Sweet Retribution, page 28
Atticus is living at his old house in Rydeville again, but we go out of our way to avoid him where possible. Harley and Joaquin are living by themselves in the New York apartment during the school term, returning to Rydeville during breaks.
All the board members at Manning Motors have signed NDAs and new contracts that come into effect the day of the Parkhurst vote. We’ve managed to keep it a secret, but it’s just another thing that keeps me tossing and turning at night.
Drew successfully turned our target list of high-ranking elite against the bastard, and it took little effort on his part. They welcomed the opportunity to stab him in the back, and we’ve been assured that the vote will not go his way tomorrow.
Everything is lined up, and we’ve gone over our plans excessively, trying to second-guess all obstacles and things that can go wrong. It’s a rock-solid plan, but I still haven’t been able to eat or sleep for the past week.
Everything hinges on tomorrow, and I’m beyond anxious.
Charlie’s hand clamps down on my quivering thigh as we ride in a limo from the private airfield in Wyoming to Parkhurst. This is my first time in the main facility, and having to sleep there overnight, in a room with Charlie, is making me all kinds of nervous. It helps that Drew and Shandra are traveling with us now and staying in the hotel suite next to ours. And Kai and Rick will be staying there too. Xavier, Sawyer, Jackson, and the security detail who have been our perpetual shadows these past few months are staying in a house we’ve rented a couple miles away.
Everything needs to be timed to perfection tomorrow so the fireworks go off in the sequence we’ve planned, and even one minor hiccup could really screw things up. Which is why I’m so on edge.
Failure is not an option, but success isn’t guaranteed either.
“Relax,” Charlie says. “Your constant leg jerking is driving me nuts.”
“Do you blame me for being nervous?” I ask, arching a brow. “Or have you forgotten what they did to me the last time I was here? And what they tried to do to me the last time there was a big elite event?”
“Of course not.” His features soften momentarily. “And I will never forget that night as long as I live.” His customary blank expression is back on his face, and while he’s not giving much away, his brief thawing is the first hint that he’s not completely immune to me after all.
“Things are different now,” Drew says from his seat across from me. “And no one would dare try anything like that this weekend.” We both know that’s bullshit, but we’ve just got to get through tonight, and then the balance of power should shift.
If everything goes to plan.
If it doesn’t, it’ll be a free-for-all, and I shudder to think what punishments will be meted out if we fail in our mission.
Shoving those hideous thoughts aside, I focus on my brother. He’s holding Shandra’s hand and she’s leaning into him, admiring the sharp line of his jaw. I’ve watched them grow closer these past few months with a little unease. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad Drew isn’t with that witch Alessandra anymore, but it’s hard seeing him looking all loved up with someone who isn’t Jane.
Even if it’s for show.
Which I think it is.
And even if Shandra has become a good friend.
“What time does the engagement party start at?” Shandra asks.
“The invite said eight,” I confirm, glancing out the window as the landscape flashes past in a blur.
“And who will be there?” she asks, looking at Drew.
“All the high-ranking elite, including the council members and their wives and any children who are members,” he says.
“It will be boring as fuck,” Charlie says. “Especially for you,” he adds, staring at me coldly. “I can’t imagine how torturous it must be being forced to keep my company instead of his.”
“Don’t do that, Charlie.”
“Why the hell not, Abigail?”
“Because this weekend will be hell if you’re going to act like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.” I deliberately lower my voice even though the privacy screen is up, and the sound is muted back here. I’m not taking chances. “You know I’m with him now, and I’ve tried to talk to you on several occasions about our situation, but you haven’t wanted to know.”
“Because I was fucking hurt and dealing with a ton of shit,” he hisses.
“This is hardly the ideal time for a heart to heart,” Drew calmly says, shooting him a warning look. “I’m sure Abby will have no issue talking it out with you when we get back to Rydeville, but discussing it at Parkhurst is risky for everyone, especially my sister.” His eyes stick to Charlie’s. “Unless you’ve decided you don’t care for her at all anymore, and that her safety doesn’t matter to you now, and if that’s the case, you and I have a big problem, buddy.”
A muscle pops in Charlie’s jaw as he turns his head, staring out the window, refusing to reply, and avoiding all further conversation.
It doesn’t exactly leave me feeling all warm and cozy.
My gut balls into tight knots when we arrive, and Charlie helps me out of the car, keeping a firm hold of my hand as we walk up the steps toward the entrance.
It’s not at all what I was expecting.
I thought it would be an old-fashioned building with an old-world grand interior to match, but it’s a modern build, five stories high, composed of cream Italian stone with high windows. Glass balconies surround the exterior of the residential quarters which are located on the third, fourth, and fifth floors.
Inside, the lobby is a large open-plan rectangular shape with gray and pink velvet couches and chairs dotted around the bright, airy space. Overhead, massive chandeliers shine incandescent light on the room below, highlighting the expensive vases filled with scented in-season blooms and the exquisite artwork adorning the walls.
Charlie walks us to the reception desk, and we’re greeted by a tall, thin older woman with dark reddish-brown hair. “Mr. Barron.” She smiles warmly at Charlie, deliberately touching his hand as she passes a pen and card to him to sign. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too, Marina,” he says, scrawling his signature across the card and handing it back to her. “This is my wife, Abigail,” he adds, casting a cursory glance my way.
She turns sharp eyes on me, and the edge slides off her smile. “You’re very welcome, Mrs. Barron. First time here, right?”
“Yes.” I give her my best fake smile.
“I hope you enjoy your stay. And if you’d like a recommendation, I’d try out the purple recreation room. It’s Charlie’s favorite.” You would never know she’s digging a knife in my back by the pleasant smile plastered on her face, but only an idiot would fail to pick up on her meaning.
“Do you like your job, Marina?” I ask.
Her confident smile falters a little. “I love my job.”
I deliberately look her up and down in a blatantly derisory manner, channeling my inner bitch. “Then I suggest you avoid telling other newly married brides in a none-too-subtle manner that you’ve fucked their husbands, and in which rooms too.” I lean in close, inspecting her name badge on purpose. “Before I became Abigail Barron, I was Abigail Hearst-Manning.”
All the color drains from her face.
“So, you know who my father is, and the kind of power he holds around here. Try to piss me off again and you’ll find yourself out of a job. And that’s your only warning.” She’s lucky I’m strung out about tomorrow, or I’d have her fired on the spot.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Barron. I don’t know what came over me.”
I dismiss her with a wave of my hand, refocusing on Charlie. “Are we done here?”
His lips twitch. “We’re done.” He looks at a pale-faced Marina. “I assume my usual room is ready?”
“Actually, Mr. Hearst requested you to be moved to the presidential floor.”
Charlie’s eyes burn with indignation as he thrusts the key card back at her. “I want my usual room. Fix it on your system.” Marina looks like she wants to argue but glances at the thunderous look on Charlie’s face and my bored face and thinks better of it. I tap out a quick text to Drew, warning him that Father has most likely requested to move his room too, so he sticks to the original arrangements. I need the comfort of knowing my brother and friend are close by should I need them.
Ten minutes later, Charlie opens the door to a lavish room, and I step inside, relaxing a smidgeon until I spot the king-sized bed I’ll have to share with him. I could protest and sleep on the couch, but I need to bring my A-game tomorrow, and I haven’t been sleeping well as it is.
My cell pings, and I remove it from my purse as I kick my stiletto heels off.
After months of living in jeans and Kai’s sweatshirts, being forced to dress the part of an elite lady again is so stifling I can barely breathe. A smile crests over my mouth as I spot his gorgeous face smiling back at me from my screen. I press the button and accept Kai’s call, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door. “Hey, babe.”
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Father tried to move our room to a room beside him, but Charlie was having none of it.”
“Good. You’ve still got the tracker in your cell, your purse, and your shoes, right?” he asks.
“I do.” I didn’t protest it was over the top when Xavier insisted on it yesterday, because the truth is, we need to be over the top with everything to ensure we’re safe. The guys all have trackers in their cells and shoes too, and we all have the tracking app on our phone. Tomorrow, we’ll use the earpieces so Xavier, Sawyer, and Jackson can hear everything going on from the comfort of their rental car which will be parked on the road outside here. Sawyer checked with his father, and the devices should still work at this distance.
“Is she there yet?” I ask, a scowl immediately appearing on my face at the thought of Giselle.
“I haven’t seen her, but she sent me a text to say she was here,” he confirms. He hasn’t heard much from her since the wedding party, when he made it clear he had no interest in her after she let Trent finger-fuck her on the dance floor in view of others. Atticus could’ve used it as an excuse to get Kai out of chaperoning her this weekend, but we figure the devil you know is better than the one you don’t. Giselle isn’t a threat. She’s more of an annoying gnat. But one we can swat away when we’ve had enough of her.
Trent and Alessandra, on the other hand, are a force to be reckoned with. Tensions have been high at school with a clear divide among the elite. Trent finally seems to have met his match, and the way those two paw at one another each lunchtime confirms it. Yet he hasn’t made any move to retaliate, and I’m not naïve enough to think Father’s warning actually did anything but make him more determined. We continue to trade barbs and insults, but he hasn’t physically made any move, and that’s another reason to be nervous.
“Don’t worry about her, babe. She’s nothing,” Kai says, reassuring me.
“I know. And I’m not. She’s probably the only thing I’m not worried about.”
“We are well prepared,” he says in a low tone. “And it’s going to happen.”
“We just have to get through this damn engagement party first.”
My face hurts from smiling, and my feet are already killing me, and we’re only an hour into this monstrous party. It’s typical of the bastard to throw an extravagant engagement party the night before the big vote. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he did it to distract himself from feeling nervous. But to experience nervousness, you have to feel emotion, and that bastard is incapable of feeling anything.
However, he definitely looks on edge tonight. I wonder if he’s heard whisperings of discontent or he knows what’s about to go down. Everyone involved understands the need for secrecy, but the bastard has ways of uncovering the truth.
On this occasion, I hope we’ve completely hoodwinked him as I want to watch the realization dawn on his face when the revelations start hitting.
“Want another drink?” Charlie asks when he finally breaks free of conversation with a short, stocky man sporting a trimmed mustache and a leering expression every time he glances my way.
“I’ll just have a water,” I reply. There is no way even a drop of alcohol is touching my lips around this place. He walks me over to where Drew and Shandra are chatting with Rick and Isabella. Kai is with Giselle over on the far side of the room, huddled in a group with Atticus and several men, loudly conversing. His back is to me, and I’m sure he’s desperate to check up on me, but we both agreed neither of us would take any risks this weekend.
“Stay here,” Charlie says. “I’ll be back.” He hasn’t left my side all night, and despite his lack of response in the limo earlier, I know Charlie won’t let me come to any harm. Our relationship may have broken down, but you can’t get rid of feelings overnight, and we have a whole heap of unresolved feelings for one another that will need to be confronted at some point.
“Your father is looking very handsome tonight,” Isabella says, not disguising her interest.
The bastard is handsome, and he takes good care of himself, but it’s all fake, like his personality, and that makes him the most unattractive person in the room.
But Isabella is like a dog with a bone when it comes to him. She’s continued to flirt up a storm at events, ignoring the daggers Patrice sends her way. Which is laughable really when you consider she is regularly screwing Atticus behind my father’s back. I’ve no doubt Isabella sees herself as the new president’s wife, but she seems not to have gotten the memo that this is their engagement party. Although, in this world, that doesn’t really count for a lot.
Rick has been having a ball winding her up about him every chance he gets, and Kai is continuing to whisper in his father’s ear. Really, it’s way too easy to manipulate certain people and they deserve everything coming their way.
Patrice catches my eye and I wave her over. Might as well have a little fun with this.
“Patrice, you look stunning as always,” I say, buttering her up. “That shade of green really suits your coloring.”
Blech.
She smiles graciously, but her attention span is limited because she’s giving Isabella some serious side stink-eye. “Isabella was just saying how handsome Father is,” I innocently say, as Shandra fights a smirk. “And I’ve got to agree you make a beautiful couple.”
Patrice’s claws, predictably, come out. “I’m sure she did. But she’d say that about any man in a position of power, irrespective of how he looked. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Worried much?” Isabella grins.
“Desperate much?” Patrice retorts, and I just step back and watch it all play out beautifully. They are both so riled up after months of this game that it doesn’t take much to ignite the spark.
“You’ve always had a devious streak I’ve admired,” a deep voice says in my ear, and panic instantly flares to life inside me.
Drew makes a move to come to my side, but I caution him with a warning look. The last thing I want Christian Montgomery thinking is that I’m scared of him.
Even if I am.
I still have nightmares about his hideous cock and the feel of his hands on me.
Christian doesn’t make any uncalculated moves, and I want to know what he’s up to. “What do you want, Christian.” My voice is glacial, and I don’t turn around to look at him.
“I wanted to thank you,” he whispers in my ear, and my skin crawls like a thousand fire ants are scratching me.
“I’ll bite,” I say, watching Charlie frowning from his position at the bar.
“You have made this too easy.”
All the tiny hairs lift on the back of my neck, and acid churns in my gut.
“Not that it excuses what you tried to do,” he continues, “and I’ve a long memory and limitless patience reserves, so I can wait it out, but something tells me I won’t have much longer to wait.”
“Get the fuck away from her,” Charlie says, pulling me back from Christian.
“I’m going,” he says, with clear amusement in his tone. “But only because it won’t be long before she’s mine to do with as I please.”
And with those awesome parting words, he walks away, leaving me shaking in fear at the thought he has something big planned for me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“Are you nervous?” I ask Father the following morning when we are all convened in the presidential suite over breakfast, just before we head down to the auditorium where the vote will take place.
“Nerves are for the weak.” He puffs out his chest. “Today is just a formality.” Patrice flicks a piece of lint off the pocket of his jacket. “I’ve spent years working toward this goal, and everything is lined up to slot perfectly into place.” He drains his freshly squeezed orange juice, looking predictably smug.
His arrogance and his cruelty were always going to be his downfall.
I take Charlie’s glass and stand. “I’ll get you a refill.”
Father thrusts his glass at me, and I fake a lip bite, taking it as my mouth pulls into a thin line. “Good girl.” He pats me on the ass as I turn away from the table, and it’s the first time he has laid a finger on me in months.
It was a blatant move.
A warning that after today everything will change.
I want to grab the coffee pot and empty it over his perverted head, but that would defeat the purpose, so I swallow my pride and ignore his groping. I take my time filling both glasses with fresh juice as Drew distracts the bastard with questions about how the vote will go.
“After the outgoing president makes the opening speech, and the introductions, the public vote will take place,” he explains as I hand him his fresh glass of juice.
I hand Charlie his juice refill, smoothing a hand down the front of my black pencil skirt, ensuring the small handgun strapped to my inner thigh is still hidden. I smile at Charlie as I slide back into the seat alongside him. “What was that all about?” he whispers.
