Dark Wish (A Dark Romance)

by Clarissa Wild

  But not Amelia. No one is waiting for her to apologize. How in the world am I going to trigger her to confess?

  I return to my study and sit back down in my chair, rubbing my eyebrows. There must be someone in the history of this House who has done the same, right? But no matter how many books I read about our family, the more I’m lost to the question I don’t have the answers to. Because what do you do with a sinner who cannot even remember her own sin? Let alone the fact that she wasn’t sent … she was invited. She said yes because deep down, she knew she had to … even if she cannot remember why.

  But I will help her.

  It’s what I do best.

  Twelve years ago

  The first day I was allowed to go down the stairs into the cellar made my heart pump so hard it felt like it would burst out of my chest.

  For years, my father had been teasing me with hints of what went on down there. Because I was too young, he never fully disclosed what his job was. Whatever happened behind closed doors stayed there even though I could always hear the groaning, the cries, and the whispers.

  They lured me again and again to come and have a peek, but the minute I did, Father’s guards would be there to keep me from trying.

  And now the day has finally arrived that I get to join my father in his work. The one thing our family has been doing for centuries. Divine work, he calls it, and the responsibility of it has been handed down from generation to generation.

  And I can’t help but feel as though it is finally my time to shine. My time to learn what hides behind these thick, wooden doors.

  I pause in front of the stairs, the guards eyeing me up as though they’re reminding me that my father can take back permission at any time, and they will intervene. I must do everything I can to ensure my father is content with me.

  Just as he always says … behave, and you will be rewarded.

  It’s our family’s mantra. A good one, but a harsh rule to live by if you ask me.

  I swallow hard as I take a step down into the cellar, where the shrieks are still audible to this very day. I’ve always wondered what was hiding in there. An animal? Or a monster? My imagination always ran away with me.

  My father taught me there is no shame in the work he does. He’s proud of his accomplishments, so I’ve always assumed the noise was just part of the job … along with the pain to your heart the second you hear those screams.

  But I’ve grown used to it. Or rather, I was forced. As someone who was homeschooled, I didn’t know any better, and I wasn’t allowed to know the truth either. Not until today.

  And because that day has finally arrived, the tension is almost too much to take.

  I walk down the stairs and go through the dark hallways lit by only a couple of lights. It’s scary and damp and reminds me of a dungeon. There are several wooden doors, but only one of them seems to be in use right now, and my father is standing right in front of it.

  I suck my lips inward and stop in front of him.

  “Finally … it’s time,” he says, his deep voice always striking fear into my heart, even to this day. Not the fear of danger but the fear of sheer power.

  Because my father is one powerful man. I’ve known that since I was a little boy. Men from all over the world would visit this giant mansion just to get some private time with my father. Not just any men, but rich ones. Ones who ruled the world.

  And no one knew, of course. No one but us.

  When I looked in the papers or online, no one would ever mention a word about these men all meeting here in secret. But I knew. And I relished in their power, wondering what it would take to get to where they were.

  But what struck me most of all was how they all revered my father.

  What was it about my father that had all these powerful men entranced to the point of them signing over whatever he asked for to take a glimpse at what he does?

  It only intrigued me more.

  And now that I am finally here with him as he towers over me, I can’t help but feel grateful for the opportunity I’ve been given. But what will I find behind those doors?

  “Are you ready?” he asks me.

  I nod, but my back is sweaty, and my knees feel like they’re about to buckle on me.

  His hand rests on my shoulder, steady, squeezing tight as though to tell me to stay calm and be vigilant all at the same time.

  “It’s going to be hard. Unimaginably hard. But no matter what you see, feel, or hear, you must stay, and you must persist. It is the only way to learn what our family does. What we are. Do you understand?”

  I nod again, but I can barely contain my own mix of excitement and fear as adrenaline pumps through my veins and makes my toes and fingers jittery.

  “All right,” he says, and he turns around to face the door. He casually fishes a key from his pocket and stuffs it into the lock, turning it sideways. One final glance over his shoulder and I’m unable to look away.

  “Go inside,” he says.

  He steps aside, allowing me to get closer. I swallow and press my hand against the door. It creaks as it opens, and a bright light blinds me at first, so I cover my eyes.

  “Don’t look away,” my father growls as he steps behind me, keeping the door open but also blocking the exit with his body.

  He turns the knob on a button, and the light dims.

  On the other end of the room is a man, strapped to a standing bed, facing the light.

  I suck in a breath as my father says, “Go on.”

  I move inside with determination even though the dread sinking into my shoes makes them feel weighed down. The man on the bed groans, and I pause for a second, but my father’s encouraging gaze compels me to push on.

  But when I finally get to meet this man bound by leather straps, my heart almost stops beating.

  His face is covered in scars, his mouth sealed tight with tape, his eyelids forced to stay open as he’s been staring into the lamp for God knows how long, unable to look away, causing his eyes to singe and make him go blind.

  Panic floods my veins.

  “He’s going blind!” I yell at my father, who approaches me.

  “Yes, I know, boy,” he muses as he laces his fingers over my shoulder and looks me dead in the eyes. “That’s the whole point.”

  His words reverberate over and over in my head as I come to terms with the fact my father did this intentionally.

  My whole body trembles as the man turns his head to look at me even though he’s most likely lost his sight already. He groans again, jerking against his restraints, and it makes me jolt.

  “Don’t be scared. He can’t hurt you,” my father says, pointing at the leather straps around the man’s arms and legs.

  I’m not scared. I’m surprised by the sheer magnitude of my father’s horrendous treatment of this man. Why would he do this? “I don’t understand. Why would you tie someone up like this and make them go blind?”

  He grabs my shoulder and forces me to stay put and watch the man suffer. “That’s it. Let it make you uncomfortable. Let it ooze into your veins until you can no longer deny the heinous atrocities committed here.”

  This is what he wanted to show me?

  All these years I spent excitedly waiting … for this?

  A man suffering the most horrendous pain imaginable?

  I shake my head. “What is wrong with you?”

  My father leans over my shoulder, his lips thin and curled upward as he whispers into my ear, “You’re asking the wrong question.”

  “Then tell me why,” I retort.

  “Exactly. Why? Why did this man deserve this pain and punishment?”

  I swallow again around what feels like a ball of wool impossible to untangle. “What did he do?”

  “Good …” My father smiles. “Now you’re getting where you’re supposed to go.”

  He steps out from behind me and grabs the man’s chin, who immediately jerks and resists. His face contorts, but the man has no tears left to cry.


  “You think that I would do this to an innocent person?” my father asks. When I don’t reply, he adds, “Of course not. Men like him deserve all the pain they receive. He and so many others are part of the problem, part of the disease spread all over this earth.”

  “Disease?”

  He turns his head back to me, wearing a vile, diabolical grimace on his face. “Sin.”

  Sin … Like the church kind of sin?

  But why would my father do this? There are laws in place to punish those who commit crimes. “We have police for that, don’t we?” I ask.

  “No!”

  SLAP!

  The sudden smack against my cheeks makes all the noise inside my head disappear. I’ve known this stinging pain for so long, yet I’ve never gotten used to it.

  “The police merely take someone into jail. They don’t make them see the error of their ways. Not even with their silly programs,” he rants. “And who do you think pays the police, huh? The working class? Politicians? Only sometimes. No … the real power lies …” He fishes the man’s wallet from his pocket and opens it up, taking out a few dollar bills. “In this.”

  “Money?” I ask, finding this all hard to believe.

  What does money have to do with punishing the people who committed crimes? Does he get paid to do it? Is that what this is?

  “People pay you to hurt others?” I try to insinuate.

  When he raises his hand again, I raise mine to protect myself, and he stops midair.

  He sighs out loud. “The people who own the money are in charge of this world. You think the police can do anything against those who hold the world in the very palm of their hands? Of course not,” he says, averting his eyes. “They buy out their sins. They own the police.”

  “So what do you do?” I ask.

  “I work … for those who do not consider incarceration to be enough, for those who do not want their family’s sins to become public knowledge,” he answers, clearing his throat. “We work for the most powerful families in the world. And when they find that harm has been done, they send these criminals directly to us.”

  He makes it sound as though I already work here. As if I’m as much a part of his schemes as he is.

  But I’m not sure I want any part of this.

  My father quickly snags something off the table to the side, grabs my shoulder, and forces me to look at him as he stuffs it into the palm of my hand. When I open my hand and see the blade of a knife, my fingers begin to tremble.

  I gasp. “No.”

  “No?” My father’s brows rise, but not in a mocking way. It’s more in a daring way, as though he’s threatening me with just a single look.

  But I won’t be swayed. Not without proper cause. Not even when the palm of his hand could strike me at any time. I’m not afraid of pain. I’m only afraid of what it would do to me, to my soul, if I made the wrong choice.

  So I lift my head high and stand proudly as I gaze at my father towering over me, and say with strength in my voice, “Tell me what he did.”

  A tepid but diabolical smile spreads on his lips. “This man …” He leans over and whispers into my ear the very words I wished I’d never heard.

  Words that would make any man, woman, or child scream in agony.

  Words that ignite your heart into blazing fury until it wants nothing more than to burn anything within its vicinity.

  Children. Hundreds. Thousands. Used until they were innocent no more, then slaughtered like animals, leaving nothing but brittle bones for the longing parents wishing their child would come home.

  Nothing. Nothing compares to this pain. Not even the searing sun blinding your eyes while your insides were pecked out by vultures.

  “There is only one way to make a criminal atone,” my father says. His voice shifts in a way I’ve never heard before, like it’s twisting and contorting as he speaks, almost like a nightmare come true. And if I spoke now, my voice would sound exactly the same.

  This is what he wanted me to know. To experience.

  The violence, the rage, the perverted reality of our world culminating into one single moment in time when the sinner is not given a second chance, a comforting cell, time spent waiting on a clock ticking by to be free and do it all over again.

  No. The pain ends now. It ends here … with me.

  “Pain is punishment. Punishment for the unjust, the unworthy, so that they may confess and repent. And if not … they will burn, as they deserve,” Father mutters as he pushes me toward the man, my blood boiling as my hatred seeps deep into my bones. “Now give this man what he is owed.”

  Present

  With a sigh, I put my book aside and get up. Time to get to work.

  I saunter up the stairs and make my way to her room. Tobias just exited another, and he gazes at me with a darkened look on his face.

  “Difficult?” I ask.

  “It’s never easy,” he replies. “Some are worse than others. Only time will tell if she learns to accept her new situation.” He winks. “As will yours.”

  “Hopefully, yes,” I reply.

  “She must. There is no other choice,” he replies with a deadly gaze.

  I straighten my back. “I know.” He’s being pedantic now.

  He nods and clears his throat. “I’ll be downstairs preparing for the next one, so if you need me, let me know.”

  “I won’t,” I reply, and I pass him before he can say anything else.

  I clear my throat and knock on Amelia’s door.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I knock again.

  “What do you want?”

  Not the reply I expected, but good enough.

  “I’d like to talk.”

  It takes her a while to respond. “Why?”

  “You know why,” I reply.

  She sighs out loud. “Fine. Come in.”

  I fish my key from my pocket and push it into the lock, opening the door. The moment I step inside, she immediately eyes the key in my hand.

  Even if I request her permission to enter, I don’t really need it, and she knows that. Asking is merely a part of the chivalry, the courting of her mind. Because what man would ask permission when he can take what he wants freely?

  Her eyes sweep up to my face, and I smile in response. In her dark purple gown, she stands in front of the window with her hair braided and pale skin dotted with makeup, looking like a true princess. And I realize at that moment she is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  If only she wasn’t here to be punished.

  Chapter 18

  Eli

  Biting my lip, I close the door behind me and step farther inside. Her eyes travel away from me and out into the garden beyond the barred window. I cock my head and watch her. Her elegant posture almost vanishes into the painted walls as though she wishes to disappear. And it moves me.

  I rub my lips together and approach her, placing two hands on her shoulders as she gazes out into the world beyond this small room. Her body tenses under my touch but then relaxes again the second my finger softly grazes her neck to slide aside a few delicate hairs.

  I lean in to whisper into her ear. “It could all be yours.”

  She gasps, but before she can utter a word, I place my index finger on top of her lips.

  “Don’t ask how because you’ll need to make a promise you can’t keep.”

  I plant a gentle but firm kiss on top of her shoulder as if to say … you’re mine, whether you want to be or not.

  She shudders, covering her skin with goose bumps. I peer over her shoulder at her quivering lips that just beg me to kiss them, and my eyes can’t help but peer down at those perky tits nestled in that tight dress that I just want to tear off. She really made an effort to impress me today. The question is, why?

  The left side of my lip perks up into a devious smile. “You dressed up for me. Did you know I was coming?”

  She sucks in a breath. “I like to be prepared.”

  She obviously k
nows what’s expected of her. Dress appropriately in here. Tight. Laced up. Sky-high heels. Why? Because if they wore anything else, it’d be much easier to escape.

  Fancy clothes weigh you down … and they make you look pretty too.

  I smile against her ear and whisper, “Smart girl.”

  I pet her braided hair and let it fall against her back, my hand brushing the skin behind. Every time we come into contact, her whole body tenses up, and I can’t help but wonder …

  My hand reaches between her thighs, toward the crevice I know is ripe for the taking. I only need one swipe along her wet entrance to know the truth.

  I groan into her ear. “You really are a dirty one …”

  “Do you get off on it?”

  Her brazenness makes me pause. Sometimes her fearlessness even catches me by surprise.

  “If you think I do this to indulge myself, you’re mistaken,” I reply.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Is that why you’re touching me?”

  Rage at her insolence bubbles to the surface, and I grab her waist and wrist and whisk her around in my arms, locking her in place as she hovers on one foot. “Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. Do not play games with me, Amelia.” I lean in to press a kiss on her chest, right below her chin. Then I look up into her shocked eyes. “Unless they are of the sexual kind.”

  She swallows, visibly shaken. “Please …”

  “Please what?” I mutter, my grip on her wrist still firm.

  “Take what you want … Do what you like. I don’t care. Just … let me go,” she whispers.

  I cock my head. Finally, she says what she’s truly thinking.

  “You think I’m going to take you for myself?” I whisper, my finger still wet from her pussy. “That this is all just so I can have my way with you?”

  I admit I have thought about it. Many, many times, in fact. But I cannot let my lust control me. The sinner must be punished. Those are the rules of our House.

  “You enjoy it, don’t you?” she hisses back.

  A filthy smile forms on my face. “Would you prefer the lie or the truth?”

  She swallows and tilts her head, and my eyes and lips are immediately drawn to her skin. Inching forward, I graze my lips on the skin underneath her ear, and her lips quake from anticipation.