Page 23 of The Price Of Possession

retort. “Kieran Grimshaw, please report to the dean's office.”

I scoot my chair back and get up without a word. I wish Mortensen would fuck off. I zip through the hallway with anger radiating in my veins. What the hell does he want now? I weave through the crowded hallways toward his office. Before I can knock on his double French doors, it snicks open. My father’s eyes laser into me from the other side. I hate how much alike we look. The same green eyes. The same sharp facial features.

“Ah, son. Come in. We have some things to discuss.” he motions me inside, far too happily. Ahh, back to niceties, I guess. Just being near him makes my insides churn with bile. What motive does he have today? He has a glimmer of hope in his eye as if he imagines I've finally come around. Nah.

I brush past him and clop toward the chairs. I sink into the leather, letting my legs dangle over the armrest just because I know it ticks him off.

“What?” I cut to the chase hoping to bypass the fake bullshit. No reason to act like we give a fuck about each other. I do, however, gotta keep my cool for shit to play out in my favor.

He will use anyone and any means necessary to achieve complete and total power. He's vile and corrupt.

He smiles. Fake. Controlling. Condescending. “I’m proud of you, Kieran. You did what needed to be done,” he starts. He laps the doors closed then spins on his heels. “I did you a favor. Sometimes we all need a little push to do what needs done. For your efforts, I will exonerate Zain of any wrongdoing. I have given limited information to the police. But understand, if you step a toe out of line, I will make sure you are the one who pays the price.” His voice holds a cold visceral edge.

My fingers slide along the cool leather seat. I click my tongue, processing his threat. He wouldn't implicate me. I'm his only heir. Even if he hates me with every fiber of his being, he wouldn't risk his empire and name being tainted.

He would delay Jax's parents; the Andersons', suffering at the expense of his own image and family name. He has all the answers, or at least most of them. He could concoct any bullshit story just to give the case a rest. No, instead he endures the countless articles written about Grimshaw just to use it as leverage against me. He thinks I give a fuck about this school or the Void. I don't.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Try it,” I shrug, calling his bluff. I should calculate and reassess. That's never been my strong suit. “You need me, otherwise you wouldn't be blackmailing me into this shit. So really, you're at my mercy.” I swing my legs around and rest my elbows on my knees.

So much for playing my cards right. Problematic indeed. Good job, Kieran. Impulsive fuck.

His expression hardens. He crosses around behind his desk and takes a seat in his Chesterfield. The wheels roll along the cherry floors. “That, my son, is where you are wrong.” He folds his hands neatly on his desk. He is about to unleash the power hungry, rapacious Machiavellian.

“Out of the kindness of my heart, I offered you another chance to earn the Grimshaw name that you will never measure up to!” Spittle flies from his lips. He slams his fist against the desk. A few stray pens spill from their etui.

I snort. “The kindness of your heart?” I mock. “Please, I'm your only heir.”

He scowls. “If you throw this opportunity away, I will redact my statement on Jax's death. As of now, it is being investigated as an accident. He drunkenly stumbled into that crypt. I do not need more negative press on Grimshaw, but so help me, Kieran, if you force my hand, I will destroy you.”

My insides boil. I've never been violent like Zain but have always craved the insatiable need to dominate. I want to watch the world burn. Right now I could strangle him, until the air leaves his lungs, until his eyes pop from their sockets. Mortensen demands sacrifice, and that sacrifice is Clara. She's caught in the middle of this bullshit. He knew what he was doing. He would never have let Vesper fill that role. He was watching me, honing in on my weakness to find me exposed long before Zain ever offed Jax. Unknowingly, Zain handed Mortensen the ammunition to put a rein on me. Or at least try to. Keeping her for myself is no longer an option. She's a liability. One that needs to be eradicated. Damn the consequences.

I etch another notch in the stone wall using the edge of my shackle. If I don't, I'll lose track of my days. Two notches. Two. Vesper has to be worried sick. I wonder what story Kieran has told her. He's a liar. He's dangerous, obsessive, and compulsive. Never did I think I would be kidnapped and held captive. I’m dying to have some entertainment. My phone was taken away like a child.

I slip on a pink dress and layer it with a black sweatshirt from the pile he left. I shroud myself in the blanket. The entire evening after he left me alone, I spent fighting a panic attack. All I want to do was claw my own skin off to escape the flowing thoughts of worthlessness and loathing. I scratch at my skin until it's bloody and raw. It's the only way to drown out the thoughts. They're loud; screaming. The panic slowly builds until I lose all sense of control. I focus on evening out my breathing.

In.

Out.

I pace around the mausoleum. Or at least as far as my confines allow, which isn't more than six feet in either direction. After he fucked my mouth and left me a crying heap on the floor, I mustered up the energy to look for an escape. There was none. He thought of everything. The metal shackles are inches wide and embedded in the thick stone wall. The doors are padlocked. The putrid smell of death wafts into my nostrils every so often. Coffers and crypts line each side of the entombed room.

“Hmmm.” A low hum echoes along the walls.

My head snaps around. Kieran has his arms resting above his head against the bars. The midday sun basks through the grate. He cocks his head. Instead of smug arrogance, I'm met with revulsion. It leaves a metallic distaste on my tongue. His lip curls in disgust.

His eyes scan lazily over my body with repugnance. My hair is a tangled, dirty mess. My skin is caked in squalid grime. The only thing I have in my favor is hoping my dirt-stained body will repulse him. Maybe that's exactly why he's looking at me that way.

“Ready to let me out, asshole?” I fire.

He unlocks the padlock without a word leaving the door rattling. He strides across the room and wraps his tattooed hand around my throat cutting off my air. His veiny forearms bulge. Rage overtakes him in a way I've never seen before. He steals my breath from my lungs.

Fight, Clara. Fight!

My arms sag at my sides. Stars brighten my eyes. My heartbeat slows to a dull thump. “Why do you have to be so Goddamn broken?” He heaves against me, spewing hatred against my skin. He speaks as if I'm tormenting him. Darkness threatens to pull me under. Memories fill my head. Painful ones. Happy ones. Dark ones . . . Then, he releases me. I gasp in a deep breath and bowl over to my knees.

My shackles clatter against the floor.

I suck in breath after breath as if it is my last. The cold floor seeps into my bones. My eyes stay trained on the concrete ground beneath my feet.