In the Land of Gods and Monsters, Part Two (Gods & Monsters Book 2)

by Carmen Jenner

  “Thank you.” My tone is sharp. Too sharp, and a pang of guilt works its way through my chest at Brigid’s wide-eyed gaze.

  “If you’re in need of nothing else, I’ll take my leave of you now, but if you desire anything at all, just ring the bell. Christian here will hear it and let me know. He’ll be right outside that door.”

  I sneer at Christian. He sneers back. Apparently, money doesn’t buy everything, because for what my father must be paying, I’m surprised he couldn’t find a security guard with a better bedside manner.

  Parker crouches down in front of me as Christian and Brigid exit the room. “I have to get back to the city, but I’ll come in the next few days to check on you.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. For a brief second, I close my eyes and imagine it’s Ares. But the scent is all wrong. Fear and excitement don’t twist my stomach like they do with my Sir.

  I pull away from Parker’s embrace, from these false kisses that are as empty as his promises about caring for me. I can’t believe I was ready to spend my life with this man. He could never satisfy me. He doesn’t know the darkness I crave, the depravity, and the hot prickling heat of my flesh as the falls of a flogger hit their intended mark.

  He’s not Ares.

  He could never in a million years be Ares.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pet

  The cloying scent of roses sting my sinuses. It’s cold in the greenhouse. I’m freezing, naked, gagged, blindfolded, and tethered to my Sir by a short leash. He trails his fingers along the nape of my neck. My skin prickles with both anticipation and fear.

  “Stop crying, Pet.”

  I can’t. I can’t stop.

  I love him, and the distance between us hasn’t changed that in the slightest.

  “Good, Camille,” Doctor March’s voice fills the greenhouse and it all dissolves, the crisp snow, the biting chill, and my Sir’s caresses. “Now, let’s talk about the night you were abducted.”

  “Yes, let’s get to that, shall we?” Stahl’s empty voice chases away the last of this beautiful dream, and my eyes snap open. Doctor March is usually always so unruffled, but her lip twitches as she glares at Agent Stahl sitting opposite us in my father’s living room.

  “By all means, Agent Stahl, you’re welcome to leave.”

  “You know I can’t do that.” He snaps closed the manila folder in his hands and glares at me.

  Doctor March taps her pen on her pad. The daggers she shoots Agent Stahl tell me that she has about as much patience with him today as I do. “These memory regression sessions may prove more fruitful without your presence.”

  “They’d prove fruitful if Miss Flynn actually wanted to find her abductor.”

  “That’s enough.” March stands abruptly. The teacup and saucer rattle on the table as the chair leg bumps the rich mahogany frame. “May I see you in private, Agent Stahl.”

  It isn’t a question. Her tone is biting and brooks absolutely no argument.

  “Why not? It’s not like we’re making progress here.” Stahl throws the file on the coffee table in front of us and stands, adjusting his belt as he follows the normally even-tempered doctor out of the room.

  They’re not even out of earshot before March begins cussing. “What is your problem?”

  “My problem? My problem is there’s a goddamn sociopathic sex trafficker at large, and I can’t catch him because your patient has given us jack shit to go off in these little hypnotherapy sessions of yours. That girl is wasting our time because she doesn’t want him to be found.”

  I inhale a deep breath and tune them out. He’s right. I don’t want them to find Ares. I’d rather take a blade to my wrists than give him up. But nothing I tell them matters anyway, because I don’t have any idea where to find the man who cast me aside.

  I pick up the file and open it. Inside are black-and-white photos of suspects. None of them are Ares, but they all have his dark hair and handsome exotic features. They may not have found an exact match, but how do they know this about him?

  I leaf through the pages and come across a grainy black-and-white image of a dark alley, and a man carrying a body clad in a tutu toward the open doors of an awaiting van.

  Below that picture is my Sir. Though his face is distorted and unclear, mine is not. My eyes are closed, my head tucked in against his large chest, protected, safe, though I didn’t know him at all then. That is what I feel when I see this image now. And then the sickening sense of loss as a tear glances off my jaw and onto the paper. I run my fingertips over his distorted face and close my eyes. My heart is empty, and my stomach and soul were sucked dry, right down to the marrow until there was nothing left. This is how he left me. This is what freedom does to a sub who used to be owned.

  March and Stahl are both staring at me from the entrance now. I can feel their weighted gazes. Are they wondering what’s wrong with me? Freedom. Freedom is what’s wrong with me. Funny that I spent so long trying to gain it, and now that I have it, I want nothing to do with it.

  Fuck you and your freedom. I said that to my Sir once. Now I really mean it.

  “That file is confidential,” Stahl says, but we both know it’s not. This is not the confidential file on my abduction. If it were, he never would have left me alone with it.

  “Then why did you leave it here for me to find?”

  “Let’s cut the bullshit, Miss Flynn. You know who this bastard is. You know it, and I know it, and it’s only a matter of time before these elaborate little lies and this amnesia comes crashing down. If you tell me now who he is, I can make any jail sentence you might be facing just go away.”

  “Jail sentence?”

  He chuckles and looks to the ceiling, as if throwing a prayer up to God to give him strength. Strength. Stahl knows nothing of it. “You can be tried for obstruction of justice, Camille. Is that what you want? To escape one jail only to replace it with another?”

  “I didn’t escape.”

  The room falls silent.

  “What?” Stahl’s angry face rushes toward mine. Too close.

  “I didn’t escape. He let me go.”

  “Son of a bitch.” He shakes his head. “I knew you were lying. I knew you remembered something.”

  “Agent Stahl, that’s enough.” Doctor March throws herself in front of the man, halting his trajectory.

  “I remember only that he let me go, he set me free, and all anyone has done since is lock me in a cage with their demands that I remember, and answer their questions.”

  Christian looms at the doorway. Stoic and imposing, he glares at Stahl. I have no love for the hired goon, but right now I could kiss him. “Everything alright in here, miss?”

  “Yeah, Stahl was just leaving.”

  “I’ll walk him out.” Christian’s grin is smug, but at least it’s not directed at me for once.

  Stahl’s contempt oozes out of his every pore. If it were up to him, it wouldn’t just be Ares and Hermes he’d lock up. I’d rot behind bars for the rest of my life too. Which makes me wonder if he doesn’t have a stake invested in this. Not with Ares—he clearly doesn’t even know whom he’s looking for—but perhaps someone he knows has suffered the same fate as me. Perhaps his girlfriend, wife, fiancée, mother, sister, or friend was stolen away too. Or maybe he really is just one of the few remaining good guys, like Officer Torres, but with a shitty bedside manner.

  Either way, he won’t find my Sir. I’ll die before I let that happen.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Pet

  I’m woken by the robust pounding of a fist on the front door. I slink out of bed and glance out the window. There’s a never-ending line of reporters stalking the iron gates of my father’s property, and a beat-up old car with New York number plates sits in the circular drive. I can’t see the visitor, because he’s hidden by the huge front porch with its colossal columns.

  “You gotta let me in to see her,” a man with a thick accent pleads. Russian, maybe? There’s something about it that teas
es my mind, but as always, the memories are out of reach. “Please, I’m going out of my mind here.”

  “I can’t. I’m under strict orders that she’s to have no visitors, save for law enforcement, her doctors, and Mr. Ward.”

  “Brige, come on. You know me.”

  “I’m sorry, Dimitri. I wish I could let you in.”

  Dimitri?

  “What seems to be the problem here?” Christian’s brusque voice booms from downstairs.

  “N-nothing, I was merely telling Mr. Petrikov that Camille is not permitted any visitors.”

  I fly across the room and yank open the door. For six days, I’ve been here with no one to talk to but Brigid, my monosyllabic bodyguard, and the always-so-pleasant Agent Stahl. My father came home for dinner last night. We sat in silence before he retired to his study and I returned to my room. I haven’t seen him since then, and I’m going out of my mind. I don’t remember this Dimitri person, but a part of me must. Maybe if I just see his face . . . I bolt down the stairs and come to a halt at their foot.

  “No, back to your room,” Christian orders, but my attention is not on him—it’s on the six-foot muscular male ballet star standing on our front stoop.

  “Oh my god, zvyozdochka. What have they done to you?”

  My chest rises and falls with every one of his words. The accent, the strong, impressive features . . . I don’t remember him, not to look at, but I’m filled with yearning. This magnetic pull I’ve felt every second since Ares sent me away—it isn’t sexual. It’s familiar. Family.

  Dimitri shoves the flowers at Brigid and eats the distance between us in a few long strides. Christian turns to stop him, patting him down for weapons, but I duck around my bodyguard and allow myself to be swept up into this stranger’s arms because . . . I know him. My soul knows him, even if my mind has forgotten.

  He twirls us around and holds on so tight I fear my ribs might crack, but I don’t let go. I don’t pull away. I don’t flinch, and I don’t tell him not to touch me. Not like with everyone else.

  “Ya byl tak poteryan bez tebya, malen’kaya zvezda.” He sets me on my feet and cups my face. “I was so lost without you, little star. Where have you been?”

  Tears slide over my cheeks and glance off my jaw. “I don’t know.”

  “Jesus, I’ve been going out of my mind trying to find you.” He pulls away and holds me at arm’s length, studying me. “What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t remember.” God, is there anyone I won’t lie to for my Sir?

  “Well, you’re back, but why the fuck are you here? You should be at your apartment. You should be in training.”

  He’s right. I should be training, just not for the ballet.

  I lead him through the house to the enclosed parlor overlooking the gardens. It’s cold outside, but those moments of reprieve I feel when I’m away from the confines of the building make the possibility of frostbite all worth it. Snow covers everything in sight, and we sit in the wingback chairs in silence.

  “I don’t know where to begin, zvyozdochka.”

  “Me either.”

  “That douchebag fiancé of yours told me you don’t remember anything about your past. Is that true?”

  “It’s true.”

  “But you remember me, right?” He shoots me a weary look. “I mean, you jumped into my arms just now so I assume—”

  “I don’t.” Brigid enters the room with a tray of tea and tiny little cups. I can tell by the smell it’s green Matcha. I hate green tea, or the current me hates green tea. I suppose old me use to love it.

  I let her pour me a cup and use it to warm my hands. I wait until Brigid is gone to elaborate. “I ... it’s hard to explain. I know you, but I don’t remember you.” I glance out the windows at the soft flurries falling from the sky, anything to avoid the pained look Dimitri’s giving me. “How much did you tell the police about my disappearance? They did question you, right?”

  “Are you kidding? They questioned everyone. I’m the one who alerted Christopher to your disappearance.”

  I frown, and bring my cup to my lips, though I have no desire to drink it. The warmth chases away the chill. “Christopher?”

  “Our director.”

  I nod, as if I know exactly who he’s talking about, but I see the way Dimitri’s brow creases.

  “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”

  “Not a thing.” I shake my head and set down my teacup. My hands tremble as I settle the fine china in the saucer. “I don’t even remember my own father.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

  “Where else should I go?”

  “Back to the city with me.”

  I study his face. I look long and hard at the rigid plains and angles, the proud nose, the strong jaw, and the green eyes that hold such warmth and sincerity, so different from the way anyone else looks at me. Even my Sir. Ares’ expression only ever held contempt, amusement, anger, or passion, but never warmth. Never love. Not really.

  Still, if I leave here and Ares does come for me, how will he know where I am? My father’s house would be easy enough to trace, but he wouldn’t know where to find me in the city. Would he? “I can’t.”

  Ares set me free, but there’s a chance he might want me back. I’ll do everything in my power to be right where he will find me. I’ll make it easy for him. I’ll be a good girl and wait until my Sir comes.

  I don’t know how to do anything else.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Pet

  “Miss, Sargent Torres is here for you,” Brigid says as she enters the sitting room.

  I look up from the flames of the fire and glance at Maximus. His wide shoulders fill the doorjamb, dwarfing me and everything else in the room. A pang of nervousness and excitement twist my gut. I’m both happy to see him and want him gone because him checking up on me means he thinks I’m pathetic. I’m sick of being pathetic. I’m tired of being weak, and I’m so lonely, yet I don’t know how to deal with company right now.

  “Hi.” My throat is thick with emotion when I meet his gaze. I must look a mess. Other than to eat, shower, and use the bathroom, I haven’t moved from this spot for two days. What’s the point? I can’t go anywhere with my hulking Italian shadow looming over me. Not that I have anywhere to go. Reporters are still darkening the long drive. I can’t even walk around outside the front of the house without feeling like I’m the starring act of a traveling freak show.

  “Hey, how you doin’?” Max’s face lights up with a genuine smile. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  “It is. I’m actually rather busy doing nothing.”

  He chuckles, and the sound reverberates throughout the room. I have this insane desire to go to him and lean my head against his chest just to feel the warmth, the vibration, in the hope that some of his easy disposition will rub off on me.

  I take my feet from off the chair opposite, and Max falls into it.

  “Oh, well I should definitely let you get back to that.” He glances at Christian and then around the room. His training is clearly coming into play. “Are they treating you well?”

  I shrug. “How is it that I was treated better as a sex slave than I am in my childhood home?”

  Max’s eyes narrow. “Is someone hurting you, Camille?”

  I wave him away with a lazy hand gesture. “No, no one is hurting me. Not even when I beg.”

  My paltry attempt at humor falls short. Silence settles over the room, and Max clears his throat. His baby blues are filled with pity. There’s nothing I hate more than being looked upon with pity.

  “You wanna get out of here?”

  “I can’t. I’m not allowed to leave.”

  He frowns. “Your dad kidnapping you now too? Of course you can leave.”

  “Apparently you missed the memo, not to mention the reporters out front.”

  “So we’ll stick to the backyard. It’s cold as a witch’s tit out there, but the air will do you good.”


  I smile, because I’ve never heard that expression before, and his Brooklyn accent is so thick I could wrap myself in it to ward away the winter chill. “Okay. Just let me put on some warmer clothes.”

  I run upstairs, followed closely by Christian. I slam the door in his face, fix my hair, and switch out my yoga pants and sweatshirt for a pair of jeans, a Free People Henley, and a thick sweater. Then I pull on a pair of boots, kid gloves, and a coat and scarf, and run downstairs.

  Maximus is waiting in the parlor when I come in. He’s staring at a framed photograph of a girl with her arm around Parker. There’s a smile on the young girl’s face. The photo was taken at her engagement party—my engagement party. I don’t even know that me anymore.

  “How’s Mr. Ward doin’?”

  “I don’t know. Parker doesn’t come by much.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” I shrug and head for the door. “I don’t really mind though. It’s weird being engaged to a man you don’t remember, a man you don’t even like. Sometimes I wonder what that says about the pre-abduction me. Did I love him, or was I only interested in the financial and emotional security he provided? I guess I’ll never know.”

  “Well, I don’t know that Camille, but I like to think I know this one, at least a little. I think you could stand to be kinder to yourself. It’s a confusing time for everyone, but right now, you need to be looking out for you.”

  “I don’t know if I deserve anyone’s kindness, Maximus.” A sad smile flits across my face. Am I a product of Ares’ making? Or have I always been this fucked up, this desperate for pain, and the need to be hurt? I wonder if the old me would even recognize the woman she’s become.

  He grabs my hand and squeezes gently, the way he did back in the hospital. I glance down at out interlocked fingers, and he slides his hand free and pulls a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket. I inhale sharply and close my eyes, wanting to feel them on my skin, wishing they belonged to another man who had come to free me from my father’s prison. A man whose smile alone could promise both pain and salvation.