His Cinderella: A Possessive Dark Romance (Mayhem Ever After Book 3) Read online

  His Cinderella

  Vivi Paige

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  About the Author

  Blurb

  She thinks she can escape me? She’s wrong.

  She will never escape.

  Ella Ashmore was perfect.

  Hell, she still is.

  Kind. Sweet. Pretty.

  A body that doesn’t quit.

  She’d have guys lined up around the block if they weren’t so worried I’d kill them for looking.

  Because I never stopped loving her.

  Even when she found out about me. About my family.

  Got sickened and disgusted about what I did for a living.

  Told me to get the hell out.

  Sure, I left.

  But I knew I’d be back.

  That I’d make her mine.

  And now… I’m back, baby.

  She needed saving.

  She put herself out there. For sale.

  Anyone coulda had her.

  But I got her.

  I paid good money for her.

  And now I’m going to collect.

  Welcome to Mayhem Ever After series! This is the third in a series of dark, possessive, alpha male romances featuring brooding heroes and the sassy women that love them. No cheating. No cliffhangers. HEA guaranteed!

  Chapter One

  Hovering on the cusp of dream and wakefulness, I drifted on a haze far softer than the goose down mattress on which I slumbered. I was back with her, the one that got away—Ella Ashmore.

  Yeah, I’m that guy. The one who got hung up on a chick he knew for a few years in high school. In my case, though, it was prep school. Exeter Preparatory Academy, where I met Ella Ashmore, the tragic, distant beauty with aspirations of being a prima ballerina.

  My family name is usually enough to make panties drop on command, but not with Ella. She resisted my considerable charms and didn’t seem to care about my father. I eventually learned she didn’t know because she wasn’t one of “us.” Not one of those born into wealth and status. Her father had been of meager means until playing the stock market like a fine instrument earned him a tidy sum—more than enough to put his dear daughter through the finest school.

  I made a mistake, then. I hid who I was from her. I bribed people in her environment to maintain their silence on who my family were and what they did. The Maynes have a certain reputation, one richly deserved, if I’m being honest. Our firm may be called Mayne Brothers LLC, but it’s better known in certain circles by another, more sinister title—Mayhem Brothers.

  Of course, Ella being a damn smart woman, figured it out on her own. After that she refused to see me and disappeared after graduation. Now, I only see her in my dreams.

  On this morning, I was engrossed in a particularly fulfilling nighttime reverie, where Ella had returned and we were getting to know one another again. Unfortunately, an insistent knock on my condo’s front door stirred me from the pleasant fantasy.

  I cracked open an eyelid with molasses-like speed, which was like a bolt of lightning compared to how my thoughts moved. It was as if my head were wrapped in cotton, muffling not only sight and sound, but my very thoughts—a consequence of my extracurricular activities the night before.

  For a moment, I wondered if it was a dream. After all, a warm body lay nestled up beside my own. Yet as I stared harder, I realized it was not the honey blonde hair of Ella but the black and red tresses of some floozie I’d picked up… I didn’t remember where I picked her up, let alone her name. If we had sex before passing out in a belladonna-infused haze, I didn’t recall that, either.

  Not that it mattered. I struggled to my feet, grabbing my boxers off the floor after several failed attempts. Then I headed out the bedroom door, down the corridor and into the living space of my penthouse corner condo. The front door featured a security camera, but my vision was too blurry to make out who appeared on the monitor. It was a man and a woman, and by the way the man stood I recognized him as my cousin, Peter.

  What the hell did he want? Wasn’t he busy being the hoity-toity manager of Club Lost?

  I considered leaving him to stew in the hallway and returning to bed—I was all out of sorts—but he pounded the door again with his knuckle and bellowed. “I know you’re in there, Deryk. Open the hell up. Lucian sent me.”

  He meant my father, but I never referred to him as such unless he was right there in front of me. I always called him by name rather than saying “Dad” or the more formal “Father.” Lucian had always been kind of distant. He preferred to sit back and let the scars of learning happen to his children. He taught Peter how to swim by throwing him into the deep end at an early age. He taught me to swim by throwing me in to save Peter when my cousin started to drown.

  A hard man, but in my opinion, he was a fair one. He never exploited anyone without letting them know that’s what he was going to do ahead of time. It might seem a fine distinction, but it mattered on a profound scale.

  I couldn’t blow Peter off, knowing he was there to visit me at Lucian’s behest. Sighing, I opened the door and gestured for him to come inside.

  “All right, come on,” I growled. “Just stop the damn pounding. My head hurts.”

  “Jesus Christ, Deryk,” Peter shielded his gaze with his hand. “Put on some clothes. I’ve got a lady present.”

  I looked down to see that I was naked. I had picked up the boxers, but not donned them. As I said, I was really out of sorts that morning… er, afternoon? Early evening? Whatever.

  For her part, the aforementioned “lady” didn’t seem like a blushing virgin. Her gaze dropped to my package, and she seemed to nod as if to say, “Not bad.” I wanted to tell her I was a grower and not a shower, but I thought it more prudent and healthier to simply don my shorts.

  “Sorry. I’m kinda out of it.”

  “No, really?” Peter sighed. “Have you been hitting the Kremlin Swamp Gas again?”

  “What’s it to you?” I growled.

  Peter and Belle came inside, their noses wrinkling at the pungent smell.

  “When’s the last time you had this place cleaned?” Peter exclaimed, disgust filling his tone. “How have your neighbors not complained?”

  “They did. I bought the other two apartments on this floor and solved that problem.”

  “You would.” Peter shook his head. “What a waste.”

  “Not really. I rented them out to friends of mine for twice the going rate with the understanding I’m a noisy, inconsiderate neighbor, but I also don’t ask questions. What’s up? I can’t imagine you’re here to talk real estate.”

  Peter chuckled and looked for a clean place to sit on the sofa. Failing, he crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, deciding to stand.

  “Look, Deryk. We all like to party, but y
ou can’t keep doing this stuff.” He picked up a bag of fragrant, oily herbs, and shook it in the air in my direction. “This shit Ivanovich has been importing isn’t just opium. He cuts it with all kinds of weird shit.”

  “All I know is it takes the edge off.” I rubbed my nose and groaned at the stabbing pain in my head. “About the only thing that does anymore.”

  “You need to pull your head out of your ass.” Peter tossed my stash to Belle. She took it to the kitchen sink and turned it on.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I blurted, moving to follow her, but Peter stood in my way. “Stop.”

  “It’s for your own good, Deryk,” Peter murmured. To my horror, Belle dumped my entire stash and turned on the garbage disposal, grinding it to oblivion.

  “Damn it, that was about two grand’s worth of the good stuff, man.” I shook my head at him. “I hope you’re happy.”

  “Can’t you just smoke weed like everyone else?” Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Get yourself cleaned up and meet Lucian at the downtown office.”

  I froze, sobering up considerably. If Lucian wanted to meet at his office, it meant one of two things. Either he was very, very upset with me and wanted to utilize the soundproof, wiretap-proof office to vent his fury. Or, he wanted to see me in an official capacity for firm business.

  It could also have been both, but I was still hung up on the idea I had done something wrong. Because of course I had. I was supposed to be the golden boy, the one who graduated top of his class and would set the world on fire. Instead I’ve moped around, gotten tattoos and worked my way through all the debutantes in the tri-state area.

  Lucian probably wanted me to take more responsibility at the firm. That was what I hoped, anyway.

  “All right. I’ll go see him right away.” I stood and gestured toward the front door. “I hope you know the way out.”

  “Of course.” Peter tipped his head and held his hand out for Belle. I decided I needed a shower and left my cousin, intent on returning to my room and the bathroom it contained. On my way to the shower I slipped out of my boxers and continued the journey across the apartment naked.

  Belle giggled, and Peter sighed. “Don’t encourage him, babe.”

  I headed into the bathroom suite and showered, using my waterproof razor to shave while I was in there. My most recent ink, a tattoo of barbed wire around my shoulder, had healed enough I no longer had to protect it from the water. The steam of the shower helped clear my head, and I felt somewhat better when I exited the stall.

  I dressed in my business casual best and then kicked the floozie out of my condo. I didn’t trust her enough to leave her to her own devices. Still couldn’t remember her name.

  Lucian insisted I have a dedicated car and driver, always has. I’m a high-value target to kidnappers and rival “businessmen.” But my driver’s used to me sleeping until the sun goes down, so on this day I caught him with his pants down, so to speak.

  He was all the way in Atlantic City, playing the slots. Disgustedly, I told him to go to hell and used one of those app things to get a ride to the office.

  A chatty soccer mom named Dallas treated me to the best way to ensure your pumpkin muffins don’t turn out to be too dry on the ride over to the firm. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I preferred her company to that of Peter’s smug sense of superiority. I was still pretty steamed at him for destroying my stash.

  I hadn’t been kidding about Swamp Gas being the only thing that really took the edge off. I could have pretty much anything I wanted, but I was so depressed I needed drugs to cope. From the outside, I guess I must have looked pretty damn pathetic. Scion to the Mayne Empire moping around like an angsty teen.

  Building security was pretty lax when it came to partners in the firm. We got waved around the metal detectors, so I didn’t have to shed my nine millimeter semi-automatic pistol. Lucian insisted me and the sibs pack heat at all times. Again, we’re engaged in a dangerous line of work, and there’d been some… fireworks… recently.

  I rode the elevator to the top floor, growing more anxious with each passing moment. Lucian had a way of boring right into your soul with those cold eyes of his. My being his son wouldn’t provide the least protection. In fact, it made me more vulnerable.

  Still, I tried not to show my fear when I strode into his office. Lucian had his back to me, standing beside his ornate desk and staring out the window at the city stretched out before him. The sun was near its zenith, reflecting brilliance off the towers of steel and glass. His posture seemed stiff, but it was hard to tell. Lucian played his cards close to his chest.

  “Deryk,” he murmured in a low, melodic voice. “Are you well?”

  He didn’t bother to turn around, so he didn’t see me shrug.

  “Sure, Pops, I’m fine,” I lied through my teeth. “What can I do for you and the firm?”

  “Fine?” Lucian spun on his heel and glared at me. I couldn’t suppress a shiver. “If you were fine, you wouldn’t be huffing your lungs full of Swamp Gas. The Russian Brotherhood has a grudge against us, if you haven’t forgotten. You can’t trust them.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “You’ll be dead. From this point on, you’re not going to touch that shit. Clear?”

  “Clear.” I didn’t let a trace of petulance enter my voice. When Lucian said something, you obeyed. Simple.

  “Good. Now, I’ve got a job for you. There’s an auction across town later tonight. Big ticket items, exclusive clientele. You get the drift.”

  “Yes. Am I to be your bidding proxy?”

  “No, of course not. I would never be so gauche as to attend one of those tawdry affairs. No, you’re going to show up, have some drinks, make our presence known, and then take our cut from the auctioneer.”

  “I can handle that,” I agreed. Having angered Lucian, I wanted to redeem myself in his eyes. He had that kind of effect on people including, or even especially, me.

  “Good. Don’t disappoint me.”

  “Can I bring a date?”

  Lucian’s lip twitched with what may have been the inkling of a smile. “I wouldn’t,” he drawled smugly as if he had knowledge I lacked.

  I figured the auction house was probably filthy or otherwise filled with undesirables.

  But I didn’t consider saying no. Not for a moment.

  Chapter Two

  The crimson pattern spattered across the white tiled ceiling of the surgery room might have seemed almost beautiful to someone born with the soul of a poet. Sort of a juxtaposition between the purity of the white canvas and the visceral nature of lifeblood.

  But one thing was clear to me as I stood tottering upon a metal stepladder, squinting and sweating behind a plastic PPE visor. I was no poet. Not by a long shot. To me, the post-surgery gore of the hospital room was just disgusting.

  But I was being paid fifteen dollars an hour to clean it for thirty-two hours a week. Just shy of the thirty-four mandated as full time by the state employment board. I mean, of course they didn’t give me full time. Wouldn’t want to give little Ella Ashmore any benefits like sick leave or vacation. Would we?

  In fact, I was racing the clock. I had to finish the scrub-down in time to clock out at precisely 10:00 a.m., or I’d get in trouble with my payroll officer. Working over the time allotted was strictly forbidden. Bean counter’s rules.

  But my supervisor demanded I finish my tasks before going home for the day. So, I was damned if I did and damned if I didn’t. A lot of my colleagues responded to this challenge by clocking out and then finishing their work for free.

  I got the impression this was the solution they wanted us to pursue, but I refused. I got paid, and I deserve to be paid. So, I tried to beat them at their own game, even though they’d stacked the deck against me.

  In the end, I managed to finish the chore with a minute to spare. Unfortunately, I had hoped on that day to finish work a little early. I had to get across town to my other job, waitressing at the Palace
Café. I could still make it to work on time, but only if I skipped my usual post-shift shower.

  I stripped out of my scrubs and put on skinny jeans and a tank top before rushing down to the parking lot where my scooter awaited. Traffic was tough, and I wound up being ten minutes late to work at the café, but my boss Harold was really understanding.

  Sense the sarcasm?

  “The next time you waltz in here ten minutes late smelling like a nursing home in Calcutta I’m canning your ass,” Harold reamed me out as I ran in the door and thrust my head through the straps of a stained apron with the café logo embroidered on the front.

  “I’m sorry, Harry. It won’t happen again. Traffic was a real nightmare.”

  “You should leave early enough to account for the traffic. This is New York. The fuck you expect?” He lowered his bushy caterpillar eyebrows over pitiless eyes and put his arms akimbo against wide, pudgy hips. “Now get your ass out on the floor. The lunch rush will be starting soon, and Jenny needs a break.”

  I headed out onto the floor and took over for Jenny. “Sorry I’m late, Jenny,” I apologized sheepishly.

  She glared at me and then went off without saying a word. I took a few orders, bussed her tables, and ran around like a chicken with its head cut off for a while until I got caught up.

  Jenny had a bad habit of not keeping up with making fresh coffee, so I got stuck scrubbing out the pots and making new batches. Our ice machine was leaking pretty badly, so I had to mop up the area and set up wet floor signs.