Giving no thought to my actions, I drop to my knees. “I am truly sorry, Rowena, and I won’t ask for your love or like for that matter, and you can hate me all you want, but please,” I touch her stomach, and she lets me, “this baby harmed no one. He deserves to live. At least allow me to give you and him a home, and I’ll work every day to make you happy, even if I can’t love you.” At her frown, I offer a small smile. “Say yes, and I’ll explain the reason behind the ritual.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to tell Daddy who you are?” I nod before she leads me to her father.
When we stop in front of him, he frowns, his eyes flicking between us. “Who’s this?” he asks his daughter.
“Daddy,” she began, then looks at me, seeking reassurance. I nod. “This is Xavier. He...um...he’s the baby’s father.”
For one foolish moment, I believe he isn’t going to react.
Then.
“You stupid fucking pervert.” He’s on his feet so fast I don’t have time to react before his right hook connects with my jaw, and I stagger into the table behind me, its wooden legs scraping against the floor as it slides back a little.
“What the fuck?” I hear Andrew shout as he and the others scramble to help me.
“Leave him alone,” I yell to stop them from charging the man. They all pause and look at me. “It’s okay, I’ve got this,” I say, checking my jaw to see if it’s still working. The pain is nothing compared to the hurt my family has inflicted on this man’s family. “It’s okay,” I repeat when they make no move to sit down. Out of the corner of my eye, I see other patrons, all relatively older couples, beginning to retake their seats, their conversation hushed whispers about what went down, no doubt. My mates and I were strangers here, and given we were younger, they’ll probably question the man later.
“You sure?” Andrew asks.
“Give me a sec, will you?” I gesture for them to retake their seats. After they leave and do as I ask, I approach her father. “I’m sorry, sir, for what Rowena went through, but I’m willing to make amends for my mistakes. If you allow me to, I’d like to ask for her hand in marriage.”
“Marriage,” he scoffs, his eyes narrowed slits. I watch his right fist clench and unclench, unsure if he’ll punch me again.
“Daddy, please,” Rowena begs, rubbing his arm lightly. “I don’t want to abort the baby.”
He looks at her, and his features soften. Then he looks at me, and the hardness is back in place. “How old are you, boy?”
“Twenty-seven,” I blurt without thinking. Thanks to my family’s gene pool, and rigorous rugby practice, I look much older than seventeen.
“Family name?”
“Sinclair, sir, of Winthrop castle, Jersey.” I figure my family’s status might make him see his daughter’s circumstances in a different light. I’m not some poor sod who’s taken advantage of his daughter’s innocence. I can give her a good life. That’s if my father accepts my hasty decision-making.
Silently, he eyes me and then points to a chair. “Sit.”
I give my mates a reassuring look over my shoulder and pull out a chair.
“You know she’s fourteen?” he asks, his tone accusing.
I nod, my mind already working on a plan to overcome our ages.
“Fuck.” I came out of my storytelling to Saint’s annoyance taking root before he pushed away from the window and walked over to the coffee station. After his ascendant into the Brotherhood, he had made it clear that he’d never fuck a girl younger than twenty, and we’d agreed to his terms. I knew this discovery would anger him to no end. He poured two cups, returned, and handed one to me. “My mother was fourteen?”
I accepted the cup and took a sip. “Son, before me, the Brotherhood bought girls as young as fourteen. They didn’t care how they came about, and it’s why her father wanted an abortion. After I took over, we engaged private handlers to seek out girls matching a certain criterion. Girls with some historical background that could be a potential link to Snow.”
“I’m guessing we failed on that count with Levana seeing as we haven’t established her link to Snow yet,” he replied, his tone clipped.
I wasn’t sure if his sarcasm was meant for the handler’s inability or his mother’s age. My son was a perfectionist, he always saw everything to the end. That little secret of not knowing Levana’s ties to Snow annoyed him whenever the discussion arose.
Wishing I could help him, I sighed. “Saint,” I began.
He waved aside my pacification. “Continue, Father.”
I downed the rest of my coffee, and he followed me back to the table, taking the seat opposite the one I slid into. “Most of those people led less affluent lives and needed the money. Your grandfather was seduced into selling his daughter just like the others.”
“So we belong to a secret society that trafficked young girls,” he grunted, shaking his head. “Fuck.”
“I’m sorry, son, and I know it’s of no consequence now, but I changed the minimum age to eighteen. And I kept to your request for girls twenty and older.” I prayed he wouldn’t ask about Levana and how she came to be on the list of girls at seventeen. Regardless, I couldn’t have anticipated his attraction or selection. Fate made that decision, I just gave it a gentle nudge.
