a spec of it came from your father. Not a dime,” he seethes, and there’s so much anger in his eyes, so much malice and hatred that it staggers me.

I always suspected Damien was involved with… much darker things. I mean, my father’s a politician, he thrives off dirty work. This isn’t news to me.

What Damien is involved in is much heavier, much more sinister. I can see it in his eyes and around this expensive penthouse suite. This must be what Megan saw, what my father was suspicious of.

And as evil and conniving as my family is, I have this intense feeling that Damien Reed is much, much worse.

He stares at me long and hard, his eyes traveling from mine to my tear-stained cheeks. He sneers then and rips his hand free from my mouth. I gasp like a fish out of water when he does.

He pulls away, dusting off the sleeves of his jacket and straightening his lapels.

I can’t help but wonder who this man is. I knew he was an asshole, but when did he morph into a rich asshole wearing a designer suit?

Megan must have really left an impression on him.

“Now,” he starts as he runs a hand through his slicked back, dark hair.

“Instead of throwing a temper tantrum, why don’t you let me explain why you’re here,” he says as he walks from me to the chaise opposite from the one I woke up on.

I rub at my mouth, desperate to wipe any bit of him off me. But it’s no use. His words have branded my soul and the damage cannot be undone. What I can do is wipe the tears.

I don’t know why I let myself cry in front of him. To be quite honest, I’ve never cried in front of anyone except for my best friend. Not in front of my father when he would punish me. Not in front of my mother when she would berate me. Not in front of my sister when she would belittle me. I didn’t even sob in front of my attacker, even though I wanted to. And I definitely didn’t cry in front of the doctor when I was going through an active miscarriage.

Truth be told, I think I’ve been so numb throughout my life that my body has reserved my tears for when I’m alone. But tonight…my body has betrayed me. Damien has somehow cracked through the brick wall of numbness I usually have up and some of that fear and sorrow leaked out, right onto his hand.

He doesn’t seem to care about it though. He watches me through narrowed eyes, annoyance evident in his gaze. He crosses one long leg over his knee and leans back on the chaise, arms stretched across the velvet back of the lounge chair.

If he wasn’t such a monstrous piece of shit, he might actually look beautiful right now.

“Sit,” he barks, pointing one long finger at the chaise across from him.

His thick brows furrow over his eyes as he waits. I rub my palms on my shorts as I stand tall and wince from both the pain in my head and now my lower back. I take a deep breath and move, my heart pounding in my chest as I slowly walk to the lounge chair.

His eyes stayed glued to me the entire time, traveling from my face down my torso until they land on my legs. Heat creeps up and colors my cheeks. I feel exposed under his gaze. Out of place and overly assessed. I can’t remember a time when I felt this uncomfortable before.

When I sit down, I refuse to meet his gaze. My eyes stayed glued to the floor as my hands rest on my knees to try and stop them from shaking.

But it’s no use. I can feel his eyes burning into me.

“What do you want with me, Damien? Has my sister pissed you off again and now you’re taking it out on me?” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“In short, yes. But not entirely,” he says with a low rumble.

Why am I always paying for my family’s sins? Even when they don’t want me?

“Megan has pissed me off, but that’s nothing new. And to be fair, there’s not much to take out on you, Lucille. I would have to care about her in order to hold a grudge.” He sighs and I open my eyes.

They slowly lift from my knees to his face.

He licks his full lips now, one hand stroking the neatly trimmed, dark beard on his square jaw and perfectly chiseled face. His dark hair is so sleek, that the city lights practically bounce off of it. The suit that he’s wearing forms every muscle perfectly and the top button of his shirt underneath his blazer is undone, revealing a glimpse of dark skin and a gold chain. His leather shoes gleam and he smells of an expensive cologne that would otherwise have me melting inside.

And if I wasn’t so afraid of him right now, I would be melting inside.

Because he looks like a painting.

Something expensive and priceless all at once. Unique and unable to be recreated. He looks like he belongs in the Louvre. Sitting in his own room, demanding everyone’s attention to admire his dark, tantalizing beauty.

I’d imagine that this is what Satan would look like if he wasn’t a serpent in Eve’s garden.

He’d look just like Damien Reed right now.

“Then why am I here?” I whisper as I bite down on my bottom lip, desperate to keep my emotions in check.

He makes me feel so conflicted. Like I am at war with both my survival instinct and womanhood.

“You’re here because your sister failed to provide security for me here. I’ve got a lot of slimy people after me, Ms. Fairchild. And as powerful as I am, I need something a little…more. The American Dream I guess you could say.” He chuckles as he rubs his chin and tilts his head to the side to eye me up and down.

I don’t like that look. I don’t like the way that makes me feel at all.

I feel like a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop. Like game with a price tag on it.

“Why are people after you?” I ask and I know I shouldn’t have done that.

Because now he really does look like the devil when he smiles at me.

“Because I’m a bad man. And they want to punish me for my crimes,” he growls.

Jesus. How did I get here?

“And what am I? A distraction?” I ask and he shrugs.

“In a way. Though, I like to think of you as a ploy. Nobody wants to fuck with the senator’s daughter,” he says.

“That’s what you think. My family hates me. I’m an outcast.” I sigh.

“Exactly. Which makes you an even better ploy. You are still kin to a very important man here, Lucille. And you have no ties to them now,” he quips back.

“My sister is kin too. Why did you go and divorce her then if you needed a ploy?” I scoff.

“Because she and your father were too busy snooping around and trying to get my ass in trouble rather than providing me any bit of security,” he groans.

He’s speaking in riddles here. Who is he and what the fuck does he want with me? Why am I once again caught up in bullshit that I want no part of?

“What is it exactly that you do, Damien? Who are you really?” I ask as my eyes narrow on him.

He’s quiet for a moment, staring at me with dark, sinister eyes.

The silence fills the room and wraps around me like a boa. It’s more uncomfortable than when he speaks. Mostly because I feel like when he does speak again, I won’t like what he has to say.

And I’m exactly right.

“I’m the type of man your father tries so hard to get rid of,” he says, and I freeze then.

My father has had many missions in life, and most of them I could care less about. I never wanted to pay attention to any of his campaign trails or debates or elections, but there is one thing that’s universally known about Michael Fairchild.

He’s been after the cartel for years. He’s been trying to lock these men that have filled the city with drugs and crime up for years. It’s why he gets the votes. Because he vows to make New York safe.

And I know when Damien mentions this small, little comment, he’s talking about those men.

He is one of those very bad, very dark men.

And he’s abducted me.

Oh god, I’m sitting in the penthouse suite of a cartel member. And with the riches he’s obtained so quickly, with the aura of dominance and power he exudes, I think he’s higher up on the ladder than I want to admit.

My eyes drift down his long arms. They land on the massive platinum Rolex that adorns his wrist. I look at the gold chain on his neck, the expensive cufflinks on his jacket. I look at the Italian leather, designer shoes.

Alone, this man’s outfit probably costs more than a couple hundred grand. As rich as my father is, he doesn’t make that kind of money.

Dirty money. Blood money. The kind of money that could buy you the world.

The kind that would buy you a brand-new penthouse suite alongside several other properties and businesses.

Christ.

“And…what do you want with me?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t come out as a squeak.

The corner of his full mouth lifts slightly, an evil smirk forming on his handsome face.

He looks like he’s about to eat me alive.

And he most likely is.

“I want you to be my wife, Lucille Fairchild,” he growls, and I can’t help it, I can’t stop the anguish and fear from pouring forward.

However, my fear doesn’t come in the form of a scream or a cry.

Instead, I lean forward and vomit all over those pretty, expensive designer shoes he’s wearing.