CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 11

Adam

I don’t trust her.

I tuck my tongue in my cheek and glance at Watson, who’s standing by the glass walls of my building looking outside. It’s a Sunday, and I would rather be anywhere other than here. We could have met in a coffee shop, a restaurant, my house, but no. I was expected to open my office on a Sunday afternoon to listen to Watson complain.

I don’t have anything against the older official. In fact, he’s guided me over the years and he’s been a huge source of strength when it comes to holding my successorship of my position as Alpha. But Watson also enjoys interfering, which is a pain in the ass for me.

"I didn’t have a choice but to hire her," I say, wondering when this little meeting will be over. "You know the alpha has the right to fill open vacancies with pack members. Gerald had just put in his resignation a day before, and somehow Father found out about it. My hands were tied."

Watson turns toward me, his face lined with disapproval. "And he managed to fill the position closest to you? The company is rife with rumors."

It’s hard not to show my irritation. Watson is amongst the majority shareholders of my company, so I can’t exactly dismiss him.

"Those rumors are false."

"So, she wasn’t sent here to seduce you?" he demands incredulously. "You really believe that?"

My wolf is snarling at the disrespect, but I have to keep it together.

"I do," I say firmly. "I think my father intended for her to try, but she’s not interested in that. And Norman’s behavior towards her is in front of you. He’s been abusing the girl. Healer Lydia and I were eyewitnesses to him dragging her out of the bed at the infirmary and beating her viciously. If anything, I think we can bring Cynthia over to our side. Out of everyone, she has the biggest motive to not want Norman as the next Alpha."

I can see Watson is considering my words. However, he’s no fool, and he’s not easily swayed by a few words.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, "but having her glued to your side isn’t appropriate. The rumors about her––"

"Since when do you believe such rumors, Watson?" I frown.

"You fired a promising marketing director because of her!"

"And I intend to fire a few more people." I get to my feet now, my voice hard. "Sharon Wheeler wasn’t fired because of what she said to Cynthia. She was fired because she let her arrogance and her belief in a few wild rumors affect her work. She nearly cost us millions by refusing to obey an order. She insulted and kicked out my PA when I sent Cynthia over with instructions. If Cynthia had not come up with the launch plans she did, we would be facing a massive loss, and that would have affected your profit margin as well. And the plans Cynthia came up with were so interesting and manageable, way below the budget Sharon had initially asked for, that one plan is going to be utilized for this product and the other is going to be kept on the back burner for another product in development."

Watson is quiet as he listens to me.

I tuck my hands in my pocket, facing him. "KDL Foods boomed in the industry this past decade before Norman joined and right after Cynthia joined. She is well respected in business circles. Someone of her business acumen working for us is going to be nothing but beneficial."

Watson doesn’t look very happy. "Let’s put that aside for now. Who are these people you’re planning to let go of and why?"

"Like you, others also believe the rumors about her, especially the ones about her and Norman and my father’s goal in bringing Cynthia here. However, they have resorted to physical abuse. I won’t tolerate that in my company. Cynthia has done nothing to warrant such targeted attacks."

"I agree." Watson’s voice is grim. "No matter what anyone believes, harming another individual is not permissible. If you have proof of these attacks and the people involved, I will provide my backing for your decisions."

I’m not surprised by that. Watson has always been a fair person.

"Perhaps you’re right," he continues after a moment. "Having Cynthia here could be beneficial to us, but shouldn’t we be worried about her leaking valuable data to Jonathon?"

"Her phone and laptop are checked every morning," I tell him. "And she has never resisted. Also, in terms of the quantity and variety of products, my father’s company is ahead of us. Our products target a particular niche and we offer exemplary service. Our ideas are worthless to them."

"She could still be better off put in some other department such as marketing," Watson insists. "I don’t like the idea of her working in such close proximity to you."

"She’s an excellent PA." I refuse to budge.

"I don’t think Tina will see it that way," the older man says slowly. "Or have you not thought about her?"

I stiffen at the name. After a moment, I murmur, "I will talk to Tina myself. She’ll understand."

"No woman will understand if the man they’re being courted by is working in such close quarters with another female," Watson says disapprovingly.

I check my watch. "You underestimate her. Tina knows she’s irreplaceable in my life. Now, I really have to get going. I’m late for a dinner."

"I have to meet someone as well," Watson sighs. "But I will advise you against keeping this woman so close to your side, Adam. Those who have eaten at the table of our enemy are also our enemy."

I watch him leave, feeling troubled.

It’s true that I don’t trust Cynthia completely. Until I can understand her relationship with my father and why her loyalty to him is so unbreakable despite the less-than-ideal treatment she receives at his hands, I cannot fully place my faith in her. But the more I’m around Cynthia, the more it’s occurring to me that she is naive in a lot of ways. When it comes to things all wolf shifters learn as children, she’s blank on those pieces of information. She should have figured out our bond by now, but she seems completely unaware of it.

That tells me the way she was sheltered was not a good thing. It almost seems as if it was an attempt to cripple her. I’m still pissed off over the fact that she never got any salary. I had someone I know look into the HR records of my father’s company. Cynthia was paid a salary, or at least a hefty amount of money was paid into an account under her name. As the next Alpha, I have ways of finding out information whether the method is legal or not, and my information shows me each time money has been withdrawn from Cynthia’s account, it has been my father with the card.

This troubles me.

He worked her like a dog and didn’t pay her a cent. And she was okay with it?

There’s something deeper here. Loyalty doesn’t go this far.

If I had paid more attention to Cynthia when we were young, I might have been able to figure out what had been happening. There is something that eats at me. My father told Lydia her parents often took her to the healer, but I never recall her parents ever visiting. I wasn’t away from the house for so long that they would have been able to come and go without me finding out. I also reached out to one of the old security guards who used to work at the Moore Mansion, but he never recalled Cynthia’s parents coming either.

My father sponsored this girl from the slums. The whole point was to give her a better life and raise his status in front of the whole pack. The latter he achieved because he always treated Cynthia exceptionally well in the eyes of the public. In fact, while I was in that house, she was paraded in front of visitors, and it always made me feel uncomfortable. Her existence in that house made me uneasy. Perhaps it’s the way the light began to fade from her blue eyes or how unnaturally quiet she was. It was like someone had thrown a rag doll into our home.

Watson has already left when I lock up. The sun’s not set yet, so I decide to grab a snack from a coffee shop nearby. I’ve just parked my car around the corner when I catch a familiar scent. My wolf perks up, excited by the scent.

Cynthia.

The coffee shop has seating arrangements outside the shop, a large garden surrounded by a tall hedge that maintains privacy from the street. Cynthia must be in the garden because I hear her voice. "I’m not listening to this, Norman. Jonathon told you to stay away from me. You have no business texting me from his phone. If I tell him that you––"

"What?" Norman laughs. "What’s he going to do? Punish me? You’re the one he’s going to punish, Cynthia. He’ll drag you back into the basement and whip you until you shit yourself. Remember the time he made you clean up your own blood?"

He’s laughing as my horror tightens my gut.

The feeling intensifies when Cynthia doesn’t refute his claim.

"Things are different now," she finally says, and I hear the unsteadiness of her voice. "He won’t hurt me for a while. He said he won’t."

"And you believe him?"

"I believe," Cynthia is saying through gritted teeth, "that you were told to keep a distance from me. He won’t be happy with you."

"Oh, shut it, bitch." Norman’s tone is vulgar. "Tell me. Did you spread your legs for my brother yet? Did you let him fuck you?"

"Shut up!" Cynthia sounds furious.

"Why?" Norman is chortling now. "Family slave to family whore. It’s a natural progression. I won’t be surprised if Dad decides to give you a test run himself at some point. Mom’s getting old and probably isn’t as fun in the sack as a young thing like you would be."

"You have no shame," Cynthia breathes. "You’re a vile thing, Norman Moore. And I’m done here."

I hear the scraping of furniture as if she’s getting up, and then Norman says, almost pleasant-like now, "You know, if you give in and become my woman, I could probably convince Dad to stop his punishments."

"I would rather slit my throat than touch something as disgusting as you."

Her sentence ends with a gasp and cries of shock and alarm from other customers.

I hear the sound of flesh striking flesh, and I don’t wait around. Vaulting over the hedge, I see Cynthia’s claws bared as she tries to defend herself against my younger brother, who has an insane rage in his eyes as he pounds on her with his fists. I grab Norman by the back of his shirt and throw him backward. He goes flying into the furniture, and I immediately turn my attention to Cynthia. Her left cheek is bruised and her lip is split, but she doesn’t look upset or scared. Instead, she looked furious.

"I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him."

She’s muttering the mantra under her breath, her voice frenzied as her body shakes.

I grab her, feeling her body tense up. She doesn’t seem to register her pain.

"Come with me," I order her, but her eyes are focused on Norman, who is getting to his feet. Cynthia’s body is hot to the touch, almost blazing.

"Let me go," she says roughly. "I’ll deal with this today."

"No, you won’t!" I give her a little shake. "You’re coming with me."

"Fuck off, Adam," Norman snarls. "This has nothing to do with you. She doesn’t want to go with you. Come here, Cynthia."

But Cynthia doesn’t move.

For a moment, I’m actually worried she plans on ending Norman’s life. I’ve never felt such strong killing intent from another person.

"I said come here," Norman yells out, approaching her and grabbing her wrist.

I turn around and slash him in the stomach with my claws, unable to control my own anger. After everything I just heard, keeping my calm is not possible anymore. I feel his warm blood spurt out on my hand, and I snarl, "You’re lucky I didn’t slice your head off."

He falls to the ground, his eyes wide, his body twitching.

I look at Cynthia, who hasn’t flinched.

Taking her hand in mine, I drag her out of there. She doesn’t say anything as I help her into the passenger seat. Getting into the car, I begin the drive to my apartment.

She’s silent, and it’s when we’re nearing my apartment that she says, "You should have let me kill him."

"So my father could kill you?" I demand.

"Death would be a better alternative anyway." Her fingers dig into her coat. "But to see Norman die at my hands would have been worth everything, even my own death."

"Shut up."

It enrages me to hear her talk of her death with such calm.

He’ll drag you back into the basement and whip you until you shit yourself. Remember the time he made you clean up your own blood?

Family slave to family whore. It’s a natural progression.

What has been going on in that house?

"My father?" I ask after a few seconds. "He’s whipped you?"

Cynthia turns her head to stare at me. "Why are you pretending to be surprised?"

"What?"

Her smile is twisted, and I see anger in her eyes. Anger and a wealth of pain.

"Why you are pretending," she emphasizes that word, "as if you didn’t see me dangling from the roof by wrists, my blood on the ground?"

My whole world goes quiet at her words as she stares at me.

She watches me, and a small bitter smile plays on her lips. "Children remember trauma. Most do. I remember every whipping I received at your father’s hands from the day I entered your house. But do you know what I remember even more clearly, Adam? I remember a tall dark-haired boy climbing down the basement steps. I recall him staring at me. I recall begging him to help me, to let me down. And then," her voice is soft as a whisper, "I remember him walking away. I remember being beaten so hard that night that I ripped out a chunk of my hair as I rocked back and forth over the next two days. I remember trying to hold my breath so I could stop breathing because nobody would help me. You saw me, and you walked away."

It’s like a long-buried memory has suddenly resurged.

I had been looking for my father that day, and the basement door, which was always closed, stood open. I had called out for him as I walked downstairs. But just a few steps down, I had smelled the metallic scent of blood. When I saw the little girl hanging from the roof, crying for help, crying and screaming, I felt numb.

I stared at her for what felt like an eternity. And then, I had run away, horrified.

I don’t remember what happened after that. I don’t know why I buried that memory so deep inside my brain, why I never remembered it until Cynthia described the scene to me.

I press my foot against the brake pedal so hard we both jerk forward. My hand instantly flies out to shield Cynthia from hitting the windshield.

I stare ahead, unable to utter a word. It’s like a strange fog has been lifted from my head. For some reason, aside from my dislike for my family, my memories of my childhood home are dim, almost as if something inside me has been preventing me from recalling.

"I left you," I utter the words, shame, and guilt forming a hard knot in my chest.

Cynthia gazes at me. "I was tortured in your home. While you slept in your warm beds, your stomachs full, the child your father brought home screamed herself hoarse. She was fed once a day, if even that. She knew no love, no affection. She was taught pain. She was taught suffering."

My wolf is whimpering, wanting to comfort her, but my hands… I don’t want to touch her with my hands. I don’t deserve to touch her when I failed her all those years ago.

"Cynthia," I say her name hoarsely.

"Sometimes I forget you turned your back on me. I’ve suffered so much, what’s one more hurt? But when you say we’re fated mates, it hurts even more knowing my own mate turned his back on me when I was pleading for help."

"There’s nothing I can say," I whisper, my guilt stabbing me with each word that comes out of her mouth. "I didn’t remember. The scene must have shocked me so much that the memory just… That’s what you meant at the infirmary then."

She studies me and when I look at her, her face looks more flushed than normal. Probably because she’s upset.

"How long?"

How long has my father been torturing you? I want to ask, but the full sentence can’t seem to form on my lips.

"Since the day I got there."

"Why?"

She opens her mouth and then her eyes flutter shut, her jaw strained. "I can’t say. I can’t say anything."

I recall Norman’s words, and a hollow sensation strikes my chest. "Did he… Did my father buy you from your family? Did he bring you into our home as a slave?"

Cynthia leans back in her seat, using her blouse to fan her face. "No. No, not that. I…"

She lets out a shuddering breath, and it hits me what this thick scent in the car is. I didn’t notice it before, but it’s making me a little light-headed.

"Cynthia," I touch her face, and she’s burning.

A whine escapes her lips at my touch and worry fills me. "Cynthia, what did you take?"

"What?" Her voice sounds husky, a little breathy. "Nothing."

"You took something," I say urgently, pressing my fingers against her pulse. It’s too fast. The car is filled with the smell of her arousal, and it’s making my wolf agitated. My cock is hardening. This is not the right time for her to go into heat.

"What did you drink?" I demand.

"Ic-Iced tea. Norman had… He’d ordered it already."

Her back arches at my touch, and I can see how hard her nipples are. They’re poking through her shirt.

This is not good.

"What did your drink taste like?"

She doesn’t respond, her hands reaching for me. I grab her wrists, stopping her. One of us has to be in control of ourselves, and that person is going to have to be me.

"Your drink, Cynthia," I say sharply. "What did it taste like?"

"Too sweet," she breathes, her eyes half-masted.

It’s hard to get my brain to function when she smells like arousal and looks at me as if she wants me to devour her whole. However, her words permeate through the thick fog in my head.

Shit.

That bastard gave her aphrodisiac!