Wicked intentions, p.5
Wicked Intentions, page 5
Sure, I look alarmingly like his other children, and our eyes are similar, but she could have easily slept with someone that has similar features and just fixated on him. She’s done crazier things in the past. The woman isn’t what I would describe as stable. My heart aches at the thought, but if it keeps me alive, I’ll give up whatever claim I might or might not have on the Roanoke estate. I’ll live the rest of my life as nothing more than Valentine Harding, a weak, pathetic human.
Jax nods thoughtfully before pulling out a small vial filled with crimson liquid. “I guess we’ll find out for sure when we land,” he says, tipping it back and forth so that the blood slides around in the tube.
My heart stops beating in my chest as I drop my gaze to my bare arms. My jacket is gone, and in its place is a small bandage tucked into the crook of my elbow. I didn’t notice it in my distress earlier.
My gaze snaps back up to the vial, and I feel the blood drain from my face. He gives me a knowing smile and turns his attention back to the sky, ignoring me and my frantic breathing for the rest of the flight. I can’t think of a single thing that can save me now.
Jax leads me blindfolded, gagged, and bound by shadows into what I can only assume is a massive building. I can’t see it, but I can feel the weight of it bearing down on me. My legs move, walking smoothly despite my brain screaming at them to stop, turn around, and run like hell.
When we enter a room that smells like the salty bite of a sea breeze, rich leather, and musty books, Jax’s shadows force my body to bend and sit. His fingers brush against my skin as he ties my arms to the chair. I can’t help but growl through the silk tie he used as a gag. I cuss him out too, not that the sounds coming out of my mouth make any sense.
He chuckles softly. “Easy, Green Eyes,” he whispers. “Behave when Clan Leader Roanoke comes. He’s not as forgiving as I am.”
“Go to hell,” I snarl, but the words end up garbled just like before.
He sighs and gently touches my jaw. “You’re trouble,” he mutters, and I sense that the words are spoken more for his benefit than mine. “But are you worth it?”
My stomach clenches, but I get the feeling that he’s left. The room has a silence to it that only happens when one is alone.
I sag in the chair, breathing hard and trying to calm my racing heart. He left my feet free, so I swing them around blindly, hoping that they’ll connect with something I can use to free myself. Now that his shadows no longer hold me captive, I twist my head, rubbing the side of it against my shoulder until the blindfold slips a little.
Relief sweeps through me as I throw my head forward and shake it until the blindfold slides off to pool on the floor. The sudden brightness makes me wince, but I don’t waste a second, taking in my surroundings with frantic sweeps.
I’m sitting facing a massive wall of windows that look out upon a breathtaking ocean view. To my right are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and to my left is what appears to be a small bar, fully stocked with an array of alcohols in those fancy crystal bottles like you see in the movies. Sitting between me and the windows are a mahogany desk and plush leather chair. This place screams of wealth.
I swallow several times in an attempt to bring some moisture back to my dry mouth, but it does me no good. I can’t get Jax’s tie out of my mouth, and the silk is like a sponge. It’s horrifically annoying, but unless someone unties the knot at the nape of my neck, I’m stuck.
A glass of water sits on the desk ahead of me, its chilled surface glistening with condensation that rips a ragged groan past my lips. I’d do anything for a drink of that water.
“Thirsty?”
The voice that speaks behind me is smooth and cultured, nothing like Jax’s throaty purr, and it instantly sends shivers of terror down my spine. I twist in my seat, tossing my dark hair out of the way in an attempt to see the speaker, but all I see are shelves of books and more leather furniture, this time in the form of several small couches.
I try to speak around the gag and fail once again, my dry throat screaming at me for any kind of liquid.
A chuckle sounds beside me, and I whip to face the man who has somehow crept up on me. The second my eyes land on his, I flinch and shrink down into my chair, the ropes scratching mercilessly at my bare skin.
“You know who I am,” Gregory Roanoke says, circling around to stand before me. He doesn’t seem overly surprised by this fact, which I guess makes sense in a way. He is the most prolific mobster on the East Coast, not to mention one of the three mage clan leaders in North America. His face has been plastered through the news more times than I can count.
I keep my eyes downcast, terrified that if he sees them, he’ll recognize them as the same ones he sees in the mirror. Vivien used to stare into my eyes for hours when I was younger. I asked her about it once, and she slapped me so hard that I never dared to ask again, at least not while she was sober. That was before I had ever heard of the name Gregory Roanoke.
He hums as he studies me thoughtfully. “What’s your date of birth, Miss Harding?” He reaches out and removes my gag, presumably so I’ll answer him.
I snap my mouth closed, my brain trying desperately to find a way out of this. The truth won’t set me free here. I’m not stupid enough to try to stake a claim as his daughter. He’ll either think I’m lying and kill me or believe me and also kill me. I pose a threat to him and his family; Vivien told me as much, and if anyone would know, it would be her.
“October 3, 2002,” I croak, a solid eight months later than my real birthday. Far enough off to assure him that I can’t be his but not so far as to be an obvious lie.
He stares me down for what feels like an eternity, his gaze boring into the side of my skull like a drill. My life depends on him believing my lies. That’s the only way I have a chance at getting out of here. The pressure fades as he lifts his gaze to just past my shoulder. “Jaxon?”
The shadows open up, and Jax appears beside me, sending a shiver down my spine. I swear I feel a shadow stroke at my neck beneath my hair, but I refuse to acknowledge it or him. Trusting him got me into this mess in the first place. I won’t be making that mistake again.
“According to Haven Hills Hospital records, Vivien Lenore Harding gave birth to a baby girl on February 3, 2002 that she named Valentine,” Jax says, holding out a stack of papers. “The baby was born full term and healthy, which would have put the date of conception sometime around April of 2001. Vivien was in Orlando from March to May of 2001.”
A wave of nausea rushes over me, but I swallow the bile that rises in my throat and keep my face blank. I won’t react to the story they’re weaving about my life. If I’m going to die anyway, I’ll do it with my dignity intact.
“Interesting,” Gregory says, his voice like ice. “Would you like to try again, Valentine?”
“Nope,” I say, glaring at his feet. “I’d like to go home now.”
“Home,” Gregory mutters. “Do you mean the house you lived in with your grandmother? The one she gave away, leaving you homeless? Or perhaps you mean the hotel room in Denver where you slept the night before last? No, no. Surely you don’t mean the house in the Hamptons where your gold-digging mother lives with her current boyfriend? That is where she slithered away to once she managed to extort a significant amount of money out of me, isn’t it?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I say, doing my best not to let my rage show on my face. Vivien was already living it up in one of the wealthiest communities in New York, and she had the gall to throw away my life all for a measly thirty grand? I’ve never wished her dead before, but the thought crosses my mind now. I hope she chokes on her fancy food, living in her fancy house.
“Are you not close with your mother then?” he asks, picking up the glass of water and taking a painfully long sip of it.
My throat burns, and if I could kill him with sheer force of will, Gregory Roanoke would be dead at my feet. “What mother?” I ask, faking confusion. “I’ve only ever had my gran to look after me.”
“Ah, yes, your gran.” Gregory’s voice darkens to something lethal, and I shiver in terror. “Jaxon here took a look around her house before he found you. Do you know what he found inside?”
There are a thousand things he could have found, videotapes of the exorcisms Gran demanded the priests perform, the iron chains that she would use to keep me in my room whenever she felt I needed to repent through fasting, the bloodstains that I couldn’t get out no matter how hard I scrubbed the carpet after she would beat me for breaking her rules. That house was filled with horrors. I can’t even begin to guess what Jax found, but I know it was awful. I lived through it all.
“What do you want from me?” I demand, fury wiping out my fear in an instant. There’s no way this doesn’t end with my death, so I throw caution to the wind and decide to sass him the way he deserves. He was a married man that seduced a human girl with his lies and then abandoned her and their unborn child. Screw him.
He’s quiet for several moments, studying me. I haven’t met his gaze since Jax entered the room, but I can feel him staring. My skin crawls under his attention.
“I want you to look at me, Valentine,” he says, leaning down to take my chin in his hand.
I fight him as he lifts my chin, but his fingers simply tighten to the point of drawing a pained gasp from my lips. When I can no longer handle the pressure, I lift my eyes to meet his, and I know that I’m utterly screwed. I see it the moment he recognizes himself in their emerald depths.
He studies me for several long, grueling seconds before he speaks again. “It’s true then.” He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing me.
“Go to hell,” I growl, yanking hard at the ropes that hold me in place. My arms burn, but I don’t care.
“Jaxon, escort Valentine to her room and see to it that she gets comfortable. I will call for her later today,” Gregory says, ignoring my antics.
Confusion punches me hard in the gut, but I barely manage to suck in a breath before he turns sharply and leaves the room.
Jax bends down to untie the ropes holding me in place, his touch sending shivers through me. He sighs when he sees the damage I’ve done to them but says nothing.
“What just happened?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I don’t dare let myself hope. Not yet; not until Jax confirms the impossible.
He glances my way with a smirk. “You just met your father, Valentine Roanoke. Welcome home.”
Chapter Seven
The Roanoke estate must be massive for the size of the mansion we’re in. Jax leads me down hallways and into an elevator. We go up two levels before getting off and finally approaching a beautiful wooden door that has literal gold inlaid into the surface in a flowering-vine pattern. He nods for me to open it, and I stare at him like he’s lost his mind.
“What am I doing here?” I manage to choke the words past the knot that has been lodged in my throat ever since Jax called me Valentine Roanoke. The name doesn’t fit me, but oddly enough I feel like one day it just might. I desperately want it to. A name like that has power. It sends shivers of fear through anyone who hears it. It makes me a part of something, and I’ve never had that before.
A shadow coils up my arm and tickles the lobe of my ear, drawing a gasp from my lips. Before I can register what he’s doing, I hear the soft thud as my iron earrings fall to the ground at my feet. The shadow moves to work on my other ear, and all the while he holds my gaze with fury burning in his eyes.
“Barbaric,” he whispers. “I would remove the collar as well, but Gregory wants it to remain there until we get the DNA results in.”
I blink in confusion. “But you said—”
“He’ll need more proof than those pretty eyes of yours, Valentine,” he says softly. “But yes, we all know the truth of what you are to him. Vivien didn’t lie about your parentage.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight with emotion. I just met my father. He’s been the monster lurking in the shadows, the boogeyman that I’ve always been too afraid to face, and yet he didn’t hurt me. He could have snapped my neck before I ever knew he was there, but he didn’t. He’s not what I expected. “Is he going to kill me?” I ask because old habits die hard and I really need to know.
“You?” he asks, eyes widening in surprise. “I doubt it. Your mother… most likely. Keeping you hidden this long was a stupid move on her part. If she had handed you over as a baby, he probably would have just paid her and sent her on her way.”
I bite my lip, wondering if it’s healthy that I don’t even care what happens to her at this point. Do these horrible thoughts make me a monster? Gran would have thought so, but she’s not here to guide my moral compass anymore. I doubt I’ll find anyone here that would judge me for my thoughts—they’ve all done worse—but I keep them to myself anyway. “So am I a prisoner here then?”
“Would that surprise you?” he asks, his breath hot on my neck as he circles around me to stand at my back. “We’re all prisoners of something, Vale. Mortality, familial duty, the judgment of others. We may swap one set of chains for another, but none of us will ever truly be free.”
My mind flashes back to the basement of Gran’s house. I never really felt like it was my home, but it was all I’d ever known. Those memories are filled with pain, and I’m tempted to shy away from them, but then I remember where I am now. She could never have imagined the kind of life that the Roanokes have. She’ll never get to experience what it’s like to stay in a place like this, but I will. Even if it’s only for a day.
I shiver and reach my hand out to open the door. What I see inside doesn’t look like a prison, but I heed his warning anyway. A set of chains might be inlaid with diamonds, but that does not mean that they are any less binding.
The room is massive, easily the size of Gran’s house and then some. It’s made to feel even larger with vaulted ceilings and a whole wall of floor-to-ceiling windows and a balcony that overlooks a rich, luscious garden. The greenery is no less breathtaking than the ocean views were in Gregory’s office. None of this feels real, and I just pray that I don’t wake up tomorrow to find that it was all a dream. I’m not sure I could handle the heartache.
I wander deeper, my fingers trailing over the stark white bed and stunning mahogany four-poster bed frame. To my right is a set of red velvet couches clustered around a flat-screen television. If I didn’t know better, I would think that I’d just walked into a castle in Romania rather than a beachfront house in Orlando.
“This is all mine?” I shoot him a surprised look.
His lips quirk up in a half smile that sucks the air right from my lungs as he nods. “There’s a bathroom through there.” He points to a door set off in the corner. “And that’s your closet. It’s empty now, but I’m sure Elvira will fill it soon.”
“Elvira?” I ask, my brows knitting together.
“Gregory’s wife,” he says, watching me closely for a reaction.
I flinch and shake my head. “Yeah, I doubt she’ll be shopping for me. If anything, she’s more likely to slip poison into my breakfast. My mother ruined her marriage.”
Gregory’s wife has every right to hate me. I wouldn’t blame her if she stormed in here and slit my throat in my sleep. I don’t think I could accept an affair baby that my partner brought home one day. There are just some insults that you can’t come back from.
He snorts. “Vivien ruined nothing. Whatever happened all those years ago, Gregory and Elvira worked it out. They must have, since they’ll be married thirty-five years this Christmas.”
I bite my lip, but I have no way of arguing with him. The truth is I don’t know these people, and he does. All I have are a list of assumptions and trauma from my own family. Vivien would never have agreed to something like this.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say when he continues to watch me. I don’t know if I’m meant to dismiss him or how any of this works, but he seems to be waiting for something.
“If there’s anything you need, just ask. One of the staff can get it for you, or I can when I head into the city on business.” He changes the subject smoothly, seeming to pick up on my nerves before I’ve even had the chance to fully process them myself.
“Is he as bad as everyone says he is?” I ask when he turns to leave. I’m terrified of the answer, but I also know that I need it. My life is in the hands of a man that I’ve been told is the devil reborn.
Jax turns back to me with a frown. He thinks about it for a moment before he answers, and I appreciate his consideration. I’m not sure I could handle an offhanded comment right now. Not when my life literally hinges on the words he’s saying.
“The ocean is a deep, dark, and scary place, filled with sharks. We as men know this, and yet we still bravely set sail, splashing in the shallows and riding the waves,” he says solemnly.
“Are you telling me that Gregory Roanoke is a shark?” I ask, rolling my eyes at the cliché. Don’t all mobsters fancy themselves sharks?
“No, Vale,” Jax says, stalking toward me. “Gregory Roanoke is the ocean. There are pieces of him that we fool ourselves into thinking are safe and even fun, but we can never forget that there are sharks in the water. You can splash in the shallows if you’re smart and pay attention, but the second you lose focus, you’ll be consumed by him and the empire he’s created for himself.”
I shiver as he comes to a stop close enough that I feel that pull between us again. It’s unnerving how quickly he can shift from terrifying to alluring. They’re one and the same with him.
“What about you?” I ask, my heart pounding loud enough that I’m sure he must hear it. “Will you consume me too?”
