Chapter 162
Start with his precious little girl? How? What did he have planned?
Vivian’s mind was racing, but her body refused to move as the man closed the distance between them. Standing over her, his smirk only grew when he saw the fear in her eyes. “Good,” he said, voice low. “You understand the position you’re in, don’t you, girl?”
In truth, she wasn’t sure what was going on, but felt disagreeing with him wouldn’t end well. What she did know, was that in order to survive she would need to go along with whatever he said.
Vivian gave a jerky nod, a little surprised she’d managed to do so when the rest of her body was frozen in place, her heart pounded away. It felt like it might burst from her chest with every beat. Breathing was difficult, but somehow she managed to force her lungs to take in air, then exhale.
The man crouched in front of her, grabbing her chin with a hand and forcing her head to turn left, then right, as though she were some show dog being judged. “You do look just like her; except those eyes. None of which is particularly important, but she was beautiful. Once you’re a woman in your own right, you’ll be just as striking.”
Why did it matter, she wondered. Why did her looks matter so much to him?
He suddenly stood up again, his grip on her chin forcing her to do the same. “You’re a bit shorter, though, but you’ve got a few more years to growing, if you’re lucky. Yes, you’ll do.”
The way he spoke made Vivian feel nauseated. His words implied her physical appearance didn’t matter, while simultaneously letting her know he liked how she looked. The man had to be as old as Samuel, maybe older; why was he so focused on a sixteen-year-old girl?
Realization struck her all at once, causing her body to tremble.
He gave a low chuckle. “Calm down. I have no interest in you. I do, however, have a couple useful sons who would do well to settle down and give me a proper heir.” His smirk was back as he watched her expression shift, and must have felt how much harder her body shook from this information. “And mingling our bloodlines would give me leverage to take back what should be mine, if nothing else.”
He paused for a moment, smirk fading as he regarded her again. “I will need to wait for you to be of age… but I have no issue keeping you around until then. If you’re lucky, your bastard father will willingly give me what I want before then. I’d be happy to let you walk away, if he’ll meet my demands; but if he doesn’t… well, at least I’ll rest easy knowing the Clark family line will continue, thanks to you.”
Vivian’s eyes widened, startled by what he’d said. Clark? So that’s—
“You bastard,” Paul roared as he slammed into the man.
All three of them hit the ground, the man with the last name Clark only releasing his grip on Vivian mid fall.
The two men began to brawl right there on the floor. Vivian quickly scrambled away from them, darting for the door without a second thought. This might be her only chance to get out of there; no way was she going to let this opportunity pass.
Flinging the door open, she stepped into the corridor only to see two men standing nearby. For a second they all stared at one another. Recovering first, Vivian spun around and made a break for it. Shouts came from behind her as she ran, but she wasn’t about to listen to two men yelling, “stop,” and, “get back here.” Did they really expect her to do what they said?
Vivian crashed through the door into the lunchroom, where three more men were lounging on chairs they must have found somewhere in the mess. They were startled by her sudden appearance, but she stayed in motion, taking the stairs down to the first floor before they were able to register what they’d seen.
“The fuck you doing?” Someone shouted as she reached the bottom. “Get her!”
As she took the turn to go through the double doors onto the production floor, Vivian’s foot slipped, pain tearing through her ankle as she hit the ground, hard. “Dammit,” she swore as she picked herself, uncaring about the dirt that coated her after the fall.
A single step on the injured ankle caused her leg to buckle, the pain suddenly twice as bad as before.
Swearing profusely, she refused to let a little pain stop her from getting out of there. Gritting her teeth, she half hopped, half skipped across the production floor. The sound of the doors banging open pushed her to move faster, the adrenaline flooding her system dulling the pain enough to smooth out her gait.
Just before she reached the double doors on the opposite side, Vivian grabbed a metal rod that’d been resting on one of the nearby conveyor belts. It was rusted, but would do for what she had in mind.
Once on the other side, Vivian turned around and slid the rod through the doors’ handles. She didn’t take the time to make sure it would hold for long — she needed every spare second she could buy — before hop-skipping down the corridor.
At the far end, muscle-man suddenly appeared, charging in her direction. Panicked, Vivian grabbed the nearest door handle, hoping against all odds it wouldn’t be locked.
It seemed luck was on her side at that moment, as it turned in her hand. Slipping into the room, she slammed the door shut and locked it. She took a step back as the knob began to jiggle.
Knowing muscle-man would be able to take the door down, Vivian hurriedly looked around at what might be of use.
She found herself not in a room, but a glorified supply closet. Next to the door was a large, metal cabinet. Before she could register what she was doing, Vivian was pushing the cabinet in front of the door.
The pain in her ankle began to spike again, but she ignored it in favour of placing this obstacle between herself and the door that suddenly shook as something heavy struck at it from the other side.
Half the cabinet now blocking part of the door, Vivian switched her focus. She was locked in a closet with only a single way out. There was nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide. The shelves were fixed directly onto the walls, and what supplies remained were empty or falling apart; even the mop and broom flexed in her grip when she checked to see if they might hold up as a weapon.
Breathing became a struggle as the seconds ticked by. Vivian knew she was panicking, that it would only make the situation worse, but it was only a matter of time before she was back in their hands. Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to breathe through the panic. Crossing her arms, she dug her nails through the thin fabric of her jacket and into her upper arms until she felt back in control.
Think, Vivian, think. You can do this, she tried to tell herself as the cabinet shuddered. If I can get out of this myself, it’ll prove I don’t need a bodyguard. It’ll prove I can survive just fine outside the safety bubble. It’ll prove I’m not some damsel, always in need of protection. I can keep myself safe, god damn it.