by Myers, K. L.
“We will begin the process this afternoon.”
She perks up, sitting straight and flipping her hair over her shoulder. “You’ll do it today?” she asks, looking happier than I’ve ever seen her.
I hate that I’m about to make her sad.
“I won’t kill you.”
“Wait... what?”
“But I will show you the man everyone else fears.”
“What does that mean?” she asks, confusion coloring her features.
“You get the monster. I just hope you’re ready for him.”
12
Meeting the Monster
Willow
I struggle to hide my excitement at his words. He may think he won’t kill me, but monsters aren’t known for their control. I just need to figure out how to push him past that breaking point.
I will get what I want.
Jamal eats in silence as Brecken and I stare each other down, a quiet battle raging between us. He thinks he has me figured out. That he knows me so well. Too bad watching someone through a sheet of glass doesn’t teach you about who they are on the inside.
Brecken is going to learn he isn’t as smart as he thinks. He’s not as prepared either. He doesn’t know me, but he will soon.
I smile, unable to stop myself. “I look forward to meeting your monster.”
Brecken smiles back, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes. “We’ll see.”
Oh yes, we will. We definitely will.
“I have some work to do. Meet me here in two hours.” He stands with his dishes in hand and walks away.
“So bossy,” I say on a chuckle.
“You do not know what it is you joke about,” Jamal says without looking up from his breakfast.
I’m about to ask him what his fucking problem is, but his scar shining brightly against his dark skin stops me. I don’t know his story, or what brought him here. Maybe I should find that out before I give him shit.
“Can I help you clean up?”
“It’s not necessary, Miss.”
“It would make me happy.”
“How can I say no to that?” he asks, smiling, but I can feel his unease.
“You don’t,” I answer, smiling back in hopes of making things go easier between us.
We sit quietly as we finish our breakfast. I sip my coffee, waiting for him, and when he pushes his seat back, I get up too. He says nothing as I follow him into the kitchen, and I like that he doesn’t feel the need to entertain me. It allows me to think of what to ask him first.
I place my dishes on the counter and start looking for detergent, knowing he’ll step in. I’m counting on his kindness to start learning the layout of this house. The smallest detail may be what I need to find Brecken’s weaknesses.
Jamal puts food away as I wash dishes, not saying a word. He hums lightly, the tone beautiful. I wish he would sing, so I could hear how gorgeous his voice really is.
“How long have you worked for Brecken?” I ask, deciding to start somewhere he shouldn’t find threatening.
“I don’t work for him,” he answers quickly, without looking at me. He goes back to humming like I never spoke.
I’m confused by his answer. He drives Brecken, cooks and cleans for him—isn’t that working? Is there something I’m missing?
“Does he pay you?”
“He gives me money if I need it, but no, I don’t get a paycheck.” He shakes his head like I’m nuts for even asking.
“You realize he should be paying you, right?” I can’t let this go, even though it means getting off topic from what I wanted to talk about. “You’re his chauffeur, chef, and housekeeper. You should be compensated for what you do. Do not be afraid of Brecken Wade, no matter how grumpy he gets.”
Jamal laughs, reminding me of Brecken. I don’t understand why these men are so humored by me.
“I can see why he chose you.”
I freeze at his words. This is what I want—what I need. Jamal is handing me the information, and I didn’t even have to work it out of him.
Stay cool, Willow.
“Oh, yeah. I’m his type, huh?”
Jamal reaches above him and places flour in the cupboard before answering. “You’re what he’s been waiting for.”
And now, I’m completely confused. Jamal said Brecken chose me. Brecken admitted to watching me. What the hell does he mean by waiting for me? What is he waiting for?
“I don’t understand,” I confess, hoping he’ll explain things to me.
Jamal ignores me and continues tidying up the already clean space around us. I wait, hoping he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. He begins humming again, and my blood begins to boil.
“You’re just as bad as he is. He bosses me around, and you make it seem normal how he acts. I’m done with this shit.” Throwing my hands up, I turn to storm out of the kitchen, but his words send a chill up my spine.
“What you’re asking is going to break him, but sure, we’ll call him the bad guy.”
I don’t stop or turn around to respond. I can’t. His words have punched me straight in the gut. Am I really the bad guy here? Has my need to escape the pain made me oblivious to everything and everyone around me?
Am I decimating an already broken man?
Sinking down in a chair at the dining room table, I lay my head on my arms, praying the answers will come to me. Should I tell Brecken the deal is off? Demand he bring me home? Can I forget what I came here to do? Will I be able to go back to the life I had before?
I have no idea how to answer any of my questions.
* * *
“Are you ready to meet the monster?”
I startle at Brecken’s voice. It’s not possible that a couple of hours have gone by. Is it? I was lost in thought but not oblivious to the world around me. I mean, I heard movements and hushes of sounds. Could I say what was happening? Probably not, but surely it hasn’t been that long.
“Having second thoughts?” Brecken asks, his blue eyes focused on me in concern.
“No,” I answer quickly. Too quickly for my liking. I don’t want him thinking I’m nervous. I am, but Brecken is not the type of man you show weakness to.
“Well then, come with me.”
He reaches out his hand, and I take it. His large hand envelops mine, and warmth spreads, taking away the chill that had settled after walking away from Jamal earlier. I want to stay wrapped up in it, but Jamal’s words haunt me. I don’t want to hurt Brecken because I’m a mess.
“Are you sure about doing this?” I whisper, and he stops walking, causing me to collide with his back.
Embarrassment crawls up my spine as he turns and pins me with a stare. His blue eyes roam my face, trying to read my thoughts, but like him, I’m a vault, sealed up tight to the outside world.
“What is going on in here?” he asks as he touches my temple gently.
I nearly cry at the lightness of his touch. A man who proclaims himself a monster should not be capable of softness. He should take and destroy, leaving pain and heartbreak in his path. I don’t understand the man before me, or the way he speaks to my soul.
“Will you be alright if you do this?”
His head jolts back as if I’ve slapped him, and his eyes go glacial. I didn’t mean to offend, and I don’t know how to explain. I don’t know this man well enough to tell him why I worry about him.
“Will you?” he counters.
I nod, because I want this, but I’m not sure he does.
He doesn’t say another word. Just nods and begins walking again, his pace a little faster than before. I follow him up the stairs and past my room. We walk three doors further and enter another bedroom. On the bed lies a white T-shirt and sweatpants.
In the middle of the room sits a maroon padded chair. On it is fabric of some sort and something I don’t recognize, but it has a handle. I start to walk toward it to get a better look, but Brecken steps in front of me and points to the clothing on the bed.
“Put those on, and
we’ll begin.”
13
Unleashing the Beast
Brecken
No one dreams of being a killer when they grow up. At least, that’s what I choose to believe. Life pushes good people into bad situations, and we evolve into beings we don’t recognize or even like, to survive.
Life created this monster standing in the middle of a random bedroom, in the house I’m supposed to share with my wife, waiting for a woman I’m attracted to, so I can torture her. Life shoved me down this fucking rabbit hole, and I’m about to use Willow to break my fall.
Leaning against the wall with my eyes closed, I envision her reaction. Her mouth gaped open. Her cries of pain, panting and begging me for mercy.
And I’ll give it to her.
My eyes pop open on the thought, and she’s there, staring at me from across the room, her green eyes trying to dissect me. She has no idea the madness she’d reveal if she got inside my mind, the swirling chaos that would consume her and drag her into depths of hell she’s never even heard of.
Please, Willow, don’t look at me like I’m a puzzle for you to figure out. A story for you to write an ending to. I am a destroyer of dreams. That’s it. There’s nothing else to find here.
“Should I sit?” she asks, her cheeks flushed like she’s been exercising. One hand is folded under her chin while the other arm is folded over her flat stomach. All dressed in white, she looks like an angel.
Maybe she is.
An angel come from heaven to smite me for my sins. Will she hear my confessions before she banishes my soul to hell? Can hands as bloody as mine be cleaned by the truth?
“Brecken?” Her voice is breathy. I can’t tell if she’s excited or nervous, but either way, I need to move forward or stop this whole thing. I don’t know what to do.
Her hands drop, and she walks—no, she sways—toward me, her steps graceful and light. I take her in, starting at her bare feet and traveling up her long lean legs until I stop at her breasts that are no longer burdened with a bra. My breath catches at the sight of her rosy nipples showing through the sheer fabric of her top, and I swallow loudly.
Arousal muddles my brain, and I can’t function, can’t react to her getting closer to me. One painfully slow step at a time, she slinks her way into my private space until she’s merely inches from us touching. The heat from her body radiates off her and wraps around me, begging me to reach out and take her, but I remain a statue, trapped in my misery.
“Tell me what to do, Brecken.”
Strip and get on all fours, slips into my mind, but I manage to squeeze out, “Sit on the seat. Your chest against the backing.”
Willow tilts her head side to side, trying to read what’s happening, but before she can ask anything else, I step around her and walk to the chair. Reaching down, I grab the flogger in one hand and slide it into my back pocket, and from the other, grab the fabric I plan to tie her up with.
“Sit,” I say, more firmly this time.
She nods and does as I’ve commanded.
“You will not fight me, Willow. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she answers, a radiant smile breaking free. She has no idea how her excitement to be tortured hurts my heart, the heart that was supposed to stop feeling long ago.
“Close your eyes.”
“Wh—”
“No questions. You do as I say, and you do not fight me.”
“Oh.” She nods. A look of uncertainty passes over her face, but it’s gone quickly, and then she closes her eyes. I instantly miss them, the shade of green that reminds me of spring and life returning. That’s how Willow has made me feel—like I’m coming back to life.
With her eyes closed and her face pointed up, I wrap my hands in her hair, pulling it into a ponytail. She gasps at my touch but composes herself quickly. I want to believe she’s as affected as I am by our bodies being in contact, but with her eyes closed, she’s simply feeling things in hyperdrive during an emotional state.
She doesn’t give a shit that my hands are on her.
As much as I’d like to run my fingers through her hair, grip onto it tightly, and use it to direct her lips to mine, I have to move forward to the next step. She doesn’t crave me the way I do her, and I want to disturb her reality. So, I slip fabric over her eyes and tie it beneath the ponytail.
She slides a hand up to pull at the blindfold, and I slap it away, causing her to yelp. I’d give anything to kiss away the hurt I’ve caused, but I can’t. I can’t show her she’s weakening me. She needs my monster.
Kneeling down, I tie each ankle to the chair legs, and then I move to her arms. I pull them in front of her and tie them at her wrists. With a final tug, I make sure she can’t break free before I stand.
She’s fucking beautiful, all trussed up and ready to be played with. If only circumstances were different... we’d both be enjoying what’s about to happen. I only hope she can forgive me when tonight is over.
Stepping behind her, I pull the flogger from my pocket and take a deep breath. “It’s time, Willow.” She murmurs an acceptance as I send a prayer to the heavens that she remembers she asked for this. There will be no telling her how she received mercy... kindness even, compared to those I’ve tortured in the past.
The cloth she’s tied up in is silk because I couldn’t bear to use the rope I usually relish working with. I prefer it to cut into the skin of those I’m killing, but the thought of marring her beautiful skin makes me want to vomit. I slice, dice, maim, and drain those who have deserved it, but she doesn’t. She shouldn’t be here.
I was wrong, and I’m sorry for bringing her here. I wish I could take it all back. But she’ll hate me more if I do. With that thought in mind, I raise my hand and bring the flogger down with a slap across her back. Her cry shatters another piece of my already decimated heart.
I’m ready to be done, to tell her this was a horrible idea, when she says, “Again.” I peer around the chair, and she’s grinning.
Oh God. What have I done?
“Again,” she repeats, but I’m frozen, too shocked by her words to move. “Again, dammit. Show me the fucking monster!” she yells.
So, I do. I bring the flogger down as I ask, “Why do you feel you deserve my wrath?”
She laughs and sobs at once. I’m not sure what to make of it. My question wasn’t funny, nor should it have made her cry. Maybe I hit her harder than I thought. I’ve been trying to go easy on her.
“Why, Willow?” I demand, as I bring the flogger down again.
“Because I killed my husband,” she blurts out on a breathy gasp.
She killed Abe. It can’t be true. My mind spins but keeps coming back to one thought... Willow is a murderer.
My world is thrown off its axis at her confession. She is deserving of this punishment after all, but how did I miss this?
I’m sorry, Willow, but I can’t show mercy to murderers. You all deserve to rot in hell. I’ll see you there when I get there.
Once again, I lift my arm, and this time, I unleash fury in my swing right as she says, “He was rushing—” Her words are cut off by a screech so ear piercing I don’t know how the windows stay intact.
“Who was rushing?” Anger courses through me as I demand answers. I’m angry at her for confusing me and angry at my ineptitude to control my feelings toward her. And guilt consumes me too. I may have gone too far.
“Abe,” she says through sobs. “He was rushing to get home to me.”
“But you said you killed him,” I growl as I raise my arm again.
“I might as well have driven him into that tree.” Her words are getting harder to understand through the fierceness of her crying. A better man would let her go, but I need to know the truth. I need to know if she’s a murderer.
“I should have gone to his mother’s birthday party with him, but my book tour was more important. I should have done so many things.”
My arm hangs in the air. I’m unsure what to do.
“
He wanted kids, but I wasn’t ready. I should have had babies with him. He deserved to have a wife who loved him enough to give him a family.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Me!” she shrieks. “I didn’t love him enough. I sent him to his mom’s party alone. After we had a huge fight, I let him fly across the country to his mom’s. I didn’t talk to him the whole time he was gone. He got in that accident because he was rushing home from the airport to go to a book signing with me. But the weather…”
Her words trail off, and she sits there sobbing, the fabric over her eyes getting wet. “He died thinking I didn’t love him.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” I don’t know why I’m trying to comfort her. It’s not my thing, but before me is a woman who is suffering a loss anyone could suffer. She didn’t kill her husband. It’s unfortunate how things went down, but many marriages go through exactly what she’s describing. Guilt and grief are coloring her feelings.
“He died before I got to the hospital. The last words he heard from me were, ‘Thank fuck you’re going to your mother’s. I need a break from you.’ Who says that to the person they love and then ignores them for days? He didn’t do anything wrong. He just asked when I’d be ready to start a family.”
I untie the blindfold and let it drop to the floor, watching as she blinks and tears stream down her cheeks. “We can’t be finished.”
“This part is,” I say, realizing I’ve gone about everything with Willow all wrong. It’s time to make things right.
“No. I deserve more.”
“You deserve many things. Kindness and compassion. All the finer things in life. I’m going to give those to you.”
“That’s not a monster.”
“To you, it will be.”
Her face screws into a grimace, and I shrug as I walk into the bathroom to get supplies to tend to her back. I realized as I listened to Willow that I could beat her, but it would never break her. She wants the pain—feels she deserves it even—but that will never show her who she’s meant to be. I plan to do that.
