Chapter 15: Sarkon's Chosen Wife

It was slimy and pitch-black. He smelled of sewage. He should have been in a sewer somewhere. He wasn't sure. He could only hear, smell, and feel. He heard water trickling like someone taking a piss in the toilet. He shifted his legs and felt the soles of his feet already numbed by the cold wetness of the floor that they stung. An electrifying pain shot up his spine. A grunt escaped from this unbound throat. The iciness seeping through in his pants and sleeves like a poisonous snake seemed to be reaching for his heart. Was he going to die? Then, a familiar low growl sounded next to his ear. "Sarkon. It's me." Alfred! Sarkon fidgeted. "Listen," the voice whispered. Sarkon instantly went still. "I'm getting you out of here. The rest are coming." Sarkon nodded silently. He knew the routine. His father would arrive soon with an army of black suits with enough guns to rain a thunderstorm of bullets. No one on the other side would survive. Sarkon also knew it wasn't him that his father was coming to save. It was his heir. Buttons split and flew as his shirt was pulled open under rough, frantic hands. Then, a long silence entrapped him, clawing his nerves like long nails screeching on a blackboard. Apprehension grappled him. Ignoring his seventeen years of training, Sarkon finally muttered in a carefully controlled volume, "Alfred?" The raw pain in his parched throat stung him. He winced and tried again, "Alf–" The tightness binding his chest was revealed in two words from his lonely hero. "Don't move." Sarkon's heart sank into depths of dismay. Wisdom of his training slammed at him like his abductors did. It's a f*cking bomb. ***** No one in the history of Lenmont had ever done what Sarkon and his band of brothers had accomplished. At the age of seventeen, Sarkon took over his father's empire, one that was built upon the terrors and violence of shady dealings and illegal activities. In just five years, he turned it around, making it one of the most lucrative and successful businesses in Lenmont. His estimated net worth skyrocketed, coming close to the king of the business world, Tim Carter. If Tim was the king, and his son was the prince, then Sarkon was the black knight. The whole of Lenmont knew the driving force behind the black knight's ambition: his dead father. But Karl knew better, as well as all those who worked under the ruthless beast of a business magnate. It was never his father. It was someone else. Someone who was more of a father figure to him than his old man ever was. "An oil tycoon's daughter," Sarkon repeated with the calmness of a robot. Sanders nodded with the same nonchalance. "Carter's looking for means to dip his toes in. Once he gains a foothold, he'll solidify his status for another decade." Sarkon shoved the papers aside and stated in a factual tone, "Two can play the game." Karl widened his gaze at the giant, one of the most eligible bachelors of Lenmont. He's planning to marry for business. Just like his father. Sanders pushed his specs up his nose, a gleam of amusement crossed his blank eyes. "Who do you have in mind?" Sarkon thought for a moment. His finger tapped on the desk like the second hand of a clock. The rhythm was like a lion crouching low in a silent, steady breath, watching its prey and waiting in patience for that moment of an accurate blow to kill. The tapping stopped. The striking beast muttered, "Top of the list, Betty Loller." Karl couldn't stop himself. He jumped forward in clear frustration, "The Loller Group's our greatest enemy." "Exactly." Sarkon's thick razor brows knitted with the determination of a rugby player. Sanders turned to Karl with emotions far less than the boss. "With the lady on our side, our expansion will be smoother. We can even take over some of their holds." The elite turned back to the young boss and nodded in a personal approval. "I think it's a brilliant move, Sarkon." But Karl wasn't done. "What about Maria?" It was the last bit of conscience left in him. The bit that came from all those time spent with the little girl. It had taken a spot inside his brutal spirit, softening that tiny space for his parental instincts. He knew how much Maria loved this man, even more than Sarkon himself. The young lady was already devastated with the mistress. If Sarkon married, how would she take it? Icicles shot from those deep blue eyes as a cold voice snarled, "What about her?" Karl stared at the death stare and saw pain brewing in it. His eyes grew with a renewed realization. He looked away and cleared his throat. Quickly, he changed his query to cover his tracks. "Will she continue to stay here? Since you're bringing in a wife, you'll have kids of your own. You are after all not her family. We are not her family." Sarkon stood and smashed an angry fist on his table, "Maria's family is us! I'm her guardian! Are you testing my patience here, Karl? Do you want to join my father earlier than your due?" Karl dropped his gaze on the carpet and stepped back. "No." Sarkon swept everything to the floor and smashed both hands into the antique oak table. "D*mn it, Karl!" The beast roared, his handsome features crushed with an uncontrollable rage. Why does he always force it to my face? Why! Can't I avoid it for now?! "Apologies, Sarkon," Karl muttered. His gaze remained on the ground. He felt a swift shuffling of feet across the carpet and lifted his gaze. WHACK! It felt like a tank had just rammed into his jaw. His cheek turned sideways, and his bulging shoulders shook slightly. If Karl was any smaller, he would've stumbled to the floor. The ex-biker blinked twice to shake off an incoming giddiness as a dull ache vibrated through his bristled jaw. Instantly, a deadly look came to an inch before him. A warning crawled to his ears in a low monstrous growl, "I don't know what you're trying to do here. But if it happens again, I'll send you straight to Alfred's, so you can finish the sentence in his face." At the remembrance of his old friend, Karl kept a grim gaze at the floor, ignoring the searing pain in his neck. Inside, he felt relieved. If Sarkon was putting up a show with that slutty woman, he really did a good one. Everyone was fooled, including Karl. For a period of time, he thought Sarkon would abandon Maria. But it seemed that he had misunderstood the young man. With an inhale, Sarkon backed away and said quietly, "She'll find someone too." Karl's gaze shot up once more as the forlorn giant sat in his chair. "Keep a close watch on her." Sarkon exhaled. Karl opened his mouth, then closed it again and nodded. "I'll get the list of people she's talked to." "I'll run a background check on them all," Sanke added calmly. "I need to meet Betty Loller," the stony giant's voice was back to normal. "I'll get a date and time," the secretary noted in his mobile. "I'll keep an eye on Claude," Karl suggested. A finger tapped on the desk again. Then, the ruthless businessman sank into his chair with his elbows propped on its arms, hands clasped in a pyramid, and his thick brows in a stern line. "Even if we don't get his sister, we'll get him." ***** Paris stared at the frail woman sitting on a bench far away from him. Her luscious brownish-red locks were fluttering in the gentle morning breeze. She had not moved since she sat there an hour ago. Does she not have any classes to go to? The prince moved closer. The plain white blouse and sandy brown pants came into his view, and he flinched back in disgust. What is this? Did she just come out from the construction site? If she joined the student council, he would have to do something about her sense of style. His feet stepped on the cushion of garden-fresh grass and soil. Maria dropped her chin and gazed at the ground. "Hello. Maria Davis?" There was no response from her. With curious brows, the prince moved in even closer. "Maria Davis?" Still no response. Slightly agitated, Paris stalked to the front and cleared his throat loudly. "Maria Davis?" Those emerald eyes stared through him. The trimmed brows wrinkled up in annoyance. He reached out and nudged her in the shoulder. "Maria!" Two startled eyes fixed on him. Somehow, they rendered the prince speechless for a long while. Then, Maria shot up from her seat. "Oh, God! Did I take your seat? I'm sorry! There was no one here so–" Paris flashed a brilliant smile, "Don't be silly. This is not my bench. Of course, I can buy it with a mere snap of my fingers, but that's not the point." He sat on the bench like it was a throne. He then rolled an eye at the vacant spot beside him. Maria took the hint and sat beside the dashing guy in a white-collared shirt and formal pants.