This Isn't Fair, Baby (War & Peace Book #6) Read online

  This Isn’t Fair, Baby

  Copyright © 2017 K. Webster

  Cover Design: All By Design

  Photo: Adobe Stock

  Editor: Prema Editing

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  War and Peace Series Reading Order

  Epigraph

  Warning

  PART ONE

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  PART TWO

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  PART THREE

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Playlist

  Books by K Webster

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  War and Peace Series Reading Order

  This is War, Baby – Book One

  This is Love, Baby – Book Two

  This Isn’t Over, Baby – Book Three

  This Isn’t You, Baby – Book Four

  This is Me, Baby – Book Five

  This Isn’t Fair, Baby – Book Six

  “The very essence of romance is uncertainty.”

  —Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays

  Warning:

  This Isn’t Fair, Baby is a dark romance. Extreme sexual themes and violence, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to dark themes, then this story is not for you. This Isn’t Fair, Baby is the sixth book in the series. Please read the first five books before reading this one to fully understand the story.

  Five years old…

  THIS HOUSE IS pretty. Like the castle in my Beauty and the Beast movie. There are so many rooms to play hide-and-seek in. I wish Mommy would play with me. She never does, though.

  Once I’ve looked inside every room in the castle, I run down the long hallway toward Mommy’s and Daddy’s room. We’re on a vacation, Daddy told me. A work vacation. All I know is we’re not in California anymore. We got on an airplane and flew far, far away to this castle.

  “Mommy!” I call out. “Where are you?”

  Maybe she is playing a game with me. The thought makes my heart thump in my chest. When I get close to her room, I can hear the music playing inside. And as I round the corner, I see her dancing.

  Mommy is so pretty with her shiny red hair, which looks like it has gold strands in it sometimes. Like the mermaid in my favorite Disney movie. Her eyes even sparkle every now and again. I love when they sparkle because that means she’s in a good mood. When she’s in a bad mood, she makes me go play by myself.

  I let out a squeal and drop my backpack full of toys and coloring books. I start dancing in circles and love the way my dress flares out around me. I’m a princess like Mommy.

  “Dancing! Dancing!” I cheer out in delight.

  As if my words make her angry, she stops dancing and turns to stare at me. Some white powder is on her nose and her green eyes look almost black. Her smile is gone. She bares her teeth at me and her lip curls up as if she’s grossed out by me.

  “I thought I told you to go play,” she snaps and then sniffs, like she has a cold.

  “But I thought we were dancing, Mom—”

  “For crying out loud, Vienna! Mommy has to test Daddy’s merchandise. I can’t do that with you bothering me. Go play,” she spits out and rubs at her nose.

  “But Daddy said to stay inside and—”

  “Now!”

  Her harsh words used to make me cry, but I’m used to them now. Nothing makes me cry. Daddy says I’m fierce…like a dragon. I always smile when he says that, yet deep down I wish I were fierce, but also a princess. Why can’t I be pretty and breathe fire at the same time?

  Mommy’s hand swats at me, and I scamper away from her. I scoop up my backpack along the way out the door. Eager to explore, I run along the narrow hallways until I find one that leads outside. As soon as I push through the door, the summer heat cloaks me like my warm blanket back home.

  Even though Daddy told me to stay inside, I listen to Mommy’s instructions and start exploring the outside of the castle. Daddy has taken us on lots of vacations to Colombia, but this is the first time we’ve visited this castle.

  I’m humming a song when I hear voices. Shouting. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I sneak around the side of the stone wall to see what all the commotion is about. A man with big muscles and a scary smile is holding a huge knife. He’s teasing someone, but I can’t see who. I sneak over to a rose bush and crouch behind it. The roses are big and red, kind of like the ones in my Beauty and the Beast movie. I want to pick one but I know roses have thorns. Instead, I lean in and inhale the sweet scent.

  “You’ll pay for this,” the scary man growls, stealing my attention away from the roses. His big knife gleams in the bright sunlight.

  I peek around the bush to get a better look. Finally, I see who the scary man is yelling at. A skinny boy is sprawled out on the grass with his hands up, like he’s afraid the man will hurt him. Sometimes I hold my hands up like that when Mommy is mad. She doesn’t hit me often, but her eyes can be mean. I always worry she will.

  “No me robé ningúna cocaína,” the boy says, his voice shaking. I don’t know what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s trying to make the scary man understand.

  “Te cojì con el producto en tu bolsa. Ahora vas a pagar con tu vida. Nadie le falta el respeto a mi familia,” the scary man hisses. I half expect him to change into a monster right under the hot, sunny rays. Kind of like when Beast turns into a human. But backward and scarier.

  “Por favor, señor.” The boy seems sad and afraid. I wish I could yell at the scary man to stop waving his knife at him.

  While they continue to argue, I slide my backpack off and dig around. I don’t have a real knife but I have a yellow plastic one I use to cut my Play-Doh. Once I have it in my tiny grip, I rise from behind the bush. I watch in awe for a moment as the scary man moves his arm fast and fancy, like he’s a dancer but with just one arm. It’s almost magical. Until I see the blood covering his white button-down shirt, like the ones Daddy wears.

  “No!” I cry out from my hiding spot.

  The scary man freezes and turns, his eyes locking onto mine. “Run along, child.” His accent is thick, but I understand his words this time. “Run to your father.” He breaks our stare to glare down at the bloody boy, who doesn’t move. When he holds the knife up like he might stab him, I charge for the scary man.

  “Nooo
ooo!” I screech and hold my yellow knife up as I run.

  The scary man laughs—loud and too cold for this hot day—as I try to stab him with my weapon. He snorts before easily pushing me to the grass beside the boy.

  “Hijos de puta,” he grumbles and shakes his head before stalking off.

  I turn to regard the boy. His face is covered in blood. The dirty white T-shirt he’s wearing is now torn and bright red, like the roses on the bush. He’s bleeding everywhere. When he lifts a shaking hand that drips with blood, I let out a small shriek. But he smiles through his pain.

  “Un ángel. Me estoy muriendo y tu eres mi ángel.” His voice is deep like Daddy’s. I can tell he’s older like my cousin Seth who can drive.

  “Shh,” I coo to the boy. His lip wobbles and he looks lost. I can’t see his eyes because they’re squinted shut against the bright sunshine. “I have Band-Aids,” I assure him. “They’re Toy Story, so boys can like them too.”

  Tears streak down his cheeks and gurgling sounds escape him. The sounds scare me, but I can fix him. With newfound determination, I run back to the bush to grab my backpack. Once I snag it up, I rush back to my patient. He’s quiet as I pull out my box of Band-Aids and carefully peel apart each one. The box was nearly full—Daddy bought it for me at the airport when we arrived in Colombia after I fell and skinned my knee—so I’m able to put them all over his bloody face. With Buzz Lightyear and Woody staring back at me with big smiles on their faces, I believe this boy will get better.

  “¡Llama ayuda, hermano!” a boy shouts from somewhere behind us.

  I turn to see an older boy with messy black hair running toward me. He doesn’t seem scary like the man from before. In fact, he looks like he might cry.

  “I fixed him,” I assure the boy when he kneels beside me. “He’s going to get all better now.” I go to pat him, but he stares at my bloody hand as though he’s afraid it will bite him. Hands don’t bite, silly.

  His eyes that are almost purple in the sunlight shimmer with tears. “Please go inside, little girl.” He points at the house. “My little brother is in the kitchen. Have him help you clean up.” I like this boy’s accent.

  I reach into my bag and tug out Mr. Snuffles, my new stuffed cat, which Daddy bought me in a gift shop before we came to the castle. Mr. Snuffles won’t miss me. Besides, this bloody boy needs him more than I do. I’ll just ask Daddy to buy me a new one.

  “Here you go,” I tell the bloody boy, who seems to have fallen asleep. “Mr. Snuffles wants to stay with you.” I lift his messy arm and stuff the cat in the crook of it.

  The purple-eyed boy beside me starts to cry. “I think he’s dead.”

  I ignore the sad boy and give the bloody boy a hug goodbye. Then, I scoop up my backpack and walk slowly back to the castle. When I reach the doorway, I turn and look at the bloody boy and the sad boy. One sobs loudly. The other doesn’t make a peep.

  He’s going to be okay.

  I fixed him.

  With a smile, I turn and run right into another boy. This boy looks to be my same age. This boy has the prettiest dark brown eyes I’ve ever seen.

  “Hi,” I wave a bloody hand at him and grin. “I’m Vee. Can we be friends?”

  His eyes widen but he nods slowly. A small smile creeps on his face. “We can be friends if you can catch me.” He gives me a tiny shove before turning and running away. Fast. My new friend is super fast.

  But I’ll catch him.

  Tossing my backpack to the floor, I chase after him.

  Present

  “WAKE UP, DIABLA roja,” a deep voice rumbles as it parts its way through the fog clouding my mind.

  I blink away the confusion and take in the eyes before me. Dark brown. Piercing. Calculating. Esteban.

  “Morning.”

  He’s not smiling, though. And while that’s not uncommon for Esteban, I sense something is wrong.

  “We need to discuss a few things,” he bites out. When I stare at him with a frown for a second too long, his palm cracks across my thigh. “¡Levantate!”

  My flesh stings, but I jolt into action. The last thing I want is Esteban angry with me. I don’t want to see that fury flickering in his eyes, like the night he took my mother and I from her house after I witnessed the death of my father. That night he was furious and roaring about revenge and what was owed to him.

  He stole me.

  And my mother.

  Our families were joined by business, and I’d always hoped they’d be by matrimony one day as well.

  But nothing went as planned. Everything was destroyed.

  “Whatever it is that’s going on in your head, I want it gone,” Esteban snaps as he snags my wrist in his brutal grip.

  My heart rate skitters in my chest, and I clumsily follow after him. He’s fully dressed in a pair of slacks and a white button-down shirt that fits his muscled body like a glove. I, on the other hand, am dressed exactly how he likes me. Which is not dressed at all.

  “Sit,” he commands and points to the floor in front of a chair in the small living room.

  I nod and fall to my knees. My head starts to throb much like it always does these days. I’m sure it’s because I always feel so hungry. Maybe today he’ll feed me more than just a sandwich. He takes a seat in the chair and gently grabs my throat to pull me between his thighs. I look up at him with wide eyes as my palms caress his knees through his slacks.

  “What did I do wrong?” My voice is but a whisper, but I know he hears me. Esteban never misses a thing. Not when it comes to me. That’s one thing I can say about him. I’m his entire focus. I’ve never been anyone’s entire focus before.

  His hard gaze softens as he leans forward. A large palm strokes the side of my head, and I lean against it. My eyes flutter closed as I relish his gentle touch.

  “Look at me,” he murmurs, his fingers twisting into my hair.

  I pop my eyes back open and fixate on his mouth. Just thinking about where his mouth was last night sends a ripple of need coursing through me. He may not drug me like he did my mother, but I’m completely addicted to him. It’s his touch I need. His dark eyes roaming over my body. The deep rumble of his voice quaking down to my very soul.

  I’ve never felt so consumed before. Not even by Oscar.

  My heart rate quickens at the thought of his name. Thinking about Ozzy confuses me. Several days ago, Esteban spoke to him over the phone. He said he’d be coming out to meet with us. I wonder if all connection with Oscar has been severed. If I’ll ever feel about him the way I seem to feel about Esteban. My mind can’t comprehend turning off all of these feelings for Esteban in the blink of an eye and switching back on how I felt for Oscar. Everything is hazy and all messed up. If I could just get rid of this headache, maybe I could think clearly.

  A sharp slap to my face stuns me, and I clutch my stinging flesh. The throb in my head intensifies. I dart my eyes up to Esteban’s which are blazing with fury.

  “We spent so many months teaching you how to behave. Who you belong to. And for what? For you to forget it the moment I take you out of your metal prison? Do we need to go back and start over?” he hisses, the brutal grip on my hair tightening.

  I start to shake my head but I can’t move it. Swallowing, I force out my words. “N-No. I’m just tired, I think. Hungry.” While it’s technically a lie about where my thoughts have been, I am tired and hungry. Ever since leaving the container, I can’t help but feel starved all the time. Esteban brings me my meals. Esteban feeds me. But it never feels like enough. And everything seems foggy—as if Esteban is the lighthouse beaconing for me. Everything around me feels like a blur.

  “You can eat later,” he hisses. “We need to talk about tonight.”

  I try not to fixate on the way his nostrils flare with anger. Sometimes they flare when his face is between my thighs as he inhales me. Sometimes they flare when he grabs me by the throat and pins me to the bed.

  Focus, Vee.

  “You belong to me,” he bites out, an
d his grip in my hair loosens. He goes back to petting the side of my head, like I’m his dog. “Whatever childhood fantasies you had of growing up to marry my little brother are over. At one time, our families would have supported that. Now that it’s just the three of us left, everything will play out differently.”

  My gaze falls to his lips. I wonder if he’s eaten anything today.

  “Do you understand, Roja?”

  Upon hearing the pet name he coined for me, my mind flashes to several days ago when I was his prisoner, trapped in a metal container he’d kept me in for months. When he’d left to try and steal Brie, so I’d have a friend. It ended up nearly getting him killed in the process. As a result, my mother died from heroin withdrawals, and I was on the brink of starvation. But he came back. He came back and plucked me from that nightmare. This safe house in San Diego feels like a dream in comparison.

  “Roja!” he snaps, jerking me from my thoughts.

  I nod rapidly and slide my palms higher along his thighs. Anything to coax him out of this tense mood he’s in. “I’m yours.”

  His features relax, and I feel proud that I’ve pleased him. Maybe he’ll fix me a giant sandwich with extra turkey and—

  “He must not find out about…” he trails off and scratches his jaw as if to search for the correct word. “He must not find out about how you and I came to be a couple.”

  I may not be drugged up on heroin like my mother, but Esteban is definitely running through my veins. I don’t understand how he burrowed his way under my skin. Months ago, I hated him. Now, my skin tingles at the mention of the word couple.

  Deep down inside, a part of me screams. It’s a silent scream, but I feel it in my bones.

  He stole you. He raped you. He killed your mother. Fuck Esteban.

  But since he’s bubbling in my veins like the hot liquid drug that makes strong people weak, thoughts of him silence the part of me that screams in protest.

  Esteban saved you from the metal box.

  Esteban saved you from the stench of your mother’s rotting corpse.