The Possessive Convict

by Celia Crown

  It seems that Sergei isn’t in the shop at all. That’s just beyond strange. The back door has a flower stand blocking it, the front door is locked, and so are the windows.

  I fix them. I flip the sign over and crack open the windows; the pungency of the fragrance is giving me a headache.

  It’s a chaotic mess of sweet and tangy scents that don’t compliment each other.

  “Oh, dearie!” the elderly lady shouts as I open the last window.

  I peer at her shop. She waves at me, motioning me towards her.

  I have a lot of preparation to do before the bride’s delivery service arrives. However, the woman is insistent when she calls again.

  A couple of minutes won’t set back my work too much.

  I step out and walk over while she swings in her rocking chair. She likes to sit outside, enjoying life when it’s not busy.

  I don’t have that luxury; people always need flowers to mend their mistakes. Every week, someone comes in to ask for the most popular flower that signifies love and devotion while asking which bouquet gets their significant other to forgive them faster.

  I work at a floral shop, but I don’t have the faintest clue about their meanings.

  “Is everything alright?” I ask as I finish the last step.

  The woman rocks her chair again and widens her eyes. “Oh, yes. Big news.”

  I know today is an important day. The mayor’s daughter is getting married to his third cousin. It’s as strange as it’s bizarre. Everyone knows this, so it’s nothing new.

  The newspapers have been running this headline for weeks since the announcement of their engagement. They have the blessing of the public, but people have unsolicited judgments within their circle of friends.

  “The wedding is today,” I remind her.

  She shakes her head as an affronted gasp sails through her wrinkled lips. “No, no. That’s old news. This just broke within the last hour.”

  “What broke?” I tilt my head in confusion, but I’m intrigued that something else has taken precedence.

  I am sick of hearing about the wedding.

  “That young boy was hanged at City Hall; bloody hell has been cast on us with his sins spinning from his wounds.”

  I have no idea what she is talking about. A boy hanged. What boy?

  The woman rambles on, something about karma, and that the boy deserved the punishment he received.

  She says, “He made everyone scared to come outside, disrupted our lives, and brought suffocation to this town. They all deserved to go to purgatory.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not following.” I scratch the back of my neck; my impatience is starting to wear on me. I need to go back to work.

  “The boy that harassed you for money,” she remarks with her creaking voice. “He was hanged, gutted on the steps of City Hall.”

  Dakota? The same young man who took protection fees from me? I thought he was under police protection. How did the perpetrator get through the deputies?

  “Like an animal drained of blood, his organs were missing,” the woman whispers dauntingly. “I think the killer ate them. What else could it be?”

  Dreadful revelation dawns on me.

  Sergei.

  First, it was the gunned-down teenagers, and now the main source of my headaches. He has to be the one behind this. Nothing like this has ever happened before; it only started when he arrived.

  The conclusion that makes sense is that he did it for me. The teenagers were killed after Dakota came to threaten me. Now, he’s dead too, and Sergei is missing.

  It’s a brazen act to kill, disembowel, and hang him on the steps of City Hall. That’s a taunt and a message to the town, the residents, and the police.

  It could be that I’m overthinking this. It doesn’t have to be Sergei. It could be the other escaped convicts or even someone in town who has hidden this sadistic tendency.

  “Did they find out who was responsible?” I ask as I scan the busy road.

  I didn’t hear sirens when I was sleeping, but I do tend to sleep heavily when I’m tired. Being fucked into the mattress did exhaust me.

  The woman shakes her head, her face showing no compassion at the news.

  I can already tell what everyone in town is thinking. Within a month, there have been more deaths than anyone could have predicted. They think someone is out to punish children, to teach them a lesson about kindness because they were a bunch of hated delinquents.

  Once again, I don’t feel sympathetic about the unfortunate events.

  “You be careful, dearie,” she warns. “The devil is here. We don’t want good people to die.”

  I laugh awkwardly and wave at her before excusing myself. As long as I haven’t gotten a call from the groom or the bride, I’m operating under the assumption that the wedding will go on despite the bad news.

  A scream screeches through the air, police sirens roaring from behind as I nearly jump out of my skin. Spinning around, I lock eyes through the windshield with the same deputy from earlier today. He jumps out of the vehicle, hand on his gun as he stares at me with those deranged eyes.

  “Is there someone else here?” he screams at the top of his lungs.

  My shoulders tighten from shock as I stupidly stare at him. He asks again but gets more aggressive as his tone dies down. The clasp of the holster snap and his hand reaches for the grip of the gun.

  “No, no!” I blurt out as I step away from his advancing strides. “No one’s here!”

  Sergei had disappeared somewhere and is presumably hiding from the police if he’s the one behind this.

  “Come with me, ma’am!” he yells with his hand dramatically waving towards me.

  I’m not comfortable being near him when his hand is already taking out the gun. I don’t know why he feels the need to be armed when it’s just me out here with the elderly neighbor. The other neighbor, a functioning alcoholic, isn’t outside.

  There are some people on the sidewalk, stopping and looking at us, but none come close.

  I shake my head as I inch back towards the shop. “Please, put the gun away.”

  “You could be next!” he explains. “You need to come with me! Someone killed Dakota; they’re going to come after you!”

  Oddly enough, I’m not feeling any fear at that statement. It’s possible Sergei didn’t do that to Dakota, but he will still protect me.

  I believe it.

  His eyes drop to his gun as he secures it back in the holster. The deputy raises his hands when he comes closer as if he’s approaching an injured animal.

  I take offense to that because he’s the one who started this tension and hostility.

  “I’m going to come closer,” he informs. “Is that cool with you?”

  No, it is not “cool” with me.

  The aggression rolling off his shoulders is triggering loud alarms in my head. I don’t want this man anywhere near me, not when he’s sporting that desperately crazed stare on his face.

  “We have reason to believe you’re in danger, so please, work with us. Let us protect you.”

  He walks closer until he’s standing in front of me. My shoulders have kinks in them from how strained my nerves are, and distrust flare when he tightens his hand on my arm.

  Goosebumps break out on my skin as he finds a better grip. He nudges and steers me towards his car, but my feet lodges firmly on the ground.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I decline harshly.

  Since meeting Sergei, I’ve noticed a subtle change in me. My friendliness can be seen as being a doormat. I don’t think I was a spineless girl. However, the more I think about it, the clearer it is.

  “If it comes down to it, I will arrest you.”

  His threat doesn’t scare me, it hardly makes me raise an eyebrow. It’s an odd excuse, but I can use the mayor’s daughter to get him to back off. One does not mess with a bride’s wedding, and I have her flowers as my hostage.

  A whirling sound approaches with walloping c
onsistency, a black helicopter gliding elegantly through the town. The blades roar powerfully, whipping the trees as dust cuts into my eyes.

  I turn away, blocking the wind with one hand and holding down my dress with the other. The wind pushes me back as I stumble awkwardly. Peeling my eyes open, I squint at the elderly neighbor. Her rocking chair stays bolted on the porch of her shop.

  She does rock with hysterical cries. I sputter in laughter as I watch her frantically hold the arms of the chair.

  The wind dies down when the blades gradually stop spinning. I blink the dust from my eyes as a tear falls from my lashes; it’s tricky to resist rubbing them.

  The tinted door opens. A pair of long legs, thick and strong, step onto the asphalt. Then, it’s a tapered waist and a wide chest; my eyes stop at the curvature of the familiar jawline.

  His name whispers in the back of my head.

  There he stands with an air of power, dominance, and bitter stoicism.

  The blues of his eyes meet mine, worshipful but with an enigmatic haze of viciousness.

  His suit immaculately accentuates his reputation for wealth and power. The revelation comes with a form of distress.

  “Come to me, Nia.”

  His deep voice breaks through the stilled silence. My feet stride forward of their own volition as the tingles in my spine craves his strong touch, and my skin burns with addicted reliance.

  His magnetism is compelling, eyes beckoning me to fall into his waiting arms and submit to his hedonism.

  I was right before. He scares me.

  “Stay where you are!” the deputy shouts, jolting me from the trance.

  A quaking breath grumbles in my throat as I find myself ready to take another step. The grip on the hem of my dress shakes when I let go, and my fingers convulse in agony.

  “Get behind me,” the deputy orders as his hand snaps around my arm again.

  A vociferous bang spears my eardrums. They hurt from the sharp shrill as it echoes with dull thumps. The deputy collapses at my feet, his body lying on the ground with glazed eyes staring at the cerulean sky.

  One of the hues in Sergei’s eyes.

  Warm water drips from my neck, trickling onto my dress and soaking the fabric with a pungent copper scent.

  I touch my neck, and crimson smudges on my fingers as I stare at them. Patting my body while blotting the blood on the dress, I look for the bullet wound with a blank mind.

  “I leave you alone for the day, little girl, and you’re already causing me trouble.”

  “I’m sorry,” I utter instinctively.

  The gun in his hand points at the ground with white ribbons of smoke dancing into the air. He tuts and puts his gun away; the move is smooth and too practiced.

  He voices, “I had anticipated being absent for a week, but I never thought it was a good plan.”

  “You left,” I accuse softly as I stare at the pool of blood seeping from under the immobile man.

  “I left you a note,” he reckons. “Have you not read it?”

  “I haven’t found it,” I concede doubtfully.

  There’s a hint of betrayal and disappointment, but the pain is most evident in my shaky voice.

  “Yes,” he quips imperturbably. “It was an essential step in my precautions.”

  Sergei stays by the door of the sleek helicopter. The pilot doesn’t look over to me, his large headset tightening when he pushes up his black shades.

  “Precautions?” I mumble as I step back to avoid the blood.

  He ridicules with a sneering curl of his lips, “Did you believe for a moment that I would leave without you, little Nia?”

  I never thought, even for a second, that he had left me. I was confident, foolishly so.

  I wonder what would have happened if he did leave and never came back for me. I would never be able to live without him; he’s the force that urges my body to stay alive.

  Am I too dependent on him?

  Yes, but I’m not distressed about it.

  I peer at him through my lashes. My heart clatters behind my ribs as I heave softly, and I retch from the overpowering scent of blood.

  Another police vehicle drifts onto the scene, skirting the tail of the helicopter as the sheriff jumps out. He uses the car door as a shield with his arms propping over the top to aim his gun at Sergei.

  Composed, Sergei ignores the man’s shouting until he threatens to shoot. His blue eyes glimmer angrily, but he raises his arms languidly. Nothing in his body language says he’s intimidated or has an ounce of fear about getting arrested.

  The only reason he stayed with me for so long is that he didn’t want to go back to the supermax prison.

  “Turn around!” the sheriff commands.

  Sergei doesn’t comply as I hold my breath at their interaction. The sheriff didn’t have backup when he came to the scene with sudden heroic righteousness that has been missing for years.

  He could be a foolish man, or his other deputies are hiding as a backup plan.

  The sheriff looks at me and scans the area, but he tightens his lips to thwart the thought that came to his mind. He made the unforgivable mistake of looking away from a man who radiates sadistic bloodlust.

  Sergei’s inked hand pulls out the gun, holding it firmly and hooking his confident finger in the trigger. Like a routine, he puts the gun away again with ease.

  The sheriff tumbles lifelessly, his gun clattering on the asphalt. It’s a sound that stays with me, conquering the droning ambient noise.

  Sergei begins dryly, “I run a dangerous business; I have many enemies who will not hesitate to take you from me.”

  The sheriff was not a business competitor, but he was an enemy in his eyes.

  I mumble with creakiness in my throat, “Why me? I’m not anyone important.”

  “You are very important; you are my weakness.”

  It voids of emotions; he speaks as if it’s an undeniable statement of who I am to him.

  “Now, little girl,” he reckons in a despairingly velvet tone. “Do I need to use force, or are you willing to come home with me?”

  I step over the dead deputy and meekly stumble towards him.

  I shiver violently. “I—I can go.”

  His lips twist vilely, smiling like the devil beneath his picturesque façade.

  “What a shame.”

  Epilogue

  Sergei

  Two Years Later

  “How’re you, Nia?”

  She scratches the top of her head as her pretty face pinches. Her pout deepens when she rearranges the flowers again.

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” she mumbles while she finishes the sides of the bouquet.

  “Why?” I inquire with a chuckle as I run a knuckle down her soft cheek.

  “Everything about this is weird.” Nia huffs.

  She begins heatedly, yet her tone holds a bit of hesitation. “A strange order for a funeral service came with full payment, and then these flowers came in the mail!”

  My brows curl with amusement. She has always been an open book, but it seems to be more comical today.

  “Is there something different from your usual process?” I inquire, not too interested in the details.

  My sweet girl wanted to continue working with flowers. I made certain that she has what she wanted. She has her own shop that is built with reinforced walls, daily delivery of new flowers, and employees paid by me.

  They’re here to entertain Nia, help her with the workload, and protect her from danger.

  I maintain the organ-trafficking side of my life, the side I’ve kept hidden from her. She thinks I own a multi-million-dollar company, and she is rather naive not to question what brings in the millions.

  It’s a blessing to wake up with her, disoriented, and whining about being kissed too much. My day always gets much better when I see her surrounded by colors that dim in comparison with her stunning smile.

  I try to spend much of my day with her, but I also need to work. Sometimes I
can’t make my selfishness a priority.

  Well, I can, and I do.

  I work to bring in millions to spoil her, and it pleases me that she’s happy.

  “You’re not even listening to me,” she whispers grumpily as she wraps another ribbon around the flowers.

  “Tell me again,” I suggest playfully. “I was distracted.”

  “I know,” she gripes with red cheeks. “You were burning holes in my skull.”

  I kiss the top of her head as an apology for my enthusiastic staring.

  “An email came this morning for an order of flowers that I can’t pronounce,” she says as she chews on her bottom lip.

  “These flowers were delivered to me when the shop opened; they’re fresh and very pretty. Let’s not forget the stack of cash as payment too.” Nia holds up the bouquet as a whiff of bitterly sweet scent trickles into my lungs.

  It’s a peculiar smell and difficult to pinpoint the dominant scent.

  “You’ve had customers send you flowers to wrap and deliver to their destination.”

  She slowly turns her head, eyes squinting with skepticism. I stand my ground and wait until she’s done scrutinizing me about what I said.

  “How’d you know they are going to be delivered? The email said I have to deliver them to the funeral service.”

  I poke her puffy cheek, squeezing the flesh between my fingers, and yanking the skin. She yelps and rips her face away; the glare intensifies as she growls lowly.

  As planned, she is distracted when she resumes her rambling. “How am I going to show my face to the grieving family with a bruise?”

  “I’ll kiss it better,” I offer generously as I kiss her cheek rather aggressively.

  “You’re making it worse,” she grumbles, her voice pitched higher.

  Nia leans in and turns to brush her soft lips on mine. The employees look away; no one dares to pay attention to things that don’t belong to them.

  This moment is mine to share with Nia.

  “Can you call Chester?” she asks. “He’s not picking up my calls. It’s been a week since he got the flu.”

  “I’ll drive you,” I offer insistently.

  “Are you sure?” Nia runs a hand over the smooth tie.

  “We can get lunch at your favorite place,” I add to sweeten the proposal.