by Mason, V. F.
But a man’s gotta know what will kill him, right? A knife deserves to get its recognition. I don’t give a fuck about Alesio’s death.
All this is an endless game in my life, after all, so he serves no purpose but entertainment. “When I’ll stab you with it, the venom will need five minutes, give or take, to kill you.” I click my fingers, bringing his attention to me while he swallows hard. “How generous of me, isn’t it?”
Instead of appreciating it though, he erupts in another whimper while pleading something.
I assume it’s pleading, because not many sounds come from behind the gag.
I glance down and familiar adrenaline spreads through me as I admire the seven and a half-meter height, when the pool almost becomes a distant blur, reminding me no matter how big something is, if you look at it from the right angle, it can be barely a dot on the map.
If I push him off the side, he will land within seconds on the ground and his bones will break and the blood will leak everywhere. His skin will have several scratches, and he’ll probably swallow the gag.
If he face-plants, he’ll be almost unrecognizable.
Frowning, I tip my chin with the back of the knife, because the idea doesn’t seem very exciting.
Where will the fear and struggle from the venom be —while the poison slowly strips you of everything—as you sink deeper and deeper into despair, reflecting on your life?
Where will the struggle be?
Most importantly, where will the fun be in it for me?
“Choice, choices,” I mutter and then pull a letter from my back pocket. It’s bright pink, so I dangle it in front of him. “Recognize the color?” Realization flashes in his eyes and he whimpers, but this time it’s a different sound that my ears register.
It no longer has pleading in it, no.
Now it’s begging.
But begging rarely helps you. Instead, it gives power to those who have the ability to puppet your life. How ironic that Alesio of all people hasn’t learned that lesson. “Think about that, Alesio. And maybe your life in eternal hell will be less… difficult,” I tell him and walk toward him, stabbing him with the knife right into his liver. He screams, but I hardly hear it.
I twist it inside him then pull it back, and before he can blink, I kick him in the stomach so that he falls into the pool with a loud splash, the water spilling over the sides and alerting the security so alarms start to buzz loudly.
After all, no one is allowed inside after nine at night.
Too bad I won’t hear his agonized screams, but the knowledge of his suffering should be enough.
I see him twisting a little in the water, but then slowly the body falls to the bottom of the pool, all while crystal clear water allows me to see him in all his victimized glory.
Paralyzing venom for the win!
And just like that, the pleasure vanishes as the familiar boredom comes back, annoying the shit out of me.
But then her image flashes in front of my eyes and unusual calm settles over me. I can almost forget about the past, with her soft voice whispering in my ear.
Almost.
Even my Persephone has no power to forever erase the hell I’ve been living in for the last twenty-five years.
Giselle
Someone shakes my arm, but I wave it off, digging my face deeper into the pillow, and murmur, “Go away.”
“Giselle, you need to get up.” Isla’s voice nags at my mind, and I frown in my sleep, grabbing the edges of the blanket and pulling it over me tighter, not wanting to crawl out of this warm heaven.
Isla apparently doesn’t believe in freaking heaters at the house, and the weather lately has been freezing. “Giselle,” she repeats, this time pinching my shoulder a little, and I snap my eyes open, sending her an annoyed glare.
“It’s Sunday, and I’m jobless. So, for the love of God, let me sleep.” Satisfied that I’ve managed to get this many words out, considering the headache starting at the back of my neck, I’m about to roll on my side, when she says, “Your grandfather is here.”
Oh my God.
I jerk on the bed, sitting up swiftly while a horrified gasp escapes my mouth.
“My point exactly.” Isla finally has my attention and drops onto the bed next to me. “He showed up ten minutes ago and barked an order to wake you up.” She exhales heavily. “I’d say he’s pissed.”
Yeah, this description means nothing really, because to strangers, my grandfather is always pissed.
The level is what makes all the difference, as that usually has consequences for me.
I quickly grab my jeans and sweater, rush to the bathroom, and groan when I see my reflection.
My eyes are bloodshot, my hair is all over the place, and my face is bloated, since I drank a ton. I brush my teeth and wash my face, thinking thousands of reasons why he might be here.
Trust funds? Scandals? Me getting fired from the job and it disrespecting his name?
I wipe my face and give myself a last glance before running to the living room, but I stop in time before I bound like a lunatic into the room.
No such behavior from the lady of the manor.
Clearing my throat, I get his attention, pausing his coffee cup— he doesn’t drink anything else—midway to his mouth, and he glances to the side from the chair. His other hand rests on his cane as he runs his gaze from my head to my toes. “Giselle,” he says softly, calmly, so calmly it can freeze hell over.
Oh no.
Grandfather is not pissed.
He is freaking livid!
“Grandfather, what an unexpected visit,” I greet him cheerily, sitting opposite him while he continues to sip his coffee, his hawk-like eyes still on me as he searches for my weak points.
I shift uncomfortably in the prolonged silence and motion for Isla to go do something, because no way in hell will he talk with her in the room.
She gives me a thumbs-up and then announces loudly, “I’m going to go grab stuff for work. See you later, babe, Mr. Walker.” She nods at him, and he waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, and I groan inwardly.
Not a day goes by that Grandfather doesn’t show his disapproval of this friendship. After all, Isla has no fancy family name or manners suitable to mingle with the Walkers, according to him.
The door closes behind her, and that’s when he finally speaks up, still maintaining the calm voice that sends chills down my spine. “Tell me, Giselle, what’s your family name?”
Licking my lips, I force the word through my dry throat that begs for liquid, and yet I can’t have any in front of him. “Walker.”
“Is that so?” he asks, surprised, taking another sip. “Walker is the family name of generations and generations of people who wear it proudly and never show weakness to strangers.”
My brows furrow at this while I wrack my mind for the reason for this speech again. He has done it so many times in my life I’ve memorized the words. “I’m aware.”
He chuckles, although it lacks humor, and finally puts the cup on the table, rattling it a little. “I don’t think you are. Your fiancé sleeps with your sister, and instead of keeping quiet about it, you run to your friend and get drunk.” The air hitches in my lungs at his words, and my eyes widen when I look at him. He smirks again, which only deepens the wrinkles on his face. “Yes, I already know about that. How could you have disrespected your family like this?”
My stomach flips while everything inside me sinks, and anger unlike any before spreads through me. Pushing it back, I grit my teeth, barely keeping my voice down out of the respect for the elderly.
Although, in this moment, it’s really hard for me to remember why I should always respect him and not just shout my heart out at him. “How could I? Don’t you wonder how Lucy could do it to me?”
“I do not appreciate the tone, young lady.”
“Yeah?” I say, standing and lifting my chin to meet his stare head-on. “Well I do not appreciate accusations thrown my way when it’s Lucy who fuc
ked around and not me.” How is it that their affair ended up being my fault? What the hell is this?
He raises his cane and slams it into my stomach, and I yelp, falling back onto the chair while pain travels from my belly button to my knees. “Watch your words around me, Giselle. You are not too old to get a beating.”
I blink several times, too stunned from his actions to say anything. But then memories come back, along with dark rooms… and the smells that always filled them.
Instantly, I want to wrap my hands around my knees and rock a little, but I fist my hands on my lap while Grandfather continues to talk. And like the weak, pathetic human I am, I continue to listen. “Here is what we are going to do. Your wedding was supposed to be two weeks from now, with an engagement party tomorrow. Lucy will marry him instead of you. The invitation said Walker anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” With each of his words, the knife he invisibly stabs into me sinks deeper and deeper, creating a bigger wound. “You will come to the party, smile, and act like nothing is wrong. If anyone brings up your relationship with the groom, you will laugh it off and say how happy you are for your sibling. Do you understand?”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, watching him carefully so I have no illusions left about this man who raised me.
What did I expect anyway?
“Your friend has a very good job, but this apartment doesn’t belong to her. You wouldn’t want her to be homeless and jobless, would you, Giselle? Plus, there is Darius, of course.”
Fear washes over me at this threat, and I shake my head in disbelief. “What have you become, Grandfather?” He never would have won the grandpa-of-the-year award, but he has never been so evil.
Manipulative to get what he wants? Yes. But straight up blackmailing me and jeopardizing the lives of people I care about?
Never.
When did he start hating me so much?
“You got my surname, because my son got your mother pregnant. Wear the gift I’ve given you proudly. And do not disrespect me again, Giselle. You won’t like the consequences,” he warns as he gets up and strolls to the door, his cane hitting the floor so loudly the sound bounces off the walls.
He twists the door handle, but before opening it, he says over his shoulder, “Taking you in all those years ago turned into nothing but disappointment.” And with this final blow, he leaves while I drop to the floor, pressing my fist to my mouth so painful screams won’t escape it.
While cries and whimpers shake my body, I wonder why life sometimes is so cruel to those who can’t change anything about their fate.
We don’t choose the family we are born into, or so people say.
But more importantly, we don’t choose the amount of pain they can dish out for not being the way they want us to be.
Grandfather doesn’t issue empty threats though. If I don’t act compliant, he will make Isla’s and Grandpa Darius’s lives a living hell.
And I can’t ever allow that.
I’m used to constantly living in pain; other people don’t have to.
After all, that’s the price I paid for being a Walker.
Callum
I rest my back against my black car, lighting up a cigarette right in time to see Alfred Walker exiting the building with his two bodyguards hiding him from the outside world as his driver waits with the car door open.
He places his hand on the roof of his car, rubs his chin with his cane, and then looks up as if wanting to drill the building with his eyes to see his granddaughter one more time. Defeat is written all over his features as he exhales heavily and gets inside the vehicle, barking something to his men.
A few seconds later, the car speeds away, leaving only dust behind while I remove my headphones, because nothing but Giselle’s cries echo in them anyway.
Unfamiliar emotions swirl through my system, and only my self-control allows me to stay glued to the spot and not storm inside her building to do something so she’ll stop crying so much.
This reaction has no reasonable explanation; therefore, it cannot be done.
I take out my phone and dial the number, and thankfully the man on the other end of the line picks up quickly. My patience is thin anyway.
“Whatever you want, Callum, the answer is no.” The fucker sounds too fucking smug about it, and a little grin spreads on my mouth.
“I need an invitation to the Walker engagement tomorrow.”
“Well good luck with that.” I hear him cracking something in his mouth while strange music blasts through speakers on his end. Someone even manages to moan in the background.
Leave it to him to party fucking hard in the morning. “You do that for me, and I will do something for you.”
“There is nothing you could do for me. Well, actually there is.” He waits a beat and then adds, “You can kill yourself and spare me from listening to you.” He laughs as if finding it hilarious, and I roll my eyes, wondering how he survived this long in the business with such an attitude.
But then only a few know how truly lethal and inhuman he can be. “Santiago. If you do it, I’ll be in debt to you.”
That gets his attention, and he barks, “Everyone quiet down.” And then he comes back to the conversation. “You will owe the Four Dark Horsemen? You of all people?” he clarifies, and I shrug, even though he can’t see it.
“Why not? Your debts will only mean you will want my territory.” I drop the cigarette on the concrete, stepping on it while fishing for my keys.
“So the rumor of you going insane because of a woman is true.”
“So true,” I assure him, even though no one truly knows my intentions. Playing the obsessed man over a woman though sure scores me a lot of points with this fucker.
“Interesting. We will review your request and come back to you with an answer shortly.” He hangs up on me, and I chuckle, knowing full well it’s a done deal and I can expect an invitation in my mail box.
The Four Dark Horsemen, as they are known, crave power and then more power. They live in their desire to kill, hunt, and reign with no distractions or bowing to anyone.
One of the reasons they chose Chicago as their ground.
All this doesn’t matter though, because the asshole of a grandfather has only sped up my plans.
Looks like my Persephone will join the gates of Hades sooner than either of us expected.
Ah, isn’t life just beautiful?
Chapter Five
Giselle, 17 years old
“Giselle, darling. Could you please come here?” Martina’s voice booms in the living room, and I exhale heavily, putting my tablet with the latest news on gardening competitions aside.
I wanted to check if I could participate in any and win money for my current project, but I guess that will have to wait until my stepmom finds her peace.
My toes curl in the fluffy carpet, and I walk through the hallway with purple walls and white trim to the first floor of our spacious Manhattan apartment.
Dad doesn’t believe in having a mansion once you enter politics, so people will think you aren’t rich and won’t act pompous to them. Whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.
The apartment has three bedrooms upstairs, one downstairs, along with a living room and terrace that opens up to a view of the Empire State Building. So the whole not acting rich thing is not working out much, I suppose. But then he wanted to use the fact he lives independently from Alfred Walker as leverage.
From people doing the best for the people, or whatever his campaign preached.
My feet slap against the wood, and I find Martina sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee as the morning breeze sways the curtains and brings in fresh air. Danika, our housekeeper, winks at me as she places my tea and apple pie on the table and disappears behind the kitchen door.
“I’m here,” I say, dropping onto the couch, and Martina grins at me even though her eyes stay absolutely indifferent.
That’s the thing about her… whatever she does, be it a good thing or a bad one, he
r expression never wavers, as if it’s permanently carved on her features.
I’m not sure if it’s the plastic surgery or she simply doesn’t give a shit about anything as long as she can continue living her sheltered life.
“Darling, you are going to college soon,” she says, and I pick up the fork and dig into the pie, waiting for her to elaborate. “I was thinking we need to get your ready for a fashion design degree. How about a little shopping and trip to Paris?” Her voice is so cheery and hopeful as she seems to wait for me to jump in delight any minute now. “We can book ticke—”
“I’m going into landscaping design,” I cut her off, not willing to listen to whatever else she has in mind on this topic.
She blinks, her mouth forming an O, but then she plasters on a fake smile of hers. “Of course. If that’s what you wish. I just wanted you and Lucy to have the same degree.” A beat, and then, “You’d have projects together and have fun at the university.”
“Lucy is going to college in two years. Why would I wait for her?”
She blinks again and I hold back the desire to roll my eyes, because sometimes I feel like both mother and daughter live in their makeshift reality.
After that incident in the mansion, Dad managed to snatch me away from Grandfather on the grounds of him being my parent. Since the Walker family name couldn’t be dragged through the court, Grandfather agreed with one condition: I’d spend all my weekends with him, learning manners I’d probably be lacking living with them.
His exact words.
Thankfully, Dad lived in New York, so at least I didn’t have to change schools. He introduced me to his family, his wife Martina, who is a beautiful woman in her forties with absolutely flawless skin that various diamonds highlight. She welcomed me with open arms, stating I could call her Mom if I wanted to.
I’ve never wanted to.
But the biggest surprise was my little sister, Lucy, who was two years younger than me and shockingly jumped into my arms. She was so excited for us to be together and at first demanded we a share room. When I politely refused, she bawled her eyes out and her parents started to persuade me.
