22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jarrett

" Y ou need to eat something, Kitten." I place a fresh cup of coffee beside Ophelia's breakfast plate on the small table in our hotel suite.

"Oh, girl, I need to get me one of these." Tabatha fans herself, giggling as she nudges Ophelia's shoulder.

My woman decided she needed her girls for this trip because, in her words, "There's no way I'm meeting your dad in Dallas without getting my girls involved and doing the research."

"You can have him, Tabs. All yours." Ophelia gives me a brief smirk before returning her eyes to her phone screen, scanning through information Caliope keeps whizzing over to her.

"Sorry, Tabatha, but I'm taken." I chuckle, making Ophelia squeal when I scoop her out of the chair then take her seat for myself, placing her on my lap. "Now eat." Picking up the fork, I stab into a pancake and bring it to her lips.

"I'm too anxious to eat. I need to know everything."

"Why not just ask me? I am, ya know, his son." I press the pancake against her lips again, encouraging her to open up, which she does with a sigh.

"No offense, but I doubt you'd be able to give us what we need. Unless you know who owns the restaurant you're meeting him at this evening? Or the specific members of security and their skill sets that are going with him? Or—"

"Okay, fair point, Caliope." I shrug, picking up another piece of pancake for Ophelia. She continues to take the bites as she scrolls through her phone.

"The information you already gave us was great though." Caliope looks up from her laptop screen and flashes a bright smile before lowering her head again.

I chuckle, because these girls together are really something. No fucks are given. If anyone else spoke to me the way Caliope just did, as though they're trying to appease a needy child, I'd have their nutsack in a vice quicker than they could blink.

Gotta admit, sitting around the table like this is taking my mind off my own worries about today's meeting with Dad. He insisted on the phone that I bring her to meet him, that it'd ease his mind if he could see for himself how pliable she is.

It's gonna go one of two ways: Ophelia will be obedient and submissive, confirming what I told Dad, or Dad will take the fucking piss and somehow make my woman lose her shit, therefore making the whole meal turn to shit.

I'm hoping for the former, but also planning for the latter. I've been able to evade Caliope's hunt for me for long enough, and she's damn good, so I know for sure I'll be able to evade The Firm for as long as I need to. As long as we need to. Because it's not just about me anymore.

Ophelia refuses to hide away from the world, though. Her desire to continue being a silent partner for the tech company she inherited from her dad and raise money for various charities may be slight hindrances to my overall plan, but it's doable.

I just need to convince my dad that she's not a threat so he calls off the DOGs.

Fuck it, my mind is back and forth with all the possible outcomes and I'm beginning to annoy myself.

It'll be fine.

I pick up Ophelia's mug full of coffee and bring it to her mouth. The action makes her pause her scrolling and turn to me with a frown on her delicate features.

"Really? I can drink my own coffee."

"I know you can. I'm not exactly drinking it for you, am I?" I feign a shocked expression, raising my brows a little, but I can't contain the smirk when she rolls her eyes.

I'd spank her arse for that if we were alone.

"Drink up, Kitten." With an exasperated shake of her head, and another spankworthy eye roll, she sips at the offered coffee.

"At least this way, you're not literally inhaling the stuff, Fifi." Tabatha laughs, standing from her seat, picking up the empty plates and placing them on the silver tray that room service delivered them on. "So what are you wearing to meet Daddy dearest?"

"Make sure you have room for some weapons, this dude is dangerous." Caliope doesn't take her eyes from her screen as she speaks.

"My dad's not dangerous. He's got some dangerous friends, but my dad isn't capable of the real bad stuff." He has other people do that for him. I don't say this, of course. Not because I'm trying to keep anything from them, they know fucking everything thanks to Caliope, but because he's never done anything to me directly. I'm his son. He may be a cunt, but he's always looked out for me, always made sure that I've got what I need.

And I need Ophelia in my life.

"Oh, handsome. You can control me as much as you like in the bedroom, but when it comes to things like this, you're in my territory. I'm taking weapons." Ophelia puts her phone down on the table and wraps her arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her and kissing me.

She can take all the fucking weapons she likes.

The restaurant is five minutes away and Ophelia is fidgeting in the passenger seat.

"You sure you're okay with this, Kitten?" I gently knead the flesh of her thigh, my other hand on the steering wheel of the hire car.

"Yeah. I'm usually more prepared than this. Are the girls really safe in that hotel without us? I mean, Tabby can handle herself in a light scuffle, but anything more and she's fucked. And Caliope, well, she's the best there ever was at all the tech shit, but she's not exactly a physic—"

"The girls are fine. They're safe. Believe it or not, I have friends of my own. There's a motorcycle gang here I befriended a few years ago. Saved their president's life in a bar fight, so they owe me one." I continue to stroke up her thigh, pushing aside the material of her layered skirt so I'm skin-to-skin.

"What?" She clasps my hand, making me pause, and turns to me with wide eyes. "You're entrusting the safety of my friends with a motorcycle gang? No. Nope. Turn around. We—"

"Kitten, they're honorable men. Nothing like The Firm." I chuckle at her outburst. The concern she has for her friends is sweet, but unwarranted. The Dallas Chapter of the Sons of Khaos may be full of lawbreakers, but they're all fuckin' sound. Bad men with good morals. And if they owe someone a life debt, they follow through. I did some research on them after meeting them. The only Chapter the Sons ever had that wasn't worth their name was in New York, but they got wiped out by the mafia.

Her response is the cutest growl known to man, which is abruptly halted with a sharp intake of breath when my fingers reach the apex of her thighs, pushing against her needy clit.

"Now, I'm gonna say things in the restaurant that you won't like, and I'm gonna treat you in a way you will absolutely hate, but that's how we get through this meal, okay?" I pinch her clit, then rub my fingers over her slightly damp thong to help make my point, simultaneously hoping the pleasure cancels out some of the emotional pain I know she's going to experience when we arrive.

"Not okay, but I'll be good as long as you don't stop what you're doing." My needy Kitten begins moving her hips, silently begging me for more.

Of course, I oblige, tugging her thong aside and pushing two wet fingers into her pussy. It's not the best angle for me to get to her, but every now and then, I rub the palm of my hand against her clit and her delicious sounds get louder, her movements in the seat beside me becoming more erratic.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," she pants as the restaurant comes into view, and I double down on my movements.

I'll allow her demand…this time.

Hooking my fingers, I push in and out, knowing for sure that I'm hitting her sweet spot because her pants become uncontrollable moans of pleasure.

"Yes! Oh, God, yes!" Her body tenses, she shakes, then she lets out a deep, satisfied groan as I remove my fingers, bringing them to my mouth and sucking them clean of her cum.

Content in our bubble of whatever the fuck this is, I have the urge to drive past the parking lot and completely fuck off this dinner-meeting thing with Dad.

Clearly, I don't do that. Putting the car in park, I first unclip my seatbelt, then Ophelia's, leaning in to kiss her perfectly made-up cheek before getting out of the car. I round the car, opening the passenger side and holding out my hand for Ophelia to take.

One after the other, she places her heeled feet on the ground, then she stands to her full height, the top of her blonde head level with my chin. She's a vision in deep purple shades, the full skirt layered to hide her dagger attached to one of her thighs, and the tailored jacket over the top, with a handy inside pocket that she's made use of.

I've made use of my own inside pocket too, mainly because I'm not fucking stupid, but also because I don't trust my dad with her. I know I'll be okay, but Ophelia's safety isn't guaranteed tonight, and I plan to do every-fucking-thing I can to make sure she isn't hurt.

"Ready, Kitten?"

If she asked me the same question, I'd have to lie. Honestly, I have no idea how this is going to play out.

"Ready as I'll ever be, and hey…" She pulls me into her, wrapping her arm around my waist and looking up into my eyes. "Thanks for helping me and the girls research."

Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kisses me, softly, then grins as I link her fingers through mine.

"Any time, Kitten." I tug on her hand a little and start walking.

The Steakhouse restaurant is fine dining, and is the same place I always meet Dad for our six-monthly meet-up. It's usually a lot busier than this, and my first official sign that this night is going down the route badly fucked is the fact that only two other cars are here.

There's no ma?tre d' upon entering. That's my second sign. Turning the fuck around and leaving isn't an option at this point, though.

"Son!" Dad stands from his seat at our usual table in the corner, the ideal position for him to see everything. He steps toward us when we approach, holding out his palm.

I take it, shaking his hand with a polite nod, "Dad, this is Ophelia." No point in lying about her name. The Firm already knows it since Dexter and co reported back their intel before their untimely demise.

"Ophelia, a pleasure to meet you, young lady."

Without saying a word, Ophelia politely curtsies, a light smile on her plump lips. Dad grins, seemingly pleased with her performance so far. Being the perfect socialite that she is at all the fundraisers she attends, things like this come easy to her. It's just a simple sign of respect that she's happy to give.

She's aware of the plan, to persuade my dad that she's my submissive, that she's under control and won't be killing any more members of The Firm. In reality, that's all bullshit, she's just gonna have to be a lot more fucking careful and not get caught on CCTV, as well as speed the whole process up. Taking her time with it is just making it easier for them to come for her.

"Please, sit." Dad takes his own seat and gestures to the two chairs opposite him, with their backs to the rest of the completely empty room. Not a soul is in here having a meal, other than us, and the only other people are very obvious security men and a singular waiter approaching the table as we sit.

"Can I take your order?" The waiter, who is absolutely not a waiter if the cut of his suit is anything to go by, holds up a small tablet.

"A bottle of the 2005 Chateau Lagrange for the table. Three Ceaser salads to begin, and we'll all have the prime ribeye, rare," Dad orders for us all, and I ball my fist beneath the table, my other hand clutching onto Ophelia.

I hate when he does that, but he's asserting his dominance over us; a subtle way to let me know that I'm fucked if I make one wrong move here tonight.

The thing with my dad is that he never really took the time to know me properly. I appear to be the boy he always wanted. Okay, so I followed in his footsteps and did everything he asked, right down to joining The Firm, but I never really had a reason to want to do anything else. Being the boy he wanted didn't come with a lot of time spent together, though.

I've managed to get myself into some interesting scrapes over the years, but I've also done the training necessary to get myself out of them. So this little scenario doesn't worry me for the reasons that Dad wants it to.

"Thank you, sir. I'll be right out with the wine." The waiter walks away and through the double doors into the kitchen area.

"You're being an obedient little bitch. I guess Jarrett was right. He has tamed the shrew."

Ophelia's grip on my hand beneath the table tightens, but she holds her tongue. Me, on the other hand, no.

"Dad, there's no need for that kind of language. She's here. I did exactly what I was supposed to do. Subdued the enemy. Done. Can we just have our meal without the crap?" What I really want to do is rip his throat out for the way he spoke to her. The thought surprises me though, because I have never wished harm on my dad.

His response is to laugh, a booming loud one that fills the room.

"Of course. I had the place emptied so you have free reign with your new submissive." Dad raises his brows expectantly.

"I'm not planning on doing anything in front of you either. That's fucking sick."

He laughs again, and it's grating on my nerves. Why have I not noticed how much of a douche he is until now? I can usually handle the twice a year face-to-face visits with minimal conversation.

As we discussed, Ophelia stays silent throughout all this, the only signal that she's as pissed off as I am is the hand squeezing.

"Stand up, girl. Bend over that table and lift up your skirt."

"I don't fucking think so." It takes everything in me to not throw my steak knife at him.

"Watch your language around me, Son. You belong to The Firm, therefore your submissive belongs to The Firm. I'm your superior. What I say, goes." The smirk on his face isn't one I'm used to seeing. I don't like it.

This is all going south quicker than I imagined.

Ophelia doesn't move, and I won't make her.

"This isn't the time nor the place for showing off those kinds of skills. She's doing exactly as she should be doing in this situation. Obeying me, as she should." And she is, no matter how difficult it is for my sassy-mouthed woman to stay quiet.

"Well, I want more. Perform, bitch, or I'll have Antonio shoot your fucking brains out, just like you did with Roland Gonzales."

Ophelia tenses.

Then I feel the presence of someone behind us, and it isn't the fake waiter.

Ophelia jumps up from her chair when a collar is clipped around her neck, and she reaches for something in her jacket pocket.

Red mist blurs my vision and I stand, twisting my body and knocking the fucker out. He goes down, letting go of the rope attached to the collar around Ophelia's neck.

"Sit down, Jarrett. This isn't your fight." Dad's voice is loud, but Ophelia's scream is louder when one of the other security guards tugs hard on the rope, causing her to crumple to the floor.

Everything seems to happen at once. My fist crunches the first guy's nose, then I have time to slide my fingers into my spiked knuckle duster right before connecting with someone else's throat, puncturing four small holes through his skin.

The next guy comes at me, the bullet from his gun flying past my ear, and he gets four holes in his cheek, and several other places across his body, as we twist, dodge, and punch. A guy points a gun toward Ophelia as she's fighting off someone else, so I run, squeezing his neck in the crook of my elbow, punching his ribs and back until he falls in a heap.

The slow clap of a palm against wood forces me to turn back toward the table, and I realize all the men from before are now dead or dying. She got six, I only got five. She's gonna gloat about this later…when I've got her free from my dad's clutches, because he's slapping his hand on the table, one foot on the rope attached to her leash, and a gun pointed at her chest.

"Dad, put the gun down. What the fuck is this?"

"She's a murderer. She was always going to die. To be honest, I'm surprised you even showed up with her. Dumb fucking move, boy." He laughs, and for the first time in my life, I want to kill him. Dead.

He's right, I've been fucking stupid about this whole thing. How could I have ever thought that he'd forgive and forget? Yeah, na?vety. I suppose, deep down, I knew it. That's why we were both prepared for this.

I just wish the fucker hadn't proved us right.

Bending down, Dad picks up the rope, tugging on it sharply to make Ophelia stand. She's covered in blood splatters, and if it weren't for the fact we're fighting for our lives, I'd fuck her right where she stands. Unfortunately, I need to stay focused on my father.

My face is contorted in a snarl, my lip curled, my eyes narrow, and I'm watching, waiting for the perfect moment because I'm hesitant to jump on him while he has a gun pointed at her.

"Let her go."

"No. I'm going to kill her, then you're going to be a good son and clean this shit up before going back to work. Terrence told me you rejected the last delivery again."

"Get the fuck off me." Ophelia struggles, clutching onto the leash around her neck to stop from choking as Dad continues tugging on it.

He laughs again, and the cry of pain from my woman is the last straw.

"On your knees, Kitten."

She drops, hard, making the rope slip from Dad's fist before she leans forward and kicks out behind her, the heel from her shoe stabbing into his thigh. Then I grab the nearest gun and shoot him through the shoulder, making him drop his own weapon and yell out in pain.

I move over to them, holding out a hand to help Ophelia up, ready to leave Dad lying there to find his own way to a hospital. But Dad has other ideas. He shifts, reaching for a fallen steak knife and aiming for her stomach.

I can't…

She screams when he grabs the rope again and begins tugging her toward him.

I have to.

Moving quickly, I tackle him for the knife, making him lose his grip on her again, and I shove it first into his throat, then his ear, where I twist before removing it again.

I hate that this is the way tonight has gone, but I'm not upset like I thought I would be.

I'm just kinda numb.

"Jarrett." Her soft voice breaks through a little and I turn to face her, helping her up once again. "Thank you." She doesn't say anything else as her eyes search mine for some kind of answers, I'm guessing.

I don't know what she finds, but she strokes my cheek with her thumb and the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly right before she kisses me.