Page 14 of Gilded

LUKA

M y brain explodes with carnal images—her body laid out for the taking, my hips spreading her thighs, my cock buried deep inside her, our limbs tangled, the look on her face when she learns what it feels like to be possessed by a man.

But the term seems crass coming out of such a pristine package.

“Maybe we could go to one of the guest cottages,” she says. “They have television and internet. Maybe I could learn more about sex that way. You know, how it works, what to do. I’m not allowed in the cottages, but if you ask, we could.”

An unexpected smile tips my lips. “Are you talking about porn?”

Her gaze darts away. “I’ve overheard people talking about it at the galas.”

I tilt her head back with one finger under her chin until her eyes meet mine. “You’ll learn everything you need to know about sex from me. We don’t need distractions like TV, and it would be impossible for you not to please me.”

A look of doubt and confusion clouds her eyes before she lowers her stare to my chest again.

“I tell you what,” I say, “why don’t we?—”

A slamming door draws my attention to the front of the house, where Hugo Tarik strides in, all impatience and power, tossing his jacket at the butler and yelling dinner orders toward the kitchen for the chef. His voice bounces off the walls and echoes through the cathedral ceilings.

Zeiger trails, clearly already drunk from wherever he’s spent the day. I was so focused on Malia, I didn’t even hear the chopper.

The darkness I normally keep tucked away deep inside me bursts through the triple-bolted door and unfurls in a jagged black cloud.

My mind fragments, part past, part present, and I’m hyper-focused on ways to kill him, right here, right now, with my own hands. Only, there are two guards in tow and another eight throughout the grounds.

Patience.

Tarik moves through the hallway and comes to a stop when he sees us. “Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he gestures toward me. “Get him out.”

I don’t take my eyes off Tarik as the guards start forward, but Malia steps in front of me, and the guards stop.

“If you want to yell at someone, Father, yell at Soren. He’s the one who set this up. Luka is here at his request because Soren is too lazy to take on the responsibilities of being a husband.”

“You little bitch,” Zeiger says in a half-assed snarl.

Malia drags me from the darkness. I’m stunned at the way she just put herself between me and her father. I don’t deserve that kind of loyalty.

Tarik looks like a boiled lobster ready to burst. He cuts a glare that could kill at his drunk partner-soon-to-be-son-in-law. “My office, now.” To me, he says, “Stay put.” To his guards, he says, “Watch him.”

Then he raises his hand, and I realize too late that it’s meant for Malia. His hand cracks across her face, and the sound ricochets inside me. Her head whips to the side and she cries out and stumbles, dropping her book. I catch her arms to keep her upright.

Tarik points at her. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again.”

They disappear into the office, followed by a slamming door. A flurry of thoughts barrages me, flipping my view of this situation on its head and taking me with it.

Malia shakes herself from my grip and tosses her hair out of her face, where I see so many things at once—fiery anger, devastation, shame. Tears gather in her eyes. I lift my hand to her face, but she flinches and steps away.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” She pulls her hand away from her bright pink cheek and runs her tongue along her teeth. “I love having my skin set on fire.”

Zeiger and Tarik’s conversation is muffled but grows to the point where part of it can be heard through the door.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tarik yells. “You didn’t think to tell me he’d be here?”

“I couldn’t get a fucking word in. You babbled the whole way back.”

I’m surprised to hear Zeiger talk that way to Tarik, but their relationship is clearly more equal than I expected.

“Sounds like this is going to turn into a shitshow,” I mutter.

“My life is a shitshow,” Malia says.

While I grew up in a peaceful, loving family for the first six years, I’ve learned since then that many families fight.

And each family is so unique, it’s often hard to grasp the undercurrents at play.

Unfortunately, abuse is common. Malia and Tarik could be having a normal tiff.

This could be nothing but a continuation of the fight that started with the engagement.

I remind myself that she is a keystone in her father’s trafficking empire. She brings in money that houses, feeds, and guards both criminal and victim. They don’t have to get along to perpetuate the depravity.

An older woman passes and pauses to cut a disapproving glare at Malia. I’ve noticed the way the help treats her, like she’s either invisible or repulsive. “What did you do now?”

“You idiot .” Tarik bellows the way he did in the hallway.

The woman picks up the book and gives Malia a disgusted tsk. “You shouldn’t be reading this.”

And continues toward the kitchen.

Zeiger says something I can’t hear, then Tarik yells, “I don’t care what he’s bringing to the table…”

Malia presses the backs of her fingers to her cheek. From experience, I know she’s searching for any cool surface to quench the burn in her skin.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Who?”

“That woman.”

“The bane of my existence. She used to be one of my many nannies. Now she just finds ways to make me miserable.”

“Is this the normal dynamic for your family?” I ask.

“There’s nothing normal about my family.”

Another argument has Tarik yelling, “What is so goddamned hard about fucking your own wife?”

That strikes me as an incredibly strange and callous thing for a father to say. But then so is hitting her. My mind clouds with a lot of different scenarios I never considered.

Malia groans, turns, and paces back into the living room to look out the window. As I watch her, she leans in and presses her injured cheek against the glass. I can almost feel the coolness spreading across her face. The sight pulls at a very young and lost boy still living inside me somewhere.

Another ten minutes go by while the intensity of the argument behind the door drops a few decibels. But ten minutes isn’t enough time for me to get my fury under control. It only gives me time to plot Tarik’s death in a dozen different horrendous ways.

By the time the office door opens, I’m sixteen again, with rage burning through my veins.

Tarik strides toward me, expression tight. The guards shift on their feet, as do I, ready for a confrontation. Behind him, Malia turns with concern creasing her brow.

But instead of putting a gun to my head, Tarik offers his hand. “I apologize for the rude greeting. It’s been rough since we lost our security.”

Taking his hand is so much harder than I imagined. I have to clench my teeth and force my hand forward. “I understand. I’m here to solve that problem.”

“Join us for dinner. We’ll talk things over.”

I should jump at the chance, but I could use some time to bring my rage down to a simmer. “I’ve made arrangements with Malia?—”

“She can join us, and you can go on with your arrangements after dinner.”

Her father is clearly okay with a stranger fucking his virgin daughter before her wedding as a favor to her future husband. She’s clearly not receiving the princess treatment I was expecting.

Doubt fuels an ugly chill at the center of my body, but I nod.

Malia glances at Zeiger. “I’ll just let you all talk business?—”

“I said you would join us,” her father snipes, shooting her a glare.

I follow the other three into the dining room.

In my head, I pull off my belt, wrap it around Tarik’s neck and choke him out.

Watch the life drain out of his eyes while he’s clawing at my hands.

But I’ve been chasing this monster for two decades, and he has hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocents trapped in his grip. I can’t blow this.

Tarik takes the seat at the head of the table, and Soren and Malia sit to his right. I sit to his left. He’s still the man I remember, just older, fatter, and grayer.

After Zeiger settles into a seat, he pulls his sheathed dagger from his waist and sets it on the table—between himself and Malia. A silent show of intimidation. It’s a foolish thing to do when Malia is fully capable of using it herself. Just another show of ignorance on Zeiger’s part.

Despite my attempts to keep my past in the past, I’m feeling incredibly dark and frayed.

Tarik leans his forearms on the table and clasps his hands. His blazer sleeves slide up, exposing a reddish scar where his right hand joins his wrist, and a rush of satisfaction replaces the darkness inside me.

“What happened to your face?” he asks.

“Occasionally, I have to burn a hostage.”

A smile barely curls his lips. “Tell me about your setup.”

No small talk here. He’s authoritative and rigid, and he’s got an overbearing personality that sucks the air from the room.

A quick glance at Malia finds her both interested and nervous.

“My five capos are ex-military contractors,” I tell him.

“Each oversees one hundred lieutenants. Those lieutenants oversee twenty to forty soldiers. They are all currently assigned to positions within my business, but will easily be transitioned into yours. I have additional manpower ready to come on board on short notice.”

“He’s prepared to handle twenty-five thousand,” Zeiger tells Tarik, clearly trying to emphasize my assets to smooth things over.

“Between ten and twenty-five,” I correct. “It will fluctuate based on the age of the”— victims —“detainees, the facility, and the country.”

We stop talking while salads are served. Malia is now staring at her plate, pale and distant. I want to snap my fingers in front of her face to bring her back. I want her to add to the conversation. I want to know how deeply she’s involved.

Tarik distracts me from those uncomfortable thoughts when he asks about my security standards and methods. Over the main course, he tosses hypothetical situations at me to ask how my men would deal with them, which includes beatings, torture, and executions, things I learned in my own camp.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Malia says at a lull in the conversation. “But I’m not feeling well.” She scoots her chair back. “I’m just going to?—”

“You’re going to stay seated until I say you can go,” Zeiger bites. “And don’t ever wear these frumpy dresses again.” He looks at Tarik, gesturing toward Malia. “See what I’m dealing with?”

The animosity in this room is suffocating.

During dessert, Tarik unloads a slew of nonsensical comments and questions about others in the industry. Others I should know if I’m who I’m portraying myself as. Inquiries designed to trip me up and expose myself as a fraud, but I provide all the answers I know he wants.

Getting through the third degree is painful. I hate pretending to be the very kind of person I loathe. I also hate the way Malia won’t look at me. She’s still not eating, just pushing her food around the plate. But she is drinking. She’s on her third glass of wine on an empty stomach.

Tarik leans forward, his intense gaze on me. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”

In my peripheral vision, I see both Malia and Zeiger hyper-focus, glancing between us. I look exactly like my father when he was my age. The age when Tarik killed him. But Tarik has killed so many, I doubt he remembers any of the lives he’s ended or the families he’s destroyed.

“No, we’ve never met.”

Tarik’s phone rings, and he stands and walks toward his office to answer.

“May I use the restroom?” Malia asks.

Zeiger doesn’t even look at her when he makes a get-away gesture.

Malia stands and heads toward the hallway.

Zeiger’s stare follows her. “I should have let Tarik kill her at the dock.”

That is such a shocking statement, I’m stunned silent while my brain searches for context. But I find none.

I want to know what happened at the dock, but curiosity about the wrong things could spark distrust. So, I go after another topic. “You both need to stop hitting her. I can’t train a woman to be bold enough to meet your needs when she’s conditioned to be afraid of men.”

“She needs to fear me.”

“It’s like calling a dog, then hitting it once it reaches you. It’ll resist coming when you call because it’s been conditioned to know it’ll get hurt when it’s near you.”

I hate that I compared her to a dog, but it’s the only thing that came to mind and something that probably resonates with Zeiger.

“And while you’re at it, get rid of that old housekeeper. She’s toxic, and she’s giving Malia one more thing to stress over. I need her focused and relaxed. Use someone closer to her age. The more comfortable she is, the easier it will be for her to focus on you.”

Tarik returns to the table. “What are you talking about?”

“Incentivizing Malia to behave instead of hitting her when she doesn’t,” I tell him.

“You can’t force someone to be charming and engaging.

I take pride in my work, and I can’t train Malia to be the woman Soren wants if you keep abusing her.

She’ll shut down, and if you lose Malia, you lose a billion a year. ”

When I finish speaking, the room goes quiet, and my skin tingles with adrenaline as I wait to see how Tarik receives my confrontational criticism.

He shocks me with “I think you should live here. You can take one of the guest houses. That will give you time to go over all our business details and find time to train Malia. God knows you have your work cut out for you there. You’ll move in tonight.

I’ll have someone get your things from your apartment in New York. ”

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a business to run. I can’t just?—”

“I said,” he says with a discussion-closed tone, “you’ll run it from here.”