Kidnapped by the Billionaire(39)

Violet took another sip of the coffee. "You don't know?"

"Eva managed to track you via security camera footage on the subway, so  we saw Elijah kidnap you at gunpoint. Then Gabriel found him and tried  to convince him to let you go. We got to the apartment eventually by  picking up the last known signal from your phone."

Another jolt went through her at the realization that a day ago this  would have meant so much to know her friend was tracking her, had been  trying to find her. But now she just felt  …  empty.

"Yeah," she sighed. "That's pretty much what happened." Because what  else could she say? Honor didn't need to know all the details.

Another silence fell.

"What happened to your hair?" Honor asked eventually.

"Elijah didn't like the dreads," Violet said. "So he cut them off."

An expression of concern crossed her friend's face. "Oh, Vi … "

"It's fine. I was getting sick of them anyway." Weird how little she  felt about that now. How pathetic her attempt at rebellion had seemed  and how stupid getting angry when Elijah had cut them had been. It was  just hair, after all.

"Sick of them?" Honor echoed, the crease deepening between her brows. "But you-"

"I didn't want them," she interrupted. "Like I said, it's fine."

The other woman stared at her. "You're in shock, aren't you?"

Violet blinked, realizing abruptly how she'd sounded. "Maybe. I mean, I  guess it's not every day you get kidnapped by some freaky-ass dude and  then get told your father was murdered."

Honor sat back. "Oh. So you know."

"Yeah, I know." Violet gripped her coffee mug tighter. "Elijah told me some  …  other things as well."

"Ah." There was sympathy on Honor's face, but also a kind of unflinching  honesty that made Violet want to turn away and pretend none of this  ever happened. Because there was a part of her that had secretly hoped  what Elijah had told her wasn't true. That he'd been lying to her. That  her father wasn't dead and wasn't the Godfather of some evil empire of  crime.         

     



 

But one look in Honor's blue eyes told her that was a vain hope.

All of it was true.

Violet made herself hold her friend's gaze. "Tell me, Honor. Tell me about Dad."

Honor's brow creased. "Perhaps now's not the best-"

"Tell me." Holy shit, was that her voice? Since when had she sounded so hard?

Honor gave her a measuring look, as if she was checking to make sure  Violet was still Violet. "Okay then," she said. "So what do you know  about him so far?"

"That he ran a drug operation. That he was into sex trafficking. That he  had some kind of underground casino thing going on right here in New  York." Saying it all out loud, to another person, felt wrong. Felt on  some level like a betrayal.

Honor let out a breath. "Unfortunately, yes, he was doing all those things."

Violet swallowed, the last shred of hope vanishing. "I see."

"You should also know that  …  what he did affected some of Gabriel's friends."

You don't want to know.

No, she really didn't. But she couldn't ignore it, couldn't run away  from it. The time for pretending ignorance, the time for running away  was past. Her father was dead, which meant she had to deal with this  herself.

She gripped her mug hard, feeling the hot burn of the china under her fingers. "What did he do?"

"He kept Eva King as his personal sex slave for at least two years."  Honor's voice was so very calm. So very level. "And  …  I'm so sorry, Vi,  but he had my father killed."

Didn't seem to matter how hard she gripped the mug, it slipped from  Violet's fingers anyway and smashed onto the hardwood floor. Hot coffee  went everywhere, soaking into the leather of the couch, into her  trousers, splashing the silky green fabric of her top.

Honor exclaimed softly, moving to help clean it up, murmuring about burns or some such crap.

But Violet didn't hear her. Because coffee spillage was the least of her worries.

She got up from the couch, feeling like she was freezing solid. As if  she were already frozen and one hard blow would shatter her into a  thousand pieces.

She didn't know Eva King, but there was one salient fact about the woman  she was aware of, the fact that was often trumpeted in the media. Eva  was young, younger than Violet was. Which meant that her father had  …

A wave of nausea went through her, so strong it was all she could do not to be sick on the floor right then and there.

And Honor's father, Daniel  …

Violet walked to the windows of the apartment and stood there, waiting  for the nausea to pass, for the cold brick that was sitting in her  stomach to melt. Waiting to feel normal again.

What the hell? After this? You'll never be normal again.

The truth of it was a punch to the face, a blade straight through the  heart. Because no, she never would be, not after this. Not now that she  knew what her father was. Not now that she knew what he'd done.

Her eyes felt dry and gritty, and she was surprised that outside the  windows of Gabriel's apartment the world was going about its business as  if nothing had ever happened.

Jesus. And she'd been reflecting on how her life had blown apart not ten minutes ago. That was nothing compared to this.

There was a pressure in the back of her throat, like she was going to  cry, and yet her eyes remained stubbornly dry. Because no, she wasn't  going to cry. That would be indulgent and it did sweet fuck-all to help  the people her father had hurt.

She felt a sudden, violent need to look into Elijah's bleak, black eyes.  To have his voice telling her these hard, rough truths. Because he knew  what it was like to live with a monster. He understood. He'd been  living in that pit for seven years himself.

Violet found she'd curled her hands into fists at her sides. "I need to talk to Elijah," she said in a rough, croaky voice.

"The others have him." Honor's voice came from beside her. "They've got questions."

Violet didn't look around. "I don't give a shit what they have. I need him, Honor. I need him now."

Her friend remained silent, didn't ask why Violet needed him, why the  hell she wanted to be with the man who'd held her hostage for two days.  And just as well, because how did you explain that kind of thing? How  did you explain the feeling of having more in common with a hardened  criminal than you did with your best friend?

"That's not all, Vi," Honor said, quiet and steady.

Oh God. There was more?

"Your father  …  raped Gabriel's mother."

Violet's hearing felt dull, as if she'd been hit over the head with something heavy.         

     



 

"Gabriel is your half brother."

The ground shifted beneath her feet, the world turning in dizzy circles  around her. Everything had changed, everything was different. So  different she didn't even recognize where she was anymore.

She wanted familiarity, understanding. And there was only one person in the world who could give her that right now.

"Elijah," she whispered.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They finally let him out of the bare concrete room an hour later,  shutting him in another room that looked like an old-fashioned  gentleman's study. They locked the door and left some asshole standing  outside it as a guard.

Elijah could have escaped easily enough if he'd set his mind to it, but  he wasn't going anywhere without Violet. They hadn't given him an answer  about whether they were going to let him take her, but he could wait.  Not for too long, though, especially since he would be meeting Jericho  in just a few days.

He'd give them another couple of hours and if they were still screwing around, he'd get out of here and go find Violet himself.

Rutherford had given him a T-shirt to put on, which he supposed was  polite. But they didn't do anything about the bloody bandages wrapping  around his shoulder. Luckily the wound had stopped bleeding, so that was  something. Still hurt like a bastard though.

Waiting was always a mindfuck, so Elijah began to pace around the room,  giving his body and mind something to do instead of dwelling on  pointless questions such as what they were going to do with him and  where the hell Violet was.

This had to be Rutherford's place, what with all the dark wooden library  shelves and cabinetry, the leather sofa and high wingback chairs. There  was just something intrinsically very English and particular about the  decor that reminded him of Marie's London-born parents.

"I remember you too, Kane."

Yeah and he remembered Alex St. James. The arrogant little shit who'd  flirted with his wife. Who'd made his club so exclusive, so damn  attractive that Marie hadn't been able to resist wanting to be part of  it since she'd always loved feeling special.

She'd made him feel special too.

Grief hit him in the chest, so strong he stopped dead in the center of  the room. A grief he thought he'd fought and killed and buried. Grief  for his wife. For what he'd lost when she died and for all the years of  bearing that loss since.