Marisol raised a brow and pointed at the door. I nodded.
“Christopher? Your half-brother.”
Huh, so I did have a brother, well two half-brothers, I guess. There were no sibling-like feelings attached to the thought of them though, only murderous desire.
“I promised you,” Marisol whispered, so low I almost missed it.
“Promised me what?”
“I promised I would keep you safe.”
Her voice broke, and a tear escaped her lashes falling down her wrinkled cheek. Lifting my hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, I held out my pinky. A pained sound escaped Marisol’s lips which she tried to catch behind her hand, her own pinky linking with mine.
“I’m sorry chiquita, I failed you.”
“You could never fail me.”
Marisol let my pinky go and wiped away her tears as she placed the plate of food down by my side.
“Marisol, is there another girl being held here, a young girl?” I asked, while eyeing the food like a ravenous beast. It had been some time since I’d last eaten.
Marisol’s shocked gaze met mine, and she gave me a vehement nod.
“Sí, I’ve been giving her food, she is not good. She is too young, and they have her in chains.” Sharp anger coated her features as she moved the plate to my lap, encouraging me to eat. “I wanted to try and help her escape, but they have guards watching her all the time.”
“Where is she?” I begged, reaching for her hand which she didn’t hesitate to place in mine.
Marisol glanced over her shoulder at the door, then back to me, she leaned forward and whispered, “They’ve got her in the barn.”
The barn, which was obviously outside. I figured if she was somewhere in the house I might have a chance at getting to her. Out there, it would be much more difficult.
“Where exactly is the barn? Is it very far from the house?” I asked.
Marisol’s brow creased with confusion, her grim frown dipping lower.
“No chiquita, the stable is out back, through the gates and over the hill, it’s about a five-minute walk. Don’t you remember?”
My mind whirled with images of a large pool surrounded by tiles, then a grassy lawn bordered by a high fence with a wide gate, big enough to fit a car through. A worn, dirt track led through a hill thick with thorny bushes and high grass, and a large, pristine barn sat at the bottom. The memory of scents belonging to animals, feed and wood mingled together, so real I swear I could smell it. An image of horses patiently watching from behind their doors filled my mind, in particular, a large, grey gelding with a white stripe down his nose, a wild temper hidden behind big, intelligent eyes.
“The horses,” I murmured, as more memories tried to fight their way in.
Marisol’s eyes began to glass over again, and she shook her head, fear leeching into her features. Her olive skin paled, and her bottom lip trembled.
“Not anymore, your father got rid of them.”
“Oh, he’s not my father,” I was quick to reply, bushing away her remark. “He sold them?” For some reason it bothered me that the horses were gone.
Gripping her elbows, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach, Marisol shook her head.
“No, chiquita, he killed them.”
Disbelief and confusion reigned for control over my mind. He killed the horses?
“He was mad when you left. He killed them to spite you.”
This time my mind became inventive as I imagined the slaughter of the beautiful beasts that were barely but a foggy memory that I wasn’t even sure was mine. Blood coating the wooden floor of the barn, the stench of iron and death in the air. Anger began to swirl from deep within me, tumbling around like a raging storm that didn’t know which way it wanted to blow. Turning my furious gaze on Marisol, I stood from the bed, the plate of barely touched food falling to the floor.
“I didn’t leave,” I hissed. “I was taken, stolen.”
Marisol’s eyes filled with pain, and the tears began to flow again.
“Oh, mi Lucy,” she cried. “No, no, no.”
She was grieving for me . . . for Lucy. My anger combined with Marisol’s sorrow triggered something inside of me. My head thundered with agony, and I pressed my hands to my temples in an effort to push it away. On a pained scream, it all came flooding back to me. Memories that had been ruthlessly yanked away fell into the violent embrace that was my mind. I remembered it all.
Lucy was walking along a footpath, shops lining either side. It was growing late, and the sun beginning to set, the warmth from the day quickly seeping away. The shops were closed, the streets quiet. A bag hung over one shoulder, ballet gear and a water bottle tucked inside. Her hair pulled into a tight bun. Lucy smiled as she glanced down at her phone, reading a message from the boy she’d just danced with. Garrett was hardly a boy, he was much older, more worldly, having traveled and danced in places Lucy could only dream of. He was handsome, with jet black hair and wicked dark eyes. All the girls fawned over him, but it was for her that he saved his attention.
Look up, the message read.
And she did. Garrett was leaning against a wall a couple of blocks away, looking so roguish and mysterious, and oh so, handsome. Lucy’s smile widened upon finding him waiting for her. She was so enamored with his presence that she didn’t pay attention to the screeching tires, and the slamming car doors somewhere close behind her. When a firm hand wrapped around her bicep, she stopped in her tracks and turned to face the man who had stopped her. She knew this man, even if she had never spoken to him, nor knew his name. He was her sperm donors shadow. The man always standing at his back, always lurking. He was tall with wide shoulders, a strong jaw and sharp cheek bones, splinters of grey lacing short, brown receding hair and he had a recognizable nose that had been broken a time or two. When he started to pull Lucy toward the van parked alongside the road, she struggled, trying to tug her arm free. Another hand grabbed her other bicep, unforgiving fingers biting into her flesh. At this moment Lucy became terrified, her heart lurching painfully in her chest, her eyes wide with fear, the world around her muted of all sound. She screamed, she cursed, she growled, but it did her no good. Her beseeching gaze looked toward Garrett. Relief struck for a moment when she noticed he was still there, he would save her. That notion was quickly lost when he didn’t move. He remained leaning against the stone wall of the building, his handsome face contorted into something she hadn’t seen before. A malicious look with his lip curled at one corner, eyes narrowed, and nostrils flared. Then, he smiled, and it wasn’t handsome. It was evil. It was the last thing Lucy saw as she was thrown into the back of the van. This wasn’t a random abduction, this was planned, and Garrett knew it was going to happen.
“I’m Lucy,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “They took me,” I finally confessed out loud. The twisted and tangled memories unraveled, the parts locked behind doors out of reach, were now open and right there for the taking. I remembered it all, my father’s hatred, and my brothers blindly following his lead, a stepmother I knew only from pictures. The constant moving, until this house. Here is where we stayed the longest. Marisol and I were the only people who lived here full-time with other housekeepers, chefs, and gardeners coming and going as needed. Then there were the parties my father held, parties I wasn’t allowed to attend, parties that Marisol would hide me from. Women came for those parties, sometimes even young girls, and always the prettiest of the housekeep. They went to my father’s parties and sometimes they didn’t return. The ones who did, they came back different. Colder, broken. I was hidden away in the house, hidden from the world, hidden from the men. My father hated me for the simple fact I was born. He made my world so empty. Only Marisol could possibly drag me from such a numb existence and give me life. She cared for me when I was sick, hid me from my father’s wrath, and held me when I cried. Jacob and Christopher only entered my life when they were older, and their constant taunts and putrid hatred began to turn
my heart cold. Their hate was ridiculous, it only existed because father deemed it so. His little clones who abused the staff when they thought I wasn’t watching. Perverted little fuckers, just like their father. Then I was taken, and I remembered with repulsion the unwanted hands, and the intrusive touches that I could do nothing about. No amount of begging or pleading stopped them. Not one of them had an ounce of mercy. Then came Algis, and Lucy was gone.
“He raped me.” My fist beat against my chest. “Me, me, me.”
Marisol’s cries grew harder. Her heart completely shattered.
“Lucy is me, they took from me.”
A lone tear rolled over my lashes and down my cheek.
“She was innocent,” I hissed, wiping the errant tear away. I wanted to rage and destroy. Reaching for the blanket lying atop the bed I wrenched it away and threw it to the floor. Then I grabbed the pillow and tossed it at the wall. It wasn’t enough to appease my monster. Racing to the corner I picked up the wooden chair and smashed it against the wall loving the sound as it splintered apart. It still wasn’t enough though. I gripped my hair and tugged. The pain was delicious, the ache reminding me I was alive, that I had survived.
“No more,” I growled as I began to pace. They had all taken from me. Garrett, the men in that car, one of which I had seen recently on a plane, I wonder if Eddie knew that tasty little morsel of information. Then there had been the men who drugged and sold me to Algis.
Algis.
Matis.
My father.
“What’s going on in there?” My half-brothers muffled voice came from somewhere outside the door.
They had all taken from me and would continue to keep taking until nothing was left. They’d strip the flesh from my bones and leave behind an empty husk. I refused to allow it, again. Noticing the fork lying on the floor, I grinned.
“No, fucking, more.”
10
HART
An ear-splitting roar filled my ears, animalistic and wounded. So much pain it seemed as though it were sweetening the very air I breathed. Resting on my haunches, I observed the man who had curled in on himself. The fetal position. In the womb it was a natural, instinctual position we took. It represented safety and comfort, none of which he would find here. Upon arriving at the location where Beauty should have been, the piece of shit before me had stood alone waiting, his chest puffed, his feathers preened, like a god damn peacock. I’d cut that arrogance down and now he bellowed for mercy like the pathetic bitch he was, bleeding into the grass, and curled into a ball.
“No more,” he sobbed.
No more? I hadn’t even fucking started. He’d received only a few well-placed punches and a knife under the ribs. That wasn’t even foreplay. This was me warming up and allowing my monster to stretch his limbs. He wanted more, we wanted more. Much, fucking, more.
When the bloodied, sobbing mess decided to try and run for it, I simply reached out and grabbed his foot, pulling him back to the ground and using my knife to slice through his Achilles tendon. His bellows somehow grew as he reached for the now severed flesh. He was wearing white joggers with a neon Nike tick on one side. Shaking my head with disappointment, I glanced at Raul who had a wicked grin on his face.
“Joggers?” I asked, perplexed.
“I imagine he’s a very good runner when his Achilles is still attached.”
This is what Kleeman had left behind at the sprawling cabin in the woods, apparently to deliver me a message. It was obvious this man wasn’t important so there was no point in using him as leverage. Edward would have known he was as good as dead the moment he instructed him to stay behind.
“Where are they, hmmm?” I repeated my question, rising to my full height.
“I don’t fucking know,” the man screamed, his hands now clutched around his ankle as he tried to stop the bleeding. “He just told me to tell you that you’re too late.”
Too late? No, I wasn’t late, I was right on time, and our plan had been flawless. But I underestimated Kleeman’s intelligence. He knew I was coming for him, and he knew he didn’t have a hope in hell of stopping me. A dead man walking was what he was. No, a dead man running. That’s what he’d done, he’d run, like a dog with its tail between its legs. And he’d left behind this gift for me take my fury out on. Before I killed Kleeman, I’d have to thank him.
Nodding towards the man on the ground, Raul was quick to snap to attention, ordering one of Jamison’s men to drag the whimpering fool back to his feet. Once he was standing again, well, leaning heavily on one leg, I turned and took in his sorry appearance. Swollen eyes, bleeding nose, snot and saliva dripping down his chin, a bloodied patch of fabric around his flank, it all painted a pitiful picture. This was going to be too easy. Flicking my large knife between my fingers, I spun, slashing the blade across his stomach and savoring the feel of the knife as it found deep purchase slicing though flesh before leaving his body. More screams filled the air as he collapsed to the ground once more, his hands gripping his stomach to hold back the organs that threatened to spill out.
Once again, I lowered to my haunches and wrapped my fist around a tuft of hair, lifting his face to mine. Lines of pain were etched into his features, eyes drowning with defeat. There wasn’t an ounce of fight in him.
“Last chance, where are they?”
Bringing the knife up to his eye socket, I carefully prodded the tender flesh beneath it. A sob fell from his lips, and his body trembled with fear.
“I don’t . . .” I didn’t give him time to finish.
Digging the knife into his eye, I pressed deep enough to reach his brain. Through a mouth of garbled words and a cry so pained it came straight from his soul, he died. His pain was over way too fast, but I had more important things to be doing. Releasing his hair, he crumpled back to the earth. Standing, I took in the home that sat like a picture-perfect likeness to the cabins of America’s wilderness. I hated it, most especially the upstairs windows painted black. Turning my back on the corpse, I wiped my knife clean on the leg of my pants as I made my way into the home. It was so cliché it made me want to vomit. Dark, robust timber everywhere. Stone fireplace, earthy colored rugs, dead animals mounted to the walls. I had no problems with death, in fact, I fucking loved it, but dead animals displayed on walls was something I did not understand. I never took trophies from my hunts, the capture, torture and death alone, enough to keep me hard for the days and weeks that followed. Perhaps a man who adorned this home with the heads of deer and bear was trying to compensate for something he was sorely lacking. Confidence, pride, esteem, were all traits I knew I possessed, and I didn’t need trophies mounted on my walls to remind me of that fact.
Reaching the stairs, I took them one at a time, my hand hovering over the railing as I wondered if Beauty had touched it. She’d been here only this morning. In this house, under this roof. So close and yet too far. At the second floor, I wandered down the hall until I reached the bedroom with the painted windows. There were bars on the inside. Fucking bars. The room was completely void of furniture, only an empty bucket in the corner. Drawing a deep breath through my nose, I swear I smelled her. The floral notes of her natural odor, the sweet orange scent of her shampoo, the sharp fruity smell of her lip gloss. I doubted after all this time that such scents would still linger, but as I walked further into the room, I swore I could smell her. Spinning in a circle, I imagined her trapped in here. She would have fought like a wild animal. Smiling at the thought of her fighting her captors, I walked to one corner and leaned my forehead against the wall. Was the scent stronger here? My hand rested beside my head, and I flexed my fingers before drawing my fist back and slamming it through the plaster sheet. I hated this room, I hated this fucking house. It represented Beauty’s captivity, and an angel as sweet as her deserved to fly free. Nothing could justify all the horror she had endured, and nothing would stop me from seeking revenge.
“Burn it,” I whispered, knowing Raul had followed me through the house and was standin
g just outside the door.
Shoving myself away from the wall, I turned and left the room.
“Burn it to the fucking ground and find me another location.”
11
BEAUTY
Something sticky coated my fingers, and I rubbed them together trying to figure out what it was. There was an ache in my body, somewhere in the vicinity of my ribs, and my head throbbed. My cheek felt stretched and swollen. Then I remembered why and a grin lit up my sore face. A sting in my lower lip made me wince, and something trickled down my chin. With a swipe of my tongue, I found the source, a split lip. And now it was bleeding. I tried to move my arms, but it was useless. They were bound behind me with what felt like cable ties. Awkwardly slumped in a corner, I pushed my back against the rough wall which helped me to stand. My eyes blinked open and gloomy shadows met me. Sighing, I shook my head and sung a hello to the darkness, my old friend, and winced at the tightening in my throat. Strangulation, nothing quite compares to the swollen, tender aftermath. Feeling each and every ache in my body, I grinned wider and relished the feeling of more blood dripping down my chin. My monster fed off the hurt and soon enough, that pain would turn into power. I’d get free, and destroy every motherfucker that dared put their hands on me.
From the rustic scent of horse and hay, I guessed I had made it to the barn. Though the last portion of my effort to get here was lost to me, the first part of the adventure was as vivid as the sun was bright.
Scooping up the fork lying so harmlessly on the ground, I side stepped Marisol and made a run for the door. Christopher was just taking a step up the final stair when I shouldered my way out of the room. My attack was completely unforeseen. His too pretty face filled with alarm, and I didn’t hesitate. With my fist wrapped around the fork I swung, slamming it deep into his throat. Captivated by the gurgling mess that quickly coated his chest, I watched as he slumped to the floor and fumbled to pull the silverware from his Adam’s apple. Marisol squealed behind me, and I turned sharply and ordered her silence with a finger to my lips. She was staring at me with horror as she nodded and gave me her obedience. I didn’t like the fear in her eyes as I turned my back on her, it left my chest aching in a way that was far too reminiscent of Hart’s absence. Still, I had a mission and nobody was going to stop me. I needed to find Ruby. Reaching behind Christopher’s crumpled form, I found a gun slipped into the back of his perfectly pressed pants, then made my way down three flights of stairs. This was nothing like the cabin we’d just come from, which had been all rustic darkness. This home was lighter, with cream carpets and light tiles, wide open living spaces and big, bright windows. Brilliant accents of mustard yellow helped give the place a warm, homely feel. Still, it didn’t feel like home. No, that honor belonged to the man I was going to fight my way back too.
BEAU2Y: Part 2: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #2) Page 7