Sinister

by Sherell Cummings

“In the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom last I checked. You haven’t sampled the goods to know what I’m like,” he said with humour in his tone.

  I moved into the large bathroom gaping at the size of the clawfoot tub before finding the fully stocked kit under the sink like he said. When I walked back into the room he was slipping his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms with a pained look on his face. I dropped the kit on the bed and helped his remove his T-shirt by pushing it up and over his head. “Don’t need to. I like the goods I already have.”

  He snorted as the shirt left his upper half bare. I couldn’t help my eyes from trailing down his muscled torso that seemed a little bulkier than Nathaniel’s. Much like Nathaniel he had a nice tan to his golden skin, but his was covered in deep black tattoos across his chest. “Sure you do. Is that why you can’t keep your eyes of my ink?” he asked in amusement.

  I finally blinked away embarrassed that I was staring so long. “No,” I said defensively, reaching for the kit and popping it open. Inside I found everything I needed to clean and stitch his wound since I doubted men like him rarely used the hospital for incidents like these. “I just didn’t know you had so many tattoos.”

  “How would you, unless you’ve seen me naked?” He turned his head smirking up at me as I hovered over him with a stunned expression. Why was I reacting this way to him? I hated him, he was a pain in the ass and loved nothing more than to see me sweat.

  “Can you try being quiet while I fix the hole I your arm?” I said sitting next to him.

  “I could, but it’s not really in my nature. You can look all you want, I’m not going to tell.”

  I snorted a laugh while coating a piece of gauze with rubbing alcohol before pressing it hard against the wound. “Right.” He winced as blood started seeping through the other side and running down his back. I grabbed another piece of gauze soaked in alcohol and did the same on both sides. “Does that hurt?” I asked, arrogantly smiling while pressing harder.

  He grunted. “Nope, just loving the way your hands feel. Were you a nurse or something before all this?”

  “I wish I was something so honourable—” I started wiping the excess blood away. “Don’t you know everything about me by now?”

  “You don’t belong to me, so why should I?”

  “I don’t know, I just thought everyone in your house knew everything about their slaves,” I said bitterly as we both gazed at each other briefly before he turned away.

  “Well the surprise is on you. It’s why I was in that shit-hole town of yours and why your fucked up ex-boyfriend and even more fucked up best friend were in Brazil.”

  I paused gaping and grabbing hold of his arm so he’d look at me. He cursed and his face hardened probably from the pain of my hand crushing his bad arm. “Wait—you’re the reason Praxton was in Brazil?” I slapped his shoulder.

  “Fuck Izzy—”

  “You don’t call me that and what the hell is wrong with you?”

  “At the moment you’re what’s wrong with me. You’re supposed to be fixing my shoulder not trying to rip it off.” He shrugged my hand off and I let it fall standing and facing him with a scowl.

  “Yeah well I wouldn’t be trying to rip it off if you weren’t such a dick—You’re the guy that lured him there?”

  “And it’s a good thing I did. Some best friend he is for fake fucking your boyfriend,” he said cynically.

  I eyed him curiously. “How do you know that?”

  “Because he told me,” he said matter-of-factly. That son of a bitch told some stranger what he did to me and didn’t have the guts to tell me.

  “He told you? Why would he tell you?”

  He smirked. “I’m persuasive.”

  “Hmmm I bet.”

  His head fell forward as he let out an exasperated breath before grabbing his glass. “Look,” he looked at me exhausted and sort of pale. “Can you just stitch me up? I’m losing a lot of blood and I’m beginning to feel lightheaded.” In my head I figured to let him die, since he was an asshole anyway, but he did get that bullet because of me. Technically he deserved that bullet for bringing Chris here and that wasn’t my fault.

  I let out an annoyed breath, rolling my eyes before walking back to the bed. Picking up the gauze and resuming my wiping, I cleaned all the dry and running blood until there was a small oozing coin-sized hole that went straight through his shoulder. I remembered doing this for Reed once, except it wasn’t a bullet hole but a knife wound in his abs. He said it was a misunderstanding, but somehow refused to go to the hospital to get it fixed.

  Nathan sat still letting out a few breaths while sipping the amber liquid from his glass. I stitched up the wound and with thick square bandages now taped on both sides, I begun wrapping gauze up and under his arm. “I’m pissed at you,” I finally said. As much as I didn’t want to be, he had done a lot of shit and I couldn’t help it.

  He grunted. “I can tell. I figured you weren’t always this hostile,” he said, smirking at me. “I can tell there’s also something you want to say.”

  “There is—” I paused. “I want to believe that you’ve somehow turned over a new leaf, seeing as though your brother thinks so, but— why did you say those things to me that day?” I finished with a piece of tape to secure the gauze from unravelling before he pivoted his body to face mine.

  He looked exhausted, eyes growing benevolent. “I was drunk Izzy. I wasn’t even sure how I got there or what I even said to you until the next afternoon.”

  “And that somehow makes it okay?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Did you kill her?” I asked uncertain. “The girl that you took as your slave, did you kill her?”

  He placed the now empty glass down and grabbed his shirt, getting it on with a lot of effort and grunts considering his arm situation. With a candid expression he watched me. “No, Izzy. I didn’t kill her.” I rolled my eyes, but it was pretty hard to ignore the honest look on his face. “I didn’t, okay? I didn’t kill any of them. Every slave I’ve had wasn’t killed by me,” he said adamantly. “Don’t you understand by now Izzy? I was playing a role. Acting like the badass son who was like his father.”

  My eyes cringed in uncertainty as I gazed at my interlocked fingers. “Why?”

  “Because—it’s what my father wanted. Nathaniel didn’t give a shit and I cared too much because I didn’t want to be treated like him. Treated as if I was a disappointment to the family, treated as if he could care less about me,” he vented bitterly. “It’s what he did to Nathaniel and it’s what he would have done to me. I didn’t kill any of those girls. I may have slapped them around a little but I didn’t kill any of them.”

  Gazing at him grimly my head shook back and forth. “And I’m supposed to believe that? After everything I’ve heard.”

  “I don’t care if you do—” he said with a hard expression. “You asked and I answered. Most of those women got away fully intact and the ones that didn’t, died at my father's hands.” His eyes grew frustrated as he moved his fingers through his hair. “I was all prepared to let the last girl go, but I was too late. He had already gotten to her and she died of asphyxiation. It’s why I was drunk, why I was pissed off, why I came to your door spouting shit that I would never do—” he paused staring at the wall in front of him before blinking down at me with an apologetic stare. “I’m sorry.”

  I clenched my jaw, eyeing the man I once feared with mixed feelings. At some point in our lives we all wanted to be like our parents. There was a time I looked at my mom and I remembered the way she used to be with us before she stared using and I wanted to be like her. She was funny, happy, strong and beautiful and I wanted to be like that, but when she started using I saw her differently. She wasn’t who I wanted to be anymore.

  Nathaniel knew exactly who his father was and strived to be nothing like him, even if it meant losing his father's respect in the process. He was brave, where as Nathan wasn’t. “You’re a coward,” I murm
ured standing with my arms crossed. “Your brother understood right from wrong and fought for what was right. You tell me you understand but you chose to stand by a man who destroys everything he touches, who hurts innocent women without regard, who belittled his son and sold his girlfriend because she wasn’t good enough. A man who hurt your mother.” His face grew menacing as I continued my approach, pointing my finger into his chest. “You’re a coward, because no good man idolizes a monster.” With that I turned and walked out of the room, heading back to my seat. He wanted me to believe that he had changed, but all he did was confirm what I already knew.

  With my eyes facing the window I felt when he returned to his seat, calling for another drink as I sat silently ignoring him. There was nothing pleasant to say, because all I wanted was to get the hell off this flight and find Nathaniel.

  The plane landed seven hours later and no sooner had we stepped onto the concreate, a black SUV with two armed men stood waiting. Both men held serious expression on their faces while I turned to watch Nathan apprehensively. His remained facing forward with his hard gaze falling on each of the men. We both walked forward and were shoved into the back seat without a word.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Andrea

  I wasn’t always this man. There was a time in my life were the right thing was the only thing I knew. That all changed the day I looked into the eyes of Martino Garuche.

  Fresh out of school I was only eighteen when my father started training Armando and I in the family business. I always wondered why he waited that long, since all of us already knew how our family made money. Father would say stupid people cannot run a business. If we wanted to be a part of his business we had to be thinkers, we had to be smart, and so we had to finish school.

  About six months into our training my grandfather had a dinner at the house where some negotiations needed to be met. Six high powered Italian men sat at that table while Armando and I sat against the entrance wall listening. Three of them were my family. The other two I knew as Italian officials from seeing their faces plastered on every newspaper and TV screen after a big bust on the shore lines of Italy. The sixth man was unknown, but he sat in a chair facing us and from time to time I caught him staring at me. Armando and I looked the same, but his focus was solely on me.

  That was when he first saw me. That was when he took a liking, he said. I didn’t know it then, too caught in the other shit going on, but had I known the first moment he caught me alone would be the moment I’d be taken from my family for a week's stay in a metal chamber, well let’s just say I would have never been out that night.

  “Sei così bello,” (You are so beautiful) he said. All I could see was the blue-green color of his eyes through the tiny slot in the door as he stood on the other side. I remained staring at the concreate floor wishing he would leave. I wasn’t beautiful, I was a man rugged and strong. Nothing about me was beautiful. “Perché non mi parlior?” (Why won’t you talk to me) he asked. He asked the same question yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that, and every time he asked I didn’t respond. Anger had riddled me silent after waking up in a six by twelve cold chamber with a man chaining me to a bed. He had taken all of my clothes and had refused to acknowledge my angry shouts and curses to let me go.

  When I wasn’t chained he demanded things from me. Wanted me to look at him, wanted me to touch him, wanted to touch me. I wasn’t into men. I had never looked at a man with nothing more than friendship and now this man wanted me to let him do things to my body as if I was his to play with. I wasn’t a toy or any man's slave, so when I fought back, he pushed harder and now I have a back full of scars because of it.

  “Perché ti comporti così?” (Why are you acting like this), he asked.

  I shoved off the bed in a blur of rage as I rammed my hands against the metal wall. “I don’t want to be here,” I sneered at his eyes, banging my hands against the door again with so much force I felt it ripple through my bones. “I don’t care for you!” I shouted, anger surging through me as I banged it again. “When are you going to understand that?”

  “Bello—”

  “NO. I am not beautiful. Stop calling me that.” I beat against the door over and over again until my knuckles bruised.

  I emptied my glass and slid it back toward the bar as the bartender poured me another. I hated remembering that shit. I hated knowing it took another three days before my father and uncle found me. The moment I got out of the box and found Martino tired to a chair, I didn’t hesitate. He was carved up like a thanksgiving turkey by the time I was done and I didn’t care how it made me look. He deserved every bit of my rage.

  I swallowed the last of my drink and stood heading for the door. I had to get back to the house even though I wasn’t needed tonight. When I left earlier, the house was busy with people preparing for Nicolae’s elaborate dinner party tonight. Justine didn’t seem too happy. We both knew Nicolae knew something hence his strange behaviour. He was good with keeping secrets, just like everyone around him. And although Justine and I both knew something was coming, there was nothing either of us could do but let it happen.

  I walked through the front door of the house later that night and first thing I noticed was that all the people who were previously here were gone. The house was quiet so I walked through the foyer, keeping my eyes peeled for Justine. I exited the foyer and walked into the kitchen, spotting Willow and another woman frantically moving around the kitchen. Both of them kept their heads down and refused to acknowledge me as I moved passed them heading for the dining room where I froze upon entry.

  Stunned at the sight of Justine in a beautiful gold dress, she sat in the first chair near the head of the table, facing forward. Composure captured her stunning face as her head turned looking up at me. I wanted to run to her. To take her into my arms and tell her I loved her, because I did. I loved her, as crazy as that sounded.

  The cock of a gun sounded near my ear, as my eyes travelled from Justin's face to the gun pointed at the back of her head. Suddenly everything became clear and I felt stupid for not seeing it from the start.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nathaniel

  We had been delayed for an entire day, with the shipments having to be moved from the van and relocated to a few locations in Brazil. None of them were my father's warehouses because he wasn't stupid enough to have them delivered while Costas and I were still in the van.

  Flights had been delayed to Cuba because of some unexpected rainstorm, so after being grounded for about eight hours, we arrived sometime around four in the afternoon. A car collected us at the airport and inside were two tuxedos in which we were instructed to wear. I knew this dinner was some elaborate ruse to get a point across, and since my father always had a flare for the dramatics, I expected nothing less.

  I had an uneasy feeling the closer we got to the house, and to top it all off my phone died the minute the plane landed. Before take-off I tried reaching Leo for an update, but his phone was off and so was Nathan’s and Izzy’s. It was strange all three of them suddenly being unreachable at such a crucial time, and maybe that was why my gut was telling me something was wrong. It was a feeling I had learned a long time ago never to ignore, since the last time I did it cost my girlfriend her life.

  Glancing over at Costas who sat surprisingly still with his head back against the seat and eyes closed, I turned toward the tinted window, rain pounding against the glass while I searched the empty land that stretched on for hours as we grew nearer. I couldn't wrap my brain around it. What was his plan? My thoughts wavered through every scenario before coming up blank. “You think too much, you know that?” said Costas.

  I turned my head glancing at him. “And you not enough.”

  He chuckled lifting his head and opening his eyes before looking out the window. “That’s true. I learned a long time ago that there are things you can change and things you can’t, and as for everything else—you see what happens.”

  “Yo
u sound just like my mother, but I guess that’s no surprise.”

  “We are cut from the same cloth.” He paused concentrating on the window before turning back to me. “I remember stories about your mother. Even though she wasn’t around my father still wanted us to know her, just in case she ever decided to come back. In fact he never lost hope that she would come back, and then when she died, a part of him died too.”

  I sighed. “I don't get it. I don't understand why she stayed with him, even after everything she knew about him.”

  “Love—it makes people do stupid things.”

  “There is stupidity and the there is insanity.”

  “Well hopefully by the end of tonight you can ask him. Well… if we make it out alive.”

  Tonight was basically a coin toss, and I had no clue which side it was going to land on. My father was a crafty man, who knew of my plan and had time to formulate one of his own, so I had no idea what we were walking into. My eyes and ears had basically gone silent because I couldn't reach anyone in the house. I knew this was going to be bad, I just didn't know how bad.

  We arrived a few minutes before nightfall with the rain easing into a light drizzle. There were no cars parked out front, which told me two things. One we were either the first to arrive or two, there were no other guests. Normally when my father threw a party, there was a heck of a crowd. Cars would be parked along the driveway reaching as far as the front gate, which was a good five miles from the front door.

  We got out of the car, escorted by one of the brutes on my father's payroll. Inside did nothing to ease my suspicion because it seemed like nothing was going on. “What is this. Either we're the only ones here, or we're really fucking early. Does your father usually throw dinner parties like this?” asked Costas who strolled in next to me with one brow raised at the empty interior.

  “None like this.” We both halted our steps when Willow walked in, head facing the floor. Willow was a young woman my father had abducted from a small village here in Cuba. She was only sixteen when she was first brought to the house, and secretly trained by my father who knew if I had found her, I would have found someway to return her to her family. By the time she was brought up and trained as a maid, she was too broken to return home. I tried on many occasions to take her back, but she didn't want to leave. She said this was her home now, and since my father no longer slept with her, she was comfortable just being the maid. That was over ten years ago. She was twenty-seven now.