Read Online No Love for the Wicked by Megan Powell - Free Book Online
Authors: Megan Powell
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white of the limestone mansion, pointing with delight at the etched windows and wide, ivy-covered columns that stretched the entire four stories. I followed their stares to a third-floor terrace. Pushing the plush curtains aside, I saw inside the suite. There I was, a statue in front of a full-length mirror. The dress was silver this time, with tiny beads that shimmered like water as I moved. Tonight all the men would look at me, lust for me. The women would hate me. I couldn’t pull back the sensuality yet. I didn’t know how. After all, I was only fifteen.
Father appeared in the doorway. Instantly, I stopped breathing. People always thought him handsome in a dangerous sort ofway. With chiseled features and dark hair and eyes. The gray at his temples only emphasized the aristocratic breeding that he so surely carried. He was wearing one of his tuxedos and looked like a picture out of a magazine. Only instead of a camera-ready smile, his face was distorted with disgust. He looked me up and down. “Is it ready yet?” He wasn’t referring to the dress.
The seamstress sweated bullets as she tied off the final strand of beads to my hem. She was foreign, illegal, and barely spoke English—Uncle Max’s idea. No one was going to miss her when the night was over. She nodded enthusiastically, then stepped back, offering me for inspection. He came to me, and I forced my power down. I was getting stronger. And the more fear, the more rage I felt, the more my power grew. I couldn’t let him know that, though. It would be much too dangerous.
Father circled around me as footsteps tiptoed down the hallway outside the room. My stomach wanted to roll. Malcolm and Markus poked their heads in the doorway just as Father shoved his hand down the front of my dress. As he gruffly adjusted my breasts, I knew he’d leave bruises on the flesh under the material. He always did. Markus wore a thinner version of Malcolm’s tux. Nearly twenty now, he was filling out nicely in the shoulders and chest, but he was still a couple of years away from Malcolm’s athletic build. Both had brushed back their hair, ready to play their roles as doting sons for the press that Uncle Max insisted on inviting to these events.
Markus blushed when Father’s fingers momentarily exposed my nipples. Malcolm grinned
. He said we can watch,
his thoughts sneered as he raked me with his gaze. His dark-blond hair was trimmed to just above his collar. I focused there instead of meeting his eyes.
If we’re quiet and impress Father’s guests with the polite conversations that we’ve been practicing, we get to watch what he does to you. Afterward.
Markus let a low giggle escape and slapped a hand over his mouth before Father could tell him to shut up.
“It was the only entertainment they ever had,” I said softly, watching their eager eyes through the blood of my dream. “Watching Father punish me—it was what they lived for. They shared his inherent perverse and violent nature. And after those parties, when he would use the whips with the barbs to tear my dress away until I was naked and bloody—it was like a superspecial treat for them.”
The blood in the lake started to wave. My twin still smiled up at me, but the man hovering beside me frowned. “Why are you getting agitated?”
The blood settled a bit as the mansion faded back into the scenery. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Remembering pisses me off, and seeing you makes me remember.”
He considered me for a moment, then waved a hand through the air. “I do not wish to speak of this anymore. I came to visit you.” I rolled my eyes. Even in my dreams my family’s arrogance knew no bounds. “Tell me about this golden power you have growing inside you, Magnolia. You know from where it has come, do you not? Why it is growing stronger?” He talked like Uncle Mallroy sometimes, like he didn’t speak out loud enough to know vernacular English.
“Yes,” I answered. “I know where this power comes
Father appeared in the doorway. Instantly, I stopped breathing. People always thought him handsome in a dangerous sort ofway. With chiseled features and dark hair and eyes. The gray at his temples only emphasized the aristocratic breeding that he so surely carried. He was wearing one of his tuxedos and looked like a picture out of a magazine. Only instead of a camera-ready smile, his face was distorted with disgust. He looked me up and down. “Is it ready yet?” He wasn’t referring to the dress.
The seamstress sweated bullets as she tied off the final strand of beads to my hem. She was foreign, illegal, and barely spoke English—Uncle Max’s idea. No one was going to miss her when the night was over. She nodded enthusiastically, then stepped back, offering me for inspection. He came to me, and I forced my power down. I was getting stronger. And the more fear, the more rage I felt, the more my power grew. I couldn’t let him know that, though. It would be much too dangerous.
Father circled around me as footsteps tiptoed down the hallway outside the room. My stomach wanted to roll. Malcolm and Markus poked their heads in the doorway just as Father shoved his hand down the front of my dress. As he gruffly adjusted my breasts, I knew he’d leave bruises on the flesh under the material. He always did. Markus wore a thinner version of Malcolm’s tux. Nearly twenty now, he was filling out nicely in the shoulders and chest, but he was still a couple of years away from Malcolm’s athletic build. Both had brushed back their hair, ready to play their roles as doting sons for the press that Uncle Max insisted on inviting to these events.
Markus blushed when Father’s fingers momentarily exposed my nipples. Malcolm grinned
. He said we can watch,
his thoughts sneered as he raked me with his gaze. His dark-blond hair was trimmed to just above his collar. I focused there instead of meeting his eyes.
If we’re quiet and impress Father’s guests with the polite conversations that we’ve been practicing, we get to watch what he does to you. Afterward.
Markus let a low giggle escape and slapped a hand over his mouth before Father could tell him to shut up.
“It was the only entertainment they ever had,” I said softly, watching their eager eyes through the blood of my dream. “Watching Father punish me—it was what they lived for. They shared his inherent perverse and violent nature. And after those parties, when he would use the whips with the barbs to tear my dress away until I was naked and bloody—it was like a superspecial treat for them.”
The blood in the lake started to wave. My twin still smiled up at me, but the man hovering beside me frowned. “Why are you getting agitated?”
The blood settled a bit as the mansion faded back into the scenery. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Remembering pisses me off, and seeing you makes me remember.”
He considered me for a moment, then waved a hand through the air. “I do not wish to speak of this anymore. I came to visit you.” I rolled my eyes. Even in my dreams my family’s arrogance knew no bounds. “Tell me about this golden power you have growing inside you, Magnolia. You know from where it has come, do you not? Why it is growing stronger?” He talked like Uncle Mallroy sometimes, like he didn’t speak out loud enough to know vernacular English.
“Yes,” I answered. “I know where this power comes
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