Lachlan's Protégé

by V. F. Mason

  With each new piece of information, my heart breaks and breaks until it doesn’t have places left to do that. My dad, who was a loving man, doesn’t add up in my head with this… picture of a… lunatic. Of a man who did this to innocent people. Part of him runs in my veins. This truth is the one I won’t ever be able to outrun.

  “Perfect daddy. Because of him, you stayed good and proper, and he did all those vile things. How do you feel about him now, Valencia? Does he still wear a halo above his head?” he asks, stepping closer and then grabbing my chin painfully as I shift my head to the side. But he forcefully brings it back. “You don’t get to hide from it. I am who I am because of your father. We were the collateral damage in building his empire.” His constant anger, the way his eyes flashed when Patricia mentioned heaven.

  No wonder he despises anything that has to do with faith.

  His hands get wet from the tears flowing from my eyes. “He killed my aunt and cousin right in front of me. Because she called the cops.” I hiccup but he shakes me, and my teeth snap against each other. “Revenge is the only thing that has kept me alive.”

  “You wanted to sleep with me and hurt me because of him?” This makes so much more sense than Victor. Did he get some kind of high knowing that he managed to sleep with Mark Moore’s daughter?

  “No. Sex with you had nothing to do with him and everything with us.” For a second, he cups my cheek and we forget each other as I see remorse written all over him.

  Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against him, needing his strength in this time when everything I knew about my father crumbles at my feet. Where there is deeper understanding for the crimes he has committed, or rather what he did to me.

  Why he can never let go, because the source of his anger died before he could punish him for it. He just needs me to be scared while delivering this information and—

  He roughly pushes me away, and I gaze at him in shock, as he tells me, “I wanted to taint his beautiful princess in darkness so she would join hell despite how much he hated it.” He goes to the table and wraps a leather belt around his wrists. “The princess he spoke so highly about, claiming she would always stay his little angel. Even though back then you were only two years old.”

  “By touching me?”

  He laughs, and the bitterness of it all chills my bones. “No. By you committing the greatest of sins.” He waits a beat and then delivers a blow I never expected. “You will become my protégée, Valencia.”

  I consider them mine if they will kill under my instructions. Because then they know how to do it right.

  Murderer.

  He wants me to be a murderer!

  My heart sinks, but his granite face lets me know he is serious.

  I had no idea what fear tasted like until he told me the true reason he captured me.

  Lachlan

  By the hope shining on her face, I know she doesn’t want to believe me, yet she doesn’t find anything in me that convinces her otherwise.

  Sex. Desire. Mind games.

  All this was about us and the passion I’ve experienced with her. This was for Valencia, my brave one.

  However, killing a person and forever smearing blood on her hands that she won’t be able to wash off? That’s my punishment and satisfaction for Mark Moore.

  “Sins of our fathers,” I say. One way or the other, the next generation always pays for them.

  Debts are collected, and in this case… she is one.

  I ignore the voice inside me that roars and tells me to stop, to not put her through this; she doesn’t deserve it.

  To not show her the side of me that will forever strip her love from me, a feeling I’ve discovered I need, even if I can’t do anything with it.

  Damned from the very beginning, our pasts don’t allow us to ever form a future.

  So I might as well follow through.

  Valencia

  The man screams his lungs out as the drill enters his shoulder with a bolt, sticking him to the wall. Lachlan unlocked him an hour ago after he’d had enough of whipping him and using electroshock devices.

  I cover my ears with my hands, hoping to evade the sound, but it doesn’t help. I begged him not to do it, to let the man go, because neither he nor I was the one he wanted to hurt.

  Lachlan just told me to stay put or the man would be in even greater pain, and I didn’t want that.

  The smells of sweat, urine, and blood coat the place, and I sit on the cold floor, praying for it all to stop.

  “What’s that?” Lachlan asks and swiftly removes the tape from the man’s mouth, and he groans again. I can see traces of his skin on the tape, and bile rises in my throat. “The trash bin is next to the table if you want to barf, Valencia,” he says, as if it’s no big deal.

  He studies me. “You are too pale. We should bring life to those cheeks of yours.” My stomach flips as I still, afraid to breathe, wondering about his next move.

  So far, he’s dished out all the horrible things, but his promise constantly swirls in my head. I hope he said it only to scare me. “Come here, Valencia,” he orders, but I shake my head.

  “Don’t,” I plead, but he cocks his head and extends his blood-covered glove to me.

  “Come here,” he repeats, as the drill in his hand comes dangerously close to the man’s temple. I jump to my feet, stepping toward him. “Pick up blade number three.” He points at his steel collection to the long one with sharp ends that reminds me of one of the knives butchers use to cut meat. He clucks a few times. “Hurry up, Valencia.” With my heart beating rapidly, I snatch it up and walk back to him as he motions to the place next to him, facing the victim.

  I do that, not looking at him, because it’s too hard. Gaping is as bad as the crime itself, because you either wait and don’t do anything or participate in the downfall of the person.

  I offer it to him, but he shakes his head and points at the artery that’s pulsing under his finger on the man’s neck. “Stab him here and end his misery,” he tells me, and I hold my breath, just staring at him and not comprehending his words.

  “What?” Surely, I’m mistaken.

  “Stab him. For an hour now, I showed you all the different skills. You can handle stabbing him.”

  The man whimpers, kicking with his feet, not that it’s much use, as they’re nailed to the wall too. Just the slightest of movement is possible in this position. He moans and moans with his eyes begging me not to do it.

  “I won’t.” I push the blade at Lachlan, but he doesn’t budge, still holding the drill to the man’s temple. “Let me rephrase it. Either you will stab him and he will die relatively easy. Or I will drill a hole in his head, and all this time, he’ll be screaming. Since it’s your first kill, you get to choose.”

  “Don’t do this to me, Lachlan. Don’t,” I say, but his face stays hard as granite, and I understand I’ve lost him.

  In the battle between revenge and love, I’ve lost him.

  Because he chose the former.

  “Do it and put a stop to all this.” To us, he means. Forever smear myself in his dirt so the sins of my father won’t escape me and I will pay for them with my soul.

  How is it possible to kill and not carry this through your entire life?

  He turns on the drill again, and it buzzes loudly as the man speaks. He barely has the energy, but I hear it nevertheless. “Please.” He prefers a quick death rather than the drill.

  Lachlan plays it very well. He doesn’t make me kill someone, no.

  He puts me in the position where I can sacrifice myself once again or be selfish. But I’ve spent an hour with the live torture; how much more can I take? If I don’t do this, the man is dead anyway.

  But Lachlan’s prison will last forever.

  This way we can end it all once and for all, even if it forever shatters us.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper as, with a shaking hand, I raise it up and close my eyes while Lachlan wraps his around mine, and with all his power stabs the
man. He gives one last gasp before silence falls over the place.

  The blade drops to the floor with blood oozing from the wound, and I look at my hands.

  The monster has won.

  The angel became a permanent resident of hell.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lachlan, 15 years old

  I fall on the floor with a loud thud, stifling a groan of pain, as my back still holds bruises from yesterday’s beatings. I breathe heavily, trying to steady my heart when Rodrigues’ voice from above says, “And you are dead.” And then kicks me lightly. “The minute you end up on the floor, you are giving advantage to your enemies to kill you. You spent seven seconds and shifted your attention to your pain. That’s five seconds too long,” he proclaims, and then motions with his hand, so I jump up, standing opposite him in a fight stance. “Never show your enemies it hurts, Lachlan. That’s one of the most important rules.”

  He punches forward, but I block it. My arm throbs and my bruised knuckles can barely bend due to the lacerated and swollen skin, but I place an indifferent mask on my face and step back.

  He advances, and I repeat the action and then move forward, delivering a hit to his chin, but he quickly bends and grabs my chest, rapidly beating and beating with his fists while I stand, having him securely in my grip so I won’t fall down.

  The minute I feel him slow, I roar and push him back and then punch him in the face. He stumbles back as I spin around and kick him in the chest, watching as he falls on the mattress.

  I jump on him, pressing the knife to his throat while his pulse beats against my finger, and say, “Now you are dead.” Blood from my mouth and nose, the one he broke just five minutes ago, seeps onto his face while I gulp as much air as possible. I learn to adjust to the pain and block it away until it’s safe to loosen my guard.

  Which means never.

  A loud clapping snaps my attention from my mentor to see Angus MacAlister standing near the door, watching us fight. “See, Jaxon? That’s how you fight.” The guy looks around my age and gives me a bored expression, although I don’t miss the fury brewing in his gaze.

  The son doesn’t like his daddy it seems.

  I get up, wincing at the dizziness, but quickly grab the towel to cover it up. Angus looks around while addressing Rodrigues. “Where is the boss?”

  “Upstairs.” My fists clench, because I know what it means.

  He is having sex with one of his women, who he fucking kidnapped from the streets. Most of them love him though and see him as kind of a savior, because he provided them a life with food and clothes and luxuries. They don’t understand it’s a prison and they have no free will.

  And anytime it happens, I hate myself for continuing to live here and accept all that bullshit. One of the reasons is I religiously follow the training and soak up as much information as I can.

  Knowledge is power that many people underestimate, preferring stupidity and ignorance.

  Dmitri assigned me a mentor from his assassins; he’s also making sure I learn a few languages and everything there is to know about torture.

  He took me in three years ago, because he didn’t have an heir and he saw potential in me. He hated Pastor for something, so it was doubly amusing for him to get the boy he so wanted for himself.

  I hate him with a passion, but he is my key for revenge, and that’s why I can never leave him.

  At least for now.

  He claims I’ll be good as an interrogator. I love to inflict pain with fists; there is a thrill seeing skin turn purple from pain.

  An art form.

  I shake my head from the thoughts, because on most days they confuse me. I heard that, at my age, teenagers dream about fucking all the time, but my nights are filled with images in the killing rooms. The way blood slips from victims, their cries, and my fingers tingle imagining this high.

  What is it like to take a life that you know has no meaning anyway? A kill is a kill, doesn’t matter if the killer is a fucking piece of dirt who doesn’t deserve to live.

  Some killers even have morals. They won’t hurt women or the elderly or whatever.

  If I’m ever going to be there though, I will never exclude anyone. If you help in child trafficking, fuck you, you are dead.

  Angus’s voice brings me back to the situation at hand. “Call him. We need to discuss business.” He pushes his son toward me. “Go with him, Jaxon. A friendship with my friend’s son will do you good.” My brow lifts at the word son, and I barely hold back the laughter that is about to spill from my lips, because he knows the truth. But like everyone else, he pretends.

  They deserve nothing but death too.

  Someday, someday.

  And in time, Jaxon and I become strong allies who help each other eliminate the evil men in our lives, which in turn helps us build our empires.

  But it comes with a high price for both of us.

  New York, New York

  January 2018

  Lachlan

  Valencia rocks as she sits on the floor, her gaze completely void of any emotion as she stares in front of her with shock covering her features. Her palms are swollen from digging her nails painfully into the soft skin, bruising herself in the process. “I killed him. I killed him,” she keeps murmuring, and each word is filled with self-hatred and fear.

  Remorse.

  Although I’ve accomplished my ultimate goal, tainted the beautiful angel in a way she’ll never be able to escape, inside I weep for the beauty I’ve destroyed.

  She didn’t deserve it.

  Sins of our fathers.

  Valencia was punished for something she had no control over—she was a means to an end. And God knows I’ve done a lot of vile things in this fucked-up life of mine, but turning her to the dark side was the worst.

  I shouldn’t have touched my angel.

  In the span of time where she fought so hard to escape and pushed her ideals on me, where desire between us was so strong neither of us could resist it, where we shared with each other stuff neither of us knew… somewhere along the way, she got under my skin.

  Is this thing called love? The speed of the pulse, the constant want to be near her and not want to hurt her, even though my dark nature demands it?

  But how can it live inside with the constant need to punish and control her, to remind her she is dealing with a monster who will never change?

  She is my prisoner, but along the way, she became my obsession and possession.

  However, the truth is simple.

  She never wanted any of those things.

  “If it helps, he was a bad person, Valencia,” I say, but she doesn’t react to my words, just continues her motions. I don’t feel the need to add that the fucking guy raped women on a daily basis as an enforcer in one of the mafia houses. There is nothing to mourn about his death.

  If I had to do it all over again, I would.

  “Valencia,” I bark, harsher than usual, and she finally snaps her eyes to me, and instantly anger clouds her chocolate eyes.

  She gets up swiftly, swaying slightly to the side, and I step forward to steady her, but she pushes my hand away, laughing hysterically. The sound reverberates through the walls. “I just killed a person, and all you can say is he deserved it?” she asks, and then screams, “I don’t care about his crimes! I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have to choose between the drill and blade. I shouldn’t have been placed in a position where I had to kill him!” She paces the room back and forth, running her fingers through her brown locks while I rest my back against the wall, staying silent.

  Anything is better than her catatonic state earlier. “Because of you, I became a murderer.” She dashes toward me, her hand raised to slap me, but I stop it midair as she breathes heavily. “I hate you,” she whispers, and then all bravado leaves her as she punches my chest with her fists while tears stream down her cheeks. “You made me just like you.” She fists my shirt and sobs harder into my shirt, and I close my eyes, because I can’t see her li
ke this.

  Slowly, you will get used to it, Lachlan. You will.

  As her father’s words ring in my ears, I come to a decision, and with that, I scoop her up in my arms. Although she tries to get free, hitting any kind of flesh she gets her hands on, I don’t budge.

  Taking two steps at a time, I take her upstairs to her room and dump her on the bed. She lands on her back, but quickly sits up. Her eyes shine brightly from the tears, and her mascara-smeared cheeks give her a haunted look.

  Not for long.

  The game has come to an end.

  Checkmate.

  Valencia

  Breathing heavily, I watch Lachlan as he rests his forearm on the door, his back to me, and I can see every rigid muscle strained tight as if he is preparing for a battle and doesn’t know where to start.

  I notice several bloody scratches across his back that I probably put there while in search of bringing him pain after what he put me through. I glance at my hands as they tremble, and I can still remember the knife that dripped blood on the floor after I killed the man.

  Fury and hatred come back overwhelmingly, along with a deep desire to bring him more pain for making me a killer. But this is also mingled with love that knows why this man does what he does.

  However, nothing excuses it. Understanding and accepting are two different things.

  Also, he never lets go for the hell of it. What will he want from me now? Maybe the time has come to kill me instead?

  The ultimate goal has been accomplished, after all. Mark Moore’s daughter became a murderer and can no longer qualify for heaven.

  “Get ready. John will take you home.” His words freeze me on the spot, shocking me to the core, because I never ever expected him to speak those words to me.

  The minute he disappears behind the door, I rush toward the bathroom to wash my face and quickly study my reflection in the mirror. I open up the foundation, applying it to my neck and collarbone to mask the bruises so no one will ask me any questions. I also make sure to look presentable enough to not scare anyone considering he fed them the bullshit that I went to Russia to better understand Swan Lake and study with a ballet master for a few weeks there.