by V. F. Mason
“Oh my God! That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, if she approves my design, I’ll be all over the magazines. It’ll open so many doors for me,” she squeals excitedly. “Her groom is a famous composer, so it’s a win-win.” An odd note rings in her words, especially on the groom part. “Anyhow, they’re both rich, gorgeous, and magnificent. The perfect pair.”
“I’m gonna talk to Santiago, and then—” Jimena snatches my phone away from me. I have a moment to blink in surprise as she somehow ended up next me, and she speaks into the phone loudly.
“Lenora? Hola! I’m Jimena Cortez. I was wondering if you are free tonight by any chance?” She glances at her watch. “We could meet at my brother’s club in two hours. How does that sound?”
“What?” I mouth, trying to get my phone back, but Jimena only slaps my hand away, while I’m mortified and slightly curious at her proposition.
Over the years, I’ve heard various rumors about their club and what people do there, especially the sexually provocative ones—including that one time a woman had a “fivesome” inside it and loved every single minute spent there.
Her exact words.
I don’t even know how she managed to have one. Where do you put all those dicks?
Lenora and I planned to visit it someday, but whenever we checked entry prices or requirements, we didn’t qualify for even one of them.
As eager as I was to visit in the past though… I have no desire to visit a place where my husband probably picked up his endless number of women.
Jimena’s brows furrow when Lenora explains something to her. “No worries about that. Just come to the club and tell them your name. I will inform security and Sam.” Who the hell is Sam? “Great. See you there.” She hangs up, drops the phone on my lap, and announces, “I’m going to get ready quickly, and we can go have fun.”
“I can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t go out without his permission.” The last sentence pains me to say it, and my insides despise it with my whole being; nevertheless, it stays true. “He makes the rules.”
Jimena snorts. “My brother was stupid enough to leave you here. Why should you suffer? We’ll have a good time, and you can see your friend.” Well, when she puts it like that…. “Besides, it will be hilarious to see his reaction.” She chuckles, and it sends uneasiness through me, although at the thought of his discomfort, I perk up, wanting to punish him a little for hightailing his ass out of here.
Or maybe just ruffle his feathers, even if I’m going to regret it later.
Santiago
Pushing through Octavius’s mansion’s main doors, I stroll directly toward the basement, which is located at the end of the hallway. My shoes thump soundly on the perfectly polished golden marble floor, which glistens under the harsh light brightening up the entire fucking place, because my friend cannot stand any darkness.
His butler, who has known us all since we were five years old and used to chase us around the fucked-up garden outside, stays hot on my heels, greeting me as we both stroll to my destination. “Mr. Cortez, how nice to finally see you again.”
“You too, Antonio.” I reach the metal door leading to the basement, quickly press the passcode, and it opens with a loud click as he continues to talk.
“Young master and the rest are already downstairs.”
“Good,” I reply right before slipping inside as the door shuts in his face, and then I grab one of the lanterns hanging on the wall. I flick it on and descend the brick stairs, the sound reverberating through the space as I hear faint echoes in the distance, a smile shaping my mouth as I recognize the whimpers.
Hopefully replacing my father’s words still blasting in my mind over and over again, even though I’ve done my best to block them out.
“When will it end, Santiago? When will my every single word stop being a red cloth to a bull that’s your rage?”
I barely restrained myself from shouting the answer, so maybe he’ll finally stop all this shit and give up already.
Nunca.
Never.
His remorse, his attempts to fix a broken thing, his desire to find the boy within me that no longer exists… it will never stop angering me, because my father forever destroyed us when he gave up his search for me.
Even though they claim they did all they could, I don’t believe it. With their resources, how couldn’t he fucking find me?
I can never forgive or forget it, so the relationship he seeks is impossible.
Why can’t he just fucking accept it so we can make the women in our life happy with those dinners that are nothing but suffering for us?
I might have lost a hero during my captivity, but my father lost his son.
And sometimes I hate him for it too.
I no longer feel he considers me his, and surprisingly that still has the ability to bring me pain, even though I thought the emotion was forever lost to me.
Briseis’s face flashes before my eyes, her lost and shocked expression plaguing my mind all the way here, and something akin to guilt slams into my chest for leaving her there alone, but not enough to drive back to hell on earth.
Because irrevocably, that’s what my childhood home became, a museum of my parents’ memories about the boy who no longer exists. But they desperately seek to bring him back to life.
Squeezing my fist, I bang it on the nearby wall and welcome the pain traveling through my arm and replacing the confusing emotions burning in my chest for the woman who I never should have touched in the first place, yet our fate connected us a long time ago, not asking our permission or willingness.
After all, she was brought into this world to become mine, and mine she’ll stay, no matter how much heartache it will cost her.
Louder whimpering penetrates through my thoughts, and I wipe away any images of my wife in my head. She cannot exist in the torture chambers, as she is my one bright spot in life. I store my feelings for her in a special place no one could ever find out about.
I finally reach Octavius’s torture room, the space so fucking white the color blinds me, and I cover my eyes with my arm, muttering, “Fuck.” And then quickly my vision adjusts, the white dots disappearing one by one only to open up the view on the sterile operating room with several machines buzzing around me, various surgical tables that hold all the necessary equipment.
There are two beds, around six harshly bright lamps, and different medications stored on several shelf counters.
Before entering though, I grab the nearby soap and wash then grab a towel. A press on the button allows the doors to slide open, and the smell of antiseptics twitches my nostrils while the tiled, spotless clean floor squeaks under my leather shoes.
Octavius, already wearing his medical scrubs and mask, puts on his gloves while the man lying on one of the beds whimpers, thrashing around, but he can barely move due to the leather straps keeping him in place. “I didn't do it. Those are lies. Please listen to me.”
Octavius barely spares me a glance as he opens a syringe and pulls some liquid medication from one of the shelves, then inserts the needle in the vial.
I go to the room with a glassed wall several feet away where Remi and Florian already sit on the couch, their legs propped on the small table in front of them, whiskey in their hands, awaiting the show.
“Since when does Octavius allow us to watch?”
Remi takes a large sip from his glass, slides farther down on the couch to rest his neck on the back of it, and ignores my question, swallowing the drink loudly. I look at Florian, who shrugs, silently answering my question of what the fuck is wrong with Remi.
Although, considering Florian is the last person Remi would ever go to with what bothered him, I’m not that surprised he doesn't know.
If it wasn't for his deep friendship with Octavius, I don't think he’d even be part of our brotherhood. He has always been the biggest dick, plus he didn’t give a fuck who he fucked around with.
“Extr
eme circumstances,” Florian tells me, leaning forward and grabbing a bottle from the floor and then extending it to me, but I wave it off.
Right. I might have been in a hurry to leave my father’s place, but the only reason I didn't bring Briseis with me was because Remi messaged us about an urgent meeting. Shit was about to hit the fan, and none of us would like it.
Only an urgent meeting has the power to allow Octavius inside his holy torture room where he transforms into an evil doctor who twists the Hippocratic oath he gave a long time ago, and instead of saving people, he kills them all with his medical knowledge.
I don’t blame him much.
During torture, you can learn as much about the victim as you can learn about the serial killer. If you study his words, methods, and weapons enough, you might find all his vulnerable spots, building his childhood image quite quickly, which will in turn allow you to control him or at least try to play it right until you can use such information in the future.
And our vulnerabilities are sacred to us.
“Hey, Remi, want to share what’s so urgent you had to summon us here?” Stepping closer, I nudge his foot, hoping to snap him out of whatever the hell is going on inside his head.
Leaving him too much time to think usually leads to some disaster, because, fuck, the man has no reins when it comes to his impulses. “Qué sucede contigo? You called us here. May I remind you I had to leave my wife at home. I’d like to get back to her.” And they all don't need to know just how much the need to see if she’s okay rides me hard, making sure she didn’t end up crying at our house where Jimena has probably already taken her.
And this should be enough of a sign for me to stay away but still keep a watchful eye on her, because Andreas will strike any time, although not in the near future.
Oh, no.
The fucker will wait until enough time has passed for me to get her pregnant.
Remi finally snaps his pools open, such rage flashing in there it probably would have sent another person running, but not me. My brow lifts and he rolls his lips before jumping up, darting toward the door, and opening it wide, before shouting at Octavius. “Mind finishing it fucking later? My plans for tonight don't include admiring your grand work.”
Octavius frowns then shifts his gaze to me, seeking answers I can’t give him, and after a tense silent second, he steps back, removes the gloves, dumps them in the trashcan, and comes to us, sliding his mask down his face. “Since you asked so nicely,” he says, although by his harsh tone, I don't miss how he is minutes away from losing his temper.
“Earlier today, I got an email from an unknown address. I didn't pay much attention to it until I received another and another, the subject line always promising me to find something interesting.” Remi snatches out his phone from his pocket and clicks on some video as we stand around him.
A black-and-white video starts to play, and the minute I understand what it is, the blood in my veins boils while rage travels through me, wave after wave, alerting every hunting instinct within me.
Florian speaks up first as we all watch the nightmare from our past. The night where we collectively committed a crime plays in front of our eyes as if we hadn't already memorized that day in our minds. “Is this—”
“Yes. Someone has footage of us killing the fucker,” Remi says and then flicks to another video. “Or rather how we helped Octavius get away with this.”
Octavius stays absolutely still and silent, his eyes glued to the screen.
“What do you mean?” I ask as he swipes to the right again, and this time, the video has the man running away from Octavius, screaming in fear.
“Every single video focuses on Octavius and what he did.”
“In other words, if the cops get it, he will be charged with murder.”
Remi nods at Florian’s words, and I conclude, “And we will be guilty by association.”
“Motherfucker is good.” Florian pulls at his hair while huffing in exasperation. “And patient. He’s managed to hold on to it for so long.”
Whoever this fucker is, he clearly has some vendetta against the dark four and isn't afraid to threaten us. And how powerful or smart must he be to blackmail men of our caliber? “Have you traced the IP address?”
“Yeah, it leads to another country.”
Florian announces, “We have to find him so we can kill him.”
Ignoring our words, Octavius half turns to Remi. “What does he want in exchange?”
“She.”
“What?” We all exclaim in unison, and Remi’s mouth tips in a half smile.
“It’s a she. She wants to get information about a certain serial killer who roamed Chicago’s streets around fifteen to twenty years ago.”
As far as blackmailing requests go, this one is fucking unusual, to say the least.
And she? A woman actually challenged us?
Florian lights up a cigarette, taking a greedy pull before exhaling the smoke around us. “Let me get this straight. A woman wants to catch some serial killer, so she decided to blackmail us for it?” He laughs, choking on the smoke a little before wiping his mouth. “She has some balls all right.”
“She wants Octavius to tell her the information.” We all look at him as he freezes, his jaw twitching while he squeezes and relaxes his hands; a myriad of emotions change rapidly on his face, and finally indifference settles once again, not letting us see what he’s truly thinking. “She might have blocked her IP address, but based on the serial killer, it was easy to find her.” He swipes right once again, and the picture of a woman comes into view, her mousy hair and plain appearance not ringing a bell in my mind.
Florian snaps his fingers. “I know her. She was at the wedding we attended back in New York. Isla.”
“Yeah.” Remi nods, and finally the name registers in my mind.
“A cop?” And a lousy one at that, because she’s stupid enough to play games with the likes of us.
“Private investigator now.”
A chuckle slips past my lips, “Esto es muy gracioso.”
Florian shares my laughter while Remi smirks. “Yeah, I found it amusing too.”
“Was she a good cop?” I assume Remi’s already done his homework on this one.
“Yeah, she’s good. Also supports her grandmother in a nursing home—she’s her only living relative.”
“Well, we can’t destroy her now,” I say. We might be insane, but we don't go around killing innocent people. “But we need to ruffle her feathers a bit and—”
“I’ll handle it.” Octavius snatches the phone from Remi, quickly sends her photos and videos to himself before deleting them, then gives the phone back to Remi. “She’s my problem. I know what she wants.” He slides the mask back up. “Now, you can get the hell out.” With this, he walks off, shuts the door, and slips fresh gloves on while we all blink in confusion.
“Well, it certainly went easier than I expected,” Remi says while Florian exhales smoke again.
“Did he just agree to handle a woman? I thought he avoided them like the plague.”
He never goes on dates or allows women to hang on his arms; none of us do. However, Octavius’s difference lies in how he pays enormous amounts of money for expensive escorts once a year to fulfill his desire for sex—I guess.
Which is almost nonexistent if he fucks only once per year.
“I smell trouble in the air.” More like obsession, because for a second there, I swear I caught interest in his eyes, almost a possessive gaze sweeping over the woman, and my friend doesn't get attached to anything or anyone.
Not after the night that forever destroyed his life.
And a serial killer and a cop together is not just trouble.
It’s a disaster that truly has the power to forever destroy this unity.
Remi shrugs. “We’ll see.” His phone dings, and a wicked grin spreads on his mouth. “Speaking of trouble. Sam loves your wife.”
“What are you talking about?”
> He turns his phone, showing me the photo of Briseis in our fucking club chatting with Sam with a drink in her hand, her face shining brightly with happiness while Jimena stands next to her. Along with several other men who look at her from the nearby booths.
The earlier anger and rage mix together, the beast inside me ready to roar and stake his claim. Is she fucking insane to go to a club without me?
While Andreas might catch her at any moment?
Without uttering a single word, I push my laughing friend away and dart toward the exit, ready to get my wife.
All while knowing her father is only an excuse, and the madness that is her consumes me; well, I hope she’s ready for the consequences.
Ah, querida. We’re about to play a very twisted and lust-filled game.
Chapter Sixteen
“Sometimes, monsters hide behind the most beautiful masks.
Sometimes, goodness resides in the most despicable humans.
Finding out who you can truly trust becomes so difficult, as endless deceit surrounds us.
Angels and monsters, a confrontation that has been centuries in the making.
In each battle, good and evil stand against each other, ready to fight till their last breath, until their side wins.
Except…
What does good entail?”
Santiago
Location unknown, United States
Santiago, 15 years old
Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway, and Callum orders, “Quickly, guys, put on handcuffs before they come in.” Artem and I hide the weapons a second before Roccko shows up.
“What the fuck happened here?” We stay silent when he checks Jonathan and curses. “Old fucker finally died. Good riddance.” We exchange looks with each other but still stay silent.
He then shifts his attention to us and scans us from head to toe. “Follow me. There is a fire in Edward’s part of the wing.” He motions with his hand, and we do as he commands.
