Provoked Read online

  Provoked

  Benson Siblings

  Book One

  A Corrupt Empire Novel

  Sarah Bailey

  Provoked Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Bailey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Please note the spelling throughout is British English.

  Cover Art by V Designs

  Published by Twisted Tree Publications

  www.twistedtreepublications.com

  [email protected]

  Titles by Sarah Bailey

  Corrupt Empire

  Betrayal

  Sacrifice

  Revenge

  Benson Siblings

  Provoked

  After Dark

  Demon’s Destiny

  Vampire’s Kiss

  Witching Night

  Cursed Heart

  Death’s Angel

  Lucifer’s Cage

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  To Dante & Liora

  Thank you for showing me love can blossom & thrive under the strangest circumstances.

  Chapter One

  Liora

  When my father asked me to come on his business trip to London, he’d told me it was for us to spend some time together as father and daughter. The first time he’d taken me anywhere without Mum. Whilst he had meetings during the day, I’d visited the Natural History and the British Museums, spent time wandering Oxford Street and had gone to see Buckingham Palace.

  It’d been years since I’d stepped foot in England. We were Scottish through and through. Stewarts. A bloodline steeped in history, except my offshoot didn’t amount to much.

  My father worked with tartan all his life. He lived and breathed the patterns for each clan, the fabric. It was his calling. His first love after my mother. His clientele was prestigious. Nothing but the best for Angus Stewart. And yet, he seemed on edge during our time in London.

  The night before we were due to return to Edinburgh, he took me to dinner. His nervousness set me on edge. His eyes darted left and right as if the shadows hid what was ailing him so. I wanted to ask but knew better. He never spoke to me about his business dealings.

  We caught a black cab after dinner. I expected us to return to the hotel, but the driver stopped outside a nondescript building. Dad paid and helped me out of the car.

  “Now, lass, don’t speak a word to anyone,” he told me as he rang the doorbell.

  I never expected him to take me with him on a business outing, but something in his voice told me this was much more than that. Fear laced his tone.

  Who are we meeting and why?

  The door opened. A man in a neat suit with a bald head greeted us.

  “Mr Stewart, we have been expecting you.”

  Dad nodded, taking me by the arm and drawing me into the building. The bald man led us through the hallway and up one flight of stairs. He opened a door to our right. As soon as we walked in the room, my hair stood up on end.

  A man with greying dark hair and piercing blue eyes sat at a long table. Behind him, stood two more men in suits. The room was only lit by a single light above the table. One of them came around and pulled out a chair for me and my father.

  “Angus, it is a pleasure,” said the man with greying hair.

  My father’s expression told me pleasure was the last thing on his mind.

  We both sat. I folded my hands in my lap.

  “Shall we talk business?” Dad said.

  “Why, of course.”

  I drowned out their voices, not interested in what they had to say. Something else caught my attention. In the corner of the room, bathed in shadow, a younger man leant against the wall. He was watching my father and the older man. I couldn’t see his features properly, but his shirt was unbuttoned at the top and he wore no tie. This struck me as odd considering all the other men were formally dressed.

  Who is he?

  As if tugged by the thread of my thoughts, I found his eyes on me the next moment. I could just about make out they were blue. Something about them reminded me of the man talking to my father. Was this his son?

  He regarded me for several long moments. I couldn’t look away. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. None of the men in this room bar my father were warm or welcoming. They left me feeling as though we were in a den of wolves who were waiting to devour us whole.

  The younger man shoved off the wall. My eyes tracked his progress towards the man with greying hair. When he came into the light, I noticed his hair was as black as night. He had an air of danger surrounding him. His unbuttoned shirt was light blue and his suit, dark grey.

  When he leant down to whisper something in the man’s ear, he stared right at me. I could see the stark resemblance between father and son. His gaze pinned me to my seat, all my senses telling me to run far, far away from him.

  His father’s eyes flicked over to me and I wanted to bolt. He was terrifying. His gaze cold and calculating. Whilst his son looked at me with an air of possessiveness, his eyes reminded me of a tiger about to maul its prey. My palms began to sweat. I felt stripped to the core.

  Then the father looked up at his son and nodded once. The deadly smile which appeared on the younger man’s face gave me the distinct impression what happened next had everything to do with me.

  I tore my eyes away and glanced at my father who’d gone as white as a sheet. What was wrong with him? Did he understand the silent communication between father and son?

  The son straightened and walked around the table. Putting his hand on my father’s shoulder, he said something to him I couldn’t make out.

  “The lass is only eighteen and at Uni,” my father hissed.

  The son held up three fingers. My father didn’t relax, but he looked resigned.

  “Fine.”

  “Now that’s settled, how about we have some whisky to celebrate? Just like old times,” the older man said, clapping his hands together.

  My father nodded but did not look happy about the prospect. I wondered why since having a wee dram after dinner was one of his favourite pastimes.

  The younger man walked behind me back towards his position by the wall. I felt his gaze scorching my skin through my clothes. They’d been talking about me. What had the three fingers meant? What did any of this mean? I didn’t understand.

  My father indulged in a tumbler of whisky with the older man before he r
ose and pulled me up with him.

  “Don’t forget, Angus. Three years,” the older man said.

  My father stiffened.

  “Three years,” he replied.

  He hustled me out of the room without saying goodbye.

  “What was that about?” I asked when we were outside and in another black cab.

  “Never you mind, lass.”

  I did mind. I couldn’t think why my father knew such men and what they wanted with me.

  ***

  Three years later

  I shook myself as I walked across the stage for my graduation ceremony. Four years of hard work had paid off. I had a First in BSc Biological Sciences (Zoology) from Edinburgh University. I shook the hand of the Principal, giving him a nod and a smile before I walked the rest of the way across the stage.

  As I sat back down, I wondered why I’d even thought about that night. It felt like a lifetime ago when I’d gone on that trip to London with my father. The three years they’d mentioned were up. They’d been up for a month and nothing had happened. I supposed it was stupid to think it had anything to do with me.

  The ceremony drew to a close. I fought through the crowd to find my parents and my boyfriend, Harrison, waiting for me. His brown eyes twinkled when he spied me. We’d been together for two years, having met on a night out with the girls. My parents loved him. And me? Well, I loved him in my own way, but I couldn’t help being on edge. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps it had something to do with that night in London.

  Nothing is going to happen to you, Liora. It’s in the past.

  Harrison kissed my cheek as I drew near.

  “Och, my wee baby girl, I’m so proud of you,” my mum, Heather, said, enveloping me in a hug.

  “Thanks. I didn’t trip, that’s a plus.”

  My dad ruffled my short blonde locks, grinning. I’d always been a tad clumsy. I didn’t take after him with his red hair, but my mum with her green eyes and long blonde hair.

  “She’s a superstar,” Harrison said.

  I felt my face heat up. Accepting praise never came easy to me.

  “I take it Declan didn’t bother showing up,” I said.

  “Oh, you know your brother, always busy with this and that,” Mum said.

  He’d never taken an interest in anyone but himself. Prick. I chose not to comment. She always made excuses for him. Harrison wrapped his arm around me and squeezed. He knew how much it annoyed me.

  We spoke for a while longer before he gave me a kiss, saying he’d see me at the pub later. Mum and Dad had arranged lunch at an upmarket restaurant. It passed peacefully. Mum beamed at me. Dad seemed quiet and withdrawn.

  When we’d finished, Mum excused herself to go to the bathroom. My dad eyed me warily for a moment.

  “Liora, there’s something I need you to do for me.”

  I frowned.

  “I’m sorry, lass. Please believe me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Say bye to your Ma. There’s a black car waiting outside. Go with the lad and don’t ask any questions.”

  My hands shook. What did he mean go with the lad? Who was he talking about?

  “Dad, what are you saying?”

  “I can’t say more. Just be a good lassie for your Da.”

  “But Dad…”

  “Liora, do as I say.”

  I was about to press him further when my mum arrived back at the table. Dad nodded at me. He’d told me to say goodbye. Was this goodbye for now or goodbye forever? I couldn’t help the cold sweat beading at the back of my neck. I stood up, giving my dad a kiss on the cheek.

  “Liora, are you off?” Mum asked.

  “Sorry, Mum, can’t stay longer.”

  She smiled, got up and gave me a hug.

  “I’m so proud of you.”

  I tried not to think about what I was walking into. Something in my dad’s eyes told me I wasn’t going to like it. I picked up my bag and shrugged my coat on. Giving them both a wave, I took a breath and left the restaurant.

  As my dad said, a black car sat outside. A man held the door open. He was wearing sunglasses and a dark suit.

  “Miss Stewart.”

  “That’s me.”

  He half bowed to me and indicated the interior of the car.

  “Please get in.”

  Despite feeling like I would regret getting into the vehicle, I did as he said. There was a driver, but the other seat next to me was unoccupied. The man in the suit shut the door, came around the car and got in beside me. I popped my seatbelt on and clutched my bag to my chest as the car set off.

  “My name is Brent. I’ll be escorting you home.”

  I nodded at him. It dawned on me the next moment. Home was not going to be the flat I shared with Gwen. And my suspicions were further aroused when we ended up driving towards the airport.

  “Where are we going?”

  “London.”

  I froze, my fingers curling around the door handle. What did he mean London? Why were we going there? What had my father done?

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”

  I sat back, watching the houses pass by. What could I say to that? Nothing. Brent left me with the impression he wouldn’t answer any pertinent questions. Dad said go with him. So I would. Didn’t mean I had to be happy about this turn of events.

  I fumbled with the clasp of my bag, pulling out my phone.

  “What are you doing?” Brent asked.

  “Just making up an excuse for my absence tonight.”

  He eyed me for a long moment.

  “Let me see it before you send it.”

  I was about to object but thought better of it. I wasn’t sure Brent would let me send a message otherwise. I didn’t want Harrison to worry. Would I even see him again? My throat felt tight all of a sudden. Would I ever see anyone I knew again? Why did this entire thing fill me with dread? What was going to happen to me when we got to London?

  I shook myself. I needed to get my head on straight. Until I knew where exactly in London Brent was taking me, I had to keep it together. I tapped out a message to Harrison.

  ME: No pub for me, ate something bad at lunch. Sorry! xxx

  I showed it to Brent who nodded. I pressed send. I got a response less than a minute later.

  HARRISON: Aww, do you need me to come look after you?

  ME: No. I’ll be fine. Have fun.

  HARRISON: Miss ya xxx

  Brent insisted on seeing what I’d said. I wasn’t about to tell Harrison that my father had sent me off with some random man I didn’t know to London. God knows what fate awaited me when I got there.

  The rest of the journey was silent. We were dropped off near the front of the airport. Brent pulled a suitcase out of the boot and I realised it was one of mine. When had this been packed? Who let him into my flat and touch my stuff - or had my father done it? Either way, I was unnerved.

  I followed him inside. Arriving at a desk which didn’t seem to have an airline marked on it, the lady took the bag and spoke to Brent for several minutes. Next, he dragged me through security and then straight to the gate. I realised the plane sitting waiting for us was not from a commercial airline.

  That’s a private plane.

  What?

  When I got on board, there were four seats facing a table and two seats facing each other. The hostess greeted us with a warm smile.

  “Welcome on board, Miss Stewart.”

  I nodded at her, unsure of what to say. I’d never been in a private plane before. And why did she know my name?

  “Please sit wherever you like.”

  I sat down on one of the separate seats, whilst Brent took the table. I strapped in and tried not to think too much about who would have the money to pay for a private plane to escort me to London.

  We took off twenty minutes later. During the flight, the attendant gave us some refreshments.
I chose to have juice rather than drink any alcohol. I wanted a clear head to prepare for what was coming next. I was certain I needed my wits about me.

  Landing at London City Airport an hour later, Brent escorted me off the plane. As soon as we received my bag, we were outside and he was herding me into another car. I really wanted to know what this was all about.

  The journey took about forty minutes. We stopped outside a large townhouse. Brent came around and opened my door. I slid out of the car and looked up at it.

  “This is home,” he said in answer to my unspoken question.

  Home.

  This place didn’t remotely feel like home. More like the place I was going to be held against my will for the foreseeable future. I’d come quietly just like my dad had told me to, but that didn’t mean I was going to stay silent forever.

  I followed him up the steps and through the front door. He carried my suitcase up two flights of stairs before opening a door and placing it inside.

  “You need to wait in here.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?” I asked.

  “No questions, Miss Stewart.”

  I walked in and Brent shut the door behind me. I’d stepped into a large bedroom. It was very masculine. The walls were painted a midnight blue except for one accent wall in grey. There was a huge bed with dark grey sheets. I wheeled my suitcase further in and set it by the desk near the corner. I didn’t dare look in any of the huge floor to ceiling wardrobes with black doors.

  Sliding my coat off and placing it on the chair, I took my heels off. They were pinching my feet. I wasn’t sure what to do or how long I’d have to wait for whoever wanted me here.

  Looking around, there wasn’t much else to see. A laptop sat on the desk, open but not turned on. The bedside tables were dark wood. One had a fancy alarm clock on it, but nothing else. No pictures. Nothing that told me anything about the owner.

  I slumped down on the end of the bed. I wished Brent had answered my questions. At least I’d have some idea of what I was doing here.

  The door opened and in strode someone I never thought I’d ever lay eyes on again. He shut it firmly behind him. Dressed in a blue shirt, the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up with black trousers was a man I’d only ever seen once. A man from three years ago. The one with blue eyes and midnight black hair.