Bloodstained Redemption

Chapter 2

THE ANGEL

Rhett Walker is the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. I mean, who does he think he is. Sure, he owns half the city, but from what I've heard, the only reason for that is because he plays dirty, extorting innocent businesses for his own personal gain. God, he is so pretentious.
   How dare he tell me that 'I'm going to be his whether I like it or not', as if I don't have a fucking choice. I mean, I guess I don't really. If there is one thing about Rhett, then it's the fact that he is one of the most powerful men in this city; that being said, he could easily ruin my career. He could easily get me kicked out of my apartment, claiming I hadn't paid rent for months, and completely disposing of any evidence of my doing so.
   The worst part is, I wouldn't even be surprised if he did.
   I'm sure he's done it before many times.
   Although, just as much as he could do that, he could also be of use to me. If I was to nanny his son, I certainly wouldn't be doing it for free.
   Not that the money means anything to me, but it could be useful to have so much strain on my bank account. When I was thrown out at fifteen, my father cut me off from my inheritance. I lived with Mollie for three years until she illegally employed me as a bartender here. Although I was sceptical about the job at first, not wanting to work at a place where women and girls were daily gawked at by drunken, old men drenched in excessive amounts of cologne, once I started working, I was able to pay rent for a small one-bedroom apartment downtown. And I have been living there since I was seventeen.
   Almost six years.
   And I love it. I wouldn't change it for anything, but, with college payments due, and rent increasing, working on at minimum wage isn't ideal.
   I barely have enough to buy groceries.
   However, that could all change, thanks to Rhett's request. What he doesn't realize is that I could wring him dry of money. I could extort him just like he does every other corporation. Just like he did my father.
   That's why I was disregarded by my father.
   For some idiotic reason, he blamed me for his company's downfall.
   What he didn't realise was that it was never me.
   My father had many enemies, some of which attached themselves to me, one of which being my ex-boyfriend, Max. my father believed my relationship with Max, his rival, was the reason for his company's demise; that I had somehow spread the secrets of his org and ruined everything.
   It was never me. I was punished for nothing.
   One man had hacked into Dad's account and stolen millions from him, without a trace of evidence. The only reason we found out who it was, was because a few weeks later, my father's organisation was bought back under a new name – a new owner.
   Rhett Walker.
   He is the reason I was practically homeless for years of my life, and now he wants me to work for him.
   Fine. I will.
   But I mark my words, I'm going to make his life a living Hell. Or at least more than I already have.
   Rhett Walker, you are going to regret the day you ever walked up to my bar.

~~~<>~~~

Before me towers a gorgeous mansion, so high, the sun is barely able to reach over the top of the roof. White plagues every wall, illuminating the vast driveway, which was host to two lavish cars that are parked either side of the stunning fountain. Lush hedges surrounded the aging stone, that although the structure looked antique, it gave the entire garden more of a rustic feel while contrasting with the modern house. I don't know much about houses like this, clearly, but this look like they worth more than a man's life.
   I wouldn't put it past Rhett to sacrifice someone's life for his own gain.
   The driveway stretches for a mile in front of the house, and from what I saw driving here, in a run-down jeep that I'm suddenly self-conscious of, the nearest town is about forty minutes away. This is going to make getting to work a whole lot harder.
   What about my apartment?
   Am I really going to be made to drive back and forth every day to look after his son.
   I mean, I wouldn't mind staying here, temporarily of course, I'll admit, the mansion is breath-taking.
   My thoughts are interrupted by the cries coming from the house. I snap my head towards the wailing, my eyes immediately strain for any danger. In that moment the door to the lavish building swings open and out runs what looks to be a maid, tears streaming down her face as she charges towards me.
   Panic sets in, and I'm about to shift before the young girl has a chance to collide into me, but not I'm not quick enough. She slams into me, her small body surprisingly creating such a hard impact that I lose my footing and we both go tumbling to the floor. My back connects to the gravel beneath me, robbing me of oxygen.
   I pant to get my breath back as I hear the girl's mousy voice apologise. She pulls off me and rushes to leave, wailing as she does so.
   "I'm sorry," she cries "I'm so sorry. I- I have to go. I'm sorry." I can hear the crack in her voice as she continues running for the black gates leading to the neighbourhood.
   Well, that was fucking weird.
   I pull myself off the floor, a sharp sting eliciting from my palm. A shallow graze tarnishes my hand. The pink scratches weep tiny bubbles of blood.
   It's ok Harper, you're ok.
   A wave of memories floods my brain. The cuts. The bruises. The screaming. The shouting, crying, pleading. That man. He's not here. He can't hurt me. I'm stronger now.
  "You're first day, and you arrive late." A snarl comes from in front of me. Raising my eyes, I meet the scowling face of Rhett Walker.
  "Well usually I'm not stampeded into by crying maids on the first day."
  "I can see your smart-mouth hasn't subsided."
  A scowl pulls at my face as I stare directly at him.
   "Look, Boss, I don't know what your problem is. You wanted me to work for you, so insulting me isn't going to make this partnership any easier. So, it would be much appreciated if you learnt some manners and treat me with the same respect as you expect from me. Understood?"
   "Firstly, you work for me, not with me. We are not equal, and I am not inclined to treat you as such. Respect is earnt, not given. I will treat you how I see fit, and if that means you run out of my house crying," he pauses, lowering himself to my eye level and deepening his tone so that his accent was thick and captivating. His hot breath fans my face, and I couldn't help but notice the intriguing blend of expensive whiskey and mint. The enchanting contradiction had my mind racing with unwanted questions of whether or not he tastes the same. "Then so be it." He finished his sentence, and it takes me a second to remember what we were talking about before he walks away, his intoxicating scent leaving with him, allowing me to finally breath deep without fantasies diseasing my head.
   Jesus Harper, get. A. Grip.
  I trail after Rhett, a little more agitated than before now. How dare he tell me that I am not equal to him. And if respect is earnt then I have no incline to treat him with any.
  Following after him, I enter into what looks to be hallway leading towards the main house. The grand foyer is host to two large staircases on either side, both leading to the same place. In the centre of the ceiling is a gorgeous, black chandelier. The matte black metal arms reached outwards like tree branches, adorned intricately with delicate obsidian crystals that cause a kaleidoscope of colours to scatter around the hall.
   Black is a frequent occurrence in the mansion. Polished, black tiles echo our footsteps; black, iron railings supporting the staircases, winding and twisting into majestic designs.
   The walls are adorned with paintings that are although beautiful, are slightly disturbing.
   On one side of the hall, a large canvas painting of a women hangs on the wall. Her back is turned but the light bounces off part of her face, illuminating the crimson tears of blood dripping from her eyes. Her is face pale, blank.
   Alone.
   As if she's waiting for someone.
   The piece is gorgeous but slightly unnerving.
   The pain and sadness in her eyes, the blood-colored paint contrasting with the monotone scene.
   I don't know why, but I feel for her.
   I've always wondered how people connect to art but now I know. This piece speaks to me, and I see myself in her.
   It's stunning.
   "What's this piece called?" I ask Rhett, my back still turned but I can hear his heavy footsteps, the polished tiles on the floor seeming to only amplify each step. I feel his hot breath against my ear, the same inebriating scent surrounding us.
   "I call it," Rhett begins, pausing mid-sentence, at which point I turn to face him, wondering what's stopping him from finishing. His gorgeous face is contorted in thought. His brows furrow slightly, forming a delicate arch above his eyes, as if seeking answers from within. Creases lined his forehead, and although it may look off putting on some, it only made Rhett look even more devastating.
"Yes?" I push. I'm not that interesting in art, and I couldn't care less about what it's
named, but I'm determined to have some sort of civil conversation with Walker
without either of us insulting one another.
   "Stop asking questions and follow me." Rhett finally answers, clearly not following
my motive. I roll my eyes at his back.
   Dickhead.
   We continue throughout the manor, Rhett giving me a not so friendly tour of all the rooms and facilities. An extravagant library, hosting countless shelves of books, both worn and new; a kitchen the size of a penthouse, with a fully equipped bar stretching the entirety of the wall.
   Shit looks nice.
   I continue to follow him around the kitchen running my hands along the bar. It's gorgeous.
   "You like it?" his deep voices echo through the kitchen, for once not sounding like he was annoyed but genuinely intrigued.
   "I do." For some reason being behind a bar has always been a safe space for me - it could be so something connected to trauma, my father used to drink a lot, but being behind a counter serving drinks and creating new cocktails and generally the safety of having a wall between me and the threat.
I can feel his eyes on me as I run my fingers over the bar.
"I see." He clips, his tone somewhat ominous, the sound sending shivers through me.

~~~<>~~~

After the tour, which took over an hour might I add, we stood in front of a large, oak door. The wood was stained a dark black to fit the aesthetic of the mansion.
"This will be your room." Rhett says, his voice still agitated.
I nod, deciding it would be best to not argue or question for his tone. I am tired and need a shower.
   "You will stay here temporarily, while looking after Theo." He accentuates the word 'temporarily' as if he's going to send me running for the hills.
Try me, bitch.
  Rhett continues. "Don't go anywhere on this floor unless told otherwise. Do not enter my room, or any other room for that matter. This one door is the only one you're allowed to open and close. There is a lock, but you won't be needing to use it. No one else lives here other than my son and I, and neither of us will bother you." He raises an eyebrow. "Are my rules clear?"
   I nod. This doesn't seem to sit right with her. He straightens and squares up to me, which isn't hard when he's more than a foot taller than me. I smile, pride filling my chest with how much I affect him. "Do you understand?" Rhett's voice is deep and agitated.
   "Yes... Sir." I mock him, grinning widely at him, feigning innocence.
   He grumbles and then walks away, further down the corridor. Smirking, I open the door to my new room.
Like the rest of the house, it's gorgeous in here. Dark stained walls, a balcony looking over a huge garden maze, a queen sized bed with black silk sheets, a walk in wardrobe, cabinet and dresser table equipped with a huge mirror, and an on-suit bathroom with rock walls and rain shower. It's beautiful.
And I kind of hate that. Rhett has lived his life lavishly because he breaks everyone and everything around him. He ruined my life to live his like this.
Making my way into the room, I pull my suitcase into the room and start unpacking. I didn't bring much so after putting my clothes in the large wardrobe, underwear in the drawers, and some makeup and skincare into the dresser vanity, the room still looked mostly empty other than the furniture.
As much as this room is beautiful, it's as it's also inhabited. As if no one lives me. No one has loved here.
For some unrecallable reason that pulls at my heart-strings. It's lonely here. The entire mansion is. It's full of lavish furniture and decoration; the walls drip money, but there's no life. No heart. No warmth. There's no discarded toys, I noticed there was no drawings on the fridge, nothing.
I sigh and sit on the edge of the bed, looking around the room. This is it.
My new home. For now.