Twisted Betrayal Read online

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although this book is set in a high school environment, it is a dark bully romance, and it is not suitable for young teens due to mature content, graphic sexual scenes, and cursing. The recommending reading age is eighteen+. Some scenes may be triggering.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  About The Author

  Books by Siobhan Davis

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abby

  A light breeze ghosts over my legs as someone rolls the covers back and lifts my nightdress. Pressure bears down on my lower body, and a whimper escapes my mouth. I try to blink, but my eyes refuse to cooperate, happy to live in the hazy space I now call home.

  “She’ll be fine,” an unfamiliar male voice says, as I attempt to sit up in the bed. But my limbs are like my eyes. They won’t function the way they’re supposed to, and I’m screaming, but no one can hear me because the screams remain locked up inside me. “Give her plenty of fluids, ensure she eats a varied diet and takes her vitamins and medication. I’ll be back to check on her next week.”

  The sounds of retreating footsteps spur me into action. Forcing through the dark, hazy fog in my head, I extend my arm out from under the covers. “Wait!” My voice is raspy from lack of use and barely louder than a whisper. “Help me! Help my baby!”

  The footsteps falter, and a hushed conversation pursues, but I can’t hear the words, can’t detect the voices, and my stupid fucking body won’t move. Silent tears leak out of my eyes. “Help!” I croak again, but it’s futile.

  Images flash through my mind, and the worst pain imaginable slices through me, like a finely sharpened sword gliding easily through skin and sinew and muscle and bone.

  “Shush, now, Miss Manning.” A cool hand sweeps across my cheek before lowering to my arm.

  “No!” I cry out as he flicks my skin with his fingers, readying me for the shot. “Please, stop!” The sharp prick stings, and cold liquid instantly seeps through my veins, numbing everything.

  “It’ll be okay now, Abigail.” His fingers brush against my cheek again. “Sleep, pretty lady.”

  My eyelids grow heavy again, and my body feels like a dead weight on top of the bed. I fight the darkness, like I do every time, but I always succumb, and this time is no different.

  Time loses all meaning for me, and I don’t know how much passes as days and nights blend and I exist in some alternate cloudy realm. Lucid moments are rare. Until one day, I wake, and my limbs feel lighter, the fuzzy darkness in my head has almost fully disappeared, and I can move.

  My movements are sluggish as I haul myself upright in the bed, slowly blinking. Blinding light dazzles me, and I shutter my eyes again, gradually opening them, a bit at a time, until I’m accustomed to the bright space.

  I glance around the strange, well-lit room. It’s sparsely decorated and furnished. On my left is a wooden desk and chair. On my right, a small closet and a dresser. A lamp sits atop the table by my bed. Drab gray walls lacking artwork add to the overall depressive feel of the room.

  I look over my shoulder, locating the only window in the room. It’s a small square with steel bars running vertically along the entire width. Slivers of dull daylight slip through the gaps, confirming it’s early evening.

  Gingerly, I slide my legs out the side of the bed and stand, clutching onto the table when my legs buckle, threatening to go out from under me. Bracing myself, I take one careful step at a time, walking toward the side door that I’m hoping leads to a toilet because I badly need to pee.

  I stumble into the small bathroom, sinking gratefully onto the toilet. Stinging pain accompanies my urine, and I wince, rubbing a hand across my stomach as I relieve myself. When I’m done, I walk on shaky legs to the sink, inspecting my reflection in the mirror.

  I could use some color in my cheeks, but apart from that, I look fine. I don’t look like a kidnapped girl taken who the fuck knows where. I don’t look like a girl whose entire world came crashing down around her that fateful night.

  But appearances are usually deceiving. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

  What a pity I didn’t remember that the second Camden Marshall entered my life.

  I may have spent most of my time here in a numbed-out state of ignorant bliss, but flashes of memories were enough to remind me he’s the reason I’m here. Wherever the hell here is, because I’ve no clue if I’m still even in the US.

  All I remember is waking up on an airplane, with Louis’s smug grin in my face as he gleefully stabbed me in the arm with a motherfucking monster of a needle, and I passed out again.

  The next recollection I have is waking up in a cold sweat, in an unfamiliar bed, with my screams bouncing off the walls.

  And after that, it’s one giant blur.

  I turn the shower on, strip out of my nightdress, and step under the warm water.

  I notice my enlarged breasts for the first time as I’m soaping my body, staring at them in puzzled amazement. I know boobs usually get bigger during pregnancy, but I wasn’t expecting them to grow that fast or grow so big. I cup my hands around them, and they feel heavy and sore to the touch. I guess I will get used to a lot of changes in my body as my pregnancy progresses.

  I flatten my palm on my flat stomach, wondering when I’ll start showing.

  I didn’t ask for this, and I hate how my baby was conceived on a lie, but I’m not unhappy about it. My lips curl into a smile as I rub my hand back and forth across my tummy. The thought this tiny little being is growing inside me blows my mind, and I cling to my vow to do everything to protect him or her.

  A frown replaces my smile as anxiety creeps up my throat. I don’t know how long I’ve been here or what they have done to me, and a sliver of fear raises its head. If he’s done anything to my baby, I will murder him with my bare hands.

  I think about it logically, attempting to bring my crazy heart rate back down.

  Father kidnapped me to keep me away from Kaiden and Atticus, because if I give birth and I don’t marry my baby daddy, then my shares in Manning Motors automatically transfer back to him. Which is what he’s always wanted.

  So, my baby is safe.

  For now.

  Thinking of our child raises everything else to the surface, and I tilt my head up, closing my eyes and letting the water flow down my face as my mind wanders back to that night.

  I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection.

  That I didn’t figure out Camden Marshall was actually Kaiden Anderson. My brother’s best friend when we were kids. Son of my mom’s best friend. Someone I enjoyed playing with. Until my mother’s affair with hi
s father ended her friendship with Emma Anderson and ultimately ended up costing both women their lives.

  All the revelations from that night weigh heavy on my mind, and I sag against the wall, exhausted and tired—both mentally and physically drained. I finish washing my hair and my body, and I stagger out of the stall, tucking a towel around myself and switching off the water.

  A shriek escapes my mouth when I return to the bedroom to discover my father standing by my bed with a strange man wearing white scrubs. All the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.

  “You shouldn’t be up.” My father casts a quick glance over me. “Get back in bed.”

  I flip him the bird. “Fuck. You.”

  He moves like lightning, and my head jerks to the side as he slaps me across the face. “I thought I’d beaten that insubordination out of you, but you share the same stubborn streak as your mother.” He grips my chin painfully, and water drips down my back from my wet hair. “And the same lousy taste in men,” he adds, shoving me, none too gently, at the strange man.

  The man helps me to bed, pulling the covers up under my arms and smiling. He’s in his twenties, I guess, with pale skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. I narrow my eyes, instantly wary. “I’m Wyatt. I’m a psych nurse assigned to look after you.”

  That so gives me a warm and cozy feeling. Not.

  “I guess you’re the one I have to thank for my drugged-up state.” I glare at him, putting the full extent of my hatred behind it. He may not have given the order—I’m guessing that honor goes to Daddy Dearest—but he sure as shit acted on it.

  His smile fades. “It was in your best interests, Miss Manning.”

  “Spare me the bullshit,” I hiss.

  “I need a few minutes alone with my daughter,” my father says, and bile travels up my throat as I spot him clenching and unclenching his fists at his side. I turn panicked eyes on Wyatt, beseeching him not to leave even if I don’t like or trust him either. I don’t want to be left in here with my father on my own. I don’t trust him not to hurt me.

  “Sir.” Wyatt nods reverently, ignoring my obvious terrified expression, before quietly slipping out of the room.

  Pushing my fear aside, I pull myself upright, lifting my chin and planting a look of false bravado on my face as my father stalks toward me, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why do you have to be so difficult? Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

  Thoughts of Drew do little to reassure me.

  Atticus Anderson outed him to my father, confirming he’d played a part in breaking into his safe and stealing his confidential paperwork, including the real will which states that shares in Manning Motors will transfer to me and my twin after we both turn eighteen. Unless I’m married, and then my shares go to my husband. It’s why my father has been so keen on marrying me off to one of the elite. “Where is Drew?” I ask.

  “Drew is at home, where he rightfully belongs. Unlike you, he knows the meaning of loyalty.”

  I hide my surprise, wondering what Drew has said to extract himself from the hole he was in.

  “Why am I here? Where am I? And what is this place?”

  “You are here because I cannot trust you to do the right thing.” He grips my chin hard again. “Atticus Anderson will not get his hands on you. He thinks he has it all worked out, but that pathetic drunk always underestimates his enemy.”

  A malicious grin slips over his mouth, and I want to ram my fist into his face until he bleeds. He digs his nails into my skin, and I grind my teeth hard. “As do you, stupid girl.” He sneers, and panic bubbles up my throat. “Kaiden Anderson will not lay a finger on you again, and you will pay for your disloyalty.”

  He lets me go, standing, but I hold on to my breath, waiting for the pièce de résistance. “You will remain here, focusing on your studies, ensuring you graduate early, by the time of your eighteenth birthday. Then, and only then, will I permit you to return home, on the day of your wedding. You will marry Charles Barron the Third and he will sign over your shares to me. You will be a dutiful wife and do nothing to disrespect him or any of the elite. At a time of my choosing, you will give him an heir.”

  He’s fucking delusional.

  I would rather die than live that life.

  And it hasn’t escaped my notice that he hasn’t mentioned my baby in his plans. Has Charlie agreed to raise my child as his own, or how does my pregnancy fit into his plans? Acute fear holds a vise grip on my heart as I consider all the horrible things he could do to my unborn child. “I won’t do it.” I fold my arms across my chest. “You can’t force me.”

  His evil laughter wafts around the room, sending chills tiptoeing up my spine. “I think you’ll find that I can, and I will.” He removes an envelope from his inside jacket pocket, tapping it on the back of one hand as he smirks at me. “Your naivety has left you vulnerable, Abigail, which only adds to my disappointment. I taught you better than that, but you’re just like every other useless female. Weak and ruled by her emotions.”

  A look of disgust crawls over his face. “You will do what you’re told, because I have the power to take everything from you. Starting with this.” He places the envelope on the bed beside me. “This is just the beginning. Think of all those you love. Your rebelliousness puts every single one of them at risk. You can test me if you like, but I wouldn’t advise it, although I’d enjoy ticking every name off that list.”

  “You sicken me.”

  “The feeling is mutual.” He leans down into my face, and his sour breath turns my stomach. “If I didn’t need you, I’d have squeezed the life out of you the second you were born.”

  A messy ball of emotion clogs my throat, and I work hard to maintain a neutral expression. I’ve always known he’s hated me, and if he was capable of anything even close to love, I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. But to hear his disdain spelled out so bluntly hurts.

  But it also motivates me and helps keep me focused, so I should probably thank him for his indifference, because it ensures I never lose my determination.

  I don’t want to let my emotions get the better of me, because then I’m just proving his point. So, I do what I always do to deflect my feelings. Concentrate on something unemotional. “Why do you need me?” I pierce him with hateful eyes. “My marriage to Charlie doesn’t help with your auto-drive program, so why is it so important?”

  He narrows his gaze at me, and I notice the fine lines at the corners of his eyes are no longer there. My father is forty-six, but he doesn’t have a wrinkle on his tight face, because he’s long been an advocate of cosmetic surgery and a regular visitor to Doctor Gunning’s Rydeville clinic. His vanity and arrogance know no bounds, and he spends an inordinate amount of time—for a man—on his appearance. Dying his hair as soon as any gray appears at his temples. Working out for two hours a day without fail. Eating a carefully calorie-controlled diet. Getting weekly manicures and facials.

  I guess those women he fucks in his sex den expect their men a certain way, and he doesn’t like to disappoint them.

  Or he’s just that vain.

  Bile floods my mouth again, and looking at him makes me ill.

  “The reasons are none of your business. Your job is simple, Abigail. Look pretty. Smile. Speak only when spoken to. Open your legs whenever your husband demands it, and run an orderly house.” He smooths a hand down the front of his custom-made navy suit. “Surely, even you can manage that.”

  I want to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t want another slap, so I settle for glaring at him instead.

  “Read the letter.” His cold, inhumane eyes penetrate mine. “And remember you forced me to do this, Abigail. This is on you, and your behavior will decide whether it warrants further action. Cooperate and I’ll consider the matter closed. Disobey me, and your loved ones will continue to pay the price.”

  He stalks out of the room without a backward glance, leaving me clutching the envelope in my trembling hands.

  I know what
’s in this letter has the power to destroy me, and I’m tempted to ball it up and throw it in the trash. But knowledge is power, and wallowing in a pit of denial won’t help.

  I’ve already decided my father is dead to me.

  And it’s not just enough to run away now.

  I want to fucking bury him. To end his life as he knows it.

  Metaphorically speaking, because death is too easy for a psychopath like him.

  I want him to suffer, and I’ll make him pay. I don’t know how. But, someday, he is getting what’s coming to him.

  I open the envelope, unfolding the letter with sweaty hands and a heart that’s trying to beat a path out of my chest. I draw deep breaths, trying to prepare myself, but nothing could prepare me for these words.

  Pain infuses every cell in my body as I read, my teardrops soaking the page and blurring the ink as silent tears cascade down my face. Choking sobs clog my throat and the weirdest noises escape my mouth as I die inside.

  I know he’s a monster, a psychopath, but this… This goes beyond that.

  There are no words in the English language strong enough to describe him.

  The letter floats to the ground as I curl into a ball, clutching my arms around myself, as gut-wrenching sobs birth straight from my soul. Agonizing pain rips through me, and it’s like I’m being beaten up from the inside out. Wave after wave of pain batters me from all sides, and I scream and scream, over and over, until my dry throat rebels and I can’t make another sound.

  Time ceases to have meaning again, and I rock myself to sleep, absorbed in inner pain, vowing to make him suffer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Abby.” Her soft voice whispers in my ear, and cool hands brush hair back off my brow. I whimper, leaning into her hand, her voice affecting me even in sleep.

  “Mommy!” I cry, reaching for her.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart.” She cups my face, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “I’m here, and I will let no one hurt you ever again.”

  The memory returns full force as I bolt upright in the bed, holding a palm to my cheek, as if I can magically conjure her soft touch. “Mom!” Tears leak out of my eyes as I cry out to the dark, silent room.