by West, Sinden
“I’m hungry,” I muttered. “Let me finish up here and I’ll be down soon.”
“Sure.” She moved past me and through the shower door. I squeezed my eyes shut and stood under the spray. I knew that I stood in my shining, white tiled bathroom, but for some reason, back there in that hell hole of a house, everything seemed simpler. I was master and she was the slave. There was no power play or blurring of roles…
My eyes flew open. Yeah. Yeah there was. Rachel played me. That niggling realization was always there in the back of my mind. I couldn’t blame her. She was a survivor, but now…was she playing me now?
She’d started making coffee by the time I went downstairs. She wore a blue knit dress that hugged her figure. Her damp hair was half drawn back while the rest hung down her back. It had grown back quickly after the doctor had cut it to see what the damage was. It was flawless now, almost inhuman.
We didn’t speak as I began to work in the kitchen. With two freshly made cups of steaming liquid in front of her, she sat at a bar stool and watched me.
“What are you doing today?” She rarely asked me that and I never volunteered. It was better she didn’t know.
“I’m meeting with Antony. I probably won’t be back until late.”
She nodded. I didn’t know if she cared. She liked the house to herself; that I was sure of. Sometimes when I came home after dark, she’d be curled up in my bed and smiling as if content with everything. Those nights, I was tempted to shake her, to let her know that I was there, but I didn’t want to know what the reception would be: horror or welcoming. It was best not to know.
“I’m having lunch with Thomas.”
I had my back to her as she said that, and I paused only slightly in my movements. “I thought you weren’t having anything to do with those people anymore.”
“Thomas isn’t those people. He’s playing them to benefit himself. That’s all. He’s not the one taking advantage of the weak. They think that he’s the weak one…” she trailed off.
I snorted and twisted to face her. “You really fucking believe that?” I sneered. “That little fuckwit’s going to end up dead with those games they play. Whatever presents they buy him right now aren’t going to do him any good when it really matters.”
“Thomas is smart,” she said crisply.
“Yeah, well, you were fucking stupid until I rescued you. Where would you be now if not for me?” I turned back to the stove top. There was only silence from her and then she let out a laugh that was devoid of humor.
“Rescue me?” Her voice was quiet, as if barely controlled, and I waited. “Is that really what you think you were doing?”
“If not for me, Rachel, you’d probably be a drugged up little puppet, desperate for Nora’s attention and narcotics, and if you think any different, then you’re‒”
“Let me guess‒stupid?” she cut in.
“You said it.”
I heard her breathing. “I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going for a drive.” She had a car now that I’d bought for her. She had freedom. Maybe that was a mistake. I heard her scoop her keys up from the stone counter top.
“Make sure you set the alarm when you get back. There are bad people out there.” I didn’t bother to turn to look at her.
“Out there. In here. What does it matter?” she snapped. A few seconds later and she was gone.
I knew what I was supposed to do. I’d seen it on T.V. I was supposed to call out to her and apologize so she’d come back and then we’d fuck on the counter or something romantic like that. But she was being stupid. Thomas was trouble and Rachel wasn’t as smart as she thought she was. Thomas might need taking care of at some stage, but I’d hold off on that one for a while. He was her only friend.
I ate my breakfast alone and in peace before the text from Antony arrived. He wanted to get going. There was someone who needed taking care of and he had to be present. That always made him nervous but he was good at hiding it. No one else had any inkling of it but me, but no one watched him as carefully as I did either. It was always important to pay attention‒friends or enemies‒it was all the same. Never let your guard down. Not with these people. Not with anyone.
I picked him up. Before me, he liked to travel with an entourage of muscled fucks who liked their weapons. Who needed that? Too many witnesses and it made him look weak, like he couldn’t take care of business himself. Appearing weak was the worst mistake you could make in any situation. Any sign of weakness and people would take liberties. If word got out, Antony would cause no fear. He would be ineffective and a liability. Luca wouldn’t tolerate that, even in his brother.
So now he had me, and I was all that was needed ninety-nine percent of the time. I was known. People knew what I was. Word got out, but once my house was attacked, people began to assume that I’d lost my touch. Those people were now dead, and I was back on top.
A blonde was stepping out from the entrance way as I pulled into the driveway. She had messy sex hair and looked pissed at being kicked out. Antony’s driver stood by his car with the door open. She had served her purpose and was now being sent away. Antony appeared after her, pulling on his jacket. He didn’t even look at her as she paused before entering the car. When it was apparent that he wouldn’t be paying her any more attention, her face screwed up with anger and humiliation as she ducked her head down and stepped in.
That was why I stayed away from most women. Antony liked to wine and dine them and make them feel special before taking them to his bed and keeping them around while they kept him amused and didn’t interfere too much with his lifestyle. But once they became too clingy, too in love with him, he sent them away. He didn’t seem to understand or care that most women wanted to be loved, they wanted a partner.
Before Rachel, I screwed around and rarely let anyone into my world. Azalea, I had almost let in, but that was a mistake. Now I had Rachel, and there was still nothing normal.
Antony slid into the passenger seat. “Let’s get going. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” He took out his phone and gave it all of his attention. He was nervous and he’d been drinking. That was how he dealt with this shit. It didn’t matter though; he had me to take care of everything and direct it. He’d do what I said.
Chapter Three
Antony gave a grimace. It was barely perceptible. I doubted that anyone else would have noticed. It was just a slight twisting of a lip. I grinned, before I ploughed my boot into the side of the guy’s face again. Blood and teeth flew, and Antony manned up.
“I’m being fucking kind here. You have until 5pm tomorrow to make everything right.” He made his voice into the tough guy voice that he’d heard in the movies, or from his brother. The man cowered at our feet, nodding the best that he could with his mangled face.
Antony was making a mistake. He shouldn’t have been kind with this one. No doubt it would come back to bite him in the ass. But that was on him. I turned and headed for the car. I couldn’t help the limp that I was forced to walk with now, but I didn’t let the pain show. I was good at that.
A minute later, Antony joined me, slamming the door shut. “I didn’t expect that of him,” he said, almost to himself.
I started the engine. “Trust no one.”
“You want to get a drink at the restaurant?” he asked.
“Rachel’s expecting me.” She wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t care, but it was lie that I liked to believe. Plus, I wanted to bury myself deep in her warmth. I wanted to see her cum even when she hated that it was me.
“Come on. Just one drink,” he urged. I got it. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to be with someone like me who was worse than he was; so he could feel superior and not like a lost and dreadful soul.
“Sure.” I wasn’t sure why I agreed. I could have told myself that it was good to keep in with the family but the truth was, I didn’t find Antony’s company too offensive. We arrived as the staff were leaving for the night. Some of the women smiled at me, I didn’t bother to
smile back. Antony played bartender as I lifted myself up on the barstool, my hip aching. He slid the glass along the polished mahogany bar to me and I downed it immediately. It was good scotch, attacking my aches and soothing my bones, and he swiftly poured a refill. For himself, he chose wine. He liked the reds, just like Rachel.
“Why’d you let him live?” I asked him.
Antony caught my eye and gave me a small smile. “You think I’m weak?”
I stayed silent and he laughed. “You can say it. I won’t be offended.” He took a sip of his wine.
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m not your enemy. Luca won’t be pleased, but I guess that you don’t care about that.”
He shrugged. “I’m not my brother’s bitch.”
“Are you saying that I am?” I wasn’t offended.
His eyes slid to me. “I think you and my brother are alike, Aaron. That’s what I think.” He gave a slight laugh. “But I enjoy your company more than my brother’s.”
I couldn’t blame him. Luca had the reputation as a psychopath and I, well, I didn’t give a fuck what my reputation was. If you asked Rachel…well, it paid never to ask Rachel what she thought.
“That guy’s going to mistake your kindness for weakness.” I reached over and grabbed the bottle to help myself to a refill. The taste for it was in my DNA, but it wouldn’t be my downfall. What will that be, Aaron? Who will that be?
Antony shrugged. “I’ll deal with it when it happens.”
I stayed quiet. That was the difference between him and Luca. Luca would have problems taken care of before they occurred. There were no second chances with him and that ruthlessness had given him his power. It had given me power as well. More power and less risk. People at the top like him undoubtedly always fell, by the hand of enemies or police. But people like me, we got to make as much money as possible and then disappear. Criminals with as much status as Luca never got to disappear; someone would always hunt them, whether it be a do-gooder politician or some young asshole who wanted the status of killing him. No one would ever look for me. There was no family, no friends…only Rachel. She had been taken before and I had hunted him down. The foolishness of my actions made me cringe. I had done more and more stupid things since I’d met her. My mind flicked back to the diary and of my uncle’s words. He’d described her as a vicious and master manipulator. His crazy mind thought she was a demon, and my crazy dream…
Fuck. I was being stupid.
“I gotta go.” I slid from the bar stool and reached for my keys.
“Gotta keep Paige happy?”
“Rachel. Her name is Rachel.”
He frowned. “How did you two meet anyway? You knew her from before that whole thing with Nora, didn’t you?”
“I kidnapped her. Kept her locked up and beat her down until her mind was so fucked she didn’t know what was good for her anymore.”
Antony blinked then frowned.
I flashed him my best grin; the one that could seduce men and women alike, and his own face broke into a smile and he relaxed.
It wasn’t until I was back in the car that I noticed the blood on my shoe, shiny against the black leather. I grabbed a tissue from the console and wiped it clean before throwing it out the window. I hated mess, but sometimes it was necessary. That was stupid. It should never have gotten to that stage and part of me wanted to kill him just for having the gall to show any kind of defiance. It didn’t deserve any type of respect; the act was just stupid. It weighed on me; not the beating that I’d given him, he deserved that, but just how stupid he was. It annoyed me and irritated me, and I felt an anxiety run through me. I needed distraction. I needed Rachel. I floored it out of there and headed for home, ready to bury myself deep within her and fall asleep like that.
The house was dark when I got home and all alarms were set. She wasn’t home. Where the fuck was she? It was almost ten. I snatched up my phone impatiently, ready to call her, and then I remembered her anger this morning. Was this her throwing a fucking tantrum? I checked the tracker that I’d put on her phone and her car and let out a bitter laugh as the location appeared on my screen. She was at a fucking bar of all places.
I set the phone down and poured myself another drink instead, taking comfort in the dark of the living room.
It didn’t take long for my drunken mind to slide to memories of her. After, after I’d beaten her in the barn, and imprisoned her in her room, after I’d touched her and made her body cum…My hand shook as I poured another drink,
After I left her, a mess of confusion, naked and beaten and her mind well and truly fucked with, I went to the bedroom and sat on my bed. She hadn’t protested, just lain there as my lips glided over her skin and kissed her better. Why? Was it guilt or the desire to torment her even more? I wanted to taste her, this girl, to see what the hell was so mesmerizing about her. I wanted to taste the witchcraft, the demon inside her.
I had bit out a laugh at the crazy thought. All that brimstone and fire shit that had been drummed into my skull must have pierced through somehow, creating the stupid superstitions. I hadn’t believed my uncle for a second as he’d droned on in his diary about her bewitching him, well, maybe that was true in part. She was a pretty girl who knew how to seduce. But the demoness crap‒that was insane…yet appealing. Her black heart could match my own decayed one…
I laughed again. Insanity obviously ran in my family along with delusions. Almost involuntarily, I lifted my fingers to my lips to touch where I had kissed her. She had cum. Of that, there was no question. She must have been hating herself, right then, that her body had not done what her mind told it to.
Or had she? Another girl would have whimpered but she was silent. Maybe she didn’t care; maybe her mind could move from her body while unpleasantness occurred to her flesh…or more likely, she was just well practiced at having revolting men like me, like my uncle, touch her and use her, ruin her.
I had grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt suddenly and yanked it over my head. I needed a shower to wash her from me. I ran down the hall and then paused, right outside her door. My fingers twitched to undo the bolt and throw open the door and yank her from the bed to put her under the water so it rained down on her hard. I wanted to scrub her skin until it turned red and all trace of me had run from her.
I didn’t though. I stood there under the spray myself for a very long time, but the disgust never left.
So I waited in the dark, my mind lost in that farmhouse when it was just the two of us, instead of here, where everything was glass and transparent. And I drank, because what else would I do?
It was near midnight when she slipped inside. The buzz of the door, the alarm…it all made it impossible for anyone to hide in this house. Not that she was trying to. Her heels tapped against the tile as her silhouette slowly walked closer, black against the moonlight. Her movements were graceful and slow, and if she’d been drinking, it didn’t show. She stood a few feet away, silent as she watched me.
“Have fun?” I asked as I poured another drink.
“Yes. Did you ‘have fun’ doing whatever it is that you do?” Her voice was quiet and emotionless. Had she always sounded like that? Controlled and calm? Where was the fear and desperation? Where was the begging?
“Why, yes, Rachel. I had a lovely evening. Thank you for asking.”
I heard her suck in a breath and could almost hear the bitterness on her tongue before she said it. “Why make light of it? You do terrible things. How can you make a joke of it?” She sounded like she really wanted to know. Was she condemning me?
I moved swiftly. On my feet, arm outstretched to circle her wrist. She didn’t move away or gasp with surprise. Even in the darkness, I knew that her eyes were firmly on me, waiting.
“Those ‘terrible things’ pay for this,” I hissed. “They pay for this house and those clothes and that car and whatever money you just spent out tonight.”
“You sound like my mother.” Her voice sounded weary and I dropped her wri
st like it burned.
“I’m not whoring you out, am I?” I mumbled. “I’m not using you for anything.” I retreated back to my chair and my drink. “You’re here because…why are you here?” My words slurred. Shit. I was drunk. That realization didn’t stop me from taking another drink and keeping my eyes down and away from her.
“Because you want me to be,” she said softly, and I heard her take a step toward me.
I lifted my head up and found her watching me. Even in the dark, I could see her blonde hair hanging over her shoulder in a silky perfect line.
“What?” I turned away from her and finished my drink.
“You’re out of control,” she said softly, but there was an underlying hardness to that smoothness, just like there was to her pale and blonde form. Underneath, there was steel. It may have been decayed and rusted but there was still strength there.
“Shut up, Rachel.”
She sighed and turned.
“Stop.”
She froze.
“Your name. The one you chose. You never told me it.”
Slowly she turned to look at me, one eye hidden by her hair. “That’s because one day I may not want you to find me.”
I stayed silent, because I couldn’t speak. I was glad, so glad, that she couldn’t see me in the dark. I had a life time of learning to keep my face still and unrevealing, but right then I couldn’t be sure of that skill not betraying me.
She waited, not moving, but nothing came from me, and eventually, she turned in her heels and walked away toward the light of the staircase.
I poured another drink, and then another, until it was hard to move. As I ventured up the stairs, it was hard to get my feet to walk and find each step. It was like I was climbing a mountain but there would be no victory once I reached the top.
She was in bed, in my bed, with her back to the door. The covers had slipped down to reveal her nude back. I stood there staring at it; the bare, perfect skin tormenting me. It was so perfect and unmarked. She could just go where I couldn’t find her. She wore a disguise‒a beautiful disguise. She could hide anywhere and pretend to be anything. She did not have the hideous scars on her back like I did, spelling out to all who saw just what I was. My father had seen it, and tried to beat it out of me. Or did he put it in me in the first place? I couldn’t think. My mind was too thick and nothing made sense.
