Beyond His Control (Dark Romance Suspense) (His Duet Book 2)
Beyond His Control: Chapter 19

I immediately go to her and tap her arm gently. She jolts back in complete shock and drops the glass in her hand.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Mom, it’s me,” I say.

She looks up at me, and tears fill her eyes. “Natalie.”

I wrap my arms around her tightly and don’t let go. “It’s so good to see you again. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she mutters.

When I lean back to look, the scars on her arms, shoulders, and chest still look fresh and painful. “It looks …”

“Terrible?” she fills in.

“No, no, just …” I sigh. “I don’t want you to hurt.”

She smiles and places a hand on my arm. “I did this to myself. I have no one else to blame.”

“If I hadn’t gone to see Noah, then you’d still be—”

“Shh,” she interjects, placing a finger against her lips. “We won’t talk about this anymore.”

I admire her bravery even though it’s misplaced. I know it’s my fault she’s injured. She did all this to free me, and how did I repay her? By coming back.

She knows this as well as I do, yet she still wants to protect me.

Tears well up in my eyes. “But you’re wearing a mask too.”

She looks down at her feet. “That wasn’t my choice. Your father wants me to hide the marks.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want the people to panic,” she explains, and she turns around to grab a new glass from the table with her shaky hands. “He doesn’t like it when things aren’t perfect.”

I stare at her for a few seconds, watching her pour a new drink into the glass, her hands tremoring so badly I have to put a stop to it, so I grab her arm. “Is he hurting you again?”

From the corner of her eyes, she glances at me without saying a word, but nothing says more than a single look.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” I hiss through my teeth.

Her pupils dilate, and she grabs my arm tightly and forces me to stay. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Do not do anything stupid, Natalie.” I’ve never seen that fire in her eyes, blazing with such fierce fury that it could melt a thousand candles in a single second. “I won’t let you risk your life.”

“I’m not,” I say as she releases me from her grip. “But I’m not letting you go through that again.”

She looks at me with concern in her face before resigning to a sigh. “You’re just as stubborn as I am.”

A smile forms on her lips, and I lean in to her, forehead to forehead. “You already got hurt enough. Let me help.”

She shakes her head, eyes closed. “No.”

“You can’t continue to live like this,” I say.

She licks her lips. “I can as long as I know you’re safe.”

“But I’m not. We’re both stuck here,” I say, still staring at her, hoping she’ll look me in the eyes, but she’s too afraid of the truth to face it, and I know that feeling all too well.

“I won’t let you suffer,” I say.

“You must,” she says through gritted teeth. “You have to stay out of this.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” I say, tears welling up in my eyes too now.

Her eyes burst open, and she hisses, “Because he’ll kill you.”

It feels as though the air got knocked out of my lungs. “But I’m his daughter.”

“You think he cares about that? None of these men do. They only want heirs … male heirs,” she whispers. “And if you don’t birth a son, what will happen then? Do you think he’ll let her live if he catches one whiff of the fact that you wanted to kill him?”

I shake my head. “Stop.”

“No, you know it’s the truth,” she says. “The only reason you’re alive is because you’re on his good side and because you’re pregnant.”

She releases me and continues pouring her drink, her hand steady this time. The shivers have left her body. All that remains is a woman filled with a fervor I’ve never seen before.

She places the glass on the table and looks at me. “Go back to your husband. Pretend everything is okay,” she says. “Please, do it for me.”

I sigh and avert my eyes, then walk back as she asked me to.

I don’t know what’s gotten into her that she’s gotten so complacent and that she wants me to stop fighting back. Have the scars from the fire terrified her so much, or is something else going on? Has my father discovered something he shouldn’t have?

Does he know about Noah and my mother’s devious plans to get me out?

As I walk back to my place, goose bumps spread all over my skin as the other patriarchs home in on me.

“Where were you?” Noah hisses at me over his shoulder as I step behind him.

“Talking with my mom near the snack table,” I say, befuddled he’d even ask.

“Do you realize how long you were gone?” he growls, turning his head but not too much as to not alert the others that something’s going on.

“You told me she was there,” I say.

“I didn’t tell you to turn it into an entire meeting,” he whispers. “It’s attracting too much attention.”

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I just needed to hug her.”

“Your mom is on your dad’s bad side right now,” he replies. “It’s best if you don’t go there too …” We both look at my father whose eyes bore into me like knives. His hands tighten their grip on his chair, and I can’t help but picture my own throat being squashed by those same fingers.

“Stay low,” Noah whispers. “Play the good wife.”

The mere thought of that makes me want to puke. But at the same time, I know that if I don’t do exactly that, my head might be on the chopping board. Would he kill his own daughter? Does he have that power? And would the people let him?

The fact that I can’t answer these questions means there’s a possibility.

And a maybe.

That’s a dangerous thing when it comes to lives.

The only question is, am I willing to risk mine?

Noah

When the celebrations are over, the people who fucked step forward. Patrick and most of the other patriarchs pick a woman. I don’t.

The president picks two.

Marsha’s disgust is evident on her face, even with that golden mask hiding half. I’ve never seen her this pissed off before even though the president has had many ladies brought back to the temple with him for a night of pleasure.

Something’s changed.

It’s as though the fire she escaped has done more damage than the scars visible on her body … they’re in her mind too. Like a festering wound oozing with hatred. The kind that makes you murderous.

As we walk out of the building, I keep a close eye on the president, who’s sauntering with two ladies, one on each arm, the smirk on his face growing with every second. His wife trails not too far behind, her arms hidden inside the cloak that covers her body. She’s shivering. But I don’t know if it’s from the cold or because of something else.

When we get back inside, the party continues in the common room. The fireplace is already crackling, and there are drinks and food on the table. The president sits down on the best seat with his two girls, each on each knee, and he toys with them in front of Marsha.

The look on her face darkens, and she turns toward the food and drinks table.

I stand near the door with Natalie, where there’s a window to look outside. She’s gaping at the people down there, who are all walking back to their huts in neat little lines. The candles they hold to light their way surely provide a grand spectacle and must be a feast to the eye.

But I’m not at all interested in something I’ve seen a million times before …

I’m more worried about Marsha.

I tilt my head a little so I can gaze past the chairs and see what she’s doing. She’s bent over the table, holding some kind of glass in her hand, but I can’t see what she’s pouring in. I wonder if she’s making him a drink … or something for herself to ease the pain.

It must be tough to witness the fall of your marriage and on top of that, be scarred for life too. He fished her out of the real world only to forget she even exists years later.

I won’t ever forget about Natalie.

I won’t let anything or anyone come between us.

With my index finger, I caress her cheek, and she looks up in surprise and with a smile on her face that could light a thousand hearts on fire. And I know, right there and then, that I picked the right girl.

“I’m gonna go and grab a drink,” I say. “Want something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good, thanks.” She yawns and covers her mouth. “Might go to bed soon.”

“Of course.” I grab her hand and press a kiss on it. “Don’t wait up for me.”

She smirks. “Like we’re even allowed to sleep in the same bed …?”

“Why not?” I shrug. “If you want to.”

She narrows her eyes. “Is this some kind of test?”

“No test,” I reply. “Who’s gonna catch us?”

She crosses her arms. “You’re sure the guards won’t follow me?”

“I don’t think they’re into watching other patriarchs sleep, so no.” She snorts, and I give her a kiss on the cheeks. “But don’t hold it against me if I get a little touchy at night.”

The sparkle in her eyes are clearly visible even though she tries to hide it by looking away. “I can handle you.”

“Of course, you can,” I retort. “But you’ll have to excuse me now. I’m a little thirsty.” I lick my lips. “And I don’t mean for your pussy because I already got my fill today.”

Her eyes widen. “Noah!” she whispers out loud, but I’ve already turned around and walked off.

I love to leave her with an inkling of shame.

Not the kind that makes you mortified but the kind that makes your heart throb.

But right now, I’m more focused on something else going on. Something at that food and drinks table where Marsha is still fumbling with glasses.

I approach her from behind, glancing over my shoulder a couple of times to make sure no one’s noticing us. I don’t want to put her on the spot, but at the same time I need to know what she’s doing.

I know this woman, and I know what she’s capable of … What she desires the most. And her behavior since the celebrations has put me on edge.

I peer over her shoulder from the side, careful not to let her notice … or anyone else for that matter. I pull a cigar from my pocket and light it as a way to distract while I keep an eye on her.

Her hands shake while she pours something into the glass. It’s from a tiny vial, the same one I’ve seen the women carry along with them to a birthing ritual sometimes. But why would she put that into a drink? There are no pregnant women here.

She immediately hides the vial inside her cloak and proceeds to stir the drink with hands that tremor more and more. My eyes narrow as she picks up the glass and turns her head … to gaze at her husband.

Then she notices me.

She pauses, her body rigid, her facial expression looking numb and as though she saw a ghost.

I quickly step forward, right as she’s about to drop the glass, and I clench her hands tightly around it so it doesn’t fall.

“Careful now … don’t want to attract any attention to yourself,” I murmur, raising a brow.

She shudders, her lip quivering as she looks at me with terror in her eyes.

“What’s in there?” Still holding her hands, I lean in and whisper into her ear, “I won’t tell … I promise.”

When I lean back, her lips thin and tighten. “Hemlock.”

A smirk spreads on my face. She’s smart. Always has been. That’s how she came up with this idea, of course.

“What will your silence cost me?” she asks.

Poisoning your husband in front of six patriarchs is a risky business.

Especially when one of them catches you in the act.

“You know I’ll help you …” I mutter, and I look her deep in the eyes. “But you have to help me out as well.”

She mulls it over for a few seconds, eyeing her husband and Natalie from the corner of her eyes before returning her attention toward me. Then she nods.

It’s all I need … To secure this brilliant idea and use it to my advantage.