Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“Is that necessary?”

He glances my way before nodding. “If she gets out and doesn’t know where she is, she’s going to lose her shit. I’d rather she smashes the room to pieces than my house when she finds out what you did to her.” He’s right. The moment she wakes up, Dahlia will be like a firecracker going off.

I think of the video, of knowing my father was the one who orchestrated my mother’s murder, banking on me seeing Patrick pull the trigger. He threatened Dahlia’s life once before, when she was only a teenager, forcing her father’s hand. He knew about her long before she walked into Tynewood.

It wasn’t the Sovereign who didn’t want women at the table; it was Abner Lancaster who allowed the need for absolute power to take over and rule him. He got hungry and vicious, and it’s time that came to an end.

Even though I wanted to be by Dahlia’s side the moment her eyes open, I need time to talk to the man who’s giving me refuge, as well as helping me plan how to take my father down.

One way or another, he’ll pay for what he’s done.

It’s funny how things can change overnight. Twenty-four hours ago, I was ready to make Dahlia’s life hell, now I’m the one saving her from my father’s wrath.

War is coming.

And it’s definitely going to be fatal.

25

Dahlia

Pain shoots through my head when I open my eyes, causing me to groan. A bitter taste lingers in my mouth, but there’s a scent of flowers—lilies maybe—that assaults my senses.

Pushing off the comfortable bed, I fight the urge to puke. My head spins. Or is it the room that’s spinning? I’m not sure, but I’m not at all steady on my feet. Gripping the mattress, I hold on in an attempt to calm the surge of saliva in my mouth and the way all the furniture seems as if it’s trying to attack me.

Once the feeling passes, I right myself and head to the door. Tugging on the knob, I twist and pull, but nothing gives way. With both hands, I slam my fists on the wood, screaming for someone to let me out.

I wait for a moment before doing it again and again until my throat is burning from the effort. Silence greets me, responding with nothing more than the promise that Ares drugged me, kidnapped me, and brought me to…

I glance around the room, taking in the expensive furniture, the silk curtains, and plush carpet. There’s a door cracked on the other side of the room, probably a bathroom, but I don’t move toward it.

My heart catapults in my chest when I hear a key in the door behind me. Spinning on my heel, I note that my shoes are off. Every nerve in my body is alight with fear and anxiety as I watch the gold doorknob twist, and when I’m met with familiar hazel eyes, I leap at Ares.

I beat my fists on his chest, his body slumping backward at my attack, but he quickly rights his footing. Ares grips my arms lifts me from the floor, and walks me back into the bedroom, kicking the door shut.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” I screech at him.

His response is merely a grimace at the sound of my voice, the high pitch of the words that spill free from my lips.

I continue my attack. “You’re a fucking asshole. You fucking drugged me. You’re going to kill me. Aren’t you? Why the fuck—”

Suddenly, I’m on the mattress, bouncing from being dropped without a care in the world. This man, this beautiful fucked up man stands before me, arms crossed as he regards me as if I’m annoying him.

“If you continue acting like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

“Fuck you, Ares. Take me to your father. I want this over with.” I’m on my feet, inches from him. “You promised to give me the truth, and when you do, you kidnap me. People will look for me. You’re not getting away with this.”

Ares sighs, turning away from me, and that’s when I lose all control and leap onto his back. He catches me easily as if he was waiting for me to do it. His hands on my legs make my body react in a way I hate. I don’t want to want him. I hate that he has this control over me.

“Put me the fuck down.”

He does, causing me to stumble backward. Ares turns his hard gaze on me. “Are you going to listen to me? Or lose your shit when I’m trying to save your life?”

His words have their desired effect, and I still, staring at him as if he’s speaking another language. “What?”

I watch him move across the room, settling in the window seat, which I didn’t even notice was there. He’s dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and sneakers. He looks so relaxed as if this is all normal.