Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [7]
Armand, eager to please his father, agreed. And as a twenty-first birthday gift the King presented him with a cheque for one million dollars, money he immediately put to good use. On Sidney’s advice he invested in a parcel of derelict buildings in Queens, which a year later he turned into several apartment complexes, eventually selling them and tripling his initial investment.
After that there was no stopping him. He formed Jordan Developments, and began buying up properties, renovating them, and selling for a large profit. He was also taking care of business for his father, who from time to time needed large sums of money legitimized. Apart from Jordan Developments he formed several subsidiary companies, including an import/export business that he had nothing to do with except in name. By the time he reached the age of thirty he was acquiring hotels and apartment houses up and down the East Coast.
On his yearly visit to Akramshar his father looked on him kindly and beamed with pride. ‘You are the son I can be proud of,’ the King boasted. ‘You are smart, and clever, and trustworthy. You are the son who one day should be inheriting my kingdom.’
These words did not sit well with his half-brothers, who now regarded him with suspicion and even more hatred.
But one thing puzzled the King. ‘Why have you never married?’ he demanded. ‘At your age it is tradition that a man should have many wives and children.’
Armand shrugged. Sex to him was a distraction he didn’t need. His sexual desires were fully met by a series of call girls who serviced his every whim whenever he picked up the phone and summoned them. Women were inferior human beings, something his father had taught him at a very early age. ‘Females are merely vessels to be used for gratifying one’s sexual urges, and bearing children,’ the King had informed him. ‘Never trust them. And never give them your heart.’
His father was right. Women would do anything for money – absolutely anything. And they were stupid creatures too.
A year after his father questioned his marital status, he’d arrived in Akramshar for the usual birthday celebrations, and the King had immediately whisked him off to one of his private palaces. Once there, the King had announced that Armand’s birthday gift to him would be to marry the daughter of a close family friend with whom the King conducted business. ‘You’ll have no responsibilities,’ the King had assured him. ‘Your wife will stay here and, God willing, bear your offspring. This is my desire for you, my dear son. This is my gift.’
The girl was fifteen and a beauty. Her name was Soraya.
Later that day there was a lavish wedding ceremony, and that night Armand had deflowered the innocent Soraya. She was trembling and scared, which didn’t faze him because he had no intention of going against his father’s wishes. Her nervousness was not his problem. She was there to do his bidding, and that was that. He rode her hard, ignoring her startled cries of pain. She was merely a vessel for him to fill, and that was the extent of her usefulness.
A week after his wedding ceremony he flew back to America.
* * *
Upon returning to Akramshar one year later, he was surprised to discover that he had a son. Eleven years later he had fathered three more children, all girls, which didn’t particularly please him, but it made the King happy.
In his mind he regarded Soraya and her brood as his fantasy family. They lived in a place called Akramshar. A place where women were docile and obedient and did as they were told. A place where men ruled.
He lived in a Park Avenue penthouse in New York, where money was his aphrodisiac, and women were his paid playthings. The two worlds only came together in September when the King celebrated his birthday. And that’s the way it