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imaginedreamwrite · 2 years

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Water Under The Bridge: Part 3

Condensation rolled down the side of the glass to the cheap cardboard coaster below the bottom, the dampening and darkening colour was hardly out of place with the overall aesthetic of the bar.

It was your hideout, your hideaway from the inevitable and the weight of what was about to come crashing down on you was as avoidable as your family. If you were given the choice to hide your head in the sand and avoid whatever hell your family was inflicting upon themselves at the moment, you would always choose to ignore their squabbles.

Your mother and your brother who were innately just as power-hungry as your father, and your father who had tried to inflate his ego with the countless brown-nosing assholes he surrounded himself with had finally hit a roadblock.

Your brother Cade, who was eager to flaunt the money your father had from his illicit affairs, the party had come to a screeching halt when it was announced that your father had died. Cade’s use of cocaine and the circle of escorts he and his friends shared, would come to an end.

The will of your grandfather had been linked to your father’s and with the announcement that he was dead, the will your father was forced to make under the direction of executors of your grandfather’s will, would come into play.

Cade and your mother, their future depended on what your grandfather and father had willed. Both were holding out hope that everything would go to them, the money and the assets and the power.

You never wanted to return home, and your father had promised that you would never have to come back.

He had promised that you would never be called back if you had kept up the appointments to have your soulmate mark removed like it was since you were younger. Your father wouldn’t call or come for you as long as you removed the mark that bound you to your perfectly matched other half.

As if removing the mark would remove the bond. As if it was that easy.

“My father promised I wouldn’t have to go back.” Your glass remained untouched, the foaming head was far more deflated now that it had sat.

It was ordered for you and yet you hadn’t touched it other than to wipe some of the condensations off the smooth edge. Your fingertips had been made wet from the cool beads and the pattern you drew on the dark countertop had dried soon enough, yet you still hadn’t taken a drink.

“Things changed. You need to come home.” Val had come to find you, he had tracked you to this cheap and dingy bar, your hiding place uprooted by people around campus who knew you and your hiding spots.

He had come for you, Valandro, to give you what insight he had into the sudden change of plans.

He hadn’t appeared in one of his typical well-crafted Italian-made suits, he appeared to you wearing something unsuspecting.

Still, despite not looking as put together as your father made him appear many times before, he didn’t look any less imposing or intimidating in a pair of jeans and a worn leather jacket.

His silvered hair was still coiffed out of his face, his bright hazel eyes were studious as he watched you. His beard was just as you remembered, thick but well taken care of and it wasn’t hard to see why so many of Cade’s hookups, that weren’t escorts, had been so devoutly attracted to Val.

To them, he was an older man who was still well within his prime.

To you, Val was like your father.

Your father might have declared him your uncle Val, but truly he felt more like your father and you were closer to a daughter than a non-blood-related niece.

To you, Val was the man your father trusted to watch over you and keep you out of trouble, or out of your father’s place.

Val was the man who took you to our dance classes, gymnastics, soccer and baseball. Val had shown up to every game you had, every recital or competition ready to cheer you on when your father, mother and brother didn’t care.

Val threatened to cut off your first boyfriend’s nuts and broil them when he broke your heart, the threat less idle than it should have been especially when Val had rendered a set of knives he had specifically to do ill-will. It was a promise of protection going forward, it was a vow that he would always do whatever he could to keep you safe.

And he had.

He had been your dad without being biologically related to you. Val had every kind of support you needed, and he is the only one you cried for when he dropped you off at university. He was the only family member that you missed, the only one you had tried to call once a day.

“Will you be there?” You finally broke the silence, looking at your father figure with apprehension.

“I’ll hold your hand every step of the way.”

Your stomach had twisted and churned anxiously before the blacked-out SUVs had even pulled up to the roundabout driveway. You were steadily biting the inside of your cheek as you descended upon the stately mansion, or castle rather, that Lloyd called home.

And now you, too, would be confined behind walls of stone and the guardsmen’s keeps that towered above the cement pathway. You would be held prisoner by a man who had already called you his and had inflicted more damage upon your mother and brother than you had imagined.

Lloyd Hansen had been known to you less than six hours and already he had caused and created hell for your brother and mother.

It hadn’t been enough that he had likely broken multiple bones in your brother’s body, but then he had burned down your family home without a second thought. It was a natural response to wish them destruction but it was another avenue of will and strength to start the fire that destroyed them.

And he was sitting next to you like completely unbothered.

Your warden; your captor.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Hansen.” He only spoke when the vehicle came to a stop and his hand shot out to take yours, to drag you from the vehicle. “A castle for the princess-“

“Someone’s got an ego.” You ripped your hand from his hold, our eyes burning holes into the man whose name had been stripped from your arm time and time again. “And I’m not a princess. Call me a princess again and I’ll shove a hot poker through your eye.”

Lloyd’s laughter came at the ire of others.

No one had known what to do when their boss, the sadistic monster who had so easily torn nails from fingers, laughed almost boastfully at you.

The man who had killed people for less, who had maimed and torn appendages from each other, was laughing at an insult while the people that worked for him looked on in mild horror. Eyes on you and eyes on him, watching and waiting for Lloyd Hansen to strike you down as he had done for so many others.

“Mrs. Hansen,” Lloyd’s voice dripped like thickened honey yet there was something hidden beneath the golden hue that spelled trouble, “let’s go see your new home.”

Silence struck and Lloyd reached out with his left hand, the middle of his palm pressing against the nape of your neck. His fingers curled around you in a pressing but not constricting grip. The cool metal of his rings caressed your flesh as he yanked you closer to him, angling your head back.

“I’m a patient man, Mrs. Hansen.” His eyes were overcoming and his lips were pressed tight together.

Pulses of silence or strained whispers had come from the eyes watching the two of you. Beats and half-beats of strained breaths and inescapable tension had surged as you were held by his hand.

“I’m not a toy you can possess. I’m not your doll or your plaything.” You were trapped between his chest and the vehicle, his hand holding you in place while he drew his eyes over your body to commit every detail to memory.

“You’re my soulmate and you’ll be my wife.” He spoke with possession and demand, turning you in a sharp motion to face the double front doors of his castle-like mansion.

His hand held you still, even as you felt rage burning beneath your skin.

“Let me give you the tour, Mrs. Hansen.” Lloyd pushed you forward, directing you toward the steps and even further beyond the doors that opened on your approach.

The scattering of men and women as he stepped inside his own home was startling in its own right, but no more than the picturesque design of the interior foyer that looked as if it was ripped from a fairytale.

It was hard not to be taken back by the crystal chandelier but the grand staircase set across from the front door on an angle, made of pure marble with a deep oak railing, had been what stole and held your attention. It was wide and expansive, a sturdy set that led from one immaculate floor to the next, a beacon of bright designs that seemed out of place for a man like him.

A man like Lloyd Hansen…you half expected him to live in a cave.

“Lloyd-“ Double doors opened to the left and a woman had come traipsing out of the room with the click of her heels and a scowl on her face, huffing his name while blowing hair out of her face.

She stopped dead when she came across you, her brown eyes narrowing as she looked you over with an air of speculation that lingered heavily. She was no more impressed with you than she was with Lloyd, and had made her vexation known with a scoff. No manner of appreciation befell upon you or Lloyd although as quickly as she had spoken his name, she had turned on her heel and stalked back into the closed room.

“You piss off everyone you meet, don’t you?” You deridingly scathed, elbowing him as sharply as you could to create distance between you two, sidestepping one of his men who had encroached upon you.

“So what’s next? You got me here, now what? Are you gonna throw me in your torture chamber? Feed me to the fishes?” Truly you were making a mockery of him, and still, he had chuckled under his breath and brushed his fingers across his moustache.

“Rules, Princess.” His lips quirked into a smirk and he nodded his head in the direction of a few goons standing around waiting for instructions, the direction given and the resounding thud of the door slamming shut and the lock sealing your fate.

“I told you not to call me princess.” You ground your teeth and inched closer to him, approaching him with the intent to cause harm and your captor looking entirely unbothered.

Closer and closer you had drawn yourself toward him, your hands balled into fists while he continued to stare at you unflinchingly.

There was no indication that he had ever feared you reaching out and striking him. He stared you down with his intense blue eyes and the firm smirk that was playing on his lips, all while the eyes of his employees or goons watched the scene.

“Princess, princess-“ you swung at him, your hand flying toward his face and with instincts, you didn’t think possible, Lloyd had caught your wrist and spun you in a moment’s notice pinning you against him.

Your back was held tightly against his chest, his lips and the graze of his moustache felt against your ear. His breath was warm and his voice husky as he addressed you with firm and stately possession.

“Don’t like princess, Mrs. Hansen?” You struggled and he held you with strength that shouldn’t have been possible for a man like him.

“I’m not your wife.” You jerked against Lloyd, every attempt to free your hands or yourself from his grip and his holding embrace was met with strong resistance.

He was overpowering you, and getting a sense of arousal from every grind or pull.

“Not yet…” Lloyd’s lips stretched into a grin, maniacal and proud. “…pumpkin.”

His grin widened when you froze, your body almost entirely going lax when he crooned a pet name that affected you like a bolt of lightning to your nervous system.

“You like Pumpkin,” he uses your moment of weakness to corral you into a new embrace, carrying you bridal style and locking you in with his unkempt strength, “how…adorable.”

As if all your strength had been sucked out of you, you remained pliant. You remained unable to fight as he carried and carted you up the grand staircase, even further into the house to your supposed bedroom.

“Welcome home…Pumpkin.”

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