by V. F. Mason
You are pretty much doomed in his grip.
“It doesn’t matter what I say,” I hoarsely reply and curse myself for not drinking more earlier. Being dehydrated won’t bring me anything good. “You will do whatever you want.”
If I don’t come willingly, he will make me. That much is clear from him. God, how could I have been so wrong and not trusted my instincts that told me to run away from him at the very first glance? How could I have succumbed to my desires and shared all those moments with him?
How did I allow those hands, which have cut me to touch me and bring me pleasure? A tremor rushes through me as disgust forces bile into my throat.
A man who can hurt a woman deserves nothing.
“Ah, darling. You finally registered in that head of yours I’m not a good guy.” I pull on my restraints, but it’s useless. The metal just digs deeper into my skin and I groan quietly. “Don’t do that.” Suddenly, all amusement is gone from him, as he barks, “It will only damage your skin more.”
A hollow laugh erupts, and it takes me a second to understand it’s me who laughs and laughs to the point of tears streaming down my cheeks and my stomach hurting from the effort. “Now you care about my well-being? How thoughtful of you,” I spit.
His gaze darkens. He stands up and is by my side at once, his cane stopping my movements, but before I can say anything else, he presses it against my mouth, and I still, because I don’t know what he will do next.
The metal is harsh and imbedded with a few stones. I can imagine how much it will hurt to have it hit against my skin. No way in hell will I risk it, no matter how much I want to. “I don’t give a fuck about your bruised skin.” His voice is so cold it could freeze a fire, and chills run through me as he continues pressing it harder. I tighten my mouth so he won’t touch any teeth. “But I need you healthy for what I have planned next. Don’t fuck up my plans, Valencia. Or you will live to regret it.” Then he turns around, going toward the door. He is almost outside when he glances over his shoulder, and says my way, “Since you do not appreciate kindness, you won’t have food for three days. We will see what you say then.”
“Whatever!” I shout, but he is already gone. I wrap my hands around my knees, rocking back and forth, as I finally can let go of the brave, and maybe stupid, façade and succumb to the desperation and fear that consumes me.
What did I ever do to him to deserve this?
Three days? Is he not going to ask for a ransom?
Lachlan
Flipping the page on the recent accounting update, I read the fucking last line again, but it doesn’t register in my mind. No matter how much I try to concentrate on the multimillion-dollar bill that will bring me much-needed power on the East Coast, I can’t for the fuck of me understand shit and reply to the offer.
Instead, the brown-eyed beauty, who is in my dungeon built specifically for her, occupies my every thought as an unfamiliar sensation spreads in me, stripping me of my iron-willed control.
Throwing the contract on the table, I get up and go to the huge window that looks out over the fountain and its alcove in the garden as thousands of thoughts rush in my mind.
None of them make sense to me.
Resting my arm on the window, I let the memories of her crying on the floor play in front of me as the deep desire to soothe her, yet hurt her, rages inside me.
Seeing her bruised and in pain… unsettled me. On some level, it even angered me, as no one should ruin a skin so pure.
But she always reminds me with each glance and turn of her head who and what she is.
What she needs to become for me to win this chess game she has no idea we are playing.
I always thought breaking her spirit would be easy; after all, she’s lived nothing but a sheltered life. What do princesses know about resisting dragons? All they do is wait for the princes to save the day and release them.
But maybe, just maybe, I’m not dealing with a princess… but a warrior who has managed to hide her armor from me all this time.
My fists clench and I hit the glass with all my power, cracking it under the assault, as realization dawns on me.
That’s why I feel complicated emotions; her strength appeals to me on some level.
I laugh at and destroy weakness.
But strength? That, I respect. Not everyone has the ability to fight while in extreme circumstances; most just die accepting whatever so-called fate throws their way.
A soft knock on the door pulls my attention back, and I say, “Come in.”
He takes a beat and then clears his throat, exhaling heavily. Levi is nothing but consistent in his fucking sighs.
“Tell me,” I order, barely containing myself from spinning around and demanding to know all the details. I showed restraint an hour ago and decided not to look myself.
“Maria went to her and acted the part that she would feed her without your permission. But she refused, so that makes it roughly forty hours for her without food.” Of course, the little angel doesn’t want anyone to get in trouble on her behalf. Everyone else comes before her.
Selflessness along with stupidity will be a human’s ultimate downfall, because rarely anyone will show it to another, and most only feed on those who give it. “She does drink the water though,” Levi adds in reassurance, as if it’s supposed to make me feel better.
At least she is smart enough to keep herself hydrated.
“Lachlan,” he starts, but my splayed hand stops him and I turn to him.
“What did I tell you when we started on this journey?” He plays with his thumbs, avoiding my gaze, so I ask again. “What did I tell you, Levi?”
“Never feel sorry for the subjects.”
I clap my hands together, the sound exceptionally loud in an otherwise silent space and he winces. “Look, you remember. And now with Valencia, don’t forget it. If you cannot follow the rules, you know the consequences.” Not the words I ever expected myself to speak to Levi of all people, but he left me no choice.
“She is so young. She is—”
“She is not her.”
His body trembles as he places one of his hands on his chest, probably rubbing the silver cross at his neck. After a second, he raises his disbelief-filled eyes to me as he points his trembling finger at me. “You don’t get to talk about her.”
“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t bring it up. You think I don’t see it? From the very beginning, you’ve been involved much more in this situation than you should be. Valencia is a subject like everyone else.” I quickly turn on the cameras from the torture rooms and bring the tablet closer to his face as he turns away from it. Blood never pleases him much. “She is just like all those people. Remember that.”
He nods as disappointment crosses his face. “You cannot run from the truth forever, Lachlan. Make sure this path doesn’t burn you.” Before I can reply, he is out, leaving me alone with my hectic thoughts that won’t settle, no matter how much I try to rein them in.
She shouldn’t matter. She means nothing. She is a means to an end that is twenty-three years in the making. There is no hope for her. At the end of this all, she’ll be dead like all the other victims.
But why doesn’t this thought bring me anything besides hollowness in my chest?
With a roar, I scatter everything from the table onto the floor. As it crashes in different directions, the sound reminds me that everything in life is as fragile as those things.
With the right pressure, you can break anything.
With that thought in mind, I emerge from the office and come face to face with Maria who holds a tray of food, and by the items on it, I understand it was for Valencia.
“She refused,” she says softly, barely audible, and I take it from her.
“I’ll handle it.”
My leather shoes sound in the hallways as I pass by rooms where screams and groans, and even club music, come from inside.
I gather Arson must have one of his victims in there.
Afte
r five minutes, I end up in the small opening to her place and see her splayed on the mattress with her eyes closed, her arms crossed, and curled into a ball, trembling slightly.
My brows furrow as I notice the AC running low and quickly put it higher; otherwise, she will get a fucking cold.
I grab a blanket on the way and step inside the glassed space. I place the tray on the table. Then I slowly walk to her and throw the blanket over her, drinking in her pale, soft features that, despite how much she pretends to act peaceful, give her away.
Because she is not asleep. I can recognize it by the barely heard rasped breath and how her chest contracts with my nearness. I lean down to touch her hair and almost reach it, when memories assault me and I almost roar in pain as the voice echoes in my ear.
What will you do for me, Lachlan?
My hand fists as I yank it back and dart to the table, finding the paper and envelope on it along with a pen. Since she refused to write any letters to her home, I will write one to her.
I quickly scratch the text against the paper and then place it on the tray, knowing she won’t be able to resist herself and will check it out.
I know all about humans and their nature; I’ve studied them for years, after all. And while Valencia might be different, she is still one of them.
That is a truth carved in stone, and that’s why she’ll never have my mercy, even if she begs for it. Her fate was sealed a long time ago, and it doesn’t really matter that she had no say in it.
Innocence is not a virtue; it’s a weakness that allows demons to shred one into pieces. Some come up stronger, and some… break.
Let’s see, Valencia. What will you choose?
Valencia
The minute the door closes after him, I open my eyes, propping myself higher on the pillow as my hands clench the fluffy blanket that brings warmth in this otherwise cold place. My skin almost turned blue from it, but I didn’t ask for the blanket. I figured it was part of the torture, considering he even withheld food.
I didn’t know what to expect when he showed up. Fear mixed with curiosity played tricks with me while I did my best to act and breathe evenly, but I suspect he knew I acted.
Why did he do it? Does he care about me after all, and all this is a power play just to convince me to play along so he can get what he wants from Victor? Who places a victim they want to hurt in a glass-like cage with all the necessities, even while creating an aura of doom and depression?
That’s when my nose twitches and the smell of freshly baked bread with mozzarella cheese fills the space, instantly making my mouth water, and I swallow down the saliva as my stomach growls.
I place my hand on it, wincing, as the need has become unbearable in the last few hours. It would have been bad for anyone, but for me? I barely hold on.
When Maria offered me food, I refused knowing full well who organized this stage. No way does Lachlan not check if his commands are obeyed or not. And maybe this woman is brainwashed to help him out; God knows what he did to her so she’d agree to this. She doesn’t deserve his punishment in case he finds out.
But he left the food himself and on the table at that, taunting me with its delicious aroma. I’m starved and long to just have a bite, but I won’t.
Maybe it’s stupid or maybe it’s pride, but somehow deep down, I know it’s a test and I’m not going to fail it. He thinks I won’t survive one more day without food? We will see who can issue challenges.
There is a lingering thought that maybe, just maybe, he is doing it, because he can’t bear the thought of me suffering. That maybe it’s the part that attracted me to him in the first place, that kindness lives somewhere deep, buried under… well, whatever he is.
I’m about to roll on my side, when I notice an envelope next to the tray, and curiosity gets the better of me. I stand up, and in few steps, grab it and rip the seal open, wanting to read the note.
An angel resisted the orders, too proud to know any good.
Monster didn’t find it amusing, nor interesting, so he wondered.
Tell me, angel.
What do monsters do to those who disobey them?
Maria, oh, Maria.
I read again, hoping I’ve imagined the implication between the lines, but no matter how much I replay the words, the outcome is the same.
If I don’t eat the food he brought me, Maria is as good as dead.
And suddenly, the food that looked so delicious a few seconds ago brings nothing but barfing sensations inside me, and I can barely stand thinking about putting it in my mouth. But what choice did he leave me?
What did he say earlier? He needs me healthy for whatever he has planned for me.
To think that I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Nothing good lives inside that human.
And I shouldn’t ever look for it again.
Lachlan
I watch her shovel the food into her mouth while almost choking on it. Her refusal can be seen miles away, but she clenches the note tightly in her hands, probably still shocked by the words.
There was this one moment when she wondered why I brought her the blanket, if maybe there is something more than darkness. I could recognize it by the why she furrowed her brows, bit on her lips, while softness touched her face.
Well, the captor quickly stripped his captive of any illusion she might have had about it.
She has her answer now.
I rule and live in darkness, and searching for something that is not there should teach her to accept her reality.
Even if it’s a nightmare of my creation.
Turning off the camera, I pick up the contract again and can finally read it without anything bothering me.
And as much as it should please me, it only angers me more and proves to me that I should speed up the process.
Time never works to anyone’s advantage anyway.
Chapter Fourteen
Lachlan, 8 years old
Aunt Jessica combs my hair, critically ticking with her tongue. “I should have requested a bit smaller shirt for you. This one is loose.” She puts the comb on the table and then adjusts my shirt while also pulling up the tie. “You look so handsome.” She presses her hands to my chest, wonder crossing her face.
I don’t say anything, just hug her close, and she pats me on the back. I find solace in her arms, safety for one fleeting moment in time.
Besides being in this place, Aunt is the kindest person I’ve ever known. She cooks tasty food, lets me play with Anna in the garden, and even teaches me to play the piano.
Music is the only source of light for me. The minute my fingers touch the keyboard and the keys create magical feelings inside me, each note tugs on my heartstrings.
When I play, I can pretend I’m not in this town that has no escape, a town where no one is really your friend, and a town where almost everyone is a carbon copy of each other with similar clothes and views.
I can pretend my uncle doesn’t sit on the couch and watch me tentatively while criticizing my every move.
Yes, music is truly a beautiful thing.
“We are going to be late. No need to pamper him,” Uncle snarls, picking up his bible, and motions to the door with a bouncing Anna by his side. “Let’s go.” Right, God forbid we be late for the Sunday service.
Especially this one.
“Oh, I just want to make sure he is perfect before meeting the pastor.” She addresses me. “Remember what I told you. Be nothing but respectful and answer his questions. Based on that, he makes a selection.”
My brows furrow at those words as I follow her outside, wincing from the too-small shoes that dig into the back of my foot. “Selection?”
She nods eagerly while we trail down the small road to the church with Uncle and Anna in front of us, and she waves to some people who are doing the same. The whole town is actually going, because the pastor arrived.
Based on what I understood, he only does it once or twice a month, and everyone loves him, since he saved them a
nd gave them hope.
Whatever that means. But Aunt said he is like a president that sets all the rules and makes all important decisions about our community, because he always knows what’s best for us.
The Pastor.
“The pastor always selects several new kids for his special program. If he sees potential in you, you will study with all the other selected kids and will have a chance at college. Also, he has specific meetings with the kids so he can give you all the important stuff.” She sighs heavily. “This would be a great opportunity for you, especially with your talent.” She stops and kisses me on the cheek, murmuring softly, “So please do your best so he can choose you.”
If it means he can get me out of this place, I will do whatever it takes.
We finally reach the church and sit in our usual row. There are voices for several minutes, but then everyone gets quiet as the man gets on the stage.
He is wearing a black robe that almost reaches the floor, the heavy cross hanging from his chest, while his assertive green eyes scan the place like a hawk watching for his prey. He seems really tall and muscled, but the glasses on his face make him almost approachable.
He looks friendlier than other pastors around him, and hope blossoms in my chest. If he always saves everyone, maybe I can tell him about Uncle and he will tell him to stop hurting me?
He opens the book on the stage and clears his throat. “Hello, people.” Everyone answers him, and then he proceeds to give his speech, half of which I don’t understand, but people react to it. Some cheer, some cry, but almost everyone watches the stage with awe and adoration and complete happiness.
They really do love him.
He finally finishes and is met with loud, never-ending clapping, and then he sits on his chair that looks more like a throne behind the stand. No one ever sits there, so it solely belongs to him.
Aunt Jessica quickly stands up and grabs my hands, tugging me toward him. “Let’s go. We need to introduce you while the line is not long.” But even though she is quick, I see already about seven people lining up to him, and everyone has small kids around my age with them.
