“She isn’t from this world. The things that will have to be done to keep our firm from being discarded … she won’t get it, Artie.” I thought of green-brown eyes and brown hair and the pussy I’d been fucking and licking for five bloody years. The fucking addictive cunt that always drew me back to her, time and time again.
“I’m leaving,” I said, my deadly gaze telling Charlie to shut the fuck up. She was my fucking heroin. I wasn’t giving her up.
“She’ll get hurt,” Charlie said, and this time I rounded on him. Charlie didn’t flinch as I met him toe to toe, ready to rip his fucking head off if he spoke one more time. I felt my brothers and sisters watching us, but Charlie kept his voice low enough so only I would hear his next words.
“I know you like her, Artie. Really fucking like her. We all know this is more than a fuck, despite how you make it seem. We’re not stupid.” His hand landed on my shoulder. “But you’re the Adley boss now. No longer the heir. With that comes a lot more responsibility. With that comes a new target on your head.” Charlie stepped back and lifted his whisky into the air. “The king is dead; long live the king.”
Despite wanting to rip out his fucking tongue, I knew my cousin wasn’t being a prick. I saw the fucking pain in his eyes as he spoke. My father wasn’t dead, but even if he ever woke up, he wouldn’t be in any state to lead this firm.
It was up to me now.
It was all up to bastard me.
My brothers and sisters held their drinks up in the air, all echoing, “Long live the king,” and took long sips. Vera smiled at me sadly. I had to leave. I couldn’t fucking be here right now, with my uncles’ ghosts freshly in the walls and my father a vegetable in his bed.
“I’ve got something to do.” I swiped an unopened bottle of whisky off the bar as I left. I got into the back of the car and got confirmation that my men had cleaned up both death sites and the pigs had nothing on us. Then I sat back and closed my eyes, drinking the whisky as I was driven to the one place I couldn’t ever fucking keep away from. Hadn’t done for five fucking years.
Oxford.
Her.
The one that kept me coming back for more.
Chapter Five
CHESKA
I opened the blinds and let the morning sun flood my flat. The minute the sun cut through the glass, I saw it glisten off the large diamond … the diamond that now sat on the ring finger of my left hand.
My stomach fell just thinking of two nights ago. Hugo down on his knee in the orangery in my father’s Chelsea home. My friends and his friends gathered around us, wide smiles and champagne flutes full. The celebrations, the hugs and kisses of congratulation. And the one face that entered my head the minute “Yes” slipped from my lips.
Blue eyes behind thick-framed glasses. The face that would never be mine.
My chest tightened as I thought about being Hugo’s wife. About being tied into this life forever. About giving up what I truly loved—no, not what. Who.
I sat on the end of my bed and glanced at the clock. I had to get ready for uni. I was now studying for my master’s in Business Studies at Oxford. Oxford was my treasured place of solitude away from my father and Hugo. From the life that was slowly suffocating me day by day. I’d decided on my master’s so I could stay here a little longer, avoiding the life that awaited me.
And mostly because Oxford was where we met in secret, away from prying eyes. Where, for a few hours every week, I had him in my arms and in my bed. Where I could pretend that he was mine. Where we could pretend that our vastly different worlds didn’t keep us apart.
This ring changed everything.
I had to tell Arthur. I didn’t know how I would do it. I didn’t know how I could say goodbye to him for good. I was pretty sure it would break me.
I made myself get up and shower. I had just slipped on my jeans and jumper when the doorbell rang. Frowning, wondering who would call at such an early hour, I looked at the camera, and my heart stuttered.
Arthur was leaning against the wall. He was wearing a cream Aran jumper and black trousers and was clutching an almost empty bottle of whisky. I buzzed him up, opening the door and standing on the landing to wait for him. I heard his slow, heavy footsteps on the marble steps that led to my top-floor apartment. He never took the lift, always walked up the five flights of stairs.
The minute I saw his dark hair, my chest tightened. He was as beautiful as ever. A lethal, dangerous kind of beauty that stole every ounce of my sanity whenever I looked at him.
But that wave of desire quickly dampened to one of worry when he looked up and I saw complete devastation in his sapphire gaze.
“Arthur,” I said, just as he swayed on the top stair and took another gulp of his whisky. He quickly righted himself, then walked toward me, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He placed one in his mouth, then, stepping closer to me, pushed me back into my flat.
He slammed the door shut behind us and backed me against the wall. He took another cigarette from his packet and placed it between my lips. Lifting his lighter in the small space between us, he drew a flame and lit both our cigarettes. Arthur took a deep drag; I did the same. I blew out the smoke, then ran my hand down his jumper. He never dressed like this, this casual. He always wore suits with waistcoats and handkerchiefs. Pocket watches and expensive shoes.
When I looked up into his eyes, searching their depths, I saw they were red raw, and deep dark circles lay beneath. “Arthur, what’s wrong?” I asked. His nostrils flared. I could smell the whisky on his breath and his usual cologne on his clothes. It was the only thing that brought me any comfort at this point.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“Arthur—” My sentence was cut off when Arthur smashed his lips to mine. I moaned as his hand slipped into my hair and he pressed me even further against the wall. I could barely breathe; his entire body weight kept me pinned and unmoving.
My cigarette fell to the floor, and I could smell the tobacco burning on the wooden floorboards. Arthur must have dropped his too, as his other hand took hold of my jaw and he kept me exactly where he wanted me. He kissed me. He devoured my mouth, leaving me a weak, shaking mess against him.
Spinning me around, he slammed me to the bed. I inhaled deeply, trying to catch my breath. Arthur was glaring down at me, stubble coating his cheeks. The pupils of his eyes had almost eradicated the blue. I saw the deadly promise in his gaze. The promise that he was about to ruin me again. He did so every time, but every so often things were even more intense. More aggressive. More suited to what he did for a living.
I knew it as Arthur’s devil side. The side with little to no morals, a heady amount of darkness in his soul, and absolutely zero control when it came to taking what he wanted—right now, that was me.
He stumbled off the bed to close the blinds. To keep what we did in here to ourselves. Enough light slipped through the thin material of the blinds that I could see every movement of that body I knew so well.
Arthur threw off his jumper and trousers and climbed back on the bed. His cock was already in his hand, and he was stroking the hard length—he hadn’t been wearing underwear. I lay back, and Arthur crawled over me. My heart leapt to my throat when he lifted his hand to my face and softly ran his fingers down my cheek. A lump formed in my throat as I looked into his eyes and could have sworn I saw them shimmer.