Page 18 of London’s Calling, Part 1 (London’s Calling)

Chapter Eighteen

Roni

I feel sick. And I’m confused as fuck about what just happened. I pace the length of the restaurant’s toilets as I try to understand my father’s game. Because it’s a game, of that I’m certain. But one I seem to only have half the rules of.

Why the fuck would he set me up to get close to Mickey only to announce my impending marriage to Clayton? How the fuck does he think this will work now?

When I saw Mickey enter the restaurant, I thought it was just a coincidence.

At least I could have explained that away.

But now? Not a fucking chance. Even if Mickey understands I have no choice but to marry Clayton, he’s not going to give me the time of day after my father fucked up his takeover bid.

There’s a knock on the main toilet door before Clayton’s muffled voice comes from the other side.

“Veronica, time to go.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” I say, trying to keep any emotion from my voice.

I’m livid and needed a minute to compose myself. Knowing I can’t wait any longer, I exit the toilets and find Clayton waiting for me.

“Let’s fucking go,” he snaps, taking hold of my arm and marching me through the restaurant, ignoring glares from staff and customers.

“You’re hurting me,” I hiss, attempting to keep at least a modicum of a smile on my face for appearances.

He doesn’t release me until we are outside where my father is waiting.

“In the car, Veronica,” my father orders.

When I don’t move straightaway, Clayton grips my hips and pushes me forward and into the car. The door closes behind me as my father’s driver eyes me through the rear-view mirror.

Clayton and my father talk outside for a couple of minutes before my father joins me in the back of the car.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when Clayton drives in the opposite direction, but it’s short lived because now I have to face my father. And unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to ignore the questions buzzing inside my head.

Hoping that being in the car will offer me some protection from his anger, I say what’s on my mind.

“What was that, Dad? How am I meant to get close to Mickey now?”

“You will continue doing whatever the fuck you’ve been doing. Fucking him, I’m going to guess. Men like Mickey are led by their dicks and easy pussy is always a winner.”

“You’re disgusting,” I state, looking away from him.

“Be that as it may, Veronica, but you’ll do this for our family. You will ensure Kurt Rawlins pays for what he did.”

“At what cost, Daddy? Clayton is a fucking monster. I know you’ve heard the rumours about what he does with his women. And you’re okay with that?”

He chuckles, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Of course. It’s why he is the perfect husband for you. To keep you in line.”

I shouldn’t be surprised by his words. It’s not the first time he’s said them to me, but somehow the idea he purposely picked a husband for me not only to achieve his own goals but knowing this man will control me just as he has all my life makes me feel…hollow.

At home, I hurry inside, keeping my head down and wishing to be invisible despite having to suppress an immense sense of contempt at my father.

I’ve never felt so unloved, so unappreciated.

I’ve continuously proved my loyalty to this family, been invested in making Kurt pay and taken on the hate my father has for a man who was once a friend.

Kurt destroyed our family and cost me my mother.

I might not have liked the thought of being used the way my father wanted, but I understood the need.

Now though, I feel like my own Dad has betrayed me. Marrying me off, forfeiting my life, my career and all for the sake of revenge.

As I reach the bottom step, I pause and turn around as my father strides across the entrance hall.

“Something you want to say, Veronica?”

Don’t do it, Roni.

“Yes, actually there is, Daddy. I won’t do it. I won’t marry Clayton, and I’m done doing your dirty work.” I don’t wait for his response and turn back to the stairs.

My scalp screams as my father yanks may hair, pulling me back down the two steps I managed to take.

My ankle twists with the force, twisting awkwardly and causing me to fall backwards.

My backside meets the marble floor, sending a sharp pain rocketing up my spine, then I’m dragged along the floor by my hair.

I automatically reach for my father’s hands wrapped in my hair and try to lessen the feeling of my hair literally being torn from my scalp but it’s useless.

I kick my legs, scrambling to get a grip on something, but all I manage to do is lose my heels as they skitter across the floor.

“Daddy, let me go!” I scream the words over and over, but he doesn’t let up.

I try to look behind me and end up being slammed into a door frame as I’m pulled into the lounge, my dressing riding up my body as it meets the carpet.

My arse cheeks burn as I’m dragged to the centre of the room where my father finally releases me, and I flop to the floor in a heap.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry…I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clayton…and get the information. Please, Dad,” I plead through stuttering breaths as pain blooms from my head to my arse. Tears stream down my face as I lay on the floor at his feet.

I see his next move seconds before he swings his foot back, and I brace for the impact. But it never comes.

“Sir,” comes a voice from the doorway.

“What the fuck is it, Carl?” my father growls.

“Marvin Kerr is here to see you. He says it’s important.”

“Fine. Get her out of here,” he orders as he strides from the room, leaving me on the floor.

I tug my dress down with shaky hands, wincing as I lift and slide the material under my arse. It’s fucking silk but feels like sandpaper against the carpet burns on my backside.

A hand appears in front of me, but I bat it away. “I don’t need your help.” I get to my feet without Carl’s help, though it takes me longer than normal.

“Let me help, Veronica,” Carl says as I slowly move toward the door.

“Ha!” I bark hyperbolically. “Help me? Please,” I say sarcastically.

Making it to my room, I remove my ruined dress and underwear, then step into the shower.

Taking the smaller hand-held shower head, I switch it on, turning the temperature to almost cold before spraying it over my lower back and arse cheeks.

I lean against the tiled wall as the initial sting slowly numbs.

After fifteen minutes and more tears than my father deserves, I switch the water off and step out of the shower, then carefully dry off.

Wrapping a towel loosely around me, attempting to keep the fabric from touching my sore skin, I step back into the bedroom. There’s a tube of something on the end of my bed, and I know it was Carl. I silently thank him, but it doesn’t lessen my disappointment in him and my situation.

I find a longish T-shirt and a thong, knowing I can’t have anything touching the burns even after applying the ointment Carl left for me. Once I’m dressed, I flop face down on the bed and try to sleep.