“I’m sorry—what?” Rourke looked at me with a stunned expression on his face after I told him about my discussion with my father.
“I know it sounds crazy, but—this could be our chance—this could be your chance.” I grabbed his hand. “He’s fine with our relationship. He doesn’t care that I’m involved with you.”
“Uh, I don’t think that’s true.” Rourke shook his head back and forth.
“I’m guessing you didn’t tell him about me?” Brody chuckled.
“No, but—that can be our secret.” I looked over at Brody. “Seriously, this is a good thing. All you have to do is mess John up a little bit—a few punches.”
“Anabelle, I need to tell you something.” Rourke pulled away.
Rourke never got a chance to say what he wanted to say—because a gunshot rang out through my house. I immediately ran towards my father’s study—terrified that I would see him on the floor. Rourke and Brody were right behind me. We made it to the study before any of the workers and when I pushed the door open, I saw John lying on the floor. I was pretty sure he was dead. My father was holding the gun and he turned to me with an expression on his face that reflected terror. I heard sirens in the distance. Brody grabbed my arm before I could rush to my father’s side.
“It was them!” My father tossed the gun on the floor as some of the workers made their way upstairs. “These two—they broke into my house—killed my best friend.”
“Daddy—what are you saying?” I felt my heart drop straight into my stomach.
“You saw it Anabelle—you saw everything.” My father nodded quickly.
“We need to get the fuck out of here.” Rourke took a step back.
“Yeah—we do.” Brody let go of my arm and I turned to see him running towards the stairs.
“Anabelle…” My father ran over and pulled me into his study—away from the workers so that they couldn’t hear what he was saying. “The cops will be here any minute. Those two—men—they broke into the house. They shot John.”
“Daddy, no.” I shook my head back and forth. “That’s not what happened.”
“Yes it is.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Family comes first—remember the Prescott motto. I didn’t mean to kill John. He pulled the gun on me—I had to fight him for it.”
“Then tell the police that—they’ll believe you.” I felt tears welling up in my eyes.
“No. They won’t. It’ll be my word against a dead man—and I’m the one
who pulled the trigger, so my word isn’t going to mean much. It has to be this way. I know you care about Rourke, but—family—family comes first.”
I felt numb all over. I didn’t know what was happening or how to process what was going on. I didn’t get a chance to try and reason with my father. The police came through the front door with weapons drawn and chaos erupted in Prescott Manor. The police took my father’s statement. He told them that I walked in in time to see him wrestle the gun from Rourke’s hand after John was shot. He said Rourke and Brody were home invaders—scum from the South Side that were after money—or something.
When the police finally came into the living room to take my statement, I looked up at the Prescott family motto hanging on the wall. I stared it as I recited what my father told me to say, each word making my heart break—until my heart felt like it was black in my chest. After the police were gone, my father wrapped his arms around me and I broke down in tears.
I told Rourke I loved him.
I called him Master.
I promised that I would always be his loyal submissive.
But then I did what all Prescott’s were supposed to do.
I put my family first.
Rourke
Present day
I managed to get some sleep, but it didn’t come easy. I was still used to keeping one eye open, afraid that someone was going to make a move on me when I was in jail. I had a lingering fear that Adrian Prescott wasn’t going to let his baby girl testify—because he was afraid she wouldn’t go through with it once she was on the stand. I was concerned he would just have one of us killed off in jail—little did I know that when a contract came through for a life to be claimed, it would be us that was asked to snap a neck.
The ease of Brody’s actions didn’t sit well with me. If he was able to kill some random stranger, even if that stranger deserved to die, it meant that he was also capable of sliding the blade across Anabelle’s throat. That was probably what truly made it difficult to sleep. Even after she betrayed me, I didn’t want Anabelle dead. I wanted to do what I failed to do when she was with us before—I wanted to break her. If I could show her that she belonged to us—that we would punish her when necessary, but protect her from anything, then I would have a loyalty that was stronger than blood—stronger than that fucking Prescott family motto.
I gave up on sleep after a few hours and sat up in bed. I grabbed a cigarette, lit it, and walked over to the room where Anabelle was sleeping. She still looked like a fucking angel, even if her halo was shattered. I hated to see her like that—tied up and tossing with her sins weighing heavily on her mind. All I wanted to do was walk into the room, wrap my arms around her, and tell her it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t—it wasn’t okay at all. She betrayed me. She betrayed us both. She was never my submissive, never worthy of calling me Master—because I held back when I needed to be firm.