by Mason, V. F.
As the reminder of the old guy who usually helps me with everything and always laughs at stupid sitcoms comes to mind, guilt sinks into me. He is one of three people who have always been kind to me.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He puts his hand on my shoulder and shakes me a little so that my stare meets his. “I understand, more than you can imagine.” I frown at this, but he continues, “You stepped on this path, and I can’t stop it. Killing is now in your blood.”
It’s true. Just to imagine bringing someone unbearable pain, causing them to scream in agony, sends such a thrill through me that I’m almost dizzy from it.
“So I’m going to show you how to do it right.”
Wait, what?
And that’s the day I step on the path of finding my signature, all while enjoying life to the fullest.
Until an unexpected guest arrives in my life.
Giselle
The elevator dzings loudly as the doors slide open. I walk inside Callum’s penthouse, slipping off my heels and stepping on the cold marble that freezes the skin of my bare feet. “Stupid AC,” I mutter, adjusting the temperature, and then look around at his place with different points of view.
Where would Callum hide his trophies?
I don’t have much time to think; he called on my way here and ordered Henderson to go back once he dropped me off. So, roughly, it gives me thirty minutes to find evidence and get the hell out of here.
Preferably to the police department so they can catch him.
According to my research, serial killers like to have them close, or close-ish, so they are able to look at them whenever the need strikes. Only when the high of the latest kill vanishes do they start searching for another victim.
But as I gaze around his kitchen and living room, which barely has any furniture, I dismiss the idea he could have them in plain sight. He had to play a role with me, and I was a regular visitor at his place all this time.
I run to his room, opening the closet, finding nothing but clothes. I move my attention to various cabinets, but nothing is there.
Bathroom and guest room bring me the same results. Everything is so… normal.
“His office,” I murmur as I rush there, finding it oddly buzzing with energy.
The aquarium casts a dim blue light, giving it a gloomy vibe while everything around is neatly placed. Two leather chairs, a shelf with various books on ancient history, and a desk.
Walking around it, I search for any kind of useful information in the several folders lying about but find none.
Business contacts, budget sheets on his clubs, and different checks to mail.
“Unbelievable.” Running my fingers through my hair, I hurriedly search for any other spot he could be hiding it, but come up blank.
Does he have another place where he collects all those things?
Then, a memory from one of our nights together flashes in my mind.
“It’s heaven on earth,” I whisper, twirling on the roof.
“I think so too. There is nothing better than gazing from the rooftop at this world.” He waits a beat before adding, “With all your tokens by your side.”
Gasping, I rush to the terrace, pushing the door open, and the harsh breeze hits me in the face, stealing my breath for a moment. Breathing through my nose, I walk toward the gazebo area where we first made love. I cover my mouth with my palm when I notice several silver cans that I thought where there for decoration.
With my heart beating rapidly, I reach for one of them and dangle it in my hand, rattling it a little and hearing a small sound. What will I find once I open it?
A chopped finger, eye, or any other body part? Internet showed the wildest of selections, each making me puke harder in the bathroom.
“Open it.” I hear the deep voice from behind me and still. “I’m sure you’re curious.” How did he get here so soon? Henderson wouldn’t have had time to go from here and back. As if reading my mind, he adds, “I came by myself.”
“Calling Henderson was a decoy,” I say, spinning around to face him, and he leans on the railing of the balcony. “Couldn’t resist the idea of you playing detective here.” He motions with his hand. “Come on. Open.”
“Do you think I won’t?” I might act like a compliant kitten around him, but I’m not afraid to find evidence.
Maybe because I need it to silence the part inside me that screams to understand and love him despite all his bad deeds.
Holding his gaze, I snatch the lid open and glance inside, only to find several rocks and nothing else. My brows furrow, and I look up at him.
“Not what you expected?”
“You knew I would come,” I whisper, ready to scream in frustration and then throw away the can. “That’s why you came to watch.”
“Well, I do recognize rebellion when I see it.” He shrugs off his jacket, putting it on the banister, and walks toward me as I take a step back, moving in the direction of the doors. “And for the record, I’m not into collecting trophies.”
Even though his face is relaxed, I can sense the danger skirting around him, fury washing over him while his eyes send daggers toward me like I betrayed him.
Like I failed him.
Which is laughable in itself, considering our circumstances. “Sorry to disappoint if you expected me to submit to your will.”
“Oh, I’m not disappointed,” he murmurs, still coming toward me while I step inside the penthouse, breathing heavily, my eyes on him while he watches my every move. “I’m proud. A little hurt though.”
“Hurt?” All I need is to reach the elevator and go down; he wouldn’t harm me right before the wedding, right?
“I thought your love meant loyalty.”
Hysterical laughter escapes me, and I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I swing at him, slapping his cheek so harshly my hand burns while he stays unmoving, a scowl crossing his face. “Do not throw my love in my face ever again.” I slap him again, anger bristling through me, seeking vengeance for what he has put me through. For the pain he has inflicted with his actions. “You have no right to act like the hurt party.” I raise my hand again, but this time he catches my palm, twisting my arm behind me and pulling me flush against him, his lips inches away from mine. “Don’t you dare.” I’m not sure what I’m warning him from; I just know I have to do it.
“You want evidence so much?” He searches for something on my face but doesn’t find it, as he continues, “Something that will end this?”
“Once and for all, yes.” What’s the point of hiding the truth now?
“That’s easy.” He pushes me away, and I stumble back, grabbing the back of the couch in time as he picks up the remote from the table and presses a button, the TV opposite us turning on and filling the room with loud screams. “Here is a video of Dan.” He fast-forwards it a bit and my eyes widen when it shows how Callum cuts his genitals. “You see, Dan loves to rape boys. He even has a social community for the orphans. Giving his love and all.” He clicks, and another video pops up, this time with a guy shouting for help while Callum holds an electric drill. “This is Maurice. He has a bit more kink. He chains kids before cutting them. Only then does he rape them.”
“Stop,” I say, covering my ears, unable to listen to more.
He clacks with his tongue, switching it off. “I thought you wanted evidence. Anyway, invite the cops and show it to them,” he says without a care in the world. “If you agree with what they do.”
“There is law for that. A killing—”
“Is still a killing. No excuses there. But the law doesn’t do shit.” He motions with his head in the direction of the TV. “Not with their influence anyway.”
I sink to my knees, still covering my ears while the buzzing in my head intensifies with all the information dumped on me.
So he kills only men who do bad deeds? Does it change anything though?
But then another thought strikes me, and my gaze travels up, meeting his. He lifts his brow.
“Is this what was done to you?” That’s his childhood trauma, the one he refused to speak about on the island? “You’re taking revenge.”
He rubs his chin with the remote. “Revenge is too strong a word for that. More like eliminating pathetic human beings.” He hunches in front of me, so we are face-to-face. “But to be clear, I don’t kill only those who rape. I kill those who help them too.” He extends his hands, splaying them open. “There is so much blood, Giselle. I’ll never be able to wipe it away. Nor do I want to.”
Callum gets up, and I fist his pants, wanting his attention on me. “Your family is like that?” The whole wedding charade. Was it for their benefit? Do they operate this kind of ring?
He laughs. “Hardly. I mean, they are assholes, but not like that.”
“Then why are you doing this to me?” I scream, jumping up, allowing tears to fall. “Why are you torturing me? Why?”
His face goes blank, and he looks to the side, not wanting to give me the truth I so desperately seek.
But enough of running away for both of us.
“You don’t love me,” I say, tearing those words from my throat, and he stays silent. Which gives me an answer on its own. “So why go to all those lengths?” I can’t even concentrate on his darkness. “Tell me!” I scream, and he finally speaks up, his voice low.
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Why I’m doing this is no concern of yours.”
“Screw you, Callum.” I twirl around, needing to get away from here, far away from the pain that surrounds me whenever I see him.
I don’t even care about the evidence anymore; the plan was stupid from the very beginning. With his influence and money, who will believe me anyway?
I’ve been a pawn on this chessboard and stayed one with no way out.
All my detective work only bruised my heart more.
Before I can go far though, he grabs my hand, halting my movement and pressing himself against my back, his raspy breath filling my ear.
“Let go of me,” I grit through my clenched teeth.
“I was raped the first time when I was five years old,” he confesses, and I freeze in his arms, too afraid to breathe. “I barely remember anything besides the pain and smell of alcohol that always surrounded those fuckers.”
I feel like someone squeezes my heart it hurts so much to listen to. “Mommy dearest used to say that’s how I earned my keep. I didn't know life could be different. A never-ending nightmare all the fucking time. Then she sold me and the guy kidnapped me into human trafficking. Another set of horrible years.” Horrified gasps escape me, but he only tightens his arms around me, not allowing me to turn around to face him. “People like that do not deserve your pity.”
“But you’re a murderer,” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes from everything he described, from the nightmare he lived. “Your hands are soaked with blood. Their blood.”
“And because of that, I can sleep at night.” Nothing but indifference coats his tone, as if finding anything wrong about his life or his trauma is an anomaly.
I’m not sure what to do with this information, or my heart that weeps for the boy he once was, whose mom was so cruel to him, the person who was supposed to love him unconditionally… who fed him to the wolves instead.
Although comparing such beautiful animals to those scumbags is an insult.
The part of me that loves him wants nothing but to wrap my arms around him and smooth all those dark edges inside him. To listen to every detail of his past, even when it hurts me so much.
His body still holds all those scars that share his tragic history, like a painting on a canvas.
I long to trace and kiss them all again, but this time knowing the full truth.
And then there is the other part, my rational part that screams inside my head about justice and the right way. How killing those bastards doesn't erase the fact that he is a cold-blooded murderer who blackmailed me into marriage.
Who threatens the lives of my loved ones.
A man who can torture people for hours with no remorse in sight.
Does the truth change or erase his sins?
A lot of people experience horrible things, but they come out stronger than ever from it, learning to live anew, like phoenixes that rise from ashes.
Callum though is stuck in his nightmares, reliving them over and over again with each of his victims, punishing them for the injustice done to him all those years ago. And based on my extensive research this past week, it only happens when the person didn't get to punish the main abuser.
As in, he never got the chance to bring pain to the person who initially put him in this hell.
Sometimes, those people are not even alive, but I remember the last empty spot on his blackboard. I thought it was me, but no.
The spot is reserved for the person who caused all this.
He is a man who is ruled by his past, and he has yet to catch his final victim.
Sighing, I turn around in his arms and place my palms on his chest, gazing into his brown pools that burn with so many emotions I can’t catch them all.
I can’t live in a state of war inside me, so I ask a question that will settle my choice once and for all. “This is not the whole truth, is it? There is something else. In order to accept this… tell me why you’re marrying me.” If he gives me enough of an explanation… a glimpse into his heart, into his motives, then maybe I will be able to accept this darkness and let him move on from it once and for all.
I won’t ever care if it makes me weak or pathetic; I will shovel my morals down my throat and bury them deep so they never disturb my life with him.
There is agony for a second in his gaze, but it’s quickly replaced with ice, and his voice is nothing but cold when he replies, “My motives will stay my own. You’ll know after the wedding.”
I close my eyes at his harsh words that forever destroy us.
He made the choice for me.
“Giselle,” he whispers, resting his forehead on mine, and several tears slide down my cheeks at the sound of his voice that, despite his attitude, begs me to trust him.
But how can I?
However, I do owe myself one last goodbye, my last gift to the man who went to hell and back and who doesn't know what love means.
One more time, for him and myself, I’ll give us a connection, an experience that could have been ours all along had he trusted me instead of hunted me.
And then I’ll forever close my heart to him, throwing the key far, far away so he’ll never get access to it again.
Palming his face, I rise on my tiptoes and blindly find his mouth, kissing him willingly for the first time in ages.
One last time.
Callum
I expect tears and hits, but instead her plump lips press against mine, softly opening them up, and then her velvet tongue slips inside, inspiring a reaction from me.
Fisting her hair, I bring her closer and capture her mouth in a passionate kiss that blocks away the present and focuses only on her.
Even if the voice inside my head screams for me to stop and examine her behavior, I can’t resist having her in my arms.
She moans into our kiss, her head tilting back, and her hands circle my neck as she rises higher to deepen it.
I pick her up, and her legs wrap around my waist while she still kisses me, as if she’s afraid that once she stops, all this stops.
Like I could ever refuse her anything.
Tearing her mouth away from mine, she gasps for breath and our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before she bites on my chin, licks it, and then travels down to my Adam’s apple, sucking on it gently while her fingers lace in my hair, tugging on it harshly.
But her clear blue eyes filled with nothing but… finality snap me out of this nirvana. “Giselle, I don’t think we should—” My voice is raspy from the desire rearing its head inside me and demanding to take my woman to my bed and fuck her raw so she’ll never run away from me.
Or forget
who she belongs to.
For the first time, though, I try to rein it in and focus on her.
She leans back and whispers against my lips, “I want you. Will you deny me this?” There is a weird tone to her voice. Her lips tremble slightly, and with an internal curse, I lock us in another kiss, our teeth clacking against each other before we settle in a deep rhythm that sends shots of pleasure through me, my hard dick standing at attention.
All while we share addictive kisses and her body rubs against mine, I walk toward my room where I drop her on the bed. She lands with a bounce and removes her wild hair from her face, throwing it over her shoulder while she scans me from head to toe.
I start to unbutton my shirt, swallowing hard when she sits up on her knees and grabs her dress to take it off, leaving her only in black lingerie.
My woman is nothing but a goddess, a true Persephone that graced the underworld of Hades with her beauty. From her full breasts to her porcelain skin and those fucking eyes that are filled with need and passion.
Giselle crooks her finger at me and my brows rise.
“In the mood for playing?” I ask.
She shakes her head and something flashes in her face, but it passes so quickly I can’t catch it. She crooks her finger again and I follow, placing my knees on the bed, and the mattress dips under me.
Placing her palms on my chest, she finds the buttons and finishes opening them up one by one and then pushes the shirt from my shoulders, the heat of her skin gliding against mine.
Fuck.
Her touch was always the softest I’ve ever known.
Then she works on the buckle of my belt and the zipper of my pants, the sound echoing in the silent space before she slides them down along with my boxers, my dick springing out. I stand and step out of them, kicking them to the side. I return to the bed, eager to cover her body, but she scoots a little to the side.
“Lie down,” she says, pleading with her eyes for me to comply with her request.
That’s a first for both of us, since she never calls the shots, preferring to succumb to my desires and ideas.
