Fighting Fate

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Trystan had gone off to Europe. For around two months, he’d be on another continent. The news bred a sigh of relief.

Vegas hadn’t provided the rest and recuperation Trystan felt that he deserved. His vacation time was valuable, the jerk took it seriously.

So two weeks after Vegas, a week after their conversation in Trystan’s drawing room, the playboy was on a plane over the Atlantic on his way to party across another land mass.

Dax wasn’t going to Europe. Maybe without Trystan around, he could get back to the serious work.

Maurice Stark had two living sons, Trystan and Brad. Brad, the eldest, followed in daddy’s footsteps and was a chip off the old block when it came to the family business. All Trystan wanted to do was spend the money his father and brother made. He was spoiled, but they seemed okay with that—as long as he stayed out of trouble and didn’t draw attention to them.

At thirteen years old, Dax had been caught stealing from Mauri. He’d been forgiven the slight on the condition he start working for the Starks. Twenty years later, he was still part of Mauri’s crew.

As was usual at the start of the month, he and a dozen privileged guys sat in Mauri’s office at the mansion, waiting for updates and instructions. Bruno came in to spout assignments, getting rid of half a dozen guys, who went off to do as told. In his late fifties, Bruno, Mauri’s right-hand man, had worked with the Starks since his grandfather ran the operation.

Brad was next to appear. He updated them on the expected shipment and handed out jobs.

Eventually, Dax was the only one left with Bruno and Brad. “What’s going on?” he asked from the high back chair near the double doors of Mauri’s office.

“We’ve got a special assignment for you, Dax,” Bruno said, finishing up something at the desk.

Being the unofficial third son, Dax had done everything the old man had ever asked of him and knew more family secrets than Trystan could dream of.

Whatever was about to be asked of him, he’d do it. “What is it?”

“We’re going away together,” Bruno said. “Alone.”

He never worked alone with Bruno, this had to be big. “Keep going,” Dax said.

“It’s Tryst,” Brad said, coming over to pull up a chair opposite him. “Dad wants him married and straightened out. He’s getting messed up in too much shit.”

“Tryst told me. Do you think there’s a woman alive capable or that would put up with him? I heard his demands.”

“We came to a compromise,” Brad said. “He’ll get married if we make sure his pick won’t give him an earache.”

“He wants to party, sleep around, and carry on as usual,” Dax said, recalling their conversation.

“My father thinks having kids will teach him responsibility,” Brad said, his tone conveying he wasn’t convinced.

“Where will you find a woman to do that? Put up with a cheater who’ll abuse her? Have his kids and toe the family line? You’ll have to pay her a fortune.”

“Not pay, train,” Bruno said. Leaving the desk, he came over and rested a hand on the back of Brad’s chair. “Trystan said you put the idea in his head. Him and Mauri made a deal. Trystan will get married like Mauri wants him to, if the wife will do what she’s told without a fight.”

“If Mauri can’t promise the girl will capitulate, Trystan gets out of the marriage?”

“It’s win-win for Trystan,” Brad said. “I guarantee that’s what my brother is thinking. He doesn’t think dad can pull it off.”

“He wants to humiliate Mauri?” Dax asked.

Mauri didn’t take being made a fool of lightly. Trystan would be on shaky ground if he set the old man up.

“No,” Brad said. “He just doesn’t want to settle down. If the girl does what she’s told, then he gets to order her around and give her s**t. If she doesn’t, he doesn’t have to marry her.”

“Win-win,” Dax muttered. “If Trystan is sure he won’t have to do it, why is Mauri pushing for it?”

“Dad is sure that having kids will change Trystan’s outlook.”

Both father and son were as arrogant as each other.

“Each is sure of their own position,” Dax said.

“Trystan’s been pissed off for a couple of weeks,” Bruno said. “You know why.”

“Because Vegas didn’t end how he wanted it to,” Dax said.

“My father had to call in favors to pull Trystan out of a sticky situation… again. If that girl had gone to the cops—”

“I spoke to her,” Dax said. “She wasn’t going to the cops.”

“Maybe not. But dad likes the reputation he has at GoldSpring. He likes the treatment we get; it’s why he insists on all of us using the place whenever we’re in Vegas.”

That and Mauri had done some business with the owner in years gone by.

“It’s a decent place.”

“Yeah, but Tryst once again drew attention to the family and dad is sick of it.”

“He told Trystan if it happens again then he’s out, that Mauri will cut him off,” Bruno said.

Mauri was renowned for never making hollow threats; it was one of the first things Dax had been taught by the old man. Never bluff in life. If you’re playing a hand, then you’re either in or out. He would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“Trystan wouldn’t go quietly,” Dax said.

“Dad obviously doesn’t want to do that, which is why they came to the agreement. Trystan will get married.”

“It was that or start working for a living,” Bruno said, he was privy to all the family’s comings and goings. “That was never gonna happen.”

There wasn’t a person alive Mauri trusted, or valued, more than Bruno.

“If he can be something other than a shallow playboy f**k up, maybe we can go a day without diverting cops or paying off witnesses.”

More often than not, it was the other way around. He’d done his share of scaring witnesses into amnesia where Trystan was concerned.

“He gets married, makes a good show, and the world thinks he’s a decent guy… who doesn’t need to do a hard day’s graft—”

“Because he’s so busy providing the family with heirs.”

Not only was he expected to marry, but he was expected to reproduce right away. “And you think you can find a woman to train into putting up with Trystan?” Dax asked, wanting to end the statement with the phrase, “good luck with that.”

“We’ve already found her. Trystan picked her out himself, it was another of his terms,” Bruno said, going to a side door to haul out a blindfolded, gagged, and bound woman. “Meet the newest member of the Stark family.”

The dirty, shaking woman wasn’t a stranger. Now faced with her, he wasn’t surprised. Typical that Trystan should make his demands and f**k off to another country to have fun while everyone else did the hard work. If he and Bruno were going away, this woman had to be coming with them, because someone had to teach her how to stay in line.

He’d recognized her immediately. Trystan had been told to pick a woman and he’d picked her. He should’ve predicted this. Trystan hated to be disrespected more than anything. By refusing and embarrassing Trystan, she’d disrespected him in the worst way. Their altercation left him making excuses to his father, causing him more embarrassment. Now the woman would pay by dedicating the rest of her life to the man she’d disrespected.

Dax drove and Bruno rode in the passenger seat. Their packed bags were in the backseat because the female was in the trunk. She’d been silent for most of the journey. Whenever she started kicking and moaning Bruno turned up the radio.

Conversation hadn’t been flowing. Bruno was happy to talk to himself, he didn’t really care what was said in return, so Dax didn’t say much. Being away from the city might be good for him. Maybe. He wasn’t used to doing nothing and didn’t know how he would enjoy spending his days at the beach house with no possible end in sight. His days were usually filled with checking on operations and following up leads for Mauri with those who needed some extra special persuasion. On his rare night off, he did what he enjoyed most. Though his favorite hobby was something few people understood, it made perfect sense to him.

At least this job gave him the chance to get closer to Bruno. They’d done jobs together before, but Dax had never warmed to the guy. Bruno was too hasty; he preferred a more patient approach. This time together could teach him more about Bruno and give them the chance to see things from each other’s perspective.

Back in the day, Bruno had advised Mauri against trusting Dax, he knew that, though he wasn’t supposed to. A quiet, unspoken animosity existed between the two of them. In recent years, Bruno seemed to have lightened up but was prone to bouts of rage. That would need monitoring, though it wasn’t like he was worried. If he had to defend himself, he’d own the guy without breaking a sweat. The only concern was how he’d explain the mess to Mauri.

The Stark California beach house was perfect for their requirements. Set on an isolated clifftop peninsula with the sea on three sides, the land boundary was walled off, gated, covered by cameras and half a mile from the house. They weren’t visible from the road.

He parked and set to work taking the bags from the backseat while Bruno dealt with the difficult cargo. Bruno’s reputation was ironclad. The legend was a man to be feared, and he made no secret of the lives he’d taken.

Another part of that reputation? Bruno wasn’t known for treating women well. His long line of girlfriends ended up bloodied and bruised at some point. Probably why he’d never been married, the women never stuck around for long. Stories of illegitimate children flared every once in a while, in various corners of the world, but he’d never met any of them to verify their existence.

The true glory days of Bruno’s heyday were gone. Years of drug and alcohol abuse left the geezer impotent and slow. Not that anyone would say that to his face; not unless they had a death wish.

While dumping the luggage in the bedrooms upstairs, noise of scuffling and muffled screams came from downstairs, accompanied by Bruno’s rumbling deep voice. Dax went into his shower room and stripped to step under the cool spray. He’d wash off the day, then go for a swim and maybe barbeque afterwards. Bruno loved the grill and Mauri had his crew stock the house before they arrived. They’d be living in luxury for a while.

Trystan’s European excursion gave them sixty days to whip this woman into shape. Having never trained a woman before, Dax would follow Bruno’s lead. No sweat, Bruno had experience in everything.

They grilled steaks, drank Scotch, and smoked cigars as the sun went down. As a kid who grew up on the streets, fighting other street kids in a ring for money, access to opulence still didn’t feel real. He’d earned it and reminded himself of that all the time.

After the sun was gone, they went to bed.

Neither of them were small talk types. So the next day they pursued their own s**t until they eventually ended up on the couch watching television.

Twenty-four hours after arriving at the beach house, Bruno turned off the TV and sat up. “Okay, let’s get started.”

“What’s the play?” Dax asked.

“You just watch and learn, son,” Bruno said and slapped his knee then headed to the basement door.

The three-bedroom property had a basement gym. Despite it being dark down there and basically underground, it was a favorite spot. That morning he’d gone down and discovered a corner had been walled off. A cell for their captive? Convenient, but he hadn’t been interested enough to check it out.

He stayed on the couch, waiting for Bruno to retrieve the woman. From the basement stairs, a gasping scream, obscured by a gag, got louder when Bruno dragged her into the living room. Her hands were bound, and a blindfold blocked her view.

Her hands were secured at her back. Tied tight too because her jugs were thrust forward. With her blindfolded, he could examine her figure as much as he liked, she would never know it. Her skinny jeans were ripped, her grey top had probably once been white, yeah, she was a mess. Grease, muck, blood, on her clothes, on her skin. Dried blood cracked on her hairline, neck and around her nostrils, but the injuries were superficial, cuts and bruises. She’d taken a beating somewhere, but no serious or permanent damage.

Bruno threw her down onto the rug in front of the TV and went around behind her. Chipped red nail polish on the toenails of her bare feet was almost the color of the blood. She had a tattoo on her foot above her arch. Interesting.

“I’m going to take this off and give you some answers, okay?” Bruno said into her ear. She nodded, huffing out sharp breaths through her nose, her only available airway. “Keep quiet or it goes back on.”

He took off the blindfold, bindings, and the gag, then came around to sit down. Dax remained static in the corner of the couch, one ankle propped up on his knee and his arms spread along the back and arm.

“Where am I?” she croaked, blinking into the bright sun shining through from the floor to ceiling windows behind them.

“Here’s what’s going on,” Bruno said, the epitome of cool. “All you have to do is what you’re told. Don’t ask questions, just follow our orders and you’ll be treated well, very well.”

The corner of one eye was blackened, both were blood shot, and make-up was smeared from her eyes down her cheeks. She took the time to examine them both, then fixed on him.

“I know you,” she said and exhaled. “You’re the Vegas guy… you were with that pervert.”

“He is Dax Harrow,” Bruno said, glancing back. “He is your new owner.”

This surprised him as much as it did her, but Dax kept his practiced eyes narrowed, assessing her with apathy as though he did this all the time.

“My… my—”

“Your owner dictates your actions. He tells you what to do and where to go. He makes all the decisions about your life.”

“Are you sick?” she asked, in a surprisingly strong voice. “Is this a sick joke? Why would I ever—?”

“Because if you don’t, you’ll spend more time in our basement. You’ll spend your life down there. We have all the time in the world. We’ll keep on going with this until we get bored, and you don’t want that to happen. So you choose, do what you’re told and have a good life, or don’t and we’ll leave you down there to die. Do you get it? Let’s start with something simple, would you like a drink of water?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Oh, that cost her a lot.

“Sit on the floor,” Bruno said, and she lowered herself down. When she was there, Bruno took a bottle of mineral water from the cooler next to the couch, pulled off the cap, and got up to hand it to her. She gulped it down. “Sip.”

How long had she spent at the Stark mansion? If she’d been deprived of food and water for a few days, her stomach would be weak.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked and looked straight at him. “Is this to score points with your buddy? Where is he? Is he here?”

“No, he’s not,” Dax said. “I did warn you that you would be sorry.”

“He got this in his craw?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“He’s crazy. I didn’t go to the cops. I kept my head down and let it go… not that he deserved to get away with what he did to me.”

“Are you sorry, little girl?”

“You’re perverted friend needs help,” she spat. “This isn’t going to solve anything. I’ll press charges, I’ll—”

“You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to,” Bruno said, getting up to approach her.

Without responding, she returned to the drink, getting halfway down the bottle before Bruno took it away and capped it again. “See how well that worked? I told you to sit, you complied, and you got a reward.” Her frown formed slowly. “Do you want to eat?”

“Yes,” she said in reflex.

“Good,” Bruno said with an audible smile. “You’re good at this; what a good girl you are. Take off your shirt.”

She faltered. “What?”

“Take it off and we’ll feed you.”

“No! No, I won’t do that,” she said.

Clambering back to her feet, she stumbled back and caught the entertainment center to balance herself.

“One more chance,” Bruno said. “Take it off and we’ll forget your insubordination.”

“Go to hell!”

“Your choice,” Bruno said.

Grabbing hold of her, he dragged her back the way they’d come.

The screams lowered in volume as they descended the stairs. Dax reached for the remote and turned on the TV again.