by Loretta Lost
Carmen Winters is my Mona Lisa.
It’s a shame that it took so much coaxing for her to realize that she belonged to me, but finally, she is here with me now. They always say that nothing worth having is easy to obtain, and Carmen is proof of that. I gently reach out and brush the tips of my fingers against the skin of her arm. It’s soft and warm to the touch and I feel a shudder coursing through my body.
I just can’t help myself. I stand up from where I sit and lean down, breathing in her feminine scent. She begins to move in her sleep, and I hope that she will awaken. At the same time, she certainly is more cooperative while asleep. I wonder if I should get the chloroform to keep her that way; do I prefer her asleep or awake? I suppose if I had just wanted a doll, I could have taken her at any time. No. I want her to be awake so I can see the fire in her eyes. Flames that burn hotter than anything I could ever ignite. Hotter than the house I burned down to kill her father and get her attention.
What a fool you were, Grayson. Chasing the skirts of a dead woman’s ghost. You always did think small. That’s why you needed me. You needed me to take you to the top—but once I brought you there, you ruined it. Just like everything else you touched. Now I will take everything I worked so hard to give you, my friend. You never deserved it in the first place.
I lean forward and press my lips against the soft skin of her neck. The scent is stronger here and it fills my body with arousal. I have tried everything to get this woman out of my head, but nothing can stop the passion she brings out in me. It’s a passion that I’ve never felt before and I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t go away.
My tongue runs over the raised skin where my knife scratched her. I can still taste the metal of my blade there and it causes my body to shudder. I pull myself away from her quickly, forcing myself to calm down. I must be patient. I want her to be awake and happy to see me. Taking her now would be boring, like masturbating with a hunk of dead silicone only shaped like a woman. No. I want to feel her writhing under my body as I thrust myself into her. I want to hear her scream.
I turn away from her perfection and stare at the walls of the room. The soothing colors quench the fire burning in my body. As long as I do not stare at Carmen, I can control myself. She is like a drug that I must be careful with, for she is more addicting than anything I’ve ever smuggled or sold.
I’m glad Grayson is dead. This woman deserves to have someone worshiping her, not using her as a gateway. The thought causes anger to build within my veins. I could never stand to watch my friend treat Carmen so miserably. The way he longed after someone else while sharing his bed with her? Then, the ultimate desecration. He had the nerve to impregnate her, the same way he did with the first Helen, so long ago. The mere thought of Carmen’s beautiful body bearing the spawn of that worthless man makes my skin crawl.
Grayson was an animal. He vandalized Carmen’s beauty, and left her ruined.
But I have saved her. I will make her pure again. There was no way I could let him ruin her life the way he ruined Helen’s. I saved her from the curse he so carelessly inflicted on her and will continue to protect her.
My woman of strawberries and ash will be safe forever. I turn around one last time to gaze upon her beauty, allowing myself one final taste of her inebriating sight. Yes. She is mine now. Mine for good. I wonder if she’d enjoy crepes for breakfast. I could really go for some crepes right about now.
Chapter Sixteen
Carmen Winters
I wake up to the feeling of metal digging into my wrists. And the smell of crepes.
The feeling is bizarre, but when I open my eyes, it all makes sense. I’m wearing a white dress, and shackled to a bed as Brad sits a few feet away, holding an appetizing tray of breakfast food.
At least it would be appetizing, if not for the other elements of the situation.
“Hello, my sweet,” Brad murmurs to me, placing the tray aside and moving closer. He pulls a single pristine, blue rose off the breakfast tray and places it near to my face. “I got you a present. It’s your favorite kind, right?”
I turn my face away and shut my eyes. “Not anymore.”
Tears prick the back of my eyes as I think of Owen. He seems so far away. I wonder if he’s even noticed that I’m gone. I still remember the bouquet of blue roses that he gave to me when I was in the hospital. I doubt that I will ever see him again, and that thought kills me a little inside. He was only just starting to seep through the cracks of my broken heart, like a powerful brand of superglue with just enough strength to hold it together.
Everything really was coming together, before this.
“Why don’t you like the rose?” Brad asks angrily. “It’s your favorite! Take it!”
He reaches up to one of my shackled wrists and presses the thorny stem against my palm. I cry out in pain as it cuts me, causing blood to run between my fingers.
“See what you made me do?” Brad asks harshly. “It would be easier if you just behaved. I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”
He’s right, Grayson says softly. Give him what he needs, Carmen. Behave the way he wants you to behave. Be the perfect woman. Rip his fucking heart out.
When Brad slides closer to me. I shudder and pull away. I can feel the heat of his body against mine as he slides his arms around me. He is close; far too close for comfort. I try to move, but the shackles limit my range of motion. Trembling slightly, I realize that it’s going to be more difficult to hurt him than I previously thought. It’s nearly impossible. If only I could somehow get my hands free, I would feel a lot more positive about this very negative situation.
“Brad,” I whisper hoarsely, and I am shocked by the feeling of his lips pressed against mine hungrily.
“Carmen,” he says softly. “Do you know what day it is? It’s the day after our wedding. You slept through our wedding night. I think you owe me a bit of romancing. It is our honeymoon, after all.”
His words cause me to stiffen. Due to the way I am tied up, I will not be able to do anything to defend myself. Swallowing, I realize that there is no way I can stop this. He’s won. My throat is dry, and my body aches. What does it even matter if he hurts me again? He can hurt me as much as he likes. It doesn’t matter anymore. I have failed.
You haven’t failed, Carmen, Grayson whispers to me. He hasn’t won. Just be kind to him. Just go with it. You can still gain the upper hand. The moment is near. You’re so close to freedom.
Freedom. I wonder if I will ever have that again. Will Brad just keep me tied up to this bed forever? We must be way out in the boonies, somewhere in the middle of nowhere—I could be missing for years. For the rest of my life. He could just leave here and let me starve. It seems like he’s paying the priest, harpist, and maids enough to keep quiet. Who knows how many others are part of this? If I try to escape, are there people guarding the outside of the chapel?
Just be kind to him. Seduce him, Grayson advises me. It will be easier than you think.
My mind drifts back to Owen. Am I ever going to see him again? If there is even a slim chance to escape, should I try to take it? Or should I stay and focus on punishing Brad? I haven’t made much progress so far. If only I’d gotten another swing with that candlestick… Should I give up and try to save my own skin? But if I get away safely, won’t Brad continue to harm others? Is it really my responsibility to stop him?
If I had a choice between hurting Brad and loving Owen, which would I choose?
The answer is easy. I know that even if I escape, I’ll never have peace knowing that Brad is still out there. I take a shuddering breath as I try to calm my nerves. “Brad,” I whisper again, and I can feel his body close to mine. I lift my hips to move against him, and get his attention. “Can you please untie my hands? I promise I won’t try to hurt you again. I’m so sorry. I just want to hold you.”
He runs his fingers over my chest slowly. “You look so virginal in white, Carmen. It’s like no one ever soiled your body with a baby. Grayson
never ruined you. You’re perfect now.”
My eyes open wide in astonishment at his words, and my heart clenches in horror. Soiled?! What the hell is wrong with this man? What does he even mean? My mind races in trying to make sense of the disturbing words.
Stay focused, Carmen, Grayson tells me firmly. Don’t let his madness distract you. Focus on your goal. Get those handcuffs off!
“Please,” I say to Brad again, trying to give him a tender look. “My wrists are hurting. Will you set me free? I don’t want to spend our honeymoon in chains.”
Brad hesitates. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. First you disappeared for days, god-knows-where with that little piece of shit. Next, you assault me with a candlestick! Maybe you should spend our whole honeymoon tied up to this bed.”
“Shhh,” I say soothingly, trying to conceal the frantic beating of my heart. “I made a mistake, Brad. I never meant to hurt you by leaving. I was just really scared after what happened the last time we met, and I needed a little space. You hurt me, too, you know.”
Brad lowers his chin. “I know. I’m sorry. I was a little too rough with you, wasn’t I?”
I swallow down a lump of bile as I try to move my legs against Brad’s in a comforting way. “Yes. But I forgive you, honey. Just undo my handcuffs, please. Let me go free.”
Brad stares at me hesitantly for a moment, before reaching into his pocket to find the key. I stare at him in disbelief. Is he really going to let me go free? It’s almost too easy.
“I’ll undo one wrist,” Brad bargains. “Just so you can be a bit more comfortable while I make love to you.”
“Okay,” I say with a shiver of dread. “Thank you.”
One hand is all you need, Grayson tells me. Use it wisely. Wait for the right moment.
I hold my breath and wait for Brad to free my wrist, and once I am liberated, I sigh in relief. I wrap my free arm around his neck and quickly press my body and lips against his to distract him with a sensuous kiss.
“Brad,” I whisper with fake longing. “I missed you so much.”
He moans in pleasure, and I can feel him getting hard against me. When his body begins to quiver with desire, I begin to feel powerful. Can I really do this? Yes. I know that I can do this.
Not yet, Grayson tells me. Not yet.
Brad reaches down to slide the skirt of my wedding dress up over my thighs. He pushes his hands below it and drags off my underwear. Undoing his belt buckle, he moves up over top of me and positions himself between my legs. I immediately notice something strange:
Even though he was hard a moment ago, he has now grown soft.
My lungs empty themselves in a gust of relief. My drugs are still working on him. He’s incapable of having sex with me. He realizes this, and begins to try to pump his hand against his member to bring it back to life. I can tell he is growing frustrated and distracted.
Now, Grayson tells me. He’s so concerned with his own masculinity that he is vulnerable. Do it now.
Do what? I ask him frantically. What, Grayson, what do I do? I am not strong enough to kill him with my bare hands.
My husband’s voice rings clear in my mind: Then perhaps the maid left a gift for you under the pillow.
I suddenly feel the hard lump beneath my shoulder. How did I not notice it there before?
My heart skips a beat. Without thinking, I reach beneath myself and grab the gun.
I exhale.
Please. Please.
It happens so fast. I am barely able to position the gun in time before Brad notices what I’m doing. His pupils dilate.
“Carm—” he begins in surprise.
When he opens his mouth to say my name, I stuff the gun between his lips. The metal clangs against his teeth just before I pull the trigger.
The sound is deafening. The sight is worse.
I should have closed my eyes. I find my body flinching and recoiling and trying to curl up into a ball to get the thunderous ringing out of my ears. But Brad’s body has slumped against mine, and it is difficult to move. Dropping the gun, I lift my free hand to press against my aching skull.
Then it occurs to me.
Brad is dead.
I don’t even have to double check. No one could have survived that.
I killed him. I won.
I lie there limply for a moment in utter shock. I can’t believe it. I actually won. I’ve managed to avenge my husband. My unborn baby. And possibly my father.
Tears collect in my eyes as I turn and sob into the pillow. It’s over. It’s finally over.
My only regret is that it was so sudden and abrupt. It didn’t even take a second for him to die. I wish it could have taken longer. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening. I wish that I could have seen him suffer. I wish I could have gotten some kind of satisfaction or relief from this, but I didn’t have the energy to do anything other than to simply end it all.
Get up, Carmen, Grayson’s voice tells me. You have to get going now. Brad’s friends are going to come looking for him.
My eyes squint in thought. I’d forgotten about that. What’s going to happen to me now? I’m still handcuffed to the bed. It doesn’t matter. Even if they find and kill me, at least I’ve accomplished my mission.
I am a bit startled when the timid young maid rushes into the room. She immediately moves to Brad’s body, and begins searching for the key to the handcuffs. Upon finding them, she liberates my other wrist. I rub my tender skin gratefully as I look at her in surprise.
“Thank you, Katia,” I whisper.
“We go,” she says frantically, looking to the door. “Now.”
It takes both of our strength to shove Brad’s dead weight off my body. She struggles with his legs and hips while I move his upper body. When he rolls off me, I see that my white wedding dress has been stained with his blood. I finally feel a bit of satisfaction, knowing that gorgeous gown Brad chose for me has been ruined forever.
A small smile comes to my face as I think about the silly blog entry that I fantasized about earlier.
I hope that I will get a chance to tell Owen about it. I think it would make him laugh.
This is the thought that keeps me going when Katia grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the room. I have a chance. I have a chance to see Owen again. We run as fast as we can, exiting to the back of the cathedral. The bright sunlight hits my face, and I am confused about my location. The design of the church is unusual, and there is gold plating on the bulb-shaped tower. I don’t remember having seen this church anywhere around New York City, but then again, I might not know every corner of the city. We might be in upstate New York, or some other semi-rural location.
I don’t have time to figure it out as Katia runs toward the vehicles. She pushes a car key toward me.
“Drive!” she begs me. “I not drive. Please! Fast!”
Nodding, I move toward the vehicles and look for the one that opens with the key. Maybe it’s the recent traumatic events, but I don’t recognize the symbol on the key. Actually—come to think of it—I don’t even recognize the makes and models of some of these cars. Looking around at the parking lot in horror, something suddenly occurs to me.
The license plates.
They’re all European.
“Oh my god,” I whisper in disbelief. “Oh my god.”
Turning back to look at the cathedral, it all clicks into place. It’s a Russian Orthodox church. We’re not only far away from New York City; we’re far away from the entire United States of America.
I am shocked into speechlessness, and it takes me a few seconds before I can hear Katia calling to me and pointing to a car.
“Drive!” she begs. “Please!”
A gunshot alerts me to the fact that men are exiting the church, and I quickly run after her, toward the vehicle. I press the button to unlock the doors, and I climb inside. Slamming the key into the ignition, I drive away as fast as I can, and the gunshots echo after us.
“Fast,�
�� Katia says in warning. “Go very fast.”
“I will,” I assure her. “As fast as I can. Can you tell me where the hell we’re going?”
“There,” she says, pointing to the tall buildings of a city in the distance. “Kiev.”
“Kiev?” I ask anxiously.
“Ukraine,” she explains. “American Embassy. You go home.”
Chapter Seventeen
Dr. Owen Phillips
I have been staring down at words printed on a blank sheet of paper for several minutes, but I haven’t read a single thing. The black ink is blurring together in my vision as my mind drifts to other subjects. I can’t seem to focus. The sound of the TV drones on in the background, along with Caroline’s voice. She has been making phone calls all day to caterers and photographers, trying to coordinate them all on the day that we booked our venue. Since we’ve returned from our trip, every spare moment that I haven’t been slaving away at work, or shopping for my new car, has been spent absorbed in the details of wedding planning.
I’m exhausted.
“Owen!” Caroline exclaims. “Owen, are you listening to me?”
“What?” I say in surprise, turning to look at her. Was she talking to me for long? I haven’t heard a single word.
“I was just asking if you finished sending the save-the-dates.”
“Oh,” I say with guilt. That’s right. That’s what I was doing. “I was just double-checking the guest list first, to see if we really want to invite all of these people. Like this guy, Michael, from my work? I’m not so sure about him. He’s a competent doctor, but he likes to get really, really wasted on the weekends. He would probably end up drinking all our booze and vomiting all over your bridesmaids.”
