Woodrow ignored the question, straightening himself.
The man, sitting in a black tee and jeans—color-coded, to match the shade of his damaged soul—looked to Ville. “Alerion sends his regards.” The creep nodded to Ville. “Kidding. No one has heard from him for ages.”
“When he sends seventeen years of child maintenance, then we'll talk about him, huh, Ville?” said another—a man with a bad haircut—skulking into the room.
Ville snorted as he descended deeper into the room. His flat ass rested against the countertop, and he stole a chunk of carrot, then another, and then something else, until his mouth was so full, it couldn’t close while he chewed.
“Thought you were hell-bent he was yours?” The man in black worded as his arms spread and draped over the chairs at his side.
One particular word put both Woodrow and me on edge.
Hell.
“I was happy to accept him, but the little shit keeps breaking all my rules. It’s fucking off my wife.”
“Probably down to the mental issue. What was it again? DID?”
Woodrow gave nothing away, sitting with a blank expression, head high, eyes focused, but I felt he didn’t want these people talking about his personal business.
“DID is the least of his problems, believe me. He’s a cluster-fuck of too many conditions to name. DID doesn’t bring out the violence. But certain alters don’t control it so well.” Ville’s declaration had me silently fuming. He knew so much, had the ability to help, and yet, like Woodrow had said, he didn’t bother.
“I'd ask if you tried conventional methods, but I'm sure this way is more fun.” The man in black’s eyes were on me, burning into the back of my head as I continued chopping an unnecessary number of veggies. His fingers wavedbetween me and Woodrow.
“Stealing his kid, teaching him to hate, giving him a means to control it, all to overthrow him? It certainly sounds more fun this way,” the man with frizzy tufts poking up above his ears—matching the fuzz above his lip— spoke again.
“That's not what this is. And I don’t believe he is Allerion's. Wynter can’t accept him. I think she would if she thought we could claim an empire through him.” Ville chomped on another piece of carrot, chewing and talking at the same time. “She enjoys hurting him. And how she does it is too personal. The cruelty from her early on in his life contributed to how he turned out. The violence from me, worsened it. They say you shouldn’t hurt a child, but it’s too late to pretend I’m a good man.” He shrugged, like his words meant fucking nothing.
Accepting that as his answer, the guests diverted their attention.
The final guest’s expensive shoes walked him to the table. I jumped, and I shouldn’t have fucking jumped, showing fear over the sound of a chair dragging against the tiles as the man—the monster, much more humanly handsome than his companions—lowered into the seat.
“What you do in your home, is your business.” The man in black smirked. “This your girl?” He nudged Woodrow again.
This question was harder for him to dismiss. Harder than the dark truths his father so willingly divulged.
“Don’t.” Woodrow’s single word had chills rushing up my spine, making me feel like someone was traipsing over the grave I wasn’t yet in. I continued pretending to be busy, adding herbs to an otherwise empty pan.
My movements became slow and labored, the smallest actions taking the greatest effort. I didn’t want to be the subject of conversation. I wanted to blend into the shadows of this kitchen and fade to nothing.
I reached for the handles of a cookware pot. The water inside created a heavy weight, straining my arms as I lifted it from the work surface to the hob. My fear had me shaking, and I looked to be struggling. . . I was, but not in the way they assumed.
“You need a hand, doll?” Tufts moved in. His shadow wrapped around me like a cape, but it didn’t bring me heat. He, somehow, despite the sunshine outside, made me colder than I’d ever been.
“I said, don’t.” Woodrow’s chair screeched painfully against the floor, and I jumped again, this time much higher. He shot into the air, hands on the table. The steam coming from his flaring nostrils could rival heat from the oven. “Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about her. She’s mine.”
Ville shifted back to the doorway, stomping his heavy boots to make an impression. To prove to these men whose kingdom they were in. To prove to his son. His presence pushed his acquaintances around the room, encouraging the man too close for comfort, to move even closer to me.
His hands wrapped around the small of my waist, his fingers spreading to feel as much of me as possible.
"You got a pretty good deal this time, Ville." He laughed, as my delayed reactions caught up with my panicked mind.
Woodrow pushed off from the wood, rushing to me, to do what, I didn’t know.
But in this moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted this guy as far away as possible.
But Woodrow didn’t get to me, stopped by the heavy arm locking around his throat.
“Calm yourself, kid. Your heart is racing a little too fast. Don’t let your jealousy get the better off you, or she might not make it through the night we have planned.” The giant in black gave Woodrow a tighter squeeze as the man with his hands on me trailed his fingers higher, to my breast.
