At His Revenge: Sold to the Enemy / Bartering Her Innocence / Innocent of His Claim. Trish Morey
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business idea? Did he laugh at you?’
‘No.’ Her lips felt numb. ‘He thought it was a good idea.’
‘Because he thought he could make a fool of me, not because your business venture has any merit. Is that it? Candles? I’m almost embarrassed a daughter of mine couldn’t have been more creative.’
He picked up the apparently empty bag and her heart stopped because she knew it wasn’t an empty bag and that if he looked there … if he found …
‘That’s it,’ she muttered. ‘There’s nothing else there.’ And of course by saying that she pronounced herself guilty.
He stared at her for a long moment and then took another look at the bag. With those fat, muscular hands that had turned her mother from vivacious to victim he patted it down and unzipped pockets. And she wished she’d worked harder to hide what was hidden there. Because he found it, of course, under the false bottom she’d created—the thick wedge of money tied with a thong because she hadn’t been able to think how else to keep so much cash together.
Her father untied the sexy thong and dropped it to the floor with revulsion. ‘You wore that and he paid you in cash?’
‘No. I mean …’ She floundered. ‘The cash was just an advance to—to—’
‘To pay for sex.’ He put the bag down slowly, his eyes glassy with rage. ‘You disgust me.’
‘I’ll leave. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again.’
‘Leave?’ His smile was ugly. ‘Oh, no. You don’t get to leave. You’re part of this family, Selene, and that isn’t going to change. This is where you belong and you’re lucky I’m prepared to have you back under my roof when you’ve been with him.’
‘I don’t—’
The blow was unexpected. Because she wasn’t prepared, the force of it banged her head against the wall and pain exploded through her skull.
Selene crumpled to the floor, tasting blood. She was so shocked she couldn’t move and she fought waves of sickness as his words pelted her like stones.
‘Your mother must have known about this.’
Your wife, Selene thought dizzily. She’s your wife. ‘She didn’t know. I didn’t tell her.’ Touching her mouth with the tips of her fingers, she realised she’d bitten her lip. She tried to stumble back to her feet but her legs wouldn’t hold her and she stayed on all fours like an animal, wishing she’d made different decisions, trying not to feel because feeling was agony.
‘When I’ve finished with you I’ll talk to her and she will tell me the truth.’
The implied threat brought her up onto her knees. ‘You stay away from her! You touch her again and I’ll—’ she swayed ‘—I’ll call the police.’
He laughed. ‘We both remember what happened the last time you did that.’
Numb, Selene stared at the floor, knowing it was hopeless.
They hadn’t believed her. Or if they’d believed her they’d refused to act. Her father was charming, powerful and able to buy his way out of trouble. At first her sense of justice had been shaken. She’d realised that she had no one until one night, lying in the darkness, she’d realised that she didn’t need anyone. Maybe no one else could solve this for her, but she could solve it for herself. Which made it doubly frustrating that she’d blown her chance.
He prowled around her and she knew from the look in his eyes that the moment he’d finished with her he would start on her mother.
Something sharp pressed into her hand and she looked down and saw that she’d fallen onto one of the jagged remnants of all that was left of a glass candle-holder.
She closed her hand over it, careful to avoid cutting herself on the sharp edge. And this time when her father came in swinging she closed her eyes and plunged the glass into his wrist. He gave a howl of pain and staggered backwards. It wasn’t enough to stop him but it was enough to slow him down and Selene didn’t waste a moment of her advantage. She forced herself to her feet and stumbled from the room, slamming the door behind her as she ran from the villa. He would chase her, of course, and that was what she wanted. Because if he chased her then he wouldn’t be going for her mother.
She just had to hope that his temper burned itself out before he killed them both.
Stefan manoeuvred the sleek speedboat as close to the rocks as he dared. He’d picked the north side of the island, judging the currents to be less savage. His yacht was moored further out to sea where the waters were deeper and he’d launched the tender and indulged himself in a few minutes of speed and spray as he’d skimmed the surface of the sparkling ocean towards the towering cliffs of Antaxos. But that spurt of adrenaline had been brief. Negotiating the rocky approach to the island had taken all his skill and concentration.
He let the engine idle as he assessed the distance between boat and rock, judging the rise and fall of the sea. Between both lay fathoms of swirling water, ready to swallow up victims, but Stefan had no intention of being anyone’s victim. Judging it perfectly he sprang, lithe as a panther, landing safely and gesturing for his team to take the boat back out.
Takis followed him. His movements were clumsier and Stefan shot out a hand to steady him as he veered dangerously close to the water.
‘Didn’t sign up for this. You could have picked a nice girl from the centre of Athens, boss,’ Takis muttered, his face scarlet as he found his balance. ‘But, no, you had to go for the pampered princess guarded by the dragon. Working for you is never boring.’
Pampered princess.
Stefan felt a stab of guilt. Hadn’t he made the same mistake?
Like everyone he’d been fooled by the image the tycoon had spun for the world. The adored wife. The much loved, overprotected daughter. The happy family.
He suspected the truth was much bleaker. Almost as bleak as this island.
Antaxos.
He stared at the narrow path that led up the cliffs to the grey, fortress-like building at the top.
As a child, he’d spent hours thinking about this place. Powerless, he’d conjured up images of the almost mythical island and imagined himself storming its rocky shores. Something had burned inside him and it burned still, confusing the past with the present.
He wasn’t powerless now. He’d made sure of it. From the day his father had brought him the sickening news, through choking tears he’d promised himself—promised her—that one day he was going to be a man of power. His quest for that had become the driving force in his life, and when he’d lost his father, too, his drive had simply increased.
A sound made him look up.
Four men dressed in black approached down the path. Bulky men, built like gorillas, whose sole purpose in life was to stop people getting close to their reclusive billionaire boss. If the rocks hadn’t killed you, these men probably would.
‘This is a private island. You are not allowed to land here.’
Stefan stood his ground, legs spread, using that power he’d sweated blood to gain. ‘You might want to rethink the warmth of your welcome.’
They drew closer. ‘There is nothing here for tourists. You need to leave right now.’
‘I’m not a tourist and I’ll leave when I’m ready.’ Timing it perfectly, Stefan removed his sunglasses and the man stepped back. Recognition was followed by alarm.
‘Mr Ziakas!’ Thrown, the gorilla exchanged a dubious glance with his two colleagues. ‘Mr Antaxos doesn’t receive visitors here.’ But the tone had changed. There was caution now. Respect for the reputation of the man facing them. Respect and just a touch of fear because there were so many rumours about the past life of Stefanos