Page 14

“ F uck, fuck, fuck,” I hiss as I rush out of the restroom, tears pricking at my eyes, threatening to spill over.

I can’t believe that just happened. He made me come, and I hated every second of it. The way his fingers expertly teased me, coaxing me to orgasm against my will, makes me sick.

I can’t let myself think about it. Not here. Not now. I need to get away from him. Desperately scanning the room, I spot a side door and bolt toward it, bursting into the cool evening air. Leaning against the rough brick wall, I struggle to steady my breathing. His touch lingers on my skin.

I hated it...right?

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He’s an arrogant, smug, self-centered, manipulative asshole. The memory of his slap, the basement, the collar—it all rushes back, sending a jolt of anger through me.

Seeing Spence is all it takes for the tears to start flowing as he calls out.

“Jesus, Rory, are you okay? What happened?” I throw my arms around him, sobbing. I can’t tell him. The humiliation would kill me.

So, I cry instead.

“What’s wrong, Rory?”

“Nothing,” I say, my voice breaking. “Just a shitty night.”

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice laced with anger. I just give him a look, and he knows the answer.

“Spencer…” I choke out.

“I’m here,” he says, pulling me into a hug. I bury my face in his chest, feeling ashamed and disgusted with myself.

The man who has done unspeakable things to me just forced me to come on his fingers and I’m trying to convince myself I hated every minute of it.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Spencer says, reaching for my hand and tugging me along. I sink into the passenger seat of his sleek sports car as he circles and settles into the driver’s side.

“Thanks, Spencer. You really don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” he insists, casting me a small smile. “I’ve been worried about you, Rory. You’ve been ignoring my texts and calls.”

I’ve ignored everyone, even Kyla, because I can’t deal with their pity. I swallow hard, guilt creeping in at his words. “I’m sorry. It’s just been hard.”

“I can imagine.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, looking out the window as he drives onto the street.

“I thought we could get something to eat,” he says, glancing over at me. “You look like you haven’t eaten in a while.”

“That sounds great, actually.” My stomach growls at the thought. I’m not sure when I last ate. The days have all been a blur.

“What about the girls?”

“Dad will take them home.”

My phone chimes, and I pull it out of my purse.

Axe: Where are you?

Me: Spencer will take me home. Don’t bother me.

Axe: Don’t make me come after you, little siren.

Me: Fuck. You.

I slide my phone back into my purse and lean against the window, annoyed by the nickname little siren. Even more annoyed that I don’t entirely hate it. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Everything okay?” Spencer asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, not wanting to go into detail. Ignoring the call from Axe, I turn my phone off and toss it back into my purse.

The nostalgic scent of greasy food and coffee surrounds us as we enter a diner. It’s a classic old-fashioned diner, straight out of a movie scene. Growing up, our father had strict standards for dining out. Everything had to be top-notch, nothing less than the best.

Spencer leads me to a booth in the back, and I slide in, taking in the familiar surroundings. A middle-aged waitress approaches, handing us menus. Memories flood back—Spencer sneaking me out to places like this. Burgers, milkshakes, and late-night movies. Our little secret. I’d down the milkshakes despite my dairy allergy, knowing full well I’d regret it.

Spencer always had my back, covering for me when I’d get sick. Dad knew something was up, but he never figured out exactly what. He never would’ve approved.

“I can’t remember the last time we did this,” Spencer admits with a smile. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” I reply with a grin. The first genuine smile I’ve had in weeks. We order our food and make small talk, avoiding the obvious. I don’t want to talk about the horrible shit going on, and I know he doesn’t either.

“So, Dad’s 50 th birthday is next month,” he says, changing the subject. “His company is throwing a big party, and they’ve invited the whole family. He’ll expect you to attend.”

Dad’s hedge fund company is just a front for the Sovereign. Money laundering, shady deals, bribes—he makes it all look legit. The billionaire Sovereign Associates benefiting from it don’t care so long as the cash flows and the right people stay in power. No one looks too closely, and that’s exactly how they like it.

I scoff and roll my eyes. “Of course he does.”

“Rory,” he begins, “look, I know it’s been tough on you. I don’t know how you’re dealing with it all, and honestly, it scares the hell out of me.”

“I’m fine. And I’ll be there.”

I give Spencer my best fake smile, the kind that fools everyone. But not him. He sees right through it, glaring but not pushing.

Our father hates me...I know it. I’ve always known it.

Spencer refuses to believe it, and I don’t know why. It’s been painfully obvious ever since my mom died—I’m nothing more than a burden.

Spencer is the golden child. His success is expected, required—the heir to our father’s throne. I’m the daughter of the ghost that haunts him. I remind him of the worst day of his life, and he reminds me of that every chance he gets. Not with words but with actions—the subtle and not-so-subtle ways he shows his disappointment.

The waitress brings our entrees and sets the plates in front of us. The conversation turns to lighter topics. I smile and bite into my hamburger, the greasy flavor filling my mouth. We reminisce about the good times and laugh at our stupid teenage antics.

I tease Spencer about dragging his feet with Heather, and he tells me about their latest arguments. They’ve been together forever, but he still won’t tie the knot. He wants to be just like Dad—minus the multiple marriages. So, he throws himself into his Sovereign duties.

I’ve never been in a serious relationship. Not for lack of trying, but men don’t tend to stick around. I lost my virginity at thirteen to a boy from school. I didn’t really want to have sex with him, but I needed the distraction from the pain. It was just another way for me to numb the ache, a temporary relief.

Then I moved on to older men. The older, the better. The more powerful, the better. I was drawn to them, addicted to the thrill. Their control, dominance, and authority fed a deep-rooted ache inside me.

Daddy issues much?

But none of it matters now. Because now, I’m married to the most vile, despicable man alive. It’s laughable in the most twisted, fucked-up way.

After eating, we leave the diner and make the dreaded drive to my prison. As we approach the imposing gate, his reaction mirrors my initial shock.

“Christ, that’s one hell of a house.” Passing through the gates, he drives up the extensive driveway. “It’s a fucking castle. I knew the Hawthornes were wealthy, but damn...”

“It’s a prison,” I reply, rolling my eyes. He parks, and we get out. “I’d invite you in, but...”

“It’s fine. Just text me and let me know you’re okay.” He hugs me, kissing the top of my head with a reassuring smile. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” I promise. He hugs me again, and I bury my face in his chest, savoring the comfort and safety. With one last squeeze, he retreats to his car and drives away. I miss him already, and loneliness sets in immediately.

Sighing, I reluctantly enter the house, closing the door behind me.

Kane rushes over, tail wagging eagerly. I bend down to scratch behind his ears, managing a small smile. At least someone is happy to see me.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Kane?” I coo, running my fingers through his fur.

“That dog is a fucking nuisance,” Griffen’s voice cuts in.

I glance up to see him entering the foyer. Kane growls immediately, and I chuckle.

“I think he likes me,” I retort, smirking at his scowl.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, glaring at Kane. “Always growling at me.”

“I like him,” I reply, rising and following Griffen into the kitchen. He’s shirtless, tattoos sprawled across his muscular back.

“Of course you do,” he mutters, grabbing a beer and taking a swig. “Axe is upstairs and in a shitty mood. Don’t make it worse.”

I groan inwardly and close my eyes. Dealing with him is the last thing I want to do right now, or ever.

“Can’t you get him drunk?”

“No can do, doll. I’ve got a Slut tied to my bed. You’re on your own.”

“Fuck my life,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. “If he locks me in the basement, will you at least save me?”

“Nope.” He leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “But I won’t let him kill you. How’s that?”

“Not comforting,” I snap with a glare. “Why is everyone in this house an asshole?”

“Because, doll,” he says, stepping closer and running his thumb along my lips, “We’re Hawthornes. It’s in our blood.”

I push his hand away and continue glaring.

“You’re so damn cute when you’re angry,” he laughs, taking another sip of his beer. “Go deal with your husband.”

I flip him off, and he chuckles, walking out of the room.

“He’s not my husband,” I call out, but he’s already gone. Asshole.

Desperate for sleep, I trudge upstairs, slam the bedroom door behind me, and strip off. The shower’s hot water is soothing against my tense muscles.

But as the steam rises, so do the memories, and my stomach knots. How can someone so evil make my body react like that? How can he make me come when he treats me like dirt?

I should be angry. I should want to murder him, not crave him.

It’s the same sick pull I felt with the masked man—Axe digs into the filthiest, most fucked-up parts of me. The thrill-seeker. The whore. The pieces I hate, the ones I lock away and pretend don’t exist.

Now they’re awake and I’m stuck choking on the ugly truth.

“Stop,” I snap. I won’t let myself spiral into this. I won’t pick it apart, won’t analyze it. He’s a goddamn monster—cruel, sadistic, vile.

Wanting him would be sick. I would be sick.

And I refuse.