RAGE (The Rage Series Book 2) (12 page)

              For a moment, the man's face contorted into an expression so enraged that Charlotte took a step back. Though she knew her father was capable of great cruelty, she had never imagined him committing actual physical violence. However, when he looked at David, she didn't doubt it for a moment; but, as quickly as the look had surfaced, it was gone, replaced once more by Emerson's cool, infuriating smugness.  “You know, slander is a very real crime, boy. One I'd be happy to add to the already long list of charges pending against you.”

              “And what about fraud?” Leah's eyes were now narrowed in hate. “Say, claiming the parentage of a child that's not actually yours? Leading two sexually involved people to believe that they're blood related? Or, how about we try this one on for size—never revealing to someone that they're not your own flesh and blood while still forcing them to take on duties relegated to them as if they were? I'd say that's a hell of a case against you, Mathers.”

              For a moment, they stared one another down, the tiny lawyer and the massive business mogul. Their gazes were so intense that Charlotte swore a fire was going to spring out of thin air. Ultimately, her father merely turned from her and said, “Mr. Thompson, Mr. Riker? Please retrieve my daughter.”

              Instantly, the men moved past him and headed for Charlotte. She tripped over her own legs, backing up to escape them. From beside her, David bellowed in sudden rage, and Leah gasped in shock.

Before Charlotte could even hit the floor, her arm was taken in a strong grip. She squeezed by one of the agents pursuing her, and the other was currently grappling with David; but, one was more than enough. The man who held her was massive, his grip so strong it was actually cutting off the circulation in her arm.

“Let
go
,” she demanded, struggling despite her nakedness. “You're
hurting
me.”

              “Don't
touch
her.” David's tone was laced with malice the likes of which she'd never heard before. “I'll kill you. I will
murder
you.”

              “Here's how this little scenario is going to play out, children.” Everyone froze as Emerson's voice permeated the air again, drawing all attention to him. “Charlotte, you will come with me. You will not struggle. If you don't comply, I will have your pathetic little boyfriend thrown in the roughest Bahamian jail I can find on charges so outrageous that no one in their right mind would take his case. He will rot there, at the very least, for a year.”

              “Charlotte, don't you go with him.” David was still struggling against the agent he had clashed with. “I don't care what he says. You stay
right
there.”

              “You, keep exerting Mr. Riker, and I will mark Charlotte black and blue in front of you until you decide otherwise.”

              Almost immediately, David stilled, allowing Mr. Riker to land a blow on his cheek, snapping his head back and bloodying his mouth.

              “David!” Charlotte's cry echoed throughout the room.

              “You.” Emerson pointed a meaty finger at Leah, who was trembling in rage. “I don't know who the hell you are, but I swear I will find out. And when I do, you will rue the day you ever sought to go against me. Thompson, bring her.”

              With that, the man holding Charlotte began to drag her toward the door, never mind the fact that she was still without a stitch of clothing, and there was nothing she could do.

              “
Charlotte
...” David's voice was utterly broken as he called after her, blood pouring down his jaw.

              Time seemed to slow down as Thompson edged her closer and closer to her father's side. When she finally reached him, she looked over every frayed vein, his balding head, his wired jaw, and his flagrantly expensive suit, and she hated him. Emerson merely gave her a once over before he raised an arm to backhand her with no small amount of strength.

              As her head canted to the side, she saw stars and searing pain spreading down her jaw and neck. She heard David's bellow of fury, but she was dragged, nonetheless, from the room, still dazed. As they pulled her through the lobby, many of the patrons staring, she tried to protest. She was a grown woman. Her father couldn't do this to her.

“I'm...not wearing any clothes.” Blood bubbled from her lips from where she'd bitten her tongue, “I need clothes.”

              “You want to act like a whore, you don't need them.” Though she knew he wasn't truly her father, the words still cut her to the quick, bringing tears to her eyes.

              The trip home was humiliating. She was forced to ride through the busy city of Nassau, naked, beside her father in the back of the limo before she was paraded inside, much to the shock of a multitude of travelers. It was only when airport security insisted she be clothed that she was finally provided with a loose shirt, some leggings, and some sandals, which she quickly donned.

              Within the hour, they were aboard her father's private jet. No sooner had she been thrown into a seat than Thompson handcuffed her in place with a salacious grin. Riker joined them soon after, and the plane door was closed as they prepared for takeoff.

              With some difficulty, Emerson Mathers seated himself in the plush seat before her and then fixed his beady gaze on her. For a moment, his eyes roamed over her. Then, he snorted in disgust and withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, extending it to her. “Clean yourself up.”             

              Charlotte could only gaze at him in disbelief.

              When she didn't take the cloth after a full minute, he merely scowled, dropping it on the table between them. “Suit yourself.”

              “You are
sick
, you know that.” The words escaped her with the full force of her emotions. Had she been free, she didn't doubt that she would have lunged for the man who had raised her—or hired people to raise her.

              “I am not sick, Charlotte. I am efficient, and I believe you are the
least
efficient thing I have ever invested in.”

              “Invested?” She shook her head, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

              “Everything I have ever done, I have done for a purpose. Efficiency, profit, fame. When I asked a woman thirty years ago to find me a blonde-haired, blue-eyed charity case I could mold into my successor, she did well enough. If I had known you would grow to be this dim witted, however, I wouldn't have bothered.”

              “But...my mother. Why did you have to lie about my mother? You said she died!”

              “There was a woman who helped me to raise you in the beginning, in your infancy. We…got on well, you might say. You'd even taken to calling her mother.” Emerson's salacious expression hardened. “Sadly, she did pass away from complications of the AIDS virus.”

              Charlotte could only gaze at the man in horror.

              He was a murderer. He had driven David's father to suicide, infected God knows how many women with HIV, and one woman had died from it.

              How had she ever desired this man's love?

“Oh, don't look so shocked. There have been far worse things done in the name of financial gain in the world. And look at you. You grew up with everything you ever wanted. Nannies, tennis lessons, cars—”

              “And look where I am now.” Charlotte's voice had lowered to a growl, as she glared at him.

              Emerson only sighed, shaking his head. “Well, this is quite unfortunate. I'd hoped that as Causewell's secretary you would keep your head down and finally stop trying to run my company into the ground.”

              “You're siphoning
millions
in company funds directly into your own accounts. If anyone is going to run the company into the ground, it will be you!”

              “It's my money!” Emerson's bark was so harsh that Charlotte jumped. “
I
made it.
I
built this company from the ground up.”

              “And you buried Lester Marscomb to do it.” Charlotte’s voice was a low whisper of disgust. “How can you live with yourself?”

              Instead of answering her question, the odious man simply changed the subject as the plane began taxing down the runway. “I'll hardly have to worry about living alone anymore, will I? You'll be moving into the manor in Long Island with me. You'll be locked in your room every day until David Marscomb's trial is long past and he's been put away for the foreseeable future. Try me girl, just
try
me.” He raised a finger in warning and said, “One wrong move, one attempt to escape, and I'll have the boy's mother thrown into the nastiest psych ward I can find.”

              “You
monster
.”

              “You bring it out in me, my dear. You and your boyfriend have caused me quite a lot of trouble lately.”

              With that, Charlotte fell silent. She was utterly numb.

              She said nothing on the flight back to New York and nothing as she was driven from the airport to Long Island and nothing as she was locked into a room obviously reserved for one of his father's whores. There were bars on every window, and the one in the bathroom was physically nailed shut.

              It wasn't until at least twenty-four hours had passed that Charlotte finally overcame her shock over what had happened. When she did, she turned over on the bed and screamed all of her frustration, her desperation, and her helplessness into the pillow. He had her. Emerson had her, and this time, there was no way she could win.

              Time passed in a blur. She was brought three meals a day, but she hardly cared what she ate. It all tasted like sand. Constantly, she wondered how Emerson could get away with locking her up. Hadn't someone noticed? The media was usually ardent in their pursuing of a juicy story. How hadn't they caught wind of her own father keeping her prisoner?

              More often, she wondered what had happened to David. No doubt he and Leah had returned to the city and were preparing for the trial. The frightening reality of his situation was beginning to bear down on her.

To her recollection, Mathers Incorporated had never lost a trial. Once, she'd thought it was because luck was on their side and they had the moral high ground. Now, she realized that it probably had more to do with her father having all the prominent New York judges in his pocket.

              It didn't matter how good of a lawyer Leah was—and Charlotte didn't doubt her skill—the trial would be rigged, and David would be put away for a large portion of his adult life. After all he'd fought for and all he'd done, he was going to jail anyhow. The thought made her bouts of nausea come more and more frequently, until she was hung over the toilet almost constantly.

              One day, after she'd been in Long Island about a week, Addy came to see her.

              When the woman was let into the room, only to have the door locked behind her. She immediately rushed to Charlotte's side, her face pale. “Oh, fucking Christ, Charlotte. What has he done to you?”

              At her question, Charlotte could only laugh weakly. “What hasn't he done to me? The man's not even my real goddamn father, Addy.”

              The woman's green eyes widened to take over her entire face. “
What
did you say?”

              Wearily, Charlotte regaled the woman with the entire story of the past week, starting with the discovery of the origin of Mathers’ patents and finishing with Emerson's HIV status and her own parentage. Stunned, Addy could only sit on the edge of the bed, her hands covering her mouth.

              “He's not your real father? Christ, Charlotte. I never knew how deep the lies went. Of all of our patents, only the few I developed are actual company property? All the material he funneled into the department for all those years…those were David's father's designs?”

              Charlotte nodded forlornly.

              “And what's this?” Addy reached out to touch the bruise on the young woman's jaw gently, making Charlotte flinch at the slight pain. She frowned.

              “He hit me.”

              “He fucking
what
?”

              “Calm down, Addy, there's nothing you can do about it now.”

              “Like hell I can't!” The woman stood from the bed, obviously in quite the rage. “I can call the cops on him. Men don't raise their hands to women, and damn how much money he has!”             

              “Money to put into the pocket of any cop that might come knocking, Addy. Just leave it be.” Burying her face in the pillows, she let hollowness fill her chest. How long was she going to be kept here? Three months? Six? It was impossible to know. Emerson told her nothing, and since the case had been taken over by her father, Addy had heard little of it either.