Half dragged by my head, my bare heels scrabbling against the thick carpet, my shoes lost, Trips’ furious yells barely audible over the white-hot scream of my nerves, I’m slammedagainst the side of the desk, head first. My vision flashes, but I keep hold of consciousness, tracking slippered feet that step over my crumpled form to get to the oversized desk chair on the other side. Blinking back the pain, I focus on a thick stack of old photo albums on the shelf behind, forcing myself to stay awake through observing faded yellow pages—loose bits of unloved history.
“Get up,” Trips’ father says, his voice so calm I have to strain to hear him over Trips’ roared threats.
I struggle to my feet, dizzy as I scramble to my seat, annoyed at the tears streaming down my face.
“I may have given you the wrong impression as of late, Ms. McElroy. For that, I apologize. But I will remind you now. You are a tool. A useful tool, yes, but a tool, nonetheless. And tools do what they’re meant to, no more, no less. When they’re not in use, they wait on the shelf until it’s time for them to perform again. And tools don’t hurt the ones who wield them. Those that do are swiftly tossed in the trash. Do I make myself clear?”
I nod, not able to speak yet, my head still spinning.
He looks me over, sad and yellowed, his face showing something that looks a lot like regret. “You’re a very useful tool, Ms. McElroy. I’d hate to throw you out. You’ve done a lot of good for Archie. He’d be very upset with me if you forced my hand, and despite what you seem to think, I do care for my sons. I try to give them what they want, even when it’s a risk to my legacy.”
He sighs, looking across at the now silent, but trembling Trips, the three guards with him panting, one with what looks to be the start of a bruise on his cheek. Then he turnsto Trevor, and the regret on his face weighs heavier. “Any permanent damage, Trevor?”
His eldest son collapsed into a cushioned chair by the door after we came in, the icepack wrapped in a sunny yellow kitchen towel pressed against his groin.
“I don’t think so, Father.”
“I’ve warned you before that this girl isn’t for you. I hope you see now exactly why. Olivia will be whomever you wish her to be. This creature will fight, just like your brother does. So don’t taunt them.”
“But, Father, she wasn’t always like that—”
His voice is an assassin’s knife when he cuts Trevor off, and both he and Trips shiver at his tone. “Stop. Strike two. Don’t think you’re too old or too powerful for me to keep you in line.”
Trevor bites off what he was going to say, his chin dipping while his gaze burrows under my skin.
“Good. Now, as you’re the one she hurt, you’ll be the one to determine her punishment. You’ll be head of this family one day, and you’ll have to figure out better modes of control than wagging your tongue and pouting when it doesn’t go your way. I only ask that there’s no permanent damage, visible evidence, or risk to any potential child she might be carrying.” The weight of his attention has me turning, my vision slowly gaining clarity the longer I sit. “I still expect my grandson. The OB tells me I should give you a year. I would prefer much sooner. Is there any update on our other deal?”
“I’ve sent out feelers,” I say, my voice loud in my head.
“How long?”
“With the holiday, it might be a few weeks.”
He plucks his phone from his dressing gown pocket, the waistband cinched tighter than usual, two worn spots outside the bow evidence of how much smaller he’s getting—how little time he has left. “A week from Friday, we’ll meet to discuss your progress. And I expect progress, Ms. McElroy. I’ve already given you more leeway than I ought.”
I lower my head, a similar nod to the one Trevor just gave becoming routine.
Bryce might have wanted my tears, and my mother, proof that she’s always right, but this monster wants nothing but my perfect obedience.
“That’s settled then. I’m going to bed. Trevor, this is your mess; you clean it up.”
The door clicks shut, the room holding its breath until we’re sure he’s gone. Trevor stands, grimacing for a second as he gains his feet, but leaving the icepack on the chair. Poor Mary.
Then he walks to the other side of the desk, obviously playacting as his father. And just like a kid dressed in his father’s shoes and blazer, the mood doesn’t fit. He stares down at me, as if that’ll intimidate me. But I’m not that girl anymore. I stretch out my nylon-clad toes and yawn, and Trips’ huff of amusement tells me he knows exactly how little I respect the man across from me.
Trevor switches to his brother. “You think this is funny? If she got me any harder, I might never have kids of my own.”
I snort, not able to ignore his accidental double entendre, and a second later, Trips joins me. “If that’s what gets you hard, we’ve got a problem,” I say, Falk’s barely held back chuckle coming from behind my chair.
Trevor turns an unhealthy shade of red before marching to the door. “Bring them both,” he says, sweeping from the room like a spoiled prince.
Falk helps me up, his grip on my arm more guidance than restraint, while Trips gets his whole bevy of guards hauling him. Trevor’s pet guard closes the door to the office behind us, the snick of the lock reminding me that this is only the first move in this phase of the plan. I’ve bought the only measure of respect and freedom allowed to me here. Now I’ve got to use it without losing it.
I’ll survive whatever Trevor puts me through, then work on getting the papers in play. “Don’t forget the coats,” I whisper to Falk as we head to the basement.
“I won’t. Although I’m curious why you care so much.”
“Don’t be too curious anywhere there’s a camera.”
