Sweet Agony (Sweet Series Book 1) (19 page)

It had dawned on me that the gun must have been in one of the locked drawers. All of my revelations had seemed trivial seconds later, though, as I’d watched him say something to the kneeling man who had been openly sobbing, press the gun to his head, and then, with no hesitation at all, pull the trigger.

The crack of sound hadn’t been as loud as I had thought a gunshot would be, but that wasn’t the sound that would haunt me for the rest of my life. No, the sound that was going to more than likely give me new nightmares was the harsh thud of dead weight hitting the floor.

I imagined I had come close to death myself that night due to the strangled scream that left my throat and escaped past the hand I had already secured over my mouth. A higher power must have been watching out for me, because the best I could figure it out, between the heavy wooden door blocking me from view and the thump of the man’s body falling to the floor, the noise had somehow been muffled.

Later, as I had lain in my bed, shaking in fear, it had occurred to me that my father could have known I was there in that closet the entire time and simply hadn’t cared. Why would he? He had the upper hand, and he damn well knew it.

When I had finished my story and explained to my mother that Daddy didn’t need a drop of alcohol in his system to put a bullet into another man’s brain, she had slapped her hand over my mouth as if she could stop me from saying the words. It didn’t work.

I had pried her hand from my lips and furiously whispered that, if he were willing to do that totally sober, then we couldn’t guarantee our safety, either.

Mother had simply shaken her head violently in denial at what I had been trying to tell her. Her trembling hands had grabbed my own, and she’d squeezed tightly in warning. Looking around nervously, she then had softly told me I must have been mistaken.

Although my words had been spoken as faintly as my mother’s, the implications rang as loudly as that gunshot between us. My mother’s beautiful blue eyes had flared with terror, and it was then I had realized my mother wasn’t in denial about my father and how dangerous he was. It was completely the opposite. She was doing what she believed she had to in order to keep us alive in a desperate situation.

My mother and I were stuck where we were, and she had figured that out long before I had. The man had warned us both with an ominous promise my first night in Chicago during dinner that he would hunt my mother and me down to the ends of the earth if we tried to leave him. I now knew he was crazy enough to do it.

There would be no escaping the Kingpin, Richard Wellington. Subsequently, I had spent the last five years learning how to be seen, but not heard, molding myself into the sort of “upper class young lady” my father thought I should be. I had shed my favorite comfortable jeans with holes in the knees, worn T-shirts with marker stains, and black chucks for designer dresses and high heels, turning myself into the sort of high maintenance woman I had never believed in before.

Five years ago, I had told myself that Ginny DuBois was gone. I could have never known then just how right that statement would be. Ginny DuBois and all of her dreams had died slowly, starting the morning after losing my virginity to Lucas and ending the night I had watched my father murder someone.

When I had snuck out of that room hours later, after I had known it was finally safe to do so and the monsters in my life were long gone, I had left that room reborn in a sense.

Ginny DuBois couldn’t handle this life. She was too naïve and innocent to survive it. That meant I’d had to become someone who could not only survive in this new dangerous world, but thrive in it.

That someone was going to be Virginia Wellington. Thus, that was who I had become.

I no longer believed in fairy tales. I had learned the hard way through the horrors of my new life that monsters couldn’t be defeated. I no longer dreamed of a man I adored, a white picket fence, or a loving marriage. I definitely no longer believed that ice cream could cure anything. Nor did I draw beautiful things like knights riding on white horses, racing off to rescue the princess in distress.

As Virginia Wellington, I had learned that money and power made the world spin. A couple of months ago, I had also learned I might not have a white picket fence, but I would have a husband my father had handpicked and found “suitable” to his needs. I was aware I would be having children, but that was because my future husband, Sanjay Kahn, expected me to produce “heirs” to cement the joining between his family and my own. It didn’t take a genius to figure out there wasn’t an ice cream on earth that could make my newest complication of a looming marriage better, but the vodka in my glass sure did help take the edge off.

Perhaps that put me on the path of becoming similar to what my father had been like when I was younger. An alcoholic at least, abusive at worst. Although, I couldn’t imagine ever hurting someone I loved as he had. Then again, I bet my father had not planned on hurting those he loved, either.

Ironically, Mother had told me years ago, before my father had found us, that there were two types of people: those who added sugar to the lemons they were given in life and made lemonade and those who added alcohol to their lemons and drowned in their sorrows.

After I had watched my father murder a man, I had discovered sugar and ice cream were pointless, and vodka was my new best friend. I didn’t give a damn if that made me another lush Wellington.

Staring sightlessly out of the windows at the bright daylight covering the city of Chicago beyond, I ignored the sound of light footsteps walking up behind me. There were only two people who could fit those footsteps. One was my mother, whom I didn’t want to talk to, because she would insist we needed to discuss something about my upcoming nuptials.

I loved my mother beyond reason. She was still my favorite person in the entire world, even if I thought she was highly delusional and needed a reality check about this arranged marriage nonsense my father was forcing on me. I wanted to talk about marrying Sanjay about as much as I wanted to jump off the top of this building.

On second thought, the thought of the air whipping around me, my arms outstretched from my body as I freefell to the ground below was almost appealing. I guessed that sort of thought was normal for someone who had been dreaming of freedom for years, only to learn she was about to inherit a new yet different gilded cage to be kept in.

No matter. As the soft footsteps drew closer and my inebriated mind caught sight of the gray and black uniform, I realized it was the other woman who shared the living quarters with us—Barbara, our maid.

Ginny DuBois would have called Barbara a friend. Virginia Wellington knew better than to be friends with the hired help.

The woman was kind, though, and seemed to genuinely care and worry about me. Barbara also tended to disapprove of my drinking habits, like now for instance, as she wrinkled her nose at the glass.

“It’s eleven in the morning, Ms. Wellington. A tad early for that sort of drink, isn’t it?”

I snorted a laugh, fully aware that, if my father were around, he would scold me for the sound. “Yes, but I’ve heard this song that says it’s five o’clock somewhere, so cheers.”

I drained the remaining two fingers of vodka in my glass as Barbara shook her head at me. She would never do such a thing in front of my parents, but I had convinced her long ago I couldn’t care less about acting uptight all the time. I might have to be Virginia Wellington now, but at least I had one person I didn’t have to pretend in front of all the time.

To be honest, it was nice to have the other woman around. She was old enough to be my mother with plenty of wisdom to give advice when I asked for it, yet detached enough from my situation to be absolutely honest when I could convince her to talk to me. For that reason alone, she had helped me keep what little sanity I had left in this overwhelming world of my father’s. Not to mention, she was resourceful, knowing who was who from working for my father since the moment he had bought this building.

Barbara was my saving grace while I underwent my self-transformation from free-spirited artist to polished socialite. Wardrobe, mannerisms, and warnings on whom to rub elbows with and whom to avoid—Barbara had helped me with it all. Add in the fact that she washed my clothes—if I had to wash silk, I would ruin it every time—and helped me get to bed when I was too blitzed to do it on my own, and it made her invaluable. The woman was a godsend.

However, she wasn’t a fairy godmother, and she couldn’t wave a magic wand and get me out of my predicament, which brought me back to my reasons for sitting by myself in my living room at eleven o’clock in the morning and plotting over vodka.

Barbara had given me a reason to go to my father and request the trip to Miami.
Wouldn’t a new wardrobe be nice to meet Sanjay’s parents in?
The request would have seemed ridiculous to any sensible person, but that was my father for you. As far from sensible as you could get. So he had said yes as long as I followed his strict rules and followed the orders of the men he would send with me. Whatever. At this point in my life, I was willing to do almost anything for a small taste of freedom again.

My chance at temporary indulgence was so close I could already taste the fruity cocktail that would accompany it. I could even smell the salt from sea in the air around me, picture wiggling my toes in the sand, feel the rush of excitement as I figured out a way to slip my guard’s protection long enough to indulge in a steamy quickie with a lover who would end my sensual solitude.

Maybe after having a new lover, I would no longer fantasize about the man with hazel eyes when I lay in bed alone. No longer dream about strong hands that stroked my naked body or kissed me in the most intimate ways. Maybe then I could forget the way he had filled me until I burst, only to leave me hollow the next morning.

God, I couldn’t wait to get to Miami. The only thing better than being in paradise for a while was daydreaming of the possibility of being Ginny once more. Miami was possible… Ginny was not.

Chapter

15

Lucas

Thirty Years Old

Present Day

After Midnight was packed to the rafters with people. Ever vigilant even on my time off, I scanned the customers mingling with the girls working the floor while I sat at a table in the VIP section with my fellow teammate Chase Anderson.

After losing both Wyatt and Logan in the blast, the same explosion that had critically injured Riley’s brother Declan who now was laid up in the hospital with temporary paralysis, it was probably going to be a long while before I let my guard down again. It had also hammered home my thoughts on not letting any of the guys to get as close as I had my Green Beret teammates.

I had known this job was just as dangerous as the military, and also just as I’d expected, I had once again lost teammates on a mission.

This wasn’t a time for mourning lost team members, though. This was a time for celebration. Knowing both Wyatt and Logan, they wouldn’t want us to wallow after their passing. No, my battle brothers would want me to get a lap dance or more from one of the girls strutting their ass around my table, asking me if I needed anything. Or, as one nice G-string clad woman had offered, “Absolutely anything my big ol’ cock desired.”

She was a stunning brunette with pin-up model curves and the cutest little tattoo on her ass, but she wasn’t what my heart ached for. And apparently, my heart was attached to my dick these days, because he wasn’t interested in her offer, either. Nor would there be any lap dances for me tonight. Therefore, I thanked the lovely lady for her offer yet politely turned it down and turned my attention back to the reason we were here.

We were waiting for the private party room in the back of the club to finish being decorated for the going away party of Kara, my other teammate Riley’s woman.

Our mission here had involved more than the sex slave ring we were trying to bust. It had played out like one of those cheesy soap operas my mom liked to watch, only a bit more X-rated. The good news was my man Riley had reunited with the love of his life. The bad news was we had lost the only lead we’d had on who was behind the kidnapping and selling of women who had gone missing across the south. The ugly news was we had lost two of our men and had one injured in an explosion.

Riley hated leaving Declan in the hospital, especially now that Declan was finally awake, but the younger Sullivan had been adamant. He didn’t want Riley to miss his soon-to-be again wife’s party. Riley had tried to convince Declan they could bring the party to his hospital room, complete with strippers who might sponge bathe him, but Declan’s face had morphed to grim determination as he had shaken his head no.

The refusal had shocked all of us. Good time Declan had said no to hot women and the promise of a sponge bath? Had he hit his head harder than we’d thought in the blast? I was sure Riley hadn’t noticed it because of his ongoing concern for his brother’s medical problems, although it wasn’t lost on me that something was on Declan Sullivan’s mind.

The thing was, I wasn’t so certain it was worry over his back and walking again, as the doctors had warned him. He had some other kind of demon he was battling, a demon I quickly surmised might have red hair and be the best friend of Baker’s woman.

Before Riley had gotten out of the door after Declan had kicked us out of his room, Declan had asked if anyone had called his phone since Riley had been holding onto Declan’s cell while he was recuperating.

I watched as the concern Riley had worn for days disappeared, and pity replaced it when he replied, “No.”

Declan had nodded and waved us away after that.

Taking a swig of my beer, my mind wandered to
her
. The sound of Riley laughing next to me made me grateful I wasn’t the only one having woman problems. First Baker then Sullivan, and now it looked like the other Sullivan was jumping on board the crazy train to woman-ville. At least Baker and Riley’s situations had each had a good ending.

Who the fuck would have thought the Ex Ops team would come down to Miami to catch the scum behind a sex slave ring and end up finding Sullivan’s wife? However, the fact that he had Kara by his side now almost gave me hope.