AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Stranded and Seduced
Emmy Grayson
CHAPTER ONE
GRIFFITH LYKAOIS TRACED a finger over the scar that cut through his right eyebrow, skimmed the corner of his eye and sliced over his cheek. Another scar stretched from the side of his mouth down to his chin, surprisingly smooth to the touch. Still a visible angry red slash even when he combed his beard to cover it. As he sat in the leather high-back chair by the balcony doors, a glass of whiskey within reach, he could picture his ghoulish visage in his mind as if he was looking in a mirror. The past eleven months had faded the scars to dull pink. But time hadn’t dimmed the memory of the first time he’d seen himself. Stitches crisscrossing the fresh wounds. Eyes bloodshot and unfocused from the medication they’d pumped into him.
Monstrous.
Her horrified voice had slithered through him, that word burying under his skin, as he’d drifted in and out of consciousness that first day.
Not even his status as the son of a wealthy shipping magnate, with millions in the bank, had been enough to make Kacey Dupree want to stick around. Not when her boyfriend had looked more like a beast than a man.
Surely you must understand, Griff.
Her voice had sounded like nails on a chalkboard, digging into his brain like sharp talons as he’d tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his father had been killed and he’d been left scarred.
All because he hadn’t been paying attention. Had been focused on himself, as his father had just accused him of, before the world had been tossed upside down with a bone-wrenching jolt and screeching metal.
The word echoed in his mind as he dropped his hand from his face and grabbed the glass. A sip of the whiskey, straight and tinged with spice, burned down his throat. He avoided getting drunk. Too easy of an out.
But he allowed himself just enough to dull the pain.
Monstrous.
Kacey had visited him the second day in the hospital, her glistening blond hair twisted into an elegant chignon that had displayed her pale, heart-shaped features perfectly. A beauty that hadn’t even registered as he’d fought against pain and grief. She’d laid her hand on his shoulder, then snatched it back quickly, her plump red lips twisted into an expression of disgust when she’d seen the blood seeping through the bandage.
Rage had simmered beneath the dressings. His father had just died.
“Surely you must understand, Griff.”
“Give me the necklace.”
Her mouth had dropped open. She’d switched from placating to furious in seconds, raging at him for daring to take away the one thing that would leave her with memories of what they’d had before the accident. It had only been when he’d threatened to sue her for theft and ensure the news made it into the papers that she’d taken off the four-million-dollar ruby necklace and hurled it at him before rushing out in a fit of tears.
That his first thought had been Good riddance said more about their six-month relationship than he ever could have. It had hurt more that it hadn’t hurt much at all.
With one hand still wrapped around the glass, his other came up, fingers touching the tiny moon-shaped scar on the left side of his face. The only visible injury to that side. The thin scar high on his left temple from where his head had slammed into the doorframe had been covered by hair.
But he could feel it. Feel it when he combed his hair. Feel it when it throbbed at night with a pain that felt as deep and fresh as the moment he’d heard his father shout his name before everything had turned black.
Kacey had been right about one thing. He was a monster. Inside and out.
He took another sip of whiskey. Aged sixty years in the wilds of Ireland, one of the hand-painted bottles fetched over one million dollars at Sotheby’s New York location. A year ago, he would have been on top of the world with one of Europe’s most coveted models sitting across from him, the finest jewels his money could buy around her neck, and the whiskey in his glass.
Now it was merely a means to an end. A good-tasting whiskey that eased his discomfort and helped pass the time.
Fate, he’d discovered, had a very cruel sense of humor. For the past ten years he’d been consumed by money and image. When he’d first heard of the Diamond Club four years ago, envy had been an ugly shadow dodging his steps. The clubhouse, a casual name for an opulent town house in London, offered refuge for the ten wealthiest people in the world. Rumors had spread like wildfire of the amenities: a helipad on the roof, columns fashioned from Calcutta marble and suites designed to its residents’ particular tastes.
Now, as he stood and walked through the suite his father had had decorated, he no longer felt envy.
He just felt sick.
Three months after the accident, when his spinal fractures had been declared healed enough for him to remove the back brace, a lawyer had visited him at the family estate in Kent. His father had branched out over the past few years, investing in everything from real estate to technology. Those investments had resulted in a fortune worth billions.
Enough billions that the lawyer’s visit had been shortly followed by an invitation. The cream-colored envelope had been delivered by a woman in a black suit that matched the limo she arrived in. She had inclined her head and handed him the envelope as she told him Mr. Raj Belanger cordially invited him to take his father’s place at the Diamond Club.
Once one of his loftiest goals, now achieved. At the expense of his father’s life.
