Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“My mother—”
Fuck. My phone vibrates again. Needing an outlet other than contemplating how my own mum has continued to put my feelings last, I grab the phone from my pocket. There are missed calls from Monica and a New York number.
“Victor? Victor!” The Queen commands, “Put that away. I demand your undivided attention!”
A text message pops up. The type that blows to smithereens the chunk of humanity I’m barely clinging to:
Hello Victor. Sorry to bother you. I kinda forced Monica to give me your number. Lux won’t answer my calls. I am worried about her and the baby. ~Aliyah
The baby. I take a deep breath and rise. Without words, I turn to leave.
The Queen scoffs. “Sit down, this instant!”
Maddy gasps. “Victor, control yourself, please.”
“Do not fucking touch me!” I point a finger at the guards manning the double doors. Their eyes waver with fear. My palms slam into the glossed wood, and I burst through the swinging doors. The guards in the lavish corridor assume a defensive posture. One, whose stance is rather confrontational, steps toward me. I grab him about the collar.
“If you so desire to apprehend me, might I suggest your tactics lead to my death? Got that, mate?” I shove him back, and he sails across the floor.
“Seize him!” the Queen says.
With Luxury’s pregnancy as my sole driving force, I move into action.
I start by tossing a jab at the bloke nearest me. He sprawls into two more guards. Extending my fist back, I power through with a cross that dislocates the jaw of another guard. Each hit decreases my opposition. Then I'm apprehended from behind. Arms pressed down to my sides, I reach out with both feet, striking the fleet advancing from the front. More guards arrive. Twenty at least. They trade off. Their bloody mistake. They might as well converge on me all at once. I take a punch to the chin. My thirst for blood leaves the bloke who dealt such a weak blow stumbling over himself to flee my wrath. As I’ve targeted one wanka, another’s fist rockets into my abdomen. If this were any other day but today, I’d admit he phased me.
I roar, rounding on the tosser, pounding a flurry of strikes into him. I crouch down to pummel his face in. As I bludgeon the bloke, his mates pile on top of me like this is American football.
“All right. All right.” I cave. Flashing a cocky smile at the blokes before me, I have already gotten plan B covered. I spit out a gut full of blood as they escort me to one of the offices down the hall.
“Tossers, all of you!” I shout as they shove me inside. The loud click of the door locking from the corridor causes my fingers to curl into tight fists. C’mon, you wanker. Get yourself out of this mess.
I reach into my jacket pocket for my phone, and my eyes bite shut in defeat. My mobile must have fallen out during the scuffle.
“Bollocks!” I stalk across the sitting room, adorned with antique beige furniture. Dropping my hands on the crown molding accenting the frame, I scowl out of the window. The height factor doesn’t present an issue. I’m on the first bloody floor. But the guards across from Her Majesty’s roses glower in warning.
All right. Now for the modified plan.
I sulk away, searching the inner walls.
Where are you? My finger trails over gilded frames of royal paintings, searching for a latch to the secret tunnels my little brother, Graham, and I played in. I figured the Queen would lock me in the room like a child. I anticipated it—anything to get away from her.
As the door opens, I step back and drop my hands to my trousers like a defeated cunt.
“Vic . . . Victor?” Madeline’s head pops into the room. She gives a weak smile to indicate that she is not a threat. Her worst offense is choosing not to see the deadly gleam in my eyes, though she has the good sense to pause while closing the door. After doing so, she turns toward me, taking a meek step forward.
When her slender hand reaches for my jaw, I clasp her wrist. “Give me your keys.”
“Why?” she asks, tugging away from my ruthless touch.
“I cannot stay here a second longer.”
“Victor, what do you mean? You’re no prisoner. Your grandmother is allowing you a moment to gather your thoughts.”
Allow? My eyelid twitches. “Maddy, come off it. Had I known you were delusional, I would’ve parted ways with you eons ago. I will never be in love with you. Get that through your thick skull.”
Tears well in her brown eyes.
“Think, Maddy! Who offers a contract for a woman’s hand in marriage?”
Our marriage was always supposed to be for convenience, as I chose that it would be right in the eyes of my duchy. I wouldn't require any more children. Not after Jude. Not with Madeline. We're closer to forty. There had been no need to be a father again.