Ice

Chapter 1

The only way to get burned is to mess around with the flames. Of course, if you play with the flames, it’s only best that you’re the one who lit the match. I’m similar to my father in this way. Lighting a match. Being the fire. Becoming encased in the flames as they scorch my muscle. Relishing in the hot temperatures, the orange flames radiate into my eyes.

And while this makes me similar to my father, I am not him. Regardless of the DNA. He hurt people for fun. I kill for a valid reason. He gets a reaction. I get to witness someone’s last breath.

It’s entrancing. Watching as the life leaves their eyes for good. Their body going limp. Bruises littering their skin.

You’d never guess I was as ruthless as I am. Especially considering I play the part of The Doting Daughter in public.

But right now, as the meeting with my father, Aaron, drawls on and on, I’ve only got one thought on my mind. When is this going to be over?

“Elsa Lynn?” s**t. He knows I wasn’t paying attention. I quickly cover my unease with a wide smile as the man across from me in a dark blue suit raises his eyebrow to a withering hairline.

“Sorry, It won’t happen again. What were you saying?” He grimaces in disapproval, and I know I’ve done wrong. Aaron only wants what’s best for me, and it makes me sick because I know what he needs to ask. I’m just too afraid to say it out loud.

“I was saying…” He perches himself. The blue suit tightened around his features. “There’s someone important coming for dinner tonight. Your best dress and full cooperation will be expected.”

What am I? Some circus clown to be paraded in front of the masses of men willing to take my hand in matrimony? Yeah…no. Still, Aaron stands from the desk in my office and takes his leave. Not even uttering an ‘I love you’ as he does so.

Aaron and I aren’t close. Not since my mom left for good when I was 14. When my father vowed to preserve her legacy in the only way he knew how. By getting hooked on prostitutes and h****n.

By the looks of this, my father isn’t a good person. But I know differently. He used his years of experience to create a drug empire. Selling our signature concoction, labeled as ‘Ice’. The substance goes for roughly $3,000 per ounce. And that’s only the regular version. We’ve cut the drug into dozens of others and sold it to people with the highest positions in the world. The most memorable of these situations was when the Prime Minister engaged in some ‘unholy’ activities and ended up regurgitating acid in front of millions during a press conference. He choked on his own bad decisions whilst me and the rest of the world watched.

I only remember the big details of this memory, as I was fifteen. But when my younger sister, in three years, Annabella came into my room that night, wondering why the Prime Minister was dead, I didn’t tell her what I knew. Instead, I replied that it was some sort of freak accident. The same reason I’d spelled out when mom left. Freak accident. Plain and simple.

But it wasn’t.

Mom left of her own accord. Never once looked back at the memories she’d left behind. I was the one who had to explain what a period was when Anna was eleven. I’m the one she ran to if a girl in her grade was causing trouble.

My mom never would forget the pain we’d felt without her if I’d ever gotten the chance to see her again .

I would never let her demolish what we’ve built. Not ever again.

The next knock on my office door comes in the same harmony my sister has copied since infancy.

Duh, duh, duh-duh. Duh. Duh.

“Elsa?” her voice squeaks through the closed door. She doesn’t turn the handle to open the cherry wood slab. It’s a habit. Something I’ve tried to coax her out of for years. But even if you wait hours for a fish to bite, you can still go home with nothing.

I don’t respond to her first attempt. There’s silence followed by her second try.

“Elsa? I know you’re in there! Father was just in here with you!” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as the door opens.

Annabella is tempted to be like this a lot. She doesn’t ask permission, and when she does, she usually gets told no. Only on account of the fact that she never asks, so it’s unexpected. She’s a difficult person to have as a sister.

“Anna, what a pleasant surprise.” She scoffs at my bluntness and unwillingness to respond.

The sage green top she wears is low-cut. Something a mother-in-law might wear. It contrasts dimly to my black power-suit with turquoise and amethyst diamonds around the cuffs. Her auburn hair is thrown back in a neat bun at the top of her head.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I was coming. We need to talk…”

“Oh?” I reply, entertaining her nervousness for serious situations.

“There’s an issue.”

Anna isn’t involved in the business. Aaron would have never let her, even if she wanted to. She’s too sweet. Sunny. Bright. Everything this company isn’t. That’s not to say Anna doesn’t know what we sell. She does. We’re just very selective of the people well tell her about and the people she refers our product to. One wrong move could mean demolition for Van Doran International.

“An issue?”

“Yeah. Something about the Denmark trade? I heard Weston talking about it yesterday. He said the shipments didn’t get where they should’ve and everyone who bought it out is mad. We have to do something.”

Weston is a thorn in my side. To flirty to be kept around. But enough to Van Doran that I can’t lose him. He’s the head of our overseas operations-hence the Denmark trade-so when he is here, he makes the most of it near me. Constantly begging for a date. I don’t have the heart to tell him to screw off.

“Correction. I have to do something.”

“Yeah, but why can’t I help? I can be useful.” She says it with conviction. So much so that I almost believe her. But I’m not one to be played by the underdog.

“Because. I can’t let you get hurt on my watch. What we do is dangerous, Anna.” She leaves then, her arms crossed as she shuffles, fuming, toward the door. The hinges shake as the barrier slams, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. I don’t find it in me to care enough to stop her.

My apartment is the only place I have ever felt truly safe. It’s my number two on my list of priorities. Is there a number one on that list? That of my rare White Python, Iduna. Something only a few of the world’s elite can get their hands on. I use her to the best of her abilities. And being a seven foot long, constricting snake can come in very handy when you need to dispose of certain…evidence. She’s my best chance at staying close to the top. I never max out. It only hurts my ego, and it never ends well. Especially not in bed.

Iduna can get out of her cage, but I see the pleading in her eyes when she glances over at me. It’s her version of a puppy face. I find it quite amusing.

“You want to be let out, don’t you?” She hisses in response, and I move to the sleek, silver fridge in my kitchen, pulling open the left-hand side door. I find a few mice and rats in an already packaged container and realize Anna must have done this for me.

My sister likes to make frequent check-ins when I’m in town to make sure I’m not running behind on bills or if I need more groceries. It’s her little sister way of showing me that she cares, and I deeply appreciate it.

I throw the mice into Induna’s cage. She lunges for them, and I don’t have the heart to tell her they’re dead already. But as she swallows down the rodents and her stomach puffs out, I consider the option.

There’s a note on the kitchen counter with a plate of little gourmet chocolate squares. Something I indulge in quite often. It’s from Anna again.

Hey, sis,

Hope you like these. My chef made them for me, but I don’t want to tell him they aren’t my thing. Figured you might enjoy seeing as you ate all of the chocolate squares at the drug money banquet last year.

XO, Anna <3

Ok, it wasn’t a “drug money banquet”. It was actually a trade deal dinner with the leader of the Russian government. He wanted some Ice to work of his nerves about an upcoming experiment for new governmental technology. Of course I’m not going to say no to a paying customer. And he did pay.

Just not in cash.

Call me what you want. But I don’t like hurting people. It’s only those who have wronged me. Or hurt me in some way who passed on by my hand. I don’t want to take part in it.

But with a father like mine, you don’t dare to refuse his hand. Whether it be to help or cause you harm.

Two hours later, with a tightly pulled corset dress and my hair in an intricate braid down my back, I’m meeting Aaron for dinner. It’s at our usual. The North Mountain. A restaurant/bar in the business sector of New York. The interior is dark. Moody. Just enough to have an air of seduction about it.

I spot my father’s pressed suit at a corner table. It's not our usual spot, but I’ll take it. As I pull out my chair and begin to sit, Aaron stands. I’m too in shock to notice why until he sits back down. There’s a tall man attempting to scoot in next to me, but I don’t budge. Not when I spot throse green, familiar eyes that I’ve been thinking about for months. The same eyes who watched me come undone by just his hands and never called me again after that night.

Harrison.

I should’ve tracked him down. Made him answer me as to why he never called me back. I know he had my number. I could’ve used my dagger on him. But I try not to refrain from illegal activities unless it’s necessary.

Harrison sees me staring and smirks. I’m positive he remembers me now, that is if he didn’t before.

“Elsa? Move out of the way.” My father barks.

I quickly shake my shoulders to loosen my nerve endings and maneuver to Aaron’s side of the booth. Harrison scoots in next to me. Every anxious thought inside of my body is on it’s last leg of life.

His hair is still the same shade that I remember. But his eyes look a little darker somehow. Not in color. Just the way he presents himself. It makes me wonder how many bodies he’s buried. Or if he’s so rich he doesn’t have to do the dirty work.

“This is your daughter, I presume?” His tone is cocky. Smirking as he looks down at me. Even sitting on a cushion, his frame is bigger. The same hungry-for-power aura Aaron radiates. It’s irritating, to say the least.

“Yes. This is Elsa Lynn, my oldest. Elsa, Harrison Sinclair.”

“Right. Hello Mr. Sinclair.” My tone of voice is even. But it’s dripping with as much hatred as I can muster in front of Aaron to not cause a scene. He wouldn’t like that and it wouldn’t be good for business. At least I think that’s what’s happening.

“Harrison is fine, thank you.” Then he turns to face my father. “What’s she doing here?”

“Relax. She’s my right hand. Without her place wouldn’t be running.” I throw a very practiced victory smirk across my features and glare icy daggers in his direction. He’s quick to fire back the same response.

“Right, well. Should we get down to business?”

“Yes of course, so the leader of-“

I drowned out the rest of the conversation. Not wanting to be bothered. But my brain is telling me to interrupt. To be loud. The urge to confront Harrison nags me at the center of my skull and radiates all the way to my lower abdomen. My baby blue lace underwear becomes doused with my arousal as I recount the night in Venice.

“I’ll have a scotch. Light ice. In a tumblr, please.”

The bartender steps away to retrieve my whiskey, and when he comes back there’s a tall man standing at my side. He’s clean-shaven. White button down showing off a tattoo on his chest. It’s a butterfly. The wing design is intricate. Unique.

His hair is the color of the sunset leaves in fall. Eyes a bright green vice I can’t look away from.

So when he plops down in a seat next to me and begins using his charm and wit to get me into his bed, I’m already impressed. He can take me home right now. Maybe I’ll protest how I feel, earn a puishent at the force of his hands. Have him splay my body out on his kitchen island, taking ice cream out of the fridge. Pouring spoon-fulls of it onto my body and

“So, where you from?” his words bring me back to the present, and I shake the feeling of hot and heady interest plucking at my gut. I haven’t even been properly introduced to this man, yet I’m willing to let him f**k me raw on a counter? With ice-cream on my swollen, needy core? Control it, Elsa. Conceal don’t feel.

‘Uh, New York. Syracuse specifically. Raised in Manhattan. What about you?”

“Dad was in the army, so not really anywhere specific. I was born in Michigan, though.”

His hand reaches out for the glass of Scotch that I still haven’t touched and I’m about to tell him to put it down until he brings the drink to my lips and pushes it further into the wine red crevice. I suck on the rim until he tilts the cup and burning whiskey sears down my vocal chords. I almost choke on the alcohol, as he rubs my back in smooth circles until I’ve calmed down.

“Thank you..” I mutter out through my confused brain. Still trying to figure out what the f**k is going on right now.

“You know, you’re quite beautiful. Almost perfect it would seem.”

“Believe me, I’m not.”

“Up.” The f**k? Who does this guy think he is? Is it possible there’s a gun pointed at me and he all the power to pull the trigger? Still I do as he says. Wobbling to my feet and going for a tumble into his arms. I sheepishly grin up as his grip on my elbows tightens. “Can I take you home, snowflake?”

“Please…”

I pull myself from my own thoughts and feelings, attempting to lull back into the conversation.

“So, as I was saying, Mr. Van Doren, I look forward to seeing you again. Thank you for having me.” Harrison turns to me, shifting up my hand with his fingers and dragging a kiss along the top pf it. When he does it, I feel somewhat giddy, but as soon as he’s gone so is the moment. “It was nice to meet you, Elsa.”

Though he smiles when he says it, I don’t believe a word he says. Not a single one. He can swoon my father, but I’m yet to be biased.

When he leaves, father adorns me with question after question.

“What did you think of Mr. Sinclair?”

“Does he look good enough to be the face of the company?”

“Does he look like a criminal to you?’

The second question is the only one that has my attention. The face of the company? The face of Van Doran International? No. Not on my watch.

“What do you mean the face?”

“I mean, I’m getting old, Elsa. You can’t expect me to stay around forever, can you?”

A tear pricks my eye but I answer him anyway. “He’s not terrible. But why can’t I be the face? What’s he have that I don’t?” A p***s is what my brain tells me but I push down thoughts as Aaron continues speaking to me.

“You and I both knew this was gonna happen, love. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Then freeze time.” Tears are streaming down my cheeks as we begin to attract unwanted attention. Aaron’s full focus is on me as I melt like putty to my father’s detrimental words.

“You know I can’t do that amore”. The terms of endearment don’t do anything to ease the sobs that I know are bubbling up into my throat, begging to be released.

“Well there’s got to be something we can do! Let me run Van Doran, I promise I’ll be good at it.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t just-“

I don’t hear any more of Aaron’s words though, because soon enough, I’m bursting through the doors of the restaurant and swiveling my head to catch a glimpse of the red hair I’d been searching for for months. I spot sitting against the wall of the building, playing with a pocket knife that’s silver and shines bright in the dim light of the moon’s cascading glow.

Harrison doesn’t notice me at first so I take a seat next to him. Ignoring the prevalent urge to touch him. To hold him so close that he doesn’t slip away from me again. When he turns to face me, I’m met with the smuggest smirk I’ve ever encountered.

“Elsa? Figured you would still be inside with your dad.” I grab him by the collar and almost nip him in the ear as I whisper.

“Change of plans. You’re coming with me.”