The Scotch King (Scotch 1)

Crewe remained on his knees as he recovered from the high. He got to his feet then wiped himself off before he grabbed a jar of ointment. He dipped his fingers inside then spread it across my cheeks, curing the burn almost instantly. “I think we understand each other better now. Don’t cross me again.”

I learned my lesson.

“Or it’ll be thirty slaps.”

14

London

When I woke up the following morning, my ass still hurt.

The cheeks were red and irritated, raw from the bite of his leather belt. The cream he put over the welts soothed the pain, but I knew the marks were there without even checking. I opened my eyes and turned over, expecting to see him beside me.

But he wasn’t there.

Sometimes he was up early, exercising before he showered and joined his crew downstairs. His schedule was never concrete, so I didn’t have a clue what he was doing. It’s not like he would tell me if I asked.

I kicked the covers aside then looked out the window, seeing the morning sunlight sprinkle across the castle. The place looked like a fairytale—even though it didn’t feel like one.

As if he knew I was awake, he walked through the door. “Good. You’re awake.”

“I hope that means you brought breakfast.”

He didn’t chuckle like he usually would, telling me he was in a particularly bad mood despite the action we got last night. I didn’t bother being embarrassed by it. I liked the things he did to me. It was stupid to keep fighting it—and lying about it. “Get dressed and come downstairs. You can have breakfast afterward.”

“Is this about that surprise you told me about?”

“Yes.” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt hanging in the closet and threw them on the bed. “But you probably aren’t going to want breakfast afterward.”

That didn’t sound good.

He approached the bed and grabbed my chin, directing my look toward him even though he already had my full attention. “Fifteen minutes. If you aren’t in the drawing room by then, I’ll drag you myself—by the hair.” He released me, a fiery look still in his eyes.

I wanted to run away again. Whatever was waiting for me downstairs was probably cruel.

“Alright?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately, hating myself for doing it.

“Yes, sir.” He had commanded me to address him that way countless times, but I couldn’t do it.

And I still couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bow to any man. I couldn’t kneel. I couldn’t surrender, not like that. He may backhand me or worse, but I still couldn’t bend to his will. It was an innate part of me, to be defiant whenever possible. He needed control, but I needed it too. We were two sides of the same coin. “I said yes.”

His brown eyes narrowed in irritation, but he didn’t threaten me with a punishment. Suddenly, a smile crept into his lips, sinister and terrifying. He stepped away and placed his hands in his pockets, somehow pleased by the exchange.

What was I missing?

He walked out, the cruel smile still on his lips. “Fifteen minutes, Lovely.”

After I got dressed, I walked downstairs and entered the drawing room with hesitance. I wasn’t sure what I was going to find there, but whatever it was, I couldn’t avoid it. I stepped inside and saw some of the men standing with their backs to the fire in the hearth, enjoying a drink and each other’s company. The others were spread around the room, smoking cigars and drinking scotch. I spotted Crewe in the center, sitting in an oversized red armchair that was made for a king.

Ariel leaned over a man on the floor, dabbing a towel against his neck.

That’s when I noticed the pool of blood on the hardwood floor—and the man who was bleeding.

“Joey?” I stifled a cry as I ran to his side, recognizing my brother immediately. His hair was much longer than the last time I saw him, and he looked pale like he hadn’t seen the light of day in weeks. “What are you doing to him?”

Ariel held a knife and stitches, obviously finished doing something to him.

Ariel ignored my question like it wasn’t important enough to answer.

Instantly, I snapped. I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her down to the floor. Then I crawled on top of her and slammed my fist into her face. “Don’t touch my brother!” I raised my fist to hit her again when I was dragged off her body.

To my annoyance, Crewe kneeled in front of her and examined her face with concern. “Are you alright?” He noticed her bloody lip and pulled out a handkerchief. He kept his voice low, their interaction quiet.

Now I really hated Crewe.

“I’m fine.” Ariel pushed him off and got to her feet. “That cunt punches like a girl anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” I yanked myself free from the men. “Then let’s give it another go.”