Chapter Thirty - Tavisha

I stared around me. It was a beautiful night, warm and sultry, and the Bikers were enjoying themselves at her wedding reception. '

'My wedding reception?'

I had thought sadly that this was not what I had imagined it would be like. I had dreamed of elegant people, the men dressed in tuxedos, the women in beautiful gowns. There would have been a three-piece band playing classical music, with dancing and soft chatter. It was nothing like the loud music and brash men and women making out so openly in front of my eyes.

The food was untouched in front of me, the very thought of eating made me nauseous, I had drunk the glass of champagne then, as everyone had completely ignored me, so I had helped myself to as many glasses as I could. 

It had been a mistake; all the alcohol did was make me feel more depressed.

I was so lonely, but every opening for my escape was shut.

He had made sure of it. 

Her mind replayed her father's words over and over again.

'She was worthless. It was not normal for a father to treat his only child the way Pavel had treated her. He was disappointed because she was a girl; he had no use for a girl; he wanted a boy. So she had been disregarded and ignored all her young life, cared for by strict, no-nonsense nannies who were as cold as her father. Her father's staff had taken their cues from him, treating her with indifference and disregard. She was not considered important enough for any of them to bother with, and it had been a relief when she was sent away to an exclusive boarding school. It was the most expensive boarding school that money could buy, after all, her father was a billionaire Pakhan, and he could afford the very best of everything.

That had been the happiest ten years of my life; she had not returned home once during that time because her father had made it clear I wasn't welcome. The friends I had made there had invited me to their homes, and I had seen for the first time what real families looked like; it had been an eye-opener, and I  had blossomed under the love of my friends' parents.

All of that newfound confidence had been crushed out of her by her father's cruelty when she had left the school and returned home. She had been beaten, starved and locked in small, confined spaces because her father knew her deepest fears. 

Now her father had sold her to another monster, Killian O'Hara, and she felt defeated. It did not matter what she did; she could not escape these powerful men. Looking at the handcuff around her delicate wrist, she gave it a sharp tug, whimpering when it pinched her skin. I bit my lip and tugged again; it hurt, but the cuff was loose, so I did it again and again. I ignored the blood and the pain and watched gleefully when my wrist slid out of it. 

Looking around, I saw that no one was paying any attention to me. Gathering the skirts of the dress, I slipped off the chair and headed out the nearest door, which I discovered led to the offices. I walked quickly along the corridor, unaware of the blood trickling from the cut I had caused on my wrist. I felt nothing; my only thought was getting out of this damn compound. I opened every door, but they were all dead ends. I let out a frustrated curse when the last office proved to be another one.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.'

I frowned, heading towards one of the big windows at the back of the office and after a hard shove with her shoulder, it swung open. Stepping back, she looked down at her dress. She would have to do something about it because she would not get very far wearing this. Spotting a pair of scissors on the desk, she did not hesitate to cut the long silk skirt above her knees and remove the train altogether, leaving a pool of designer ivory silk on the floor. Then she was through the window and about to run, and stopped. She would not get very far wearing the matching Dior high heels; kicking them off, she sighed. 

'This is ridiculous.'

It was going to be a difficult escape; she was exhausted, her wrist was still bleeding, and it was throbbing with pain. Now, she had to run barefoot to who the hell knew where?

It did not stop her.

She had always been a runner; it was the one thing her father allowed her to do as long as two of her guards ran with her. Keeping up a steady pace, just like in her morning runs, she kept to the sidewalk, but her feet soon became blistered and sore. She sat on a small wall set back from the road to rest, the morning dew on the grass was a balm to her aching feet, and she wriggled her toes, enjoying the damp coolness. I felt dizzy and sick, my wrist hurt more than it should and when I finally looked at it and saw that somehow, I had torn a deep gash across it, and it was still bleeding slightly. I sighed. My ankle was barely healed, and now it was throbbing angrily too; it felt like my whole body was telling me I was being stupid and I should return to the man who made my blood ignite and my heart race. 

'Not going to happen.'

I think angrily, remembering the way he had treated me, setting me up for all that humiliation and pain and enjoying every minute of it.

'I hate the man.'

I tell myself, then push back onto my feet, wincing in pain as I do so.

'Are you okay, sweetie?'

I jump at the sound of the elderly man's voice and sink back to the wall when I realise it is Killian's father.