by Esme Devlin
I’ve never been looked after before. I can’t even remember my life before my mum and Derek, and neither were responsible enough to run a weekly bath. When I was taken from them and shoved in a care-home, I thought I was finally free. I thought I was being rescued. It quickly became clear I’d just traded one set of shit circumstances for another one.
And that’s what scares me with trusting Julian. What if he’s not rescuing me? What if this is all just a sick joke, and he’s yet another man who just wants to hurt me?
He pulls the Mercedes off the road we’ve been traveling on for some time, and now we’re on a twisty dirt track. My fingers grip around the edge of the cool leather seat when he does nothing to adjust his speed.
“We’re almost here,” he says, glancing in my direction.
I look out of the window and see a house in the distance. It looks to be a stone structure, old — maybe gothic style — with vines of ivy covering a large proportion of the walls and high gables over the top-level windows.
“What is this place?” I turn around to face him and he keeps his eyes on the road.
“It’s the place I put people I want to forget about.”
The hint of a smile plays on his lips as a cold shiver runs down my spine. Does he mean me? Is that what he’s doing? The carrot didn’t work, so now he’s going with the stick?
“Who? Who are you talking about?” The words come out breathy and I try — and fail — to hide the emotion in them.
“Patience, little bird. I’m about to show you.”
He parks the car in front of the house and I unclip my seatbelt while he walks around to open my door. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. That sinking feeling intensifies when the door of the house creaks open and the smell hits me.
It’s revolting, like rotten meat, and my hand instantly flies to cover my nose and mouth before I gag.
Julian takes my free hand and gives it a squeeze that I guess is supposed to be reassuring. “You’ll get used to it.”
I’ll get used to it? I don’t fucking want to get used to it.
We’re standing just inside the entrance and I pull him around to face me. “You can’t leave me here. Julian, please. This is hard for me, but I’ll try harder. I’ll be good. I’ll—”
He cuts me off with a laugh and bends down to kiss the top of my head. “Hush, piccolina.”
Just then, a sound at the end of the dark hall startles me, and I turn around to see a huge black shape moving at a rapid speed towards us.
“Diesel, sit nice.” His order cuts through the air like a bullet and what I can only assume is the dog stops in its tracks a few feet away.
“You have a dog?”
Julian drops my hand and crouches down beside the dog. “He’s more than a dog to me.”
“Jesus. You’re not one of those who call themselves “Daddy” to their pets and treats them like children?”
He chuckles. “Try telling Diesel I’m not his dad and see what happens to you.”
I can barely see them, but I can make out the shapes moving as Julian rubs him all over and the dog (that’s roughly the size of a small bear) wags his tail and rolls over. It’s actually quite sweet. Or at least it would be if I wasn’t so consumed with wondering what the hell we’re doing here.
“The dog lives here?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes he comes home with me.”
“What is this place?” I shift nervously from foot to foot while I half watch them, half take in the surroundings. It’s polar opposites to the house we just came from. Sure, Julian’s home is old and gives off creepy-ish vibes too, but not like this place. You’ll barely find a speck of dust or a mark on a wall in Julian’s house. This room has plaster flaking from the walls, and the wooden floor underfoot feels warped and decaying.
“Come. It’s better if I show you.” He leaves the dog and returns to my side, taking my hand. I still haven’t moved the other one from my face, and I don’t intend to either. He leads me down the corridor with Diesel at his heels, and before we can turn at the end, he removes a key from his pocket and unlocks a door.
A couple of candles line the walls on the other side of it, and I see there are stairs going down. A basement?
I want to turn and run. Whatever this place is, it’s straight out of a horror movie about inbred serial killers and I want no part in it. He must sense my hesitation because his hold on my hand tightens.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
“I’d worry about your sanity if you didn’t, little bird.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and follow him down the shaky structure that barely passes as a staircase. When we reach the bottom, there are a few more candles that flicker on the walls, illuminating several doors. All of them are locked with deadbolts and padlocks.
“This is… a prison?”
“Sharp as well as pretty,” he replies.
“Why do you need a prison?” My voice is shaking and there’s nothing I can do to help it. A part of me wonders if I even want to know the answer.
He turns around and removes my hand from my face, taking both of them in his. “You might have already worked this out, but I’m not a nice man, nor a good man. When you’re neither of those things, you accumulate enemies. When you accumulate enemies, you need somewhere to put them, and a way to dispose of them.”
I look from his face to the doors around the room. I don’t know if it’s the smell or the words coming from his mouth but I feel sick.
My head is shaking.
I’m trying to find words but nothing comes.
“Sofia… this is the world you were born into. It’s dark and brutal and vicious and cruel. But you were never meant to be one of the tortured. You were always supposed to be the queen. My queen.”
My head turns back to his face and I see something behind his usually ice-cold eyes. Worry, perhaps?
“This is too much, Julian.”
“I know. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better, but it will get better. If you trust me.”
How can I trust him? He said it himself — he is not a good man. “And what if I didn’t? What if I ran? What if I became your enemy? You would do this to me? Put me in here?”
“Piccolina… I would never hurt you.”
Lies.
It’s lies.
He said he was going to blow my brains out? “You did hurt me. That first night you took me, you hurt me.”
He shrugs. “That was for your own good. Much less traumatic than me dragging you kicking and screaming down a dark alley, no? I don’t pretend to be gentle in my methods, but I swear to you I’d never hurt you. Not really. Not your heart.”
“How can you know that?”
“I’m a man of my word. You’ll see.”
I hesitate and look around the room again, because I’m not sure how to process what he’s saying. I don’t know if I believe him.
“I have someone on the other side of that door I think you will want to see.”
I stiffen at his words. Does he mean…? No. I can’t do it. I can’t face him, not after all of these years.
“You mean—?”
“He’s right here. He has been for some time now.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to see him.”
He uses the hold on my hands to pull me in closer to him, and now I feel his hard chest against my soft one, just as I did last night. The smell of everything else is overpowered by the smell of him, and I don’t even know how to describe it. He’s like dark spices and a mahogany teakwood candle mixed with adrenaline. “You may not want to, but you need to.”
I shake my head again, firmly, but he takes his chin in my hands and tilts it up so I’m forced to look him in the eye. The flicker of the candle mixes with his silver hues and I swear it feels like he’s staring into my soul.
I can’t do this.
I close my eyes.
This time, he doesn’t brush his lips against mine. This time, he claims them like h
e’s a starved animal. With my head in his hands I couldn’t resist this even if I wanted to.
And I don’t think I want to resist it, anyway.
Not when all thoughts of this house, and who lurks inside it are slipping out of importance. Not when he’s lapping my tongue with his, pulling me closer, taking everything he wants.
His fingers slide from my head to the buttons on my blouse and he pops each one quickly and effortlessly. Before I can think about what I’m doing, I’m already doing the same with his shirt — our lips never separating the whole time.
My hands slide under the crisp fabric and run over his skin. His skin is soft but the muscle beneath is solid, and hot to the touch.
His hands roam freely over my body and for once in my life I’m not anxious, or panicking. I’m frantic.
He lifts me up easily and walks us both over to a wall, or maybe it’s a door — I have no idea. My legs wrap around his waist while his hands squeeze around the curves of my ass and pull me even closer to him.
I want more. More of what he’s doing. Just more of him.
But I don’t want to lose it in whatever this place is. A prison, a dungeon, a place where bad things happen.
“Julian…”
He kisses me still, even when he groans the word “Piccolina.”
I pull my head back as much as possible without cracking my skull against the wall. Julian just takes the opportunity trail kisses down my neck, and when he bites down on the soft skin my back arches involuntarily at the feel of it. Pain. Pain, but not the bad kind.
What is he doing to me?
“I want you to take me home.”
He retreats slightly before letting me gently slide down the wall. With my feet both firmly on the ground, I let out a breath of relief. I need to calm down. My heart is racing and I feel lightheaded.
We’re staring at each other, me wondering if he’ll do what I asked, and him likely wondering how much I want it.
When he spins me around and pushes my chest up against the wall… I fear I have my answer.
My skirt is being pulled up, bunched around my hips while I try and fail to grab a hold of his wrists.
“Stop.”
His stubbled cheek brushes against my neck and he thrusts my hips back until I connect with his hardness.
I feel the rumble in his chest as he chuckles and nips at my earlobe with his teeth. “Little bird, I would if I thought for a second that you meant it.”
And I’m torn right down the middle. I’m screaming at myself, how can he do this? But that’s inside my head. When his hand pushes the thin fabric covering my center to the side, the screams turn into whimpers and there’s nothing I can do to refuse him.
He runs a finger along my slit and I feel my knees go weak. It’s like I no longer have the strength to hold myself up. Instead of grabbing at his hands and forcing him away, I’m clutching at the wall in front of me, trying to find something hard to hold on to.
His fingers begin to explore, mercilessly switching between my entrance and the place where every nerve in my body ends.
I whisper his name into the wall and his free hand circles around my neck, pulling my head back against him while pushing my body harder against the wall.
And now I feel empty. Now I feel like his hand against me isn’t nearly enough. Now I feel like I need all of him, I need everything. Like two-halfs of a puzzle, lost to each other but now desperately trying to fit back together.
I don’t remember him. But I remember everything he represents. And that feeling is home.
He’s still working my body like an instrument, the sounds being ripped from my mouth as if he’s playing a tune with me. And I love it. I love it.
“Julian, please.”
His grip on my neck loosens while his fingers slide up and move into my mouth. I circle my tongue around it, kissing and nipping while he works my body perfectly. “Please, what?”
“Please.” I won’t say the words. I don’t have to. He can feel my need for him. I’m trembling from it. I’m moaning it.
“I want to hear you beg, little bird.”
I’m so close. So. Fucking. Close. And he knows it, because now I’m using his hand just as much as he is, grinding against him desperately like a mindless animal.
“Fuck me,” I whisper.
He lets out a loud breath. A sign of relief? Or amusement? And a moment later he removes his hand. Before I know what’s happening, he’s already pushing my skirt down.
I spin around, breathless and more than a little dizzy. “What are you doing?”
Even in the dim light of the candles, his smirk is unmistakable. “Teaching you a lesson.”
Teaching me a lesson?
The bastard.
Heat rises inside me, a different heat from the one that took over my body a second ago. This time I’m ashamed. This time I’m angry.
I rush towards him — arms outstretched — and push against his hard chest. He barely even moves, but I don’t care about that.
“You really are an arrogant.” Another push. “Cruel.” Another one. “Fucked up.” My fists hammer against his solid chest. “Prick.”
He stands there, letting me take out my anger until my arms are aching and I’m even more breathless.
“Are you done?”
I take a step back and look him straight in the eye.
“I’m done. In every possible sense of the word.”
His lips curve up in a smile and he tilts his head to the side. “You’re not done. In fact, you’re not even close. That was the whole point in the lesson.”
I scoff at him. Is he really so in love with himself he thinks he can treat me however he likes? “You’re wrong.”
“See, your mouth might say that, but the rest of you knows the truth. You just proved it. You want me. You need me. Even after everything I’ve done. Even after I brought you here, of all places. You forgot about who was on the other side of that door and you gave yourself to me.”
My gaze wavers from his and now I’m looking across the room at some damp spot on the wall. I can’t look at him… not if there’s a chance he might be right.
Is he right though?
What he said was factual. I did forget. I didn’t care.
But does that change anything?
Chapter 10
JULIAN
“You know what you need to do, Sofia.”
I can see her wavering before my eyes. She’s close, so fucking close. She’s as close to the edge now as she was five minutes ago when she was shoved up against the wall.
I could push her off that cliff. It would be so fucking easy. But then I’d spend the rest of my life wondering if she could have done it herself.
“You know it. Do it, and I swear you won’t regret it.”
Her eyes flick towards me and I take in the sight of her. She looks almost as disheveled as she did this morning. Her chest heaves against her blouse, and the light from the candles illuminates the wet tears that pool in the corner of her eyes.
It’s fucking exquisite. Beautiful.
And I’ll remember this image of her until the day I die.
Finally, she shakes her head. “I can’t do it, Julian. I want to, but I can’t. I want you to do it for me.”
I regard her for a moment. It’s an option. I’d take a great deal of pleasure in sticking a bullet in that man’s head. In fact, I’d do far worse things than the kindness of a bullet.
“If I did that, you’d never have it back to do it for yourself. Maybe you’re not strong enough now. Maybe. But in ten years you will be, and then it’ll be too late. I don’t want you to regret that.”
Her breathing slows down to a normal rate, and she blinks a few times. “Okay.”
I raise my eyebrows at her, unconvinced that she means what she says.
“You’re right. I need justice, and I don’t need you to give me that.”
I smile before pulling her close to me. “Good girl.”
Since
Derek Johnson has no candles, I take one with us. Does it bother me that he’ll get to see Sofia’s pretty face one last time before he dies? Of course it does. It fucking kills me. But there’s not a hope in hell she could make that shot in the darkness.
I put the candle down on the table where he takes his scraps without letting go of Sofia’s hand. He won’t run. Not with Diesel at her feet and a gun in her hand.
“You’re all grown up,” he says.
Sofia glances up to me and I watch her while she looks back at him. Her face is set in a hard determined stare and she raises her arms, aiming the gun at him.
“Not your type anymore, I guess? I’m heartbroken.”
He laughs at her dryness and leans back on the bed, and it takes everything not to rip the gun out of her hands and do it myself.
“I wouldn’t kick you out of bed, if that’s what you’re worried abou—.”
“Shut the fuck up,” she says. Her tone is ice cold now, and she narrows her eyes on him. She’s fucking glorious. “You don’t speak anymore. I speak now. Because I have a voice now. I have power now. Not you.”
“Sofia—”
She doesn’t even allow the man the sentence. No last words from him. No speech from her. The gun goes off, the sound of it reverberating around the room. Then she throws it down at her feet and walks out of the room without a backwards glance.
I knew she was meant for me, but I didn’t know she was fucking made for me, too.
She’s already walking back up the stairs by the time I’m out of the room. I give Diesel a signal to follow, and he bounds up the stairs behind her three at a time.
I pull out my phone and hit number five on speed-dial. He answers on the second ring.
“Julian. What can I do for you?”
