End Game

  END GAME

  WILLA THORNE

  Book 3 in The Manhattan Tales

  © 2015 by Willa Thorne

  All rights reserved. This book is intended for audiences age 18 and older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names of characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination and do not represent any persons, living or dead. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover: Louisa at LM Creations

  Find me on Facebook for upcoming releases www.facebook.com/AuthorWillaThorne

  This book is dedicated to my husband because of his love, encouragement, and patience. I would also like to thank all of the readers, for your love and support for Jillian and Mason. You all mean the world to me!

  Windsor, United Kingdom

  17 years ago…

  “Mr. Woodward, thank you for responding to my call. Please, have a seat.”

  I sat in the Headmaster’s office, still wearing my gray suit jacket and navy slacks. My dark hair was still mussed from the trouble I’d started in school earlier in the day, and it was enough to ring my parents. My father waltzed into the Head Master’s office.

  “I fervently apologize for my son’s behavior.” My father began as he took a seat in a chair beside mine. He kept a professional and business-like demeanor toward the Headmaster, but there was an energy radiating off the man that only I could sense. Perhaps it was because I knew him better than anyone else.

  “What has my boy done this time?”

  I felt his gaze burn holes through me. He and the Headmaster were both staring me down, but I could only fixate on my father’s intense stare. I knew what was coming after this meeting.

  “Mason? Would you care to explain to your father?” The Headmaster seated himself at his polished mahogany desk and adjusted the thick frames on his face.

  “Not really.”

  I turned my attention toward the window and kept my gaze locked away from either man. It was pouring rain outside, and the torrent sent streams of water down the large glass window panes.

  My father stiffened and adjusted himself. The tension was thick, and I knew the man had been drinking, even if the Headmaster didn’t seem to notice.

  “Do not disrespect me, son.” My father’s teeth grit as he attempted to keep himself composed in front of an audience.

  To me, it made no difference whether I elaborated or whether I let the Headmaster explain. I was still going to get what was coming.

  “You know what happened. You can explain.” My entire demeanor was obnoxious and disrespectful toward this prestigious school’s Headmaster, and I had little care.

  From a sideways glance, I watched my father’s knuckles turn white.

  “Mr. Woodward, Mason is a very good student. He makes high honors in all of his classes but his behavior is atrocious.”

  “Just tell me what he did, and I will address it,” my father responded tersely. He was already growing edgier in his chair.

  “He wrote obscene words on the wall in the loo, and was found giving the other students answers to his test scores.”

  I swallowed hard.

  It was true. I littered the student toilet with the most crass words. I did it deliberately when I lost my temper. Assisting the other boys in cheating was only strike one. Throwing another into the boy’s locker was strike two. My behavior in the loo was the last straw.

  I was expelled from Britain’s most prestigious institution for boys. My father was humiliated and angered.

  When we arrived in our family’s London estate, I knew it was close. When my father dismissed the staff for the evening, the time was even closer. Little did my father know, he’d been stirring something within me for the last fifteen years.

  He threw me face first into the wall of the library. I glared at my father as I wiped a smear of blood from my lip.

  “You’re nothing but a cowardly little boy. Nothing but a cock-up.” My father already had the bottle of brandy in hand as he bellowed.

  I was sixteen and already an inch taller than my father, so his insults lost relevance a long time ago. I’d become numb.

  “... Let me tell you something, son. This ends tonight. Tomorrow, we’re going back to New York and you’re starting a new school. If you try any of that cock-up bullshit with me, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body. I don’t care if you’re my flesh and blood. I have a reputation to uphold. You hear me?”

  I tried to tune him out as I faced the wall he’d thrown me into. When I didn’t answer him, he grabbed me by my scalp. The pain was excruciating and I winced.

  “Do. You. Hear. Me. BOY?”

  My glare was icy as I gazed down at him. He balled his fist and aimed it for my cheek, but I caught it mid-air and forced his fist back down. He tried to hide the look of shock etched on his drunken face, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

  “I hear you perfectly. Father.” My tone was crisp and challenging, but my hand was shaking. I wanted to punch something. Someone. I wished I could hit him and show him how it feels. “I’ll remind you that I’m not a small child anymore. I’ll fucking rip you to shreds-”

  My father barked out a laugh. “You wouldn’t do anything to sacrifice your inheritance.” That was the second time he’d threatened my inheritance, and I took it more seriously back then.

  I stilled and let go of his fist. My father only sneered.

  “You are coming with me in the morning. Get some sleep. I can’t leave you in this fucking place. You’re turning into a bloody disaster. I’ll force you into a real man.”

  I watched him leave the library, and I wiped the blood from my lip, which was now tender and swollen. I knew the routine by this point. I learned how to hide it or laugh it off for the sake of appearances. I could put some ice on it and the swelling would go down. By Monday, it would be hardly noticeable. I knew I was going to hate Manhattan, but worst of all, I knew I was going to hate the verbal and physical abuse I’d receive on a consistent basis. That was my last night living in England, and the start of a new chapter in my life…

  When I was a child,

  I caught a fleeting glimpse

  I turned to look

  but it was gone

  I cannot put my finger on it now

  The child is grown

  The dream is gone

  I have become comfortably numb

  - Pink Floyd

  1. Mason Woodward

  I fucking did what was necessary.

  The thought was playing on repeat within my mind, over and over and over again, throughout the entire funeral service. I stood in silence within the great walls of the St. Paul’s Cathedral. I was surrounded by Lords and Ladies, who had all come to show their respects to the memory of my father. Although I was surrounded by my sister, Zara, as well as Jackson and Piper, there was an eerie heaviness in the air. During the choral hymns, I felt eyes on me. I felt neither shame nor guilt. I did what was necessary to ensure the safety of my future wife, the one woman whom I love more than my own life.

  My father had been a huge benefactor of this Anglican Church, as his father was before him. I knew I would be expected to perform the same generous donations as I stepped into my role as head of my family’s name. I knew the eyes were on me- not because they held suspicions. No, no… I took every measure required to ensure the holes would be covered up. That is what I hired Ian for, and he lived up to his solid, professional reputation.

  Indeed, eyes were on me because there was a great standard of expectation required of my family’s name, and I am now head of that dynasty, as they like to call it. That dynasty ends with my generation.

  My mother dabbed her eyes with a silk handkerchief as she stood beside me. I gazed up, for a fleeting second, toward the dome ceiling
, in an effort to mask my impatience for this whole facade. I watched my mother whisper quietly, in a very stiff and formal manner, with Mr. and Mrs. Meadows on the opposite side of her. She had been dropping hefty hints since I arrived in London, about the need for my union with their daughter, Aislinn. I had decided I would refrain from talking to my mother about Jillian, and was thoroughly glad I decided not to bring her into this snake pit.

  The closed casket containing my father’s remains was carried out, followed by the procession of my family. Blindly, I watched the coffin as it was placed into to the back of a polished hearse.

  I did that…

  The toll of the bells continued, and it only added a ghostly feel to the occasion. The remainder of that day was a blur; I was completely numb. I felt nothing and I retained nothing else from the events following the remainder of the afternoon. I only needed to hear her voice.

  ****

  “Mason!” My Jillian answered after just one ring later that evening. There was a calming quality in the sweet sound of her voice. Whenever I feel out of my depth, she has a way of keeping me grounded. She is my anchor. I was ragged from the jet lag, as well as the day’s events. It was only eight in the evening in her timezone, but she also seemed exhausted.

  “Hello darling.” I didn’t have much else to say, other than the usual. I missed her, and I was eager to return to her arms.

  “How was everything? How are you?” There was such uninhibited affection in her voice. It was refreshing.

  “The funeral was as I expected. I have nothing interesting to report, other than the reading of the will in the morning.”

  Jillian was silent as she listened. I didn’t care to discuss my father’s funeral service, and I wished I could talk about all other matters with her in private.

  “Did I lose you?” I asked.

  “No, no…” her voice was quiet. “I was just thinking, and I have been really tired.”

  “Busy day?”

  “Allie came home with the stomach bug a few days ago, and I took care of her and wound up with it, too. I’ve had a fever and feeling nauseated all day.”

  “You’re sick? Try to get an appointment with the doctor. Do you need me to wire you some money?” The demand and question escaped my lips before I could control it. I could almost see Jillian roll her eyes, but I couldn’t stand the idea of her being sick. She was ill, and I was thousands of miles away, unable to care for her. I despised the loss of control I felt over the situation.

  “Mason, oh Mason. Yes, I have a fever but I’m not going to the doctor for a stomach virus. I’m just quarantining myself and drinking whatever I can hold down. It will pass.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Jillian. I would like you to go to the doctor. I’ll wire you some money before I turn in for the night.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She agreed. I stared at my mobile for a moment before replacing it to my ear.

  That was easy… I was expecting more of an argument on the subject. Typically, my Jilly Bean would challenge me. I could tell from her soft tone, that she lacked the energy to continue past this point.

  “I really miss you, darling. When are you coming home?” She asked.

  I inhaled and exhaled deeply. “As soon as possible, love. My father’s lawyer is reading the will tomorrow and then I need to square a few things away concerning the London location of the company. I hope to be seeing you next week.”

  She said nothing, uncharacteristically quiet, and I frowned. “You should be in bed.”

  “I am in bed, Captain Bossy,” she laughed softly, but was cut short. “Hold on-”

  My face contorted as I heard the muffled sounds of Jillian throwing up some distance away from the phone. Then there was silence for quite sometime. I ended the call and left her a text message:

  Go to bed and phone the doctor in the morning. I’ll check on you later in the day. I love you.

  ****

  “Zara, dearest, sit up. You’re adopting the posture of an American.”

  My mother was eager and nervous as our family gathered in the lawyer’s office in London. As was expected, she displaced all of her nerves on my sister. Zara had been sitting in between our cousins, Piper and Jackson. She sat up straighter at the word of my mother. Zara sat stiffly like this, careful not to let her elbows touch. She kept her hands placed neatly within her lap and crossed her ankles. She looked miserably uncomfortable.

  I watched Piper adjust the thin frames on her face. Her lip twitched as she briefly studied the recently widowed Mrs. Woodward. I knew she was silently conducting a psychoanalysis of the woman who calls herself my mother.

  I was anxious for this to be over so I could grab my MaCallan, despite the early hour in the morning. I was already certain of one thing: my father was furious that I disobeyed him. I was positive that my attendance at this drab event was a waste of time. My father threatened to have me removed from the inheritance if I disobeyed his law; Jackson would be named heir. I defied my father when I stood by Jillian after giving her my grandmother’s yellow diamond. I looked over to my cousin, who sat beside his sister. It was clearly written all over his face: he also didn’t care to be in this office and considered this a waste of his time.

  Once we were all gathered, the lawyer wasted no time getting down to business. The reading droned on and on, and I noted how my mother and sister waited with baited breath for the lawyer to mention their names. I sat comfortably in the cushioned leather armchair while I attempted to keep my filthy thoughts of Jillian at bay until I could thoroughly focus on such fantasies.

  Once the reading was finished, my sister burst into tears. Piper held her with both arms and brushed the black hair that stuck to Zara’s damp face. My father left nothing to my sister, and I assumed that it’s due to her dramatic display back in the spring. She had genuinely attempted to take her own life by overdosing on pills. As a result of this, my father was humiliated and angered. Zara had always been a superficial girl who would do anything to appease our father. Being removed from his will hurt her on a level far greater than attaining money and worldly possessions. I watched her sob into Piper’s shoulder. My mother remained stiff and rigid; her mouth was formed into a thin line. She’d been bequeathed a small amount and it was nothing to brag about.

  Piper was left nothing and she remained unphased, still stroking Zara’s hair. Jackson was also left nothing, and once the lawyer stated this, he burst out laughing. All eyes turned to him. My mother, who was already in a foul mood, cast him a disapproving glare. He ran a hand through his smooth, chestnut hair and stopped himself, but there was still a glint in his eyes.

  “My apologies.” He pressed a fist to his lips as he cleared his throat and then relaxed in the chair and crossed one ankle over his thigh. He gestured for the lawyer to continue.

  “Lastly, to my firstborn and only son, Mason Alexander Woodward, I bequeath the entirety of my estates…” The lawyer listed everything that entailed: the private jet, the yachts, the large family estate in Mayfair, his entire company, and so much more. I needed several minutes to absorb the shock from this.

  I lived my life under the umbrella of my father’s disapproval. He threatened to have me removed over certain life choices and even attempted to have my girlfriend killed. My father was not one to fuck around with empty threats, so why would he leave me everything after all those times he threatened to have me removed? Jackson found this humorous. I did not, however. Something was amiss in all of this.

  “... I do strongly urge my son to take into matrimony a wife who is stable in society, income and connections to ensure that the name of our family continues to strengthen our legacy through the generations…”

  What a load of melodramatic bullshit.

  “Does it specifically state that I must marry a woman of high wealth in order to inherit these assets?” I interjected during the reading. My level of patience had reached its peak.

  The lawyer looked down at the documents. “No, it
does not. It only urges you to take a wife who-”

  “Good.” I cut him off.

  “Dearest, I must insist that you speak with Mr. Meadows about his daughter-” My mother began. Her accent always gets richer when she is about to scold or lecture and I held up a hand to silence her. I stared into her dark eyes directly. She was immediately quieted.

  “I’ll not hear a word about it, if you want to continue your sweet trips to the day spa in the country, Mother.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed and I was fine with that. I’d rather deal with uncomfortable silence than hear my mother’s mouth singing Aislinn’s praises.

  Once everyone dispersed, I resorted to my hotel. I was anxious to check in with Jill and see how she was feeling.

  I pulled up the Skype program that she insisted we use, and smiled when her beautiful face greeted my screen.

  “Hello gorgeous,” I grinned. She wore her frames, looked pale and tired, but she was still sexy as fuck- even with mussed hair and a navy sweater that hung off one shoulder.

  She bit her lower lip and smiled. “Hey baby, I miss you! How did everything go?” She rested her chin in hand as she gazed at me on the screen.

  “It was interesting,” I answered. “You know, after all the threats my father made about removing me from his will, he left almost everything to me.” I looked at my darling girl as she listened to me through the screen.

  Jillian seemed surprised as well.

  “My mother received very little. Jackson received nothing, and neither did Piper.”

  “I suppose it is only right that he would leave his inheritance to his children,” Jillian commented as she adjusted the frames on her face. “But I don’t know much about these things.”