Chapter Two: The Devil's Mark

I was not able to sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Jackson Kane's cold gray stare. Heard his voice promising to own me. Felt his thumb wiping blood from my split lip like he already had the right to touch me.

Two weeks. Fourteen days until I became his property.

I sat on my bed in the small room above the clubhouse that had been my prison for years. My cheek still throbbed where my father hit me. My ribs ached with every breath. I was so tired of hurting. So tired of being afraid.

The door opened without a knock.

My father stood in the doorway, a bottle of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and mean. My stomach dropped. He was drunk. Drunk meant dangerous.

"Did I say you could leave the common room?" His words slurred together.

"You told me to clean myself up."

"Do not talk back to me!" He crossed the room in three steps and grabbed my hair, yanking me off the bed. Pain exploded across my scalp. "You embarrassed me tonight. Made me look weak in front of Diesel Kane."

"I did not mean—"

His fist slammed into my stomach. The air rushed from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, but he held me up by my hair.

"You will marry Jackson Kane. You will smile. You will obey. You will make this club proud. Do you understand me?"

I could not breathe. Could not speak. Tears streamed down my face.

He shook me hard. "I said, do you understand?"

"Yes," I choked out.

He threw me to the floor. I hit hard, my shoulder screaming in protest. He took another drink from the bottle and stared down at me with disgust.

"Your mother was weak too. Look where it got her. Dead at forty because she could not handle this life." He turned toward the door, then stopped. "Jackson Kane is coming tomorrow. He wants to talk to you. Alone. You will be respectful. You will be obedient. Or I will make tonight look gentle."

He slammed the door behind him.

I lay on the floor, sobbing into my hands, my body screaming with pain. This was my life. This had always been my life. My mother used to tell me stories about running away, about being free. But she never did it. And neither would I.

Because there was nowhere to run that my father would not find me.

Morning came too fast.

Ruby helped me cover the new bruises with makeup and a high-necked sweater. She did not ask questions. She never did anymore. We both knew the answers.

"He is here," she whispered, looking out the window. "Jackson just pulled up on his bike."

My hands started shaking.

"You do not have to do this alone," Ruby said. "I can stay with you."

"No. He said alone. If I disobey..." I touched my ribs, wincing.

Ruby hugged me tight. "I hate this. I hate all of it."

"Me too."

I walked downstairs on trembling legs. The common room was empty except for two people. My father sat at the head table with his arms crossed. And Jackson Kane stood by the window, looking out at the parking lot like he owned it.

He turned when I entered. Those steel-gray eyes swept over me, missing nothing. I saw the exact moment he noticed the makeup covering my cheek. His jaw tightened.

"Leave us," Jackson said to my father.

My father stood. "You have one hour. Do not let her manipulate you with tears. She is good at playing victim."

Jackson said nothing. He just stared at my father until the older man shifted uncomfortably and walked out.

We were alone.

The silence stretched until I thought I might scream. Jackson moved toward me slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal. He stopped a few feet away.

"Sit down."

It was not a request. I sat in the nearest chair, keeping my eyes on the floor.

"Look at me."

I raised my eyes slowly. He was watching me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. Not with lust. Not with anger. With something else I could not name.

"Show me your face."

"What?"

"The bruises. Show me."

My throat tightened. "I do not know what you mean."

He moved so fast I flinched. He crouched in front of me, bringing us eye level. His hand reached toward my face and I jerked back, raising my arms to protect myself.

He froze.

"I am not going to hit you," he said quietly.

"Everyone hits me."

Something flickered in his eyes. "I am not everyone."

Slowly, carefully, he reached out again. This time I forced myself to stay still. His fingers were rough and warm as they touched my chin, tilting my face toward the light. He studied the makeup covering my cheek, then his thumb brushed over it gently.

The makeup smudged, revealing the purple bruise underneath.

His expression went completely cold.

"Your father did this."

It was not a question.

I said nothing. What was the point? He already knew.

"What else?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

"I do not understand."

"What other injuries are you hiding?"

"It does not matter."

"It matters to me."

I almost laughed. Almost. "Why? In two weeks I will be yours to hurt instead of his. What difference does it make?"

His hand tightened on my chin. Not painful, but firm. "I told you last night. I will not hurt you. I meant it."

"Everyone says that. And everyone lies."

He stared at me for a long moment, then released my chin and stood. He walked to the window, his back to me. His shoulders were tense under his leather cut.

"I am not a good man, Lisa. I have done terrible things. Hurt people. Killed people. I will not pretend to be something I am not." He turned to face me. "But I have never hit a woman. I have never hurt someone weaker than me for fun. That is not who I am."

"Then who are you?"

"Someone who keeps his word." He crossed his arms. "When you marry me, you become mine to protect. That means no one touches you. Not your father. Not my father. Not anyone. Do you understand?"

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him so badly it hurt.

But I had stopped believing in rescue a long time ago.

"Why?" I whispered. "Why do you even want this marriage? You could have any woman. Why me?"

His expression shifted into something unreadable. "Because you are useful. Your business skills will help legitimize my club. Your connections will open doors. And because this marriage ends a war that has cost me too much already."

Right. Business. Strategy. Nothing more.

"So I am just a tool to you."

"We are all tools to someone." He walked toward the door, then paused. "I will pick you up tomorrow at noon. Wear something nice. We are meeting with the lawyer to sign the prenup."

"A prenup?"

"To protect both our interests. You will have money of your own. An account your father cannot touch. Security if something happens to me." He looked over his shoulder. "I am not the villain you think I am, Lisa. But I am not a hero either. Remember that."

He walked out, leaving me alone in the empty room.

I sat there shaking, trying to understand what just happened.

Jackson Kane said he would protect me. But protection was just another word for control.

And I had spent my whole life being controlled.

The door opened again. My father stepped inside, his eyes searching my face.

"What did he say?"

"He wants to meet tomorrow. To sign papers."

My father nodded, satisfied. "Good. You will make this work, Lisa. You will make me proud."

I said nothing.

Because I knew the truth my father refused to see.

In two weeks, I would trade one monster for another.

And there was no escape from either of them.