Page 63 of Reckless Seduction
“Fuck you, Kiernan,” my brother growls as he stalks from the room without looking back. Then I am left alone, the pain in my heart growing stronger as each second of silence ticks by.
In that moment, I feel the one thing I have never felt in my entire life.
Alone.
TWENTY-FOUR
There it stands.
Home.
There is a sliver of discontent as I pull my car up to the security shed that stands in front of the gleaming metal gate that leads to the place I have called home since I was three years old. There has always been an unease that lingers in my core when I drive through these gates. I always chalk it up to simple jealousy. Knowing that the moment I step inside, I am no longer Bailey Jameson, star reporter, but Bailey Jameson, unwanted daughter and mistake.
Rolling down the window, I show my face to Grant, the regular daytime security guard my father employs.
“Welcome back, Miss Jameson.” Grant tips his head at me as he presses a small button on the high-tech panel inside the shed. “I already radioed ahead to let your family know you have arrived. They have been worried.” He shoots me a disproving look.
“Wipe that look from your face,” I sneer at him. Grant has always been cordial to me, but he is my father’s lackey. A spy who documents my comings and goings. His brows bury in his hairline, and his eyes go wide at my sudden hostility toward him.It is not often that I portray much beyond the docile and meek daughter my father has tried to raise me to be.
In this house, everyone wears a mask.
Not bothering to waste any more time, I drive through the open gates.
Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into the opulent circular driveway. I leave my car idle in front of the grand steps that lead up to the porch, waving off the porter as I pull my suitcase from the back seat. The story I plan on telling them runs through my head a dozen times, again and again. My family needs to believe that I have been holed up in a hotel in Portland to heal my broken heart.
Pfft.
Broken, my ass.
My fingers play nervously with the hem of my long-sleeve blouse, fiddling with the small communication device I have sewn into the lining. It won’t be able to be detected, the frequency too low for my father’s anti-listening devices to pick up. Somehow, despite my reticence about my father being some criminal mastermind, having it makes me feel safer.
With a long sigh, I step inside the house. It feels cold and impersonal compared to the warmth and design of the Kavanaughs’ penthouse. The furniture is large and garish. It is also as uncomfortable as hell. There is no family media room, and dinners are rarely taken together unless Father has his business associates over.
“You little cunt.”
Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
A painful sting radiates across my cheek, catching me off guard. I stumble, tripping over my suitcase and landing painfully on my ass.
Fuck, that hurts.
“Nice to see you too, Sarah,” I sneer, holding my hand to my cheek to quell the burn.
“Where the hell have you been?” she snarls. “You think you can just walk out on the deal your father made with the Knights?”
“Well,” I pick myself up from the floor. “I would say that, yes, I can. I am not marrying someone who has been actively cheating on me.”
Sarah crosses her arms against her chest and rolls her eyes. “Oh, grow up, Bailey,” she chastises. “Men cheat. It is who they are. You have always known this marriage isn’t about love,” she spits the last word out with disgust. “It is about forming an alliance. It is about power.”
The edges of my mouth twitch in disdain. “If you think I am going to marry someone who makes me as miserable as my father makes you, think again,” I spit at her. “It’s over. If you want this alliance so bad, give him Dalia instead.”
Sarah steps toward me with her arm raised as if to hit me again. She stops at the last moment, her eyes hardening. “Ungrateful little bitch,” she sneers. “I told him to get rid of you when we had the chance. I told him you would be useless, even as a pawn.”
Get rid of me?
Her jaw sets as she lifts her chin. “You will marry Drew, Bailey.” She takes a long, resolved breath. “Or I will see to it that you end up just like your mother. Slit throat and all.” Without another word, she turns on her heel and stalks out of the entry hall.
There isn’t much time to contemplate what she said before Carson, the family butler, clears his throat from the entryway to the long hall that leads toward my father’s office. I turn my head to look at him, taking in his tailored coattails and polished shoes. He stands firmly erect, shoulders pushed back, chest out.The perfect slave in a dynasty of masters wrapped up in an air of civility.
