by Bailey, Fawn
It was cryptic and strange, and it was probably just somebody messing with me, though the handwriting was hauntingly familiar. Instead of worrying Kain, I was going to take matters into my own hands and find out who’d put it there.
And when I did, I was going to destroy them.
I didn’t appreciate people reminding me of my past. I’d left it all behind me for good reason.
I’d seen them chop off my father’s head. There was no way the man was still alive. There was no way my father was still out there.
Right?
I had to stop the doubting questions popping into my head, so I grabbed Kain’s hand and dragged him back inside the house where our breakfast was waiting for us. A fierce need to forget bloomed inside my chest, forcing me to my knees next to his seat at the head of the table.
He gave me a surprised glance, and I begged him to go along with it with my eyes. I needed to submit to him. I needed him to take control of me. If only for a little while, if only to make me forget.
“Does my little dolly want to play?” Kain asked me, and I nodded eagerly. He gave me an affectionate smile before starting on his breakfast. “Are you hungry?” he asked me, and I nodded again.
He fed me oatmeal, lowering a spoon into my mouth. I ate up greedily, my eyes on his as he fed me, making sure to lick the spoon the way I wanted to lick him.
“Good?” he asked, and I nodded again.
It was so easy to retreat from Ophelia and back to his little dolly. The obedient, quiet little slut he kept around for her three little holes. I wanted to please him most of the time, and even that day. But most of all, I wanted to forget.
I couldn’t live in a world where my father was alive. I couldn’t let myself question whether he was truly killed.
Of course he was killed. I saw it with my own eyes. Kain showed me his fucking head!
But what if I remembered wrong? What if something happened? What if he’s somehow still out there?
What if he wants to punish me for betraying my family?
I shivered from the onslaught of thoughts that wouldn’t leave me alone just as Kain’s fingers wrapped around my chin, tipping it back and forcing me to look at him.
"You're so far away right now, dolly," he said, his voice worried. "Don't hide inside your head. Don't hide from me. I want to know what's going on in there. I want to know what you're not telling me."
"I can't," I whispered. "It's nothing. It's just Vlada. I'm anxious to find her. I want to have her back." I hated myself for lying to him, but I couldn't tell him the truth. He deserved to know, but I wasn't ready. I needed time to clear my head and figure out why I'd found that piece of paper.
My hand went inside the pocket of my dress, and I searched for the paper that would explain everything.
Maybe I should tell him.
But when I felt around for the piece of paper, my hands came up empty. It was gone.
I looked away from Kain. Turned the pocket around, desperately trying to find the paper that would tell him why I was so worried.
It was nowhere to be found.
"Dolly," Kain said, and I looked up into his eyes again. "What's going on with you? What are you doing?"
What was I supposed to tell him? I would seem like a crazy person if I mentioned the note that was conveniently missing.
"It's nothing," I managed to get out. "Really, I'm just getting distracted because I'm so worried about finding her." My heart pounded, and I gave him my most innocent look, trying to remind myself that I wasn't crazy, that the note really had been there.
But Kain bought it. He nodded, his fingers affectionately touching my cheek, and his lips leaving the ghost of a kiss against mine.
"We're going to find her," he promised. "I'll make sure of it."
I nodded, averting my eyes from his under the pretense of being too distraught. But there was something else on my mind. Something I couldn't tell him, not until I found that wretched piece of paper with my father's note.
Later that day, I went back into the garden to look for the note I'd found earlier in the day. I traced my steps from the morning, going down the same path and trying to find the paper that had given me an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach.
It was nowhere to be found. The spot where I'd first seen it, among the stones making up the wall around the property, was now empty. There was nothing lying on the ground, where I assumed the paper must've fallen from my pocket. It was gone.
Had it been a dream? Was the whole thing a product of my imagination? The desperate desire to have my family back was making me crazy, making me see things. And Kain was onto me. He was going to find out just how messed up my mind was. How would he take it? Would he still want to keep me if he knew my head was playing tricks on me?
I couldn't spend too much time dwelling on the fact.
Kain was already waiting for me when I got back to the house.
We liked to spend the afternoons together, him working and me reading a book or watching a movie.
Now, he didn't look up as he patted the seat next to him. I walked into the room and settled in a comfortable position next to him, my head in his lap.
He put away his papers, and he seemed to notice there was something going on with me. "What is going on, dolly?" he asked me, his voice soft and his fingers trailing through my hair, gently tucking it behind my ears. "What's going on in that pretty little head? Talk to me. I want to help you."
"I told you. It's just Vlada. I feel like my past is playing catch-up." I sat up and looked into his eyes. "I'm scared," I admitted for the first time.
"What are you scared of? Michael is gone. Max is gone. Ryker won't bother you anymore. So what are you scared of, dolly? Me?"
I shook my head impatiently. I had been scared of him for a long time, but we were past that. My fear now was a thing of instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach constantly warning me that something bad was about to happen. "I have a bad feeling," I explained it in simple terms. "Like something's going to happen. Like we have one last trial in front of us. And that makes me scared."
"Dolly, there's no one out there who wants to hurt us," Kain tried to convince me. "No one. I'm going to take care of you. And I think you need some rest. You tossed and turned all night. Do you want to take a nap?"
"Okay," I mumbled.
I didn't really want a nap, but I thought it might do me some good.
Kain walked me to our room, where he watched me climb into bed and even tucked me in, leaving a fleeting kiss on my forehead.
"I'm going to do some work, but I'll be back to check on you in an hour. You sleep now, dolly. Get some rest, okay?"
I nodded, and he closed the blinds before leaving me in the peace and quiet of the empty bedroom. The second the door closed behind him, the feeling of being unsafe got worse. I was tempted to go after him, beg him to stay with me and keep me safe. Instead, I reached for the book of poetry he'd gotten me and opened to the page I'd bookmarked.
My bookmark was gone.
Instead, there was a piece of paper between the pages. The one that I'd found in the garden that morning.
My eyes widened as I drank in the words again. Someone had scribbled an additional note under it, this time in English, the words clearly telling me what to do.
Don't tell Kain about this. Let it happen the way it's supposed to.
I took a sharp breath before closing the poetry book again. This message was written in my father's handwriting again, but this time in English.
I felt sick. Shivers made my body tremble, and a chill traveled down my spine as I put the poetry book back in its place on my nightstand. I was worried, almost sick with the thought of somebody who wasn't Kain supervising my every move.
Somehow, I managed to fall asleep after long minutes of tossing and turning in the bed. I dreamt of nameless, faceless men who were trying to warn me about impending danger.
When I woke up, Kain's fingers were on my cheek, touching and c
aressing me gently.
"Slept well, dolly?" he asked me.
In lieu of a response, I wrapped my hands around his neck and held on for dear life. He chuckled, patting my back and holding me close.
"Kain," I said when I pulled back. "The book of poetry. Will you open it?"
He gave me a curious glance before reaching for the book. It fell open by itself on the marked page.
The note was gone. My bookmark was in its place, mocking me.
"What did you want to show me, dolly?" Kain asked.
"Nothing," I whispered. "Nothing.”
Chapter 6
Kain
10 years ago
My mouth was dry, and I was scared.
It had been five days since I'd been thrust into the secret room in Michael Marino's study, and there was no hope of getting out of there soon.
Michael Marino had killed my parents, told me in the coolest of tones I was his son, and that I would serve him from now on, doing his fucking bidding. I was just a fucking kid that day he brought me to his mansion, the place where he lived with his picture-perfect boys and his wife, who was not my mother.
I wasn't part of his plans for the future. I was just a cog in the machine. I was of use, but not for a while, and not unless I behaved. Michael had already told me if I disobeyed or caused him trouble, he was going to get rid of me. He described all the gruesome ways he could hurt me, and it was enough to send fear through my bones.
If I didn't do as he told me, he was going to kill me.
He locked me in a cell, one hidden behind the walls of his study. He told me he would see me in a week. There was a small vent in the room where I could sometimes see a sliver of daylight. I had made deep grooves in the wood of the panel with my broken fingernails, marking the five out of the seven days I would spend there.
Sometimes, I could hear Michael speaking to his friends on the other side of the wall. I heard them talking about their plans, holding nothing back. They were cruel, savage men who would stop at nothing on their way to getting what they wanted. I heard them talking about killing men, about hurting children and innocent women just to get their way. I knew they were bad men, but at the same time, a desperate need to please my father awoke within me, and I was eager to please him; if nothing else, to be let out of the hellish cell he'd thrown me in. I got a meal a day. I didn't even have a toilet. There wasn't a bucket to do my business. The room stank, and I was just a fucking kid, hungry and scared because of what he'd done to me.
I wanted to scream. I wanted someone to save me. But Michael had already punished me for crying when he first put me in the cell. I still bore the scars he'd inflicted on my arms when I’d tried to protect my face.
That day was a little brighter than the one before because I could hear Michael's voice through the wall. He was talking to another man, this one speaking heavily accented, but perfect, English.
"All our plans seem to be in motion," my father said. "Is your wife on track to deliver the baby?"
"Any day now," the accented voice said.
It was such a normal conversation, I could almost convince myself I was a regular kid just listening in on what his parents were talking about. Until the next bit came.
"Speaking of which," Michael said with a brilliant smile, "would you like to see the most recent addition, Vladimir?"
"Love to," Vladimir answered. I imagined a bright smile on the man’s face. "You have another man joining you?"
"He is joining me," Michael said. "Though he is not a man yet. But we're going to make him one, and in time, he will be my best weapon."
I heard movement from behind the wall. The secret entrance opened like it had the time when they'd thrust me into the darkness. The light blinded me, and I would've covered my eyes from the sudden onslaught of brightness if my hands hadn't been chained behind my back.
"Who is this?" Vladimir asked in a sing-song voice. "Another one of your child warriors?"
"Not yet," Michael laughed. "Well, in essence, he's my offspring. Not that it means anything. Just a useless maid I had nothing to do with. She was becoming a thorn in my heel, so I had the family killed. But I saw the potential in the boy. Thought he might eventually serve a purpose."
My eyes could finally see, and I turned my attention to the men in front of me.
They were both so much bigger, stronger than me. I didn't have a chance in hell if I wanted to attack them, protect my life. They would always get the better of me, and I knew they had weapons, too. All I had was my small, fragile body. I could try running, but the chains were holding me firmly in place. Even if I did manage to wrench myself free, I wouldn't make it far. I'd seen the property when Michael had brought me there. It was filled with guards and his employees that would strike me down, probably even put a bullet between my eyes, the second I did something.
The stranger stepped into the room. The light shone behind him and illuminated his strong features. To me, he looked like a gentle giant, and as he approached me, I hoped and prayed he would find a reprieve for the boy in front of him.
"You're keeping him in here?" Vladimir asked softly as he grabbed my chin. "Away from your family?"
"I can't exactly bring him with me, can I?" Michael laughed. "He'd freak out my wife. He'll survive. And if he doesn't, he wasn't cut out for this life, anyway."
"True," Vladimir agreed, turning my head this way and that. "Skinny. Runt of the litter, then?"
Michael laughed while I held my breath, too afraid to make a sound.
"My twins are stronger," he agreed. "I made the right decision in marrying their mother. She has given me two strong, capable sons who will serve their purpose. This one... he's just a bonus. A weapon."
I didn't like being called a weapon.
My mama had called me her little tesoro, her treasure. So why was this man, supposedly my father, comparing me to a gun or a knife? That wasn't my purpose. That wasn't what I'd been made for.
"Please," I got out through cracked lips that hurt every time I moved them. "Water. Food."
"He speaks," Vladimir laughed cruelly, and any hope I had of him helping me vanished through that tiny ventilation vent. "I think I preferred him when he was quiet, Michael." He got up, pulling the sleeves of his shirt up and exposing arms bulging with muscles. "What do you think we show him what happens to little boys who beg?" Vladimir asked next. "I don't like whimpering idiots. Boys should be strong. Boys should be capable of handling what's thrown at them."
With those words, he punched me in the face, the force of the attack knocking me over. I whimpered and started crying as I picked myself up, the strength of the man before me making me see stars before my eyes.
"See?" Vladimir asked my father. "I don't think a little boy should respond this way. A boy wouldn't cry. He would apologize if prompted and stay still, waiting for the next blow. That's how you become a man."
I didn't agree with him. You became a man the way I was doing it—by seeing exactly what these two bastards were doing to me, memorizing their names, their faces for the future, and being ready to take them the fuck out the first chance I got.
I had no doubt I would end up killing my father.
But Vladimir's name was added to the list.
Because I'd spent so much time in the cell, I also knew of Michael's plans to eventually overthrow Vladimir. He was going to betray Vladimir in the end, sacrificing his own children in the name of his own business. He was a sick bastard through and through. And yet, the need for him to love me bloomed in my little heart. I wanted my father to like me. I needed to be a good son.
I had my breaking moment in that cell, with the two men talking about me. Because after Vladimir was done with his speech, I looked at Michael Marino, and for a split second, I saw him looking at me the way a father did at his son. I lived for that moment, to feel the warmth of his gaze again. A moment later, Michael looked back at his friend. But I was already done for.
I needed to please this man who was my father. N
ot the one I'd grown up with, but the one responsible for my mere existence. I wanted him to love me as much as he loved his other two sons. I was desperate to feel him looking at me like that again. Like I mattered.
"Don't hurt him again," Michael said quietly, and Vladimir gave him a surprised look.
"You care about him?" he asked doubtfully. "This little… orphan?"
"He's not an orphan," Michael reminded him coolly, giving me another long glance. "He still has a father." After that, he ushered Vladimir out of the cell that would be my home for another two days.
I was exhausted, broken, starving and going insane by the time he came back for me. I was screaming until my voice went, begging for somebody to help me. That was when my father sat me down in his beautiful office in the city. Far, far away from his beautiful wife and his picture-perfect children.
He told me I was a very special boy. That he cared for me deeply. That he would make sure to make all the right decisions for me. And that I would mean the most to him out of all his boys. That he would be the proudest of me.
Now, I knew for a fact he'd had that conversation with all three of us. But still, I'd fallen for it, needed to show him how good I could be, even at that tender age, and later on, even when I was older.
I sat in the big chair in his office, my eyes following my father's while he explained what was going to happen that night.
"Tonight, you will be shown your first mission," my father told me.
It all sounded like the stuff of movies to me, and I was excited.
"You're going to meet a very nice man," my father went on. "He will ask you to take your clothes off and do a few things. And then after he's done, you're going to slice his throat."
"W-What?" I asked shakily, and Michael put a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"It's going to be all right," he told me, sounding almost bored. "And remember, I'll be the proudest of you, out of all my three boys. You'll be my favorite son."
All I could do was stare at him with absolute adoration. This man, my father, I would make him proud of me.