Mastered (The Enforcers #1) (38 page)

“O-obey,” she said in a choked voice.

“One responsibility and you can't even accomplish that,” he said with fake disgust.

Then he turned to the men who'd accompanied him, disgusted that they were visibly aroused by Drake's humiliation of Evangeline and the fact that he'd made her suck him off in front of them. He wanted to throw up.

“Let's go somewhere we can get a decent meal. I apologize for my stupid whore's obvious ineptitude.”

He started for the elevator door and then turned back, his expression as cold and chilling as he could make it. “When I get back, this place
better be spotless and I want you in my bed, naked and ready to receive your punishment. And I won't have any mercy.”

Evangeline stood there in shock, staring at the closed elevator doors for several long minutes after Drake's abrupt departure. She glanced down at herself, makeup-stained tears falling onto the floor.

Beautiful? Classy? Elegant?

She had been fooling herself and Drake had perpetuated one of the biggest hoaxes in history because he'd made her feel all of those things.

Worthless. Whore. Bitch.

The words he'd used to describe her echoed over and over in her head until rage finally roused her from the numb shock surrounding her. Even as she robotically started for the kitchen like an automaton trained to follow Drake's orders, she twisted violently, yanking the heels off her feet and hurling them through the living room at the coffee table and the trays of food she'd labored so painstakingly over.

Two bottles of the wine and two bottles of liquor, hit by the flying shoes, tumbled from the table and she heard the satisfying crack of breaking glass.

She stormed into the bedroom, yanking and tearing at her dress until she managed to free herself. With shaking hands, she removed every piece of jewelry he'd bought for her and underhanded them onto the bed.

Then she sank to the floor on her knees, clad in only her panties and bra. Raw, ugly-sounding sobs clawed their way up her throat and out of her lips, the sound of terrible grief.

You will be severely punished.

Oh hell no. To hell with Drake. To hell with every lie he'd ever fed her. For building her up only so he could be the one to tear her down.

Feeling like an old, decrepit woman, she crawled to the closet and rummaged until she found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Drake had thrown every bit of her old clothing out when he'd moved her in;
otherwise she wouldn't take a single thing bought by him. As it was, she packed a bag with three pairs of jeans, one casual dress that was suitable for job hunting and two pairs of shoes.

The rest she left hanging, most still with the tags attached. Then she went about systematically removing any and all of her presence from his bedroom. She went from room to room, throwing away or simply destroying any possible reminder of herself in Drake's eyes.

And then she remembered the meal she'd labored so intensively over. She hoped it had burned and left a charred mess.

After lifting the silver trays and dumping the appetizers over the couch and chair and the floor, to accompany the shattered bottles of alcohol, she went into the kitchen and dumped every single skillet and baking dish onto the floor.

“To hell with you, Drake Donovan. I gave you everything and this is what I got in return. I hope you rot in hell where you belong. At least Eddie was honest.”

Tears streaming down her face, she rode the elevator down only to be met by a worried Edward who rushed over to take her elbow.

“Miss Hawthorn,” he said, in his haste forgoing all familiarity as if he too were just as rid of her as Drake.

She burst into a fresh torrent of tears and tried to maneuver around him.

“Please, Evangeline. Tell me what's wrong. Mr. Donovan returned shortly after he came up and he looked furious. Are you all right?”

“I'll never be all right,” she said flatly, even as tears ran freely down her face.

“Let me help you, please. Tell me what I can do.”

Realizing the older man was genuinely concerned and evidently ignorant of all that had happened, or at least he hadn't been instructed to have nothing to do with her, she paused.

“I need to get away from here,” she said desperately.

“Of course. Shall I call for one of Mr. Donovan's men to come for you?”

“No!” she shrieked. “I need a cab and I need you to never tell anyone, especially Drake or his men, that you saw me, that you helped me, or I'm afraid your job will be out the door just like I am.”

Compassion softened his eyes even as he guided her toward the door.

“Where shall I instruct the cab to take you?” he asked gently.

Her shoulders sagged and she ran a hand through the rumpled mess of her hair, knowing the fright she must look with her makeup running, her hairdo destroyed.

“I have no place to go,” she whispered, knowing she couldn't show up at her girlfriends' place. She couldn't bear the “I told you so's,” and neither could she take their pity. She couldn't stomach that just hours ago she'd applauded her decision to choose Drake over her friendships with her best friends. How could she ever face them again? And even if she did feel welcome, it was the first place Drake would think to look for her. Even if he fully intended to throw her out—and she was sure that was precisely what he intended—he would likely still hunt her down if for nothing more than to exact his punishment and then tell her to her face he was finished with her. Why pass up another opportunity to humiliate her even more? Far better to do it in front of her girlfriends. Fuck that. Her mother would forgive the obscenities, given the circumstances.

But then what more could he possibly do to her than what he'd done tonight? She was without pride, shamed beyond measure and more humiliated than she'd ever been with Eddie. She would never be the same woman again. Drake had utterly destroyed her, and there was nothing left but the shattered remains of her dignity. To hell with it all. She would never trust another man as long as she lived.

Edward's mouth tightened into an angry line and then he escorted her out of the building to the street side, where he motioned for a waiting cab.

“My sister manages a hotel in Brooklyn. It's nothing fancy, mind you, but I'll call her and let her know to expect you. She'll have a place for you to stay for as long as you need until you decide where you want to go.”

She looked up at Edward, his features blurring behind the sheen of tears. “I can't let you or her do that, Edward. I have no money for a hotel. At least not for more than one night. Until I find a job.”

He took her hands in one of his as he opened the back of the cab and gently set her inside.

“Don't you worry about that,” he reassured. “My sister will take care of your arrangements.”

Then he pulled several bills from his pocket and thrust them toward the driver, giving him the address to the hotel in Brooklyn.

“Good-bye, Evangeline,” Edward said in a soft voice, his eyes brimming with sympathy. “It was indeed a pleasure knowing you, and I wish you well.”

As the cab pulled away, Evangeline buried her face in her hands and burst into a torrent of tears.

Dinner was hell for Drake. The facade he'd so arrogantly reflected on when riding up the elevator with the men meeting him for “business” at his apartment was utterly shattered, and it was only the fact that he was clinging to the tattered remnants of his iron will with his bare fingernails that kept him from bailing and telling them all to go fuck themselves.

As it was, when one of the men had chuckled, clapped Drake on the back as they'd been seated in a private room at one of the restaurants Drake frequented and said, “Good show, Drake. Can't ever forget to remind a woman of their place in the world,” Drake had nearly reached over and beaten the ever-loving hell out of him.

Evangeline's place in the world? Somehow, without his even realizing it, she had
become
his world. And he couldn't imagine his world without her sweet, generous smile, her endearing determination to take care of him and for him to know he was cared about. Which was all tonight had been about, goddamn it!

He couldn't stop the sight of the devastation in her eyes from replaying over and over like a never-ending highlight reel in his head. Her tears and fear. Of
him
, goddamn it. He, who had vowed he would never give her any reason to fear him, that she would always be safe with him
and he'd protect her above all else. And the idea that he'd done far worse to her than her piece of shit ex was more than he could bear.

But he couldn't react. He couldn't rush through dinner so he could hurry home and get on his knees and beg her forgiveness. Forgiveness he didn't deserve. Because then these men would know just what Evangeline meant to him and they'd use every means available to blackmail and extort whatever they could from him.

Drake was a never-ending source of frustration to his enemies and competitors because he
had
no weaknesses. They had no way of touching him, hurting him, and they feared him because he was ruthless and would take out any threat to him and his business interests. Not to mention he was surrounded by his most trusted men who would give their lives to protect Drake and they were every bit as feared as Drake himself was.

But they
would
hurt Evangeline with no second thought or compunction. They'd use her as a means to an end and not give a fuck if they destroyed her—and him—in the process. They'd relish the opportunity to take Drake and his monopoly on numerous business practices completely down.

And Drake could never live with himself if Evangeline was hurt, brutalized or killed because of him. He could
never
live without
her
. And the hell of it was he was only just admitting it, but he'd known for a long time. He just couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the truth, because it made him weak and vulnerable.

How to make her understand?

He'd just destroyed something so very precious and shit all over the unconditional trust and faith she'd so generously given him with no strings, no conditions, though God knew he'd never given her any reason to do so. He'd taken but had never given her anything that
mattered
. At least not to her. Throwing expensive trinkets her way was like tossing a pet treats when all she wanted was what he hadn't been brave enough
to give her. Unfettered access to his heart. He was a fucking coward who wasn't worthy to lick her shoes.

One of the men looked over at Drake, whose outwardly cool and calm demeanor masked inner turmoil unlike anything he'd ever experienced before in his life.

“That's a sweet piece of ass you've got there, Donovan, and I sure as hell wouldn't give a fuck if she could cook or not.”

The others chuckled and nodded their agreement.

“I wouldn't mind having a taste of that for a while. If you toss her, let me know, yeah? And if you don't toss her right away, give me a heads-up when you do so I can move in and take a shot at her.”

Drake smiled even as he seethed inwardly. “She's very talented in other ways, if you know what I mean, which makes up for her lack in others. She amuses me for now, but I'll keep your offer in mind, and when I get tired of her and the good no longer outweighs the bad, then you're welcome to her.”

Drake hated every word. It sickened him to even talk about Evangeline with such disrespect and casually discuss passing her along to another man like used goods. All that kept going through his mind was seeing his angel's eyes when he'd denounced and humiliated her in front of the others. How he'd spent so much time building her up, building her confidence after the number her ex did on her. And now, in just a few minutes' time, he'd utterly destroyed everything he'd worked to achieve and give back to her.

And what he'd done to her had been
far
worse that what that shithead had done to her. Because she
trusted
Drake. She believed in him, had faith in him unreservedly. No conditions, stipulations. She'd given him and
only
him the precious gift of herself. She'd given him what she'd never given another man and he'd shit all over it
and
her.

He wanted to puke his guts up.

He had a hell of a lot of explaining and groveling to do when he got
back home. On his knees. He would do something he'd vowed never to do again. Beg. Whatever it took for Evangeline to forgive him and trust him again. Because for the rest of his life, not one day would pass that he wouldn't remember this night and the pain and humiliation, the tears streaking down her beautiful face while he ripped her apart in front of others who'd stood there watching in amusement—and approval.

“Now, if we can get down to business and dispense with something so unimportant as my latest piece of ass,” Donovan said acidly.

The others dropped the joking, their expressions growing serious. The leader, the head of the Luconi family, leaned forward, his voice low.

“Are you willing to back our takeover of the Vanuccis?”

“That depends,” Drake drawled.

No way in fucking hell would he ever do business with men who showed Evangeline such blatant disrespect, even if it was the height of hypocrisy since Drake had instigated it all. But he could arrange to make it appear as though one of the Luconi family fed information to the Vanuccis, which in turn would start a war between the two rival families, resulting in the removal of
two
pains in Drake's ass.

“Name your price, Donovan,” the older Luconi said in a gravelly voice. “Your name carries enough weight on its own. If you're linked in any way to us, then the Vanuccis won't even put up a fight because the last thing they'll want to do is piss you off.”

“I'll consider your proposition,” Drake said, pretending to give the matter serious consideration. “I'll have one of my men contact you in a few days to discuss terms. When the Vanuccis get wind of our meeting, they'll come to me with their own offer, so you better come with your best.”

The older Luconi's eyes narrowed as he stared at Drake. “Now how the hell would they know we met with you unless you told them?”

Drake laughed scornfully. “You're a fool, old man. If you think the Vanuccis don't have a man inside your organization reporting every
time you so much as take a shit, then you're not as smart as I gave you credit for.”

Already he was planting a seed of doubt for when he did in fact leak the information to the Vanuccis, thus instigating a bloodbath between the two crime families.

To Drake's relief, the entrées were finally delivered and he ate quickly, not even tasting what was in front of him. He made it a point not to check his watch to see how much time had elapsed because he wanted these sons of bitches gone while they appeared to be taking their sweet time.

They weren't stupid. He made it a point to never underestimate his partners or his enemies. He had no doubt they were taking their time and keeping close watch on him and his actions so they could determine just what his motives concerning Evangeline were.

And so it was Drake who suggested they go for drinks after they finished dinner, leaving it to them to be satisfied he was in no hurry or decide if he was simply willing them not to call his bluff.

Thankfully for him, once they discussed the Vanuccis in depth and the Luconis tried to strong-arm a commitment from Drake on the spot, they gave up and called it a night, each going their own way from the restaurant while Drake slipped from the back as if he'd never been there at all.

He called his driver and told him to meet him two blocks from the restaurant, then hastily jumped in, instructing him to get home as fast as he could. His driver, unruffled by the demand, promptly floored it and Drake held his hands in tight fists the entire interminable way there.

He cursed every stoplight but his driver swung deftly through the streets, running intersections that didn't have heavy cross traffic. When at last they arrived, Drake was out and running before the car had pulled to a complete stop.

He took the express elevator that only ran between his penthouse
and the lobby, praying the entire way that Evangeline would even look at him, much less listen to anything he had to say.

God, let her be sweet, generous and forgiving one last time and he'd never give her reason to doubt him again.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he bolted into the apartment yelling her name. He winced when he saw the mess in the kitchen, the contents of what appeared to be an extensive menu dumped on the floor, skillets and pots strewn across the bar, the stove and the floor along with the contents.

When he hit the living room on the way to the bedroom, his dread only increased when he saw the silver trays with appetizers scattered all over the room, liquor and wine bottles smashed and huge wet stains on his furniture and carpet.

Paying them no heed, he burst into the bedroom, prepared to beg, on his knees for her to forgive him. He had a hell of a lot of explaining to do, and that explanation would raise questions he wasn't prepared to answer without further fear of driving her away. If he hadn't done so already.

But Evangeline was nowhere to be seen. All the jewelry he'd gifted her with, including the items she'd worn tonight, were scattered on their bed, and the remnants of the dress she'd worn lay in pieces on the floor.

When he checked her closet, it was full except for a couple pair of jeans and a few casual shirts and one pair of tennis shoes. Most noticeable was that his small travel bag was missing.

He sank to his knees, his chest so tight it felt as though it were being crushed.

His worst nightmare had come to life.

She was gone.

He'd driven her away.

He'd treated her despicably.

Not since his childhood had he felt such desolation and helpless despair. But this, this was
his
doing. He'd done the unthinkable. He wasn't the victim. Evangeline was. His sweet, innocent angel whose only crime was loving him and wanting to take care of him and show him he mattered.

And he'd repaid her by taking her gift and throwing it back in her face in the most despicable way a man could hurt the woman he cared about.

He buried his face in his hands, raw agony clawing at his insides. “I fucked up, Angel. But I'm coming for you. So help me God. I know I failed you. I let you down. But goddamn it, I will
not
let you go. I'll never let you go. I'll fight for you with my last breath. I can't live without you,” he whispered. “You're the only thing
good
in my life. The only sunshine I've ever experienced in a life steeped in gray.

“I can't live without you. You're my only reason for living. You have to come home, because without you, I have—I am—nothing.”