Wishing Well

by Lily White

  Vincent had created a storm, and like Penny, Meadow was caught in its violence, in its hopelessness, in its drenching rains. Despite the secrets she had yet to uncover, the weapons she planned to use against a man who was tearing her heart in two, Meadow couldn’t help but understand that, in this game, there were no winners or losers. “You never told her it was Maurice that night of the ball. She never knew.”

  Eyes searching her face, his expression was blank, unreadable. “How do you know?”

  Daring to lock eyes with Vincent, Meadow curled her fingers into her palm, her nails cutting half-moon circles into the skin, just barely drawing blood. She needed the physical pain to divest herself of the emotions that gripped her in a sadistic hold. How can emotions make you hurt everywhere? How can they choke the life out of you from inside? They were nothing but chemicals being dumped in your veins, but still they froze you faster than even the depraved stare of a man who knew he held you in place. Penny had blamed herself at times for the torment she’d endured, and like Penny, Meadow blamed herself now.

  “She never wrote it in the diary. I have to assume it was because she didn’t know.” Bitter laughter fell from her lips. “Maybe if she had, she would have left that damn hotel. Would have realized that she’d become the sole focus of a monster you so expertly created.”

  It was Vincent’s turn to flinch. Maurice was the only weakness in his armor, the only regret he carried. Meadow could see, plain as day, how true Vincent’s love was for his brother. And now that the weak spot had been exposed, Meadow reached in with greedy fingers to rip out the heart of a bastard who’d enjoyed destroying the lives of others.

  Canting her head, much like Vincent would do when he knew he had you cornered, Meadow grinned. “What’s wrong, Vincent? Does it hurt to know what you did to Maurice? How you tortured him and made him worse by keeping him separate from the world? By keeping him caged?” Vincent simply smiled back, but Meadow knew she’d sunk the blade deep, and she wanted to twist it around and around and around until this son of a bitch was screaming.

  “You created a monster. You took a person who could have succeeded despite his problems, and you only managed to make them worse.” Tsking, Meadow admired the razored edge to Vincent’s grin. For fucking once she had him cornered.

  But it wouldn’t be the last time, and for that reason alone she would continue this fight. For Penny. For her twin sister. For every person Vincent had hurt and destroyed.

  “We’re not here to talk about Maurice,” Vincent answered, his voice calm, assured, so practiced that Meadow knew he was fighting to keep it controlled. There was no humor touching his tone, no satisfaction now that it was his destruction of Maurice that came into focus.

  After Penny’s death, and after receiving the diary that had been left in Vincent’s wake, Meadow had locked on to the task of finding the mysterious brother kept in a basement cage.

  Refusing to drop the subject, Meadow commented, “Actually I think we are here to talk about Maurice. He was another one of your victims. You may not have been the one to kill him, but you were certainly the cause.” Pausing, she enjoyed seeing pain flash behind his green eyes. “And let’s not forget what you did to Penny. Tossing her to him like a scrap of meat.” Leaning forward, she lowered her voice, “Did you watch?”

  Taking the bait, Vincent leaned forward as well, his lips only inches from her own. She would have felt frightened if not for his chains.

  His voice was equally as soft. “You’re skipping ahead again. And just as we were getting to the true tests of Penelope’s strength.”

  Rolling her eyes, Meadow sat back in her chair. Vincent would give her nothing, his mask back in place, his eagerness to gloat apparent. She wouldn’t give him that chance. Sure, he would enjoy knowing exactly how Penny had felt during the next week of their games, but she wouldn’t let him brag. And when she was done filling him in on this small portion of the story, this heart-wrenching perspective, she would enjoy seeing his smile falter when she drove the knife into his chest deeper with things she knew but he didn’t.

  Vincent may have had his secrets, but so did Penny. So did Meadow.

  “I know this is the point in the story where you finally have sex with Penny. And I know you’ve been chomping at the bit to tell me all the sordid details of what you did to her in the privacy of your suite. How she liked it. How she asked for more. How you eventually tossed her away once you’d grown tired of your games, only to drag her back for more of your intimate training . You’ve been hinting to it during this entire interview.”

  Relaxing against the back of his seat, Vincent asked, “And your point is?”

  “I won’t let you brag to me, Vincent. And while I know hearing about how you made Penny feel during the nights and days you trained her, used her, fucked her and, well, showed her just how well you could torment her, I’m going to take control at this point in the story to deliver Penny’s perspective. It might be eye opening.”

  Laughter, dark and sultry, rolled over his lips. “Chapeau , Meadow. It’s about time you wrestle me under control. I was beginning to think you are as weak as Penelope.”

  Stretching his legs out beneath the table, he rested the tip of his boot against Meadow’s shoe, except this time, Meadow refused to yank her foot away, refused to give him the slightest indication that he affected her. Vincent smiled knowingly, his shackles rattled.

  “Let’s begin, shall we? Or rather, I should say it’s time for you to begin. Please, Meadow, school me on all the horrible details that will make me rethink my evil ways. I’m quite curious as to what direction this is going.”

  “You know what they say about curiosity,” Meadow quipped.

  “Ah,” he answered, his voice slick, “but then Penelope also found that out, didn’t she?”

  Bastard. The fucking bastard. He was toying with her even now.

  Vengeful for the ease with which he smeared Penny’s fate into her face, Meadow struck out with a cheap blow. “Before I start, I’d like to take stock of all the players for this part of the story.”

  Vincent cocked a single brow, waiting.

  “Where is Maurice right now?”

  Meadow was desperate for the answer to that question. She had her suspicions, but she wanted Vincent to say it, to admit how he’d fucked up and left his brother to wither and rot, she wanted him to feel the same agony that she felt at that moment. She wanted confirmation that Maurice was dead.

  His jaw ticked once, fury and annoyance written into that subtle tell she didn’t think he realized he had. “Are we back to him again? I’m not sure why Maurice matters,” his grin stretched, “unless of course you’re just trying to upset me.” Exaggerated censure was the line of his brow. “Come now, Meadow, aren’t we more mature than that? I’d expect more from a woman who’s had time to prepare for facing me down. You came here to find out about Penny, and yet you’re taking cheap shots-“

  “Where is he?” She shrieked, interrupting him. “I want to know what happened to your brother.”

  His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Oh, I’m sure you do, but I won’t give you that information. Not now. Perhaps I can be convinced to tell you after you tell me Penelope’s version of events. Give me something to take to bed with me tonight, and I’ll give you what you’re after.”

  She sighed, knowing he’d issued his demand and wouldn’t budge until she’d given him what he wanted. “Fine. But after I tell you this, you tell me what happened to Maurice. Deal?”

  His tongue traced his bottom lip. “Deal.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Penny

  Sick to my stomach, I paced my room on the fifth floor, my nails bitten down to the tips of my fingers, my thoughts racing, my heart beating out a frenetic rhythm of self-loathing and warning.

  I knew better than to trust Vincent after what he’d done before, but despite all the questions screaming in my head, and all the haunting whispers, I still couldn’t shake the need I had to feel
alive again.

  I’d been crushed the night of the ball after having flown so high, had felt like I’d crash landed back to the ground when Vincent left without saying goodbye, but then to be dragged through the mud, to have my face shoved into the ugly truth that he didn’t give a damn about me, I’d sworn off every desire I had for the man, choosing to swear off my hopes there could be something .

  And yet, he’d returned and he’d found me at the exact moment I’d made a wish while tossing a penny to the bottom of a well. I may as well have tossed myself for as conveniently timed his arrival had been.

  It was as if fate had stepped in and shoved all my instincts away to take a seat, front and center, while flashing a sign saying ‘maybe’.

  Maybe is such a fucked up word.

  No matter how I tried to convince myself that I shouldn’t go up to Vincent’s suite, there was a small part of me lingering in that alcove where he’d dragged me, still melting from the way we’d kissed. It was that part that forced me to get dressed. That part that led me to carefully comb my hair and leave it loose down my back. That part that forced me out the door of my room, down the hall, inside the elevator. It was that part that hit the button marked six.

  Like Vincent had said, the elevator doors slid open revealing another set of dark wood doors, intricately carved until the pattern itself was enough to hypnotize. Those doors spoke of money, they spoke of masculine taste, they spoke of the man that would be waiting on the other side for a stupid little girl who hadn’t learned the first time that his interest was mercurial at best.

  My choice was to step forward or step back, choosing which side of the elevators doors to be on when they slid closed with a quiet, electronic hiss.

  I stepped forward and lifted my hand to knock on the dark wood door, my heart thudding within my chest. Vincent opened the door, his suit jacket missing, his cream colored shirt unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. “I’m glad you came,” he greeted me, the rolling lilt of his voice creating small tremors in my core.

  Mouth dry, heart pounding, I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully, he filled the awkward silence. “You should come in. Would you like a drink?”

  “I think so,” I muttered, following him on shaky legs. Although we’d spent time together after the ball, it hadn’t felt so professional - so planned. There was no telling what I was walking into now and why Vincent felt so cold.

  His suite was exactly how I’d envisioned it would be: opulent, elegant, as breathtaking as the man who owned it. A color scheme of dark red curtains and other accessories, rich brown leather and cream carpets and walls, he had fine art hung to accentuate the setting, and crystal and silver fixtures that glimmered beneath soft lighting. Bookshelves lined one wall while floor to ceiling windows lined another, and in the center of the room with lit candles glowing against its surface was a black, grand piano.

  “You think so?” he repeated, not waiting for my answer before crossing the room on his powerful swagger to start mixing drinks at a sidebar.

  “I don’t know what to expect,” I admitted, the honesty spilling out of me no matter how badly I wanted it to stop.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he cocked a brow. “I assume you’ve had sex before. Once already with me. The mechanics are pretty much the same, although the experience can be dramatically different.”

  “Maybe it’s the experience I’m worried about. Last time was...” My cheeks flushed red. “...it was memorable, but the ending left me hanging.”

  Turning with two drinks in hand, he pinned me in his stare as he approached. Handing one to me, he asked, “You didn’t get off?”

  “It was more about the abrupt exit,” I admitted.

  My cheeks flared brighter and I brought the glass to my lips not caring what the hell he’d poured in it. Vincent grinned to see I’d polished it off. Eyeing his glass, I asked, “Are you going to drink that?”

  He handed it over. “You may want to pace yourself. I can’t have you passing out during the best parts.” Correcting himself, he added, “Well, not from the alcohol anyway.”

  I chugged the glass down, the alcohol seeping quickly into my veins. Feeling a touch more relaxed, I licked my lips and asked, “So, how will all this work? Are you going to blindfold me like last time?”

  His green eyes flashed with some unspoken thought. Taking the glass from my hand, he was walking it back to the sidebar when he said, “Take off your clothes, Penelope.”

  What? Somehow the sentiment wasn’t as romantic as him ripping the clothes from body. When I’d been with him after the ball, it had been naked, raw, stifling heat. Now? It was distant, calculated, cold.

  Setting the glass on the bar, he glanced over, ice clattering within a new glass he was whipping up. “I wasn’t joking. If you’re here to learn what it’s like being my lover, I suggest you learn to follow directions. You won’t like the punishments I have to offer.”

  Punishment?! My eyes rounded. “You didn’t do this last time,” I stammered, accepting the drink from his hand after he’d crossed the room on smooth steps to stand in front of me.

  Taking a sip from his glass, he answered, “Last time was an introduction. Tonight is the real thing.”

  His smile was lascivious. “I warned you I’m a man with particular tastes. Don’t act so surprised.” Jutting his chin, he commanded, “Finish your drink, Penelope, and strip down. If you don’t like the terms of this arrangement, you know where you can find the door.”

  My first instinct was to toss the drink in his face and storm off. My second, however...

  I couldn’t forget how he’d made my body sing. Memories of it had kept me up every night for the past three weeks. This? This felt more like a business deal.

  Breathing out, I slammed the drink, placed the glass on a nearby table and looked over to see Vincent settling himself on the piano bench. His nimble fingers softy played over the keys while I made my decision as to what I would do.

  It wasn’t like I had to do this again if I didn’t like it. Maybe the raw heat I remembered would come back once my clothing was off and my body was bare. Slowly, I peeled off the clothes I’d carefully selected earlier, insecurity roaring through me as Vincent quietly played piano. The floating notes did nothing to ease my anxiety. He didn’t bother to look up until I’d walked over to stand at his side.

  Even then, it took him another minute or two to give me his attention, and when he did, his gaze slowly traveled up my body, starting from my toes and ending with my eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice soft, husky. “I hope you know that.”

  A rush of self-consciousness made me dizzy. I felt exposed. Studied. A lab rat waiting for the hot as hell scientist to poke me with one tortuous instrument or another. Ignoring the shiver coursing down my spine, I answered, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” His head tilted to the left. “Second door from the window. Enter the room, stand in front of the Saint Andrews Cross, and wait there until I come to you.”

  My heart skipped, then sputtered, jolting back to life with a ragged rhythm. “The what?”

  Lifting a hand, he caught my chin between his fingers and angled my face down to look at him. “The point to these exercises is to learn total submission. You must do as you’re told without question. You must accept pain. You must keep from screaming and crying unless I ask you to do so.” Pausing he let those thoughts sink in before: “You must trust me, Penelope, and know that you’ll thank me in the end.”

  “I’m scared,” I whispered.

  He was faced me fully and stood to his full height, his proximity reminding me just how small I was compared to him. It didn’t make me feel any better.

  However, his demeanor softened as he reached to cup my cheek with his palm, his thumb sweeping across my lips with a staggering gentleness I hadn’t expected from him. Warmth returned into a dynamic that, until that moment, had been devoid of feeling. “I know you’re scared. You should be scared
. And that’s not how I want you to feel. But in this, you have no idea how important it is that you trust me no matter what you’re feeling. I only have your best interests at heart. But you must submit, and you must obey.”

  Leaning down, he kissed me, the warmth of his lips causing my body to melt against him, the warmth of his hands carefully sliding up my sides, never touching my breasts, but stopping just below them. A pervasive need was a tidal wave crashing through me, memories of the first time we’d been together becoming liquid heat between my thighs.

  “Tu es ma seule chagrin,” he whispered pulling away from a kiss that left me breathless, the meaning of the words lost on me, but not the sad tone.

  “What did you say?”

  Eyes tracing down my body, he answered, “Trust me, Penelope. And do as I say. Go in the room and wait for me.”

  Wavering in my decision, scared by how strange it all was, I focused on the kiss, on the way my body felt when he touched me, on the release he’d given me the last time I trusted him to show me that he could make me melt. And for those reasons, despite how ridiculous they were, despite the logic inside me screaming to get dressed, get out, keep running as far from Wishing Well as I could, I put one foot in front of the other and obeyed him.

  Opening the door, I stood confused for a moment, because despite there being a bed, this was not what I’d expected of a bedroom.

  The carpets were a plush, thick black, the fibers soft against my feet as I stepped forward. On the right side of the room, a large bed was dressed in blood red silk sheets, small chains hanging above it on the wall, the silver metal glinting against the dark paint. At its base were ropes attached to the two tall posts, the loops at their ends casually lying over the mattress as if they’d been left in place following their last use.

  I wanted to run, but I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t, the leather bench on the left side of the room should have chased me off, especially the array of straps, whips and paddles that hung on the wall above it. Carefully creeping forward, I eyed the large wood and leather cross that was attached to the wall in front of me. Not really a cross as Vincent had called it, more of an X with cuffs attached at the top and bottom. Stepping up to it, I could smell the wood polish, the leather - I could imagine the helplessness one would feel when fastened to it, the absolute relinquishing of control.