Gilded Cage

Lillian didn’t know what he meant back then. All she knew was her father was mad because she was clumsy. When she was older, her nanny confided that she reminded him too much of her mother. Gillian had died when she gave birth to her, and her father had never recovered from it. The nanny asked Lillian to forgive her father and his harsh treatments. Sometimes old wounds never healed and Lillian had to make peace with that.

“I really don’t know his reasons.” Lillian decided to spare Brandon the details. She felt ashamed she was the reason her mother had died and that she’d become the source of her father’s hatred. “Probably because I’m so clumsy.”

“Lillian.” Brandon tugged her face up. “You know that isn’t true. I was suspicious the reason he treated you like that was because of Maxwell Stanford. I’m sure you know who Stanford really is.”

Oh yes. She knew the bastard very well. Stanford had deep ties with the Yakuza. He was the façade for the Japanese underworld mafia. The actual boss of the biggest Yakuza family in Japan was very secretive about his identity, and rumour said he’d “adopted” a gaijin, a foreigner, to be his go-to man and carry his mission in the international world. Stanford fronted legitimate businesses while laundering Yakuza money.

And as for Stanford’s ties with her father, Lillian didn’t think her father was afraid of Stanford or was intimidated by him. As long as she could remember, her father and Stanford had been friends. She heard there used to be three of them—her father, Maxwell Stanford, and Keith Thurman—‘the three musketeers’ people had called them. But Keith Thurman had died in a boating accident shortly after the three reaped big bucks in the stock market during the economic recovery boom. Her father and Maxwell Stanford had built their empire since.

Lillian furrowed her eyebrows. “I don’t think so. If my father is afraid of him, he could move somewhere away from Stanford. My father just doesn’t care about me. He never did. And you know Stanford is a creep.”

Brandon’s face darkened. “I heard rumours about Stanford. Many unpleasant things.”

Unpleasant things? She’d sampled some of Stanford’s perverseness firsthand over the years. The day they’d gotten engaged, Stanford had pulled her out from the party in his penthouse and had showed her what awaited her when she officially became his. She remembered how numbed she was when Stanford nonchalantly took her in his secret room, the dungeon he called it, and flaunted dozens of sick things he would do to her. One thing that scared the bejesus out of her was when Stanford grabbed a hot poker from the fireplace and branded the leather couch with it. The smell of sizzling burning leather had made her want to throw up.

“See this?” Stanford had said. “Once you become my wife, you will carry my mark on your body. But don’t worry. I won’t do anything to your face. It’s a shame to spoil such a pretty face, isn’t?”

She couldn’t sleep that night. The image of Stanford’s hot poker branding her skin had given her nightmares. The burning, cooked flesh that would mark her with Stanford’s MS initial as if she was a mere chattel on a ranch. One of his properties. To be used and abused any way he pleased. She knew she had to get out of this marriage arrangement. Even though she was surrounded by many bodyguards, servants and staff, she hadn’t seen one who would be willing to help her. Her father’s money had bought their loyalty. But then Brandon came. He was truly a Godsend.

Lillian sought refuge on Brandon’s chest, burying her face on the curve of his throat. His warmth soothed her.

“Thank you for saving me. And also for giving me the unforgettable wedding night I wanted.”

He chuckled. “You mean taking advantage of a young, vulnerable woman who never saw the outside world before?”

Ah, again, what was up with him and his code of honour syndrome? “Have you ever thought that I’m the one who’s taking advantage from you? I mean, I cost you your job and I tricked you out of your pants, too.”

His laugh turned louder. “Babe.” Brandon found her face and kissed her. “But you’re totally worth it.”

The next morning…

The cool breeze blowing from the air conditioning vents welcomed him as soon as Brandon entered a small coffee shop in the Roppongi area. After breakfast, he’d left Lillian in their hotel room to meet Donahue. He saw his friend sitting at one of the tables near the window. His friend nodded at him and brusquely rose from his seat, stalking over to the restroom area. Brandon followed him in silence. Donahue stopped to reach his key and unlocked a storage room. He motioned for Brandon to enter. Brandon stepped in. Donahue turned on the light and locked the door.

“How’s Lillian?” Donahue asked.

“She’s fine. And in good spirits.” Brandon scanned the room. He saw a sophisticated communication console nested between a giant drum of coffee beans and neatly stacked Styrofoam cups. “What is this, your bat cave?”

Donahue laughed. “My secret lair, you’re damn right. I need a place where I can hide my porn from Keiko.”

Brandon snorted. Donahue and his porn addiction were a legend. Brandon remembered one time when they were deep in the mountains of Afghanistan and Donahue had needed to patch up one of their battle buddy’s injuries from an IED explosion. Donahue ran out of anaesthesia so he made the poor soldier watch his porn collection while he stitched him up. Funny thing, the man didn’t complain.

Donahue pulled up a chair for Brandon then he flopped in one recliner in front of the communication console. “How’s her stitches? Are they okay?”

“The last time I checked, they were holding up. No bleeding whatsoever.” Though the thought he had made Lillian bled in another part of her body made him feel guilty. Lillian hadn’t complained about losing her virginity. In fact, she was ravenous. He’d lost count how many times they had made love last night.

“Good. Once she’s out of this country, I’ll arrange for someone to take out her stitches.” Donahue turned on the console. The monitor flickered alive. “Okay, I have a confession to make.”

Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you work for Blackwell or Stanford.”

Donahue cursed. “What do you take me for? I’d gladly take a bullet for you rather than sell you off to those asstards.”

“Damn, for a moment you had me worried there.” He relaxed. “So, what is it? Your dick finally fall off from your incessant jacking habit?”

Donahue ignored his digs. “Couple weeks ago, MacCunnen contacted me out of the blue. He ordered me to give you assistance if you ever needed it. I didn’t know you’d be here at the time, but I was expecting you. I wasn’t really surprised when you came for help.”

MacCunnen? General MacCunnen was his former commanding officer who’d gotten him the job as Lillian’s bodyguard in the first place. Why would MacCunnen contact Donahue? As a matter of fact, how could MacCunnen predict that he would go to Donahue anyway? “What did MacCunnen want with me?”

“I think it’s better if MacCunnen explains that to you. He’s waiting for you on a secure line.” Donahue’s fingers danced on the keyboard, typing furiously. He opened a video conference call.