Instead, I set my jaw, raise a hand, and show him my middle finger. He laughs mockingly, and I want to punch him right in the face.
“Oh? Was that you?” I say. “I barely recall. Though I suppose someone had to do it. It makes sense that I would pick someone with a tiny little cock, so it would be easier.”
Something ugly shifts in his expression. He picks up his glass again, emptying it with several long gulps. The man nearby rushes quickly to refill it.
“What do you think of my place?” Mark asks, jerking his head as if to indicate the room around us.
I roll my eyes. “Nice. If you’re a pimp daddy,” I say. “I’m guessing you found your furniture at a whorehouse that was closing down?”
His expression grows even uglier. “I had it done professionally,” he mutters. “Cost half a bar.”
I snort and reach for my glass, taking a delicate sip.
“You were robbed, sweetie,” I respond, realizing I’ve found one of his “buttons.”Good. I plan to push it repeatedly. “That painting looks like it was painted by a fourth-grader.”
“It’s by Vlademar Jossik,” he bites out. “He’s an up-and-coming genius. Going to be worth a fortune someday.”
“Really?” I chuckle. “Is he planning on developing talent sometime in the future?”
He downs half his glass of wine, then stabs at another piece of meat.
Oh God, I really don’t want to have to watch him eat anymore.
“Well, if you don’t like it, you can change it,” he says. I frown at him.
“Mark, seriously, why have you brought me here?” I ask yet again. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but it’s a dangerous one. “I have people waiting for me. By now, they’ll know I’m missing, and then you’re going to be in more trouble than you can imagine.” I inject as much venom into my voice as I can muster. I’m sure I’m not wrong. My best friend’s fiancé is a crime lord, for fuck’s sake. I have no doubt that Nikki will unleash him as soon as she learns what’s happened to me. Of course, that’s if they ever find me. I look around the place, trying to figure out where the hell I’m being held. The server is giving Mark another refill. He’s already knocked back two glasses while I’ve barely taken two sips. There’s definitely a drinking problem lurking.
“I’ve brought you here to do you a favor,” he says, ignoring my threat. I stare at him in confusion. “A chance to reconnect…after all this time.” I’m still staring at him. This is his idea of a favor?
“What do you mean ‘a favor’?” I ask. I know that there’s more to this. I take a big gulp of my own wine.
“More than a favor. An honor,” his smirk is slowly spreading again.
“I’ve brought you here to be my wife, Andrea.”
Chapter 3
Andy Carter
Ichoke so hard I spit wine across the table. The red liquid seeps into the pristine white fabric of the tablecloth.
“Andrea, Andrea…” he tuts. The man who has been serving us quickly moves forward and dabs at the mess. I’m still trying to catch my breath.
“I…I don’t fucking believe you!” I finally manage to get out.
“You don’t?” he says softly. “Well, if you won’t hear it from me, maybe your father will convince you.” He holds out his phone.
“Why not give him a call? He’ll set you straight. He wants to get in on one of my latest deals…and you’re his collateral.” When I ignore the phone, he sets it down. Then he winks at me and goes back to cutting his steak. Another mouthful begins to churn in his disgusting mouth.
I shake my head abruptly. My fingers are trembling as I reach for the stem of the glass. It’s my turn to down my wine this time. My breath shudders out.
It can’t be true.
Could my own father be this cruel? I guess I shouldn’t put anything past him. I’ve barely spoken to my folks these past years. There have been one or two “family” gatherings at their place in the Hamptons, where my mother now lives permanently. Horrible ordeals where they start off by showing fake parental concern about my life, which rapidly disintegrates into what a disappointment I’ve been to them. Of the “debt” I supposedly owe them. The debt of my body – which they somehow believe belongs to them after the lifetime of privilege they gave me.
“You can’t make me. They can’t either,” I whisper hoarsely. “I’ll…I’ll go to the cops!” My heart is stuttering. Because the nightmare I just watched my best friend live through is now happening to me. I’ve been bargained away like property by my own family. But this is no Dario Caraldi I’m dealing with. No mobster with a heart of gold. Mark Whitlock is pure evil. My father has traded me to the monster who practically raped me as a child.
“You’re kidding, right?” he laughs.
