The Professor and His Obsession : A Forbidden Romance Read online

  The Professor and His Obsession

  V. F. Mason

  Copyright © 2021 by V. F. Mason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

  * * *

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Design: Hang Le

  Photographer: Wander Aguiar

  To the power of love.

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Santiago’s Conquest Excerpt

  Also by V. F. Mason

  Acknowledgments

  Contact

  Prologue

  “Wicked desires should be forbidden.

  For they make you lose your head and tread in dangerous waters.”

  Estella

  * * *

  Estella

  Once upon a time…

  When I was a little girl, my brother woke me in the middle of the night and dragged me to the garden, where the moon shone brightly all around us, to watch falling stars create a magnificent display in the night sky. The magical atmosphere swirling in the air made my heart beat wildly, and wonder poured from me, because I’d never seen anything so beautiful. All I could do was stare at it in awe.

  Picking daisies and orchids on my way, I created a flower crown and then put it on my head while dancing under the stars. I believed mythical creatures existed on earth and wondered if the special night would let them emerge from their hiding spots.

  Maybe then they would all be able to help us and save us from the monster living in our mansion.

  My brother whispered in my ear for me to think about my most secret dream and ask the universe for it.

  With happiness filling every pore in my body, I closed my eyes and made a wish upon a falling star, convinced it would come true.

  To find a dashing prince who would dare to breach the castle’s walls and conquer all obstacles standing in his way to get to the princess he decided to claim.

  I’d wait for him in my tower, dreaming about the man who would whisk me away to show me the outside world like all the princes in the fairy tales did.

  Because then I wouldn’t be used as a weapon against my brother and be his biggest source of pain, which sliced my heart in two.

  He didn’t have to be handsome, rich, or strong.

  He didn’t even have to be from a powerful family, although that would certainly make things easier with mine.

  He just had to love me enough in order to survive all the hardships that my family would throw his way and still want me despite all of it.

  After all, a princess needed only one thing—true love.

  At the age of ten though, I didn’t know about one very important thing.

  Be careful of what you wish for… because it has a tendency to come true.

  Although destiny played quite a trick on me.

  She did send a man my way, but somehow my wish took a darker and unexpected turn.

  Because the ordinary but brave prince I so dreamed of?

  Turned out to be a handsome, dark knight whose family name filled people with fear and panic, for their reign in the city was absolute.

  His love I so coveted…

  Became an obsession nothing could cure.

  And my personal fairy tale?

  Transformed into a Greek myth from which there was no escape.

  My wish was the beginning of my downfall.

  For a man who decided I belonged to him lured me into his sinister web and trapped me in his darkness.

  Chapter One

  “People should look more closely at ancient myths and fairy tales.

  There is a lot of wisdom in them.

  For they show human emotions in their most wicked ways.

  Shining light on their hideous personalities and less-than-stellar character.”

  Ryder

  * * *

  Ryder

  The owl hoots in the distance as my bare feet step on the cold concrete of the terrace. I open my arms wide and welcome the wind buffeting slamming into me, sending my unbuttoned black shirt flying open.

  The cooling sensation settles on my heated, scarred skin, and a smile curves my mouth at the familiar ache in my muscles that indicate to me I’ve spent my evening well.

  What would be better for a hunter than catching the prey who for weeks tried to escape him only to die a painful death?

  After all, some crimes are so unforgivable they lead straight to hell.

  I snatch a cigarette from the pack in my back pocket and put it in my mouth, flip the lighter through my fingers, then light it up.

  Closing my eyes, I take a greedy pull, groaning as the nicotine hits my tongue. I glance up at the clear sky, lit by thousands of stars, almost luring you into believing the night holds no secrets and that only a peaceful atmosphere designed for dreams and illusions remains.

  When in truth, at night, the true monsters come out of hiding, ready to sink their claws in nearby prey and strip them of all humanity and innocence in order to feed the dark hunger inside them.

  Sinners have their vices for a reason, and the saints of this world just cannot fathom how many hideous deeds hide behind perfect smiles and what crimes are covered by the night.

  The phone ringing echoes in the air and momentarily silences the owls as annoyance zaps through me, anger filling me at the prospect of someone interrupting this blissful moment.

  Smoke floats around me as I walk toward my desk in the spacious room of my penthouse where my phone is. I slide the answer bar and press the icon for the loudspeaker.

  “You can be a real asshole, you know that?” the deep voice barks instantly as a chuckle slips past my lips. I stroll to the bar in the left corner, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. “I called five times.”

  “I was busy.”

  My breezy reply hardly satisfies him and only angers him more. “Busy, my fucking ass!” Dropping a few ice cubes in my glass, I pour some whiskey and shake it a little, enjoying the brown liquid sloshing around the ice.

  Natural displays fascinate me more than anything else, because they show in all their glory how powerless we are against them should they decide to strike humankind with full force.

  Fortunately, Mother Nature also gives hints to humans on how to act to protect themselves from danger.

  For example—ice.

  It’s a hard structure that’s cold to the touch, and you can’t really crush it when it resides in its cold environment.

  The minute you pull it out of its comfort zone though, it melts, adjusting to its surroundings.

  No matter how strong you think you are, there will always be someone who might crush you with the right weapon.

  That’s why you can never underestimate anyone or anything.

  Even the weakest link has the power to bring someone to their knees with the right strategy.

  Life
is a chessboard, and how one masters the game depends solely on the person’s desire to succeed.

  This is one of the reasons I never allow myself to have a weakness; life has taught me they will lead to my downfall.

  And a long time ago, I vowed to never, ever allow anyone to strike me where it hurts the most.

  “We have a problem.” The man continues to speak, tearing me away from my thoughts, and my brows rise at the urgency in his tone, which is so unlike him.

  Jaxon MacAlister never loses control or displays emotion. The head of an Irish mafia house can’t have weaknesses that can become weapons in the hands of his enemy.

  He’s like the ice. He stays in his environment, where no one dares touch or harm him; otherwise, his wrath will be absolute.

  I take a sip, the fiery liquid burning my throat, but the taste sharpens my instincts and makes the conversation almost bearable.

  Because any kind of contact with my family inspires anger so strong I can taste it, and the fury demands an outlet.

  Usually in the form of a victim guilty of vicious crimes.

  “We? Last time I checked, I wasn’t part of the family.”

  Whenever Jaxon says “we have a problem,” it means the entire organization has one, and since I gave up all rights to the imaginary throne a long time ago, I don’t give a fuck what they want or need.

  My younger brother knows it, so I have no idea why he bothers to go to these lengths to reach me.

  The king never calls or begs.

  He demands.

  Silence follows my reply, and I use this opportunity to pick up my phone and go to the living room, where I drop on the couch and kick my feet up on the nearby table, resting my head against the cushions. The whiskey sloshes inside my glass as I settle.

  Ah, finally.

  Just what a hunter needs after an eventful evening, where he destroyed his opponent so viciously I don’t think the devil himself will recognize the prey’s soul once he enters the gates of hell.

  Jaxon sighs heavily. I can just imagine him closing his eyes and leaning forward while remorse etches his features. “You know I had no control over what happened twenty-five years ago.” A beat, and he adds, “I would have stopped them if I could’ve.”

  My sons will not pay for your sins, Alistair. Do you hear me? You have your bastard for that. Feed him to the wolves!

  A hollow laugh erupts from me, creating a tense energy all around me and alerting my brother on the other end that his words mean nothing to me.

  He might not be responsible for what happened to me in the past—in his defense, he had been a kid himself—but my resentment has roots deep in my soul, and I won’t ever be able to let go of it.

  Because Alistair liked to fuck around with whores, I was raised in a brothel, disrespected by everyone, watching my mother sell herself in order to put food on the table until she no longer could. A simple case of the flu killed her. We had no money to buy her medicine or take her to the hospital, because she used drugs like crazy, needing the next dose more than air.

  The brothel owner was ready to sell me to someone to use for their fucked-up desires, when my father dearest stepped in and claimed me as his child.

  He brought me to his house only to allow everyone, especially his wife, to kick me around and remind me daily how worthless I was.

  All while their legitimate kids thrived on love and attention, doted on by everyone. They wore the most expensive clothes and played with unique toys.

  I could only watch them from a distance and wasn’t even allowed to eat next to them.

  Dogs on chains lived fucking better than the treatment I got in their mansion.

  And while my siblings acted kind toward me, their good behavior just couldn’t top all the shit thrown my way because my father couldn’t keep his vow or dick in check.

  Funny how, in all these situations, the wives blame the kids and whores and never their husbands, so we become the punching bag for their anger.

  And then they’re rewarded all the money and status by staying his wife. I bet it was more important for her pride and dignity to continue the act she was putting on in front of my father.

  No wonder the bitch outlived him, although how she doesn’t burn in the church where she frequently goes is beyond me.

  I will all my self-control into my fist, because my baby brother doesn’t deserve my hostility. I decide to be polite and at least pretend to care about him when, in fact, I don’t give a fuck.

  A child whose soul was subjected to hate, pain, and agony with a splash of torture on a daily basis can’t grow up into a compassionate human.

  He’d be lucky to stay sane.

  “What do you want, Jaxon?” I ask, finishing my drink quickly and putting the glass to the side. “You know I don’t give a fuck about the family business.”

  I made that abundantly clear after our father’s death, when Jaxon hunted me down in Greece, welcoming me back into the family and explaining to me that this time around, everything would be different.

  Considering by that point I already had power, status, and money earned by my hard work and brains, I told him to fuck off and shove his family name down his throat.

  To my surprise, he didn’t push but kept the amicable contact between us, inviting me to their various functions, and my other siblings have joined in, annoying the shit out of me with their attention.

  Still though, no matter how much they’ve tried to atone for the sins of their parents, they will never be able to erase my past.

  And what it cost me to be Alistair MacAlister’s son.

  “We have a situation with the Four Dark Horsemen.” He clears his throat. “You know who they are, right?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  I stay away from the mafia world, but I thrive in the underground, hunting those who deserve it and bring them the most painful ends.

  And you can’t thrive in darkness and know nothing about Chicago’s most ruthless fuckers, who each have their own personal dungeon where they make their victims wish they were never born.

  Four deadly men who don’t know words like remorse, sanity, mercy, or compassion. They see whatever they want, take it, and then destroy it.

  Santiago, Remi, Octavius, Florian.

  Belonging to the elite of Chicago, their power is almost absolute, and sometimes they get so bored in their own city that they visit others to stir some shit up for their own amusement.

  They are highly entertaining to watch, especially when they set their sights on crushing someone.

  No one ever survives their destruction.

  “Anyway, we ran into trouble, and our relationship is tense to say the least,” Jaxon continues, distance lacing his voice.

  “I still do not see how this concerns me.”

  “You’re my brother. You’re an extension of this family, even if you hate it.”

  Rolling my eyes at the usual bullshit he preaches whenever he wants to convince me to follow his rules, I say, “I’m indifferent toward your family. Which is why this phone call is a complete waste of my time.” People who claim that family is the best thing in the world need to examine their heads, because mine does nothing but anger me. “Have a nice evening, and please do not call again.” Although, judging by his previous actions, he takes this phrase as a personal challenge and calls me regularly once a month, even when I don’t bother to pick up or call back.

  The fucker must be so used to being the oldest in the family that he confuses me with all the younger siblings when, in fact, I’m older than he is by three years.

  And sure as fuck, I don’t need anyone watching my moves at thirty-three.

  “Wait!” he exclaims, huffing in frustration. “I know you accepted that position at the university.”

  I stay silent, waiting for him to elaborate, because his knowledge of my deeds doesn’t surprise me. I don’t hide my nature or interests from anyone.

  Monsters have different shapes, but the rarest ones?

 
Are those who don’t wish to hide their intentions or true character, since it’s too exhausting and takes away all the fun this world has to offer.

  Besides, why bother acting like a saint, when being a sinner is way more rewarding?

  Sacrifices never lead to good results or gratitude anyway.

  “You can’t move to Chicago.”

  I still at the words that sound more like a command. My patience and politeness toward Jaxon last for only so long though. “Careful, baby brother. You’re treading in dangerous waters right now.” Coldness slips through my words. “I’m not part of your brotherhood who worships the ground you walk on. You do not order me around. Do. You. Understand?”

  He clears his throat again, his exhale echoing in the space. “I’m asking you as a brother not to do it.”

  “Considering our brother bond has been severely lacking, I’m surprised you put so much faith in it.”

  Silence greets my statement, weighing heavily between us at the bitterness coating my voice. “Your anger is valid, but it’s misplaced.” He finally speaks up, and the conscience I thought I no longer had rears its head, bringing with it painful memories.

  Strong hands grab me from behind, lifting me up as I kick my legs, hoping to hurt them, and screaming, “Dad!” Extending my hand to him, pain slams into me when he turns his back on me and ignores my pleas while unfamiliar men drag me outside. “Dad, help me!” I try to bite the hand locked on my stomach, but the man shakes me so hard my teeth snap together, and a hit to the back of my head follows, ricocheting pain through me. But I still find strength to shout, “Dad!”

  His wife comes to him, holding Douglas, their two-year-old, and she raises her chin high, looking straight at me while a smile curves her mouth, the happiness at my discomfort shining brightly in her eyes.