Page 8 of Power and Possession
“Please…”
His strong shoulders seemed to slouch, and he turned around. He walked back towards me, and just as I thought his humanity got the better of him, he grabbed me by the hair, jerking my battered head off the flat mattress.
“Get the fuck off of me!”
“If I let you out of here, can you behave?”
“I—what?”
He wrenched my face up to look at his. He was still simmering with hostility, but his eyes didn’t match the tension of the rest of his face.
“Can you act like a civilized human?”
“Excuse me?” I screeched. “You’re the asshole who locked me in here and stole me from my bed! You’re the uncivilized one, you giant prick—”
He instantly released me and walked back up the stairs. Before he left, he flicked the light switch off and darkness engulfed me, the darkest night I’d ever seen.
“Fine. Stay here with the rats,” he taunted, slamming the door shut.
It was the last straw. I’d kept my composure, managed not to break down despite the horrible situation my father put me in, but there was no use kidding myself. I was in deep shit.
Maybe it was the darkness that did me in. Maybe the finality in which my captor had slammed the door. Whatever it was, it finally broke me. Why couldn’t I keep my damn mouth shut? Why did I push him? I didn’t usually mind saying whatever I felt, but in a situation like this, it would’ve been better if common sense had won out.
The first tear slid down my cheek, hot and salty as it reached the corner of my mouth. The next tear migrated to my ear, and I felt the dampness hit my ear canal before I sniffled, and let the sobs shake my chest as I cried into the pitch-black void.
Chapter Six
Steele
I closed my eyes, sitting in my favorite chair, feeling the fire warm my face, listening to the crackle and hiss as the flame licked the log and charred it. As usual, a drink was in my hand, and I absentmindedly tapped the glass against the table, listening to the ice swish around. Opening my eyes, I brought the scotch to my lips and let it burn my throat on the way down.
A hostage. I had a goddamn hostage in my basement. Not just any hostage, but a young woman. A woman who hadn’t done anything wrong, other than be produced by one of my enemies. The decision to take her was an easy one, but I really hadn’t thought through the ramifications.
I cursed under my breath. I was usually cold and calculating, always weighing each consequence of the decisions I made before responding. But I’d acted impulsively, my pride getting the better of me, and now I had a spoiled brat who contained more fire in her single pinky than all the women I’d met combined. I rubbed my hand against my cheek, the spot where she’d spit on me. I wanted to throttle her right there, strangle her until her face turned red and she sputtered and gasped, but I managed to resist. I wasn’t usually one to show mercy. What the fuck was happening to me?
Her pretty face and toned body circled in my mind, and I envisioned those long legs in all types of compromising positions—shit. No. I needed to get this girl out of my life fast.
I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed. The line rang, almost immediately switching to voicemail. I didn’t expect him to answer. I smiled as his disgruntled voice cameon the line, inviting callers to leave him a detailed message.No problem, I thought.
“Topher, you’ve crossed the wrong man. And now you’re hiding in some piece of shit safe house, huddled and hoping to wait me out. Praying I’ll get bored and move on. But…you didn’t take everything with you, did you? You didn’t protect the most valuable thing you have.” I paused for dramatic effect, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. “Do you know where your daughter is?”
I chuckled as I disconnected the call and sat back. I took another long swig of my drink before my cell immediately started to vibrate. Just as I suspected.
“Steele,” I answered, setting my drink down, my lips curving into a smile.
“What have you done with her?” His tone was somewhat panicked, but he didn’t have the desperation in his voice that I’d imagined. Almost as if I’d stolen an apple from his lunch or a pen on his desk, not a beloved and treasured daughter.
“She’s…resting,” I said, still enjoying the conversation. Topher Phillips made me look like a fool, but now the tables were turned, and it was time for him to be the clown. “I must say, she doesn’t look anything like you…she’s beautiful, with her dark hair and fiery eyes. Luscious legs that go on for—”
“What do you want?” he snapped.
“It’s simple. You. I want you, here, in Europe, in my building, where I can judge and punish you in front of my entire empire. Show them what happens when you fuck with me.”
A sharp exhale, and then the line went dead.
It wasn’t the reaction I was anticipating. I expected Topher to plead for his daughter, ask how she was, beg for proof that she was unharmed, and then negotiate the terms of her release. Staring at the blank screen on my cell phone, I wondered if I’d miscalculated.
No. There was no way a man of his station would sit back and let his own flesh and blood be taken hostage, no matter what the price, or how strained their relationship might be. He was aproud man, and he was probably just caught off guard.