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My imagination has already run wild with what the poor kid has had to endure.
“But what about you, son?” Luther asks. “Have you put any thought into expanding the family name?”
“Children?” I laugh. And keep laughing. “I wouldn’t hold your breath for more grandbabies. Not from me, anyway.”
“What about Layla or Keira?”
I shake my head, not willing to get his hopes up for more minions to work under his control. “Not in the foreseeable future.”
“I disagree.” Luca clears his throat. “Keira and Seb go at it like rabbits.”
I look at him. Smile. Blink.
None of it is kind.
Not when he’s discussing my sister’s sex life.
“Who’s Seb?” My father sits straighter. “Do I know him?”
“No. His name is Sebastian.” I continue to stare my a
“But?”
That’s a good question.
I’ve held tight to my animosity for so long the reasons don’t hold much weight anymore. He is a valued part of my team. His skills with a computer are beyond my comprehension. And he can handle a gun better than most.
Then there’s his devotion to family. I learned the hard way he’d go to war for the sake of those he loves.
“I’m protective,” I admit. “And she’s been through a lot. I couldn’t stand to see her suffer again.”
I sprinkle history into the conversation as a test.
My father may not be aware of what Keira has been through recently, but that’s not what I’m referring to. I want to trigger the past. Her childhood. Once and for all, I need to know if he’s aware of what his failure as a parent did to her.
“Their relationship is serious?” His brows rise. “That’s surprising. I’ve never seen her with a man before apart from the guy at Richard’s funeral.”
I want to tell him he’s responsible for her abstinence. That her mistreatment as a child is to blame. It won’t help, though. His predictable dismissal would only increase my thirst for blood.
“They’re joined at the hip,” Luca adds. “There’s no separating them.”
Numerous sets of footsteps approach, breaking our conversation. Tobias leads three women toward us, all of them trailing behind him in a line.
They’re victims—my father’s slaves—who walk forward, their faces deadpan as if they’ve done this strut of shame a hundred times before.
“Here they are.” Luther encourages them forward with a jerk of his head. “My gorgeous beauties, I’d like you to meet my special guests.”
The line stops. The women turn to face us, almost military like, while Tobias remains in the lead, his focus on my father, waiting, wanting recognition.
“Who do we have here?” Luca inches forward with a sly grin, his act unsettling.
There’s no reaction from the victims. They remain in formation, staring straight ahead over our heads at the white brick wall behind.
They’re attractive. Seemingly healthy. Impeccably dressed. Their hair is styled, their clothing immaculate. Even their makeup is on point.
There’s no sign of the brutality they endure. Not one hint of the horrors they’ve faced.
“This is Nina.” Luther points at the blonde on the left with her pursed lips and narrowed gaze. She’s wearing a casual sundress, her hair loose around her shoulders, her skin sun-kissed with a healthy tan.
“Then Abigail and Chloe.” The two brunettes are similar in appearance. Both slim. Attractive. Fashionable.
They’re trophies. Not just slaves, but pretty decorations to promote my father’s deviance.
“You’ve got a nice collection.” Luca eyes the women with appreciation.
“This isn’t the entirety of my stable. Lilly is resting. And I assume the apple of my eye is arranging drinks.”
Tobias nods. “She’s getting food, too.”
“Five women?” I raise my brows. “I’m impressed by your stamina.”
“I’m like a fine wine, boy.” He spreads his arms along the backrest of his seat. “I only get better with age. Isn’t that right, ladies?”
They voice a chorus of murmured agreement, the “yes”, “of course”, and “definitely” a drone of sound.
“That’s not very convincing, my loves.” He pushes from the chair, his approach causing them to stand taller. Straighter.
“You’re remarkable, Luther,” the blonde says in a rush.
“And very generous,” the one next to her adds with conviction.
“We’re lucky to have you.” Chloe practically pleads with her eyes.
“That’s more like it.” He walks around them, the lazy stroll predatory. “I’m going to check on our drinks and take a quick bathroom break.” He leans in to grasp the blonde on the ass. “Get moving, ladies. It’s time to stop distracting the men.”
He ushers them into the house, sliding the door shut behind him.
“Your dad is a piece of work,” Luca mutters under his breath.
“Keep your opinions to yourself.” I shoot him a warning glare. We have no idea who’s listening. This place could be bugged down to the foundations for all we know. “If you can’t stomach your job, go wait in the car.”
He snaps his gaze away, his teeth clenched, his nostrils flaring.
“This is business.” I keep my voice low, still playing the game in case I’m overheard. “Consider it a learning opportunity.”
In other words, dig deep and gain information. Make this bullshit worthwhile.
He juts his chin in acknowledgement, his jaw ticking with each passing second.
“Why don’t you go for—”
The whoosh of the sliding door cuts off my words. The tap of heels puts me back on edge.
I force myself to lazily sink back into the chair as a new woman walks forward with a wooden tray. She’s like the others, slim, beautiful, with a braid of long dark hair resting over her left shoulder.
She meets my gaze briefly, her dark brown eyes striking me with a sense of déjà vu.
I give up on the lazy posture and sit straight, trying to get a better view of her downcast face.
I’ve seen her before. I’m sure I have.
She places the tray on the coffee table before us, the loose dress gaping at her chest as she bends to pick up two of the three glasses, each filled with a finger of scotch. She hands the first to Luca, her attention remaining on the floor.
When it’s my turn, I reach out, about to retrieve the drink but stop before making contact, letting my fingers hover close. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?”
She stills, her long lashes fluttering as she blinks.
There’s no other outward reaction. No sign of distress, apart from the way her throat works over a tormented swallow.
“I’m Cole,” I offer. “Luther’s son.”
She stiffens, her chocolate eyes hollow as they meet mine.
I’m not offered a greeting. Not in words. But the underlying “fuck you” in her tight expression speaks loud.
“Have we met?” I drag my attention over every inch of her, trying to find a birthmark or tattoo that might spark more familiarity. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”
“You’re mistaken.” She shoves the glass into my hand and backtracks with the sound of the nearby opening door.
“Ahh, there she is.” My old man sidles up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her close.
She doesn’t stiffen or bristle. She follows the movement, flowing with the motion like water in a stream.
“I see you’ve already met my pretty pe