by Mason, V. F.
Even though it’s impossible to find Lachlan’s mansion on the internet, the old guide on historical buildings helped me memorize its details before showing up here.
Putting my crossbody bag on, I grab my tablet from the seat and pat him on the shoulder. “Yes.” He’s in his late sixties, emitting all those protective grandpa vibes around him. On the way here, he spoke about his seven daughters and how he taught them to defend themselves. “Would you please wait here for me though?” I ask, giving a hundred to him. “I might be around twenty, thirty minutes tops.” At least that’s how long it usually takes to inspect soil and flowers and to write a report. The place is so secluded I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a cab here quickly.
“Sure, I’ve got my book right here.” He shakes his e-reader, and with one last smile, I get out of the car.
“I hope I won’t regret taking this job,” I murmur, walking toward the gate where a security guard scans me from head to toe. “Hi!” I wave. “My name is Giselle Walker. I should—”
The iron gates screech a little before they start to open wide, revealing a rather long-ass path toward the mansion. “Yes, we were informed about you. Come on in,” the guard says.
Giving him a wary glance, I slip inside, blinking in awe at seeing the building up close. It reminds of all those magical castles that have a history full of secrets, and even not trespassing on this territory seems like a crime.
The huge, horizontal, brick building spreads across the land. The magnificent architecture includes several statues in arches that create a mysterious allure, but also a little fear, and it seems there is no escape from it. The two-leveled structure has a lot of balconies, and most of the windows are made from stained glass, reminding me of cathedrals.
While the building is one of the most magnificent things I’ve seen that’s survived through the years, I gasp, excitement fueling my blood when my eyes finally land on the garden. Slipping my shoes off, I step on the grass with my bare feet and almost moan in pleasure when my toes curl into it. It’s neatly cut and nourished, its green color so vivid.
Looking around, I notice several alcoves decorated with peonies. I touch the petals, blinking at how fresh they are. Like someone is taking care of them daily.
Farther, I spot a greenhouse displaying several rows of pots with red roses. Massive trees are scattered across the property, some of them hundreds of years old based on my research.
But the most striking thing about it… the maze garden. One could be lost in it for hours, days really, and still find new paths. I studied it from the floor plan, but touching the actual walls, carved so precisely, is out-of-this-world cool.
The whole maze reminds me more of a hunting ground, where predators can lure their victims and then play with them for hours.
Blinking, I shake my head and laugh a little. Where have these ridiculous thoughts come from?
“Miss Giselle?”
I turn around at the sound of my name and see an older man wearing butler-style clothes, his kind eyes scanning me from head to toe.
“My name is Levi. I’m the butler of this household. Would like you like a cup of tea?” He extends his white-gloved hand with a tray that has a steaming cup on it.
“Hi!” I come closer and give him my hand. He takes it, placing a soft kiss on the back of it. “Nice to meet you and thank you.” I don’t want tea right now, because it’s just a quick inspection, but I can’t let him do all this work for nothing. Grandpa Darius taught me how hard they really work in mansions, especially when owners bark orders at them all the time.
“My pleasure.” He places the tray under his armpit, smiling, which only emphasizes his wrinkles. “Mr. Scott wanted to let you know you can stay as long as you need.”
“Oh, I just need a couple more minutes for photos. I won’t be long.”
He nods but still stands still, and I groan inwardly. He probably got an order to keep an eye on me, which means the poor old guy will be waiting around.
After I stormed out of Callum’s office yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about his proposition and everything that happened there. My reaction to him is unexplainable; it’s not like I haven’t met or kissed hot guys before. Add to it the fact that I was once engaged, yet I still had no idea how to react to all that or his declarations.
Psycho came to mind, but I reacted to his pull, so it’s not like I could blame him.
Shortly after that meeting, I was contacted by Lachlan Scott himself, who offered me a sum of money I couldn’t refuse in my current situation. But more importantly, if I accomplish this project, it will give me a reputation and an in with other clients, and then my career hopefully will take off. Maybe then I will be able to pay my debt to Grandfather and free myself and Darius from his clutches.
Placing the cup back on the tray Levi has ready for me, I snap a few photos of different flowers, the grass, and trees. Quickly making notes on the structure and quality of the soil, I save the document and mark it as done.
“I’m done here.”
Levi’s brows shoot up in surprise. “So soon?” He glances at the watch he fishes out of his front pocket. “You’ve been here only twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, I always start with short research.”
“Would you like to stay for lunch?”
“No, thank you. I have a cab wait—”
The sound of an engine roaring cuts me off as a black sports car races inside the castle grounds, and I blink when it stops abruptly. The engine is still running when the man wearing sunglasses, jeans, and a leather jacket gets out of it, as if he owns the place.
Callum in all his handsome glory.
He removes the glasses while sending a half smile my way. “Fancy seeing you here,” he greets me, and waves at Levi. “Hey, man.”
“Mr. MacRae.” Levi looks between us, probably noticing tension in the air, and clears his throat. “I will be at the house. There are a few things I need to prepare.” I feel like he’s silently communicating something to Callum, but then he bows his head to me. “Have a nice day, Giselle.”
“You too,” I murmur, and then wait until he’s behind the massive oak doors before snapping at Callum. “What are you doing here?”
“Well—”
“Are you a stalker?” I press my tablet to my chest, lifting my chin, ready to fight him, even if it’s the most idiotic idea ever.
He chuckles, biting on the arm of his glasses. “Stalker? What a word. I don’t need to stalk you, Giselle.” His voice is so smooth, deep, like he’s caressing me with it and trying to hypnotize me as he leans closer, gluing his gaze on my lips. His scent of cigarettes and men’s soap penetrates my nostrils and blocks all the flower fragrances away, creating a cocoon around us. “You look beautiful today.” I glance down in disbelief at my T-shirt and knee-length skirt. Not the sexy attire to earn a compliment.
Oh my God, he’s done it again. Made me lose track of the conversation. Will I be subject to this anytime I’m in his presence?
Pressing my palm on his rigid chest, I push him away firmly and hiss, “Why are you following me? You are not part of this job.” Lachlan assured me that he is my sole employer, and that Callum doesn’t even act as a third party.
His brow lifts. “I recommended you to him. I do take responsibility for your work.” He taps my nose and then traps it between his knuckles when I try to avoid his touch. “So make me proud, my wild orchid,” he murmurs, and I dip under his hold, freeing myself.
“I’m not your anything,” I bite back, and then ask again, “So you’re going to follow me around?”
He moves along with me to the concrete where my shoes lay. “Contrary to what you believe, darling, I do have a life that doesn’t revolve around you.” He motions his head toward the mansion. “I’m here for business.”
My brows furrow when I slip back into my leather ankle boots. “Isn’t Lachlan overseas?”
“He is.” That’s all he says to me before blowing me a kiss. “Go, darl
ing. Your cab is waiting for you. I’ll see you around.”
I spin around and say over my shoulder, “Don’t bother.” And what kind of business does he have in this weird-ass mansion if the owner is not here?
This guy gives me whiplash with his confusing tones and behavior.
The best thing I can do right now is focus on my work and deliver the best project this mansion has ever seen.
I have no place or time right now for a hot affair with a handsome stranger who, for some reason, has set his eyes on me.
Even if my body bursts into flames whenever I’m near him.
Callum
I press on the remote and grin when the classical music slowly shakes the walls of the dungeon, puckering the skin with its high notes that alert the entire body of the upcoming doom.
Putting on the elastic gloves, I snap them against my wrists and trace my fingers over the weapons displayed on the table, each sharper and shinier than the last.
Blades, knives, pliers, drills.
Anything a serial killer’s heart desires.
Lachlan does know how to fill his dungeons with expensive weapons; I’ll give him that.
I glance to the glassed wall on my right and salute the students who may be occupying the viewing area, hungrily seeking my every move. Young minds are always so thirsty for blood. It’s fascinating to watch but more important to show them the true meaning of killing.
A slight whimper snaps my attention back to the present, and I spin around to face the man occupying the chair right in the middle of the room, a tight chain wrapped around his middle while his legs and hands are tied so that the sharpness of the metal digs into the skin with his every jerk.
Sweat coats his clothes, and a little perspiration even slides down his forehead as he mumbles something through the tape on his lips.
Grinning wide, I pick up a poker and walk to him, putting extra weight into my heavy steps so it will send panic swirling through him. “Maurice,” I address him, putting the poker across my shoulders and hooking my arms over it. “Or should I say Billy?” I ask, and his eyes widen as he whimpers, twisting his body from side to side, but all it does is bring him more pain.
After all, there is no escape from the clutches of death I inflict on people.
He says something, but it comes out muffled through the tape, and with a loud sigh, I rip it off, wincing in distaste at his scream, which embarrasses even me.
You are a man; show some bravery. At this point, I conclude women are stronger victims than men, or is it just mine who act like total whining bitches?
His lips are chapped and blood smears them, because the tape still has some of his skin left on it.
Throwing it away, I ask again, “So what should I call you?”
“I don’t know what you want, but I have money,” he assures me, wincing with every word.
I nod, musing, “Really?”
“Yes,” he breathes heavily, and then adds, “And anything else you might want. Just name your price and it’s yours. Let me go.”
I turn to the side, saying out loud, “What did he do wrong?” The minute the question slips past my lips, the huge TV located behind me on the wall turns on, showing a particular video from a home collection.
Maurice’s home collection, to be exact.
Horror fills his gaze as he shakes his head when he comes into full view of the camera, in which he slowly starts to undress himself.
“My time is valuable, so let’s fast-forward it, shall we?” I grab the remote and forward it for ten minutes, stopping right where the tiny voice begs him, “Please, it hurts. Please.”
Maurice’s laugher echoes in the video as he clamps the person’s mouth shut and seethes, “It won’t hurt in a minute, I promise.”
I turn it off, because the video served its purpose. Seeing any more of this, and I’ll just shoot him right in the fucking forehead, and no one wants that.
No, Maurice needs the most exquisite forms of torture.
I grab the end of the poker and hit the guy in the back, and he screams, arching forward while blood slowly appears.
“Please,” he cries, and I tsk with my tongue, leaning forward so he’ll hear my voice clearly.
“Maurice, begging doesn’t help. You should know that, right?”
He lifts his head, although his gaze might be a bit blurry from the wound, but he still manages to croak, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” I repeat, rubbing the tip of the poker, and he nods but then groans, “I won’t do it again.”
“Hmmm.” I slam the poker on his foot, breaking and tearing his toe, and his agonized whimper can probably be heard in another fucking county. “Do I look like a fool to you, Maurice?” He raspy breath is my only answer, so I continue. “Sorry won’t cut it for me.” I walk back to the table, dropping the poker on the floor and snagging a drill instead. “Your torture though will.”
The drrr sound snaps his attention, and he trembles, his chest rising and falling while his stare is glued to the thing. I move toward him, humming to the music. Beethoven was a true master in creating suspense and anticipation in his music; too bad fuckers like Maurice couldn’t appreciate it.
“It was a mistake.”
This stills my movements while anger erupts inside me like a volcano, and I have to squeeze my hands tight not to end it too soon.
Control, Callum, control.
That’s why I prefer to hang them from the roofs of buildings, less annoying shit spitting from their mouth. They’re too busy worrying about splitting their brain on the ground to have conversations.
But oh well. I owe one to Lachlan, so I have to deal with this shit. They couldn’t find a serial killer among their little club who could handle this guy; apparently, only my expertise would do.
I chuckle inwardly, because please… he raised those fuckers to be so lethal I’m not sure the word conscience exists in their vocabulary.
“No, Maurice. It was a desire,” I say, but he shifts again, shaking his head wildly.
“Please, don’t kill me. Please. It will never happen again.”
Ah, but we both know it’s a lie.
When you have dark desires, they rule your life, and there is no running away from them. No matter how much you forbid yourself from experiencing them, they are always there, lurking to possess your mind until you comply with their wishes.
I press the drill to his temple, and accompanied by his screams and music, his brain implodes inside his head while his life slowly leaves him, the skin and blood spraying everywhere, smearing me too.
The only way to get rid of those desires… is death.
You can’t tame monsters, because they are hungry for all the dark things in this world.
We all learn that simple truth at some point.
Giselle
Dropping my bag on the table in the secluded area of the public library, I switch on the lamp on the table and slip off my boots, curling my toes into the carpet.
One of the reasons I always travel this far to the old library is because I can get lost here between books for hours, and they don’t give a shit if I remove my shoes or munch on food. If it was socially acceptable, I would have walked barefoot everywhere.
Well, where it’s clean, that is.
Putting down my cup of tea, I quickly go the librarian, Jessica, who smiles at me and adjusts her glasses on her nose. “Giselle! You’re back.”
“Yes,” I reply and then drum my fingers on the counter. “I have a question. Do you have any books on gardening—”
“Yeah, tons!”
I sigh inwardly, because Jessica is a great kid, but she never lets anyone finish their sentences. “On gardening in the eighteenth century?” Lachlan’s mansion design must be dated this far due to the façade they used on the building and layout of the garden. The person choosing this design must have loved English architecture if he brought it back to the States with him.
Back then, gardens were the only places certain ren
dezvous could happen, so that explains the extensive maze and numerous alcoves hidden behind the bushes. No way would Lachlan have created it by himself, and I can already feel excitement building in my veins from the prospect of discovering the castle’s secrets.
Jessica frowns while her fingers dance across the keyboard, and she scrunches her eyes in concentration. “We might have something in Section H, Number 1200. It’s about the evolution of gardening in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Does that work?”
“Yes, that’s sound good for now. Thank you!” I place a chocolate on the counter, and she grabs it excitedly. This girl has an even bigger sweet tooth than me.
I go back to my seat and open my tablet, scrolling through different photos of Lachlan’s mansion and writing down several types of flowers and grasses he has there while wondering who planted it all.
Some of them are considered to be incompatible, and in all plant-based literature, there are warnings about planting them near each other, as one would perish sooner than normal. But at the same time, the garden is in such a flawless condition I’m not sure why Lachlan even wants my help. The soil is perfect; so are the bushes planted. Maybe it’s the flower design. “So weird,” I mumble, popping a chocolate into my mouth and washing it down with tea.
My finger pauses and I blink in surprise, my attention focusing on the red flower with an unusual shape hidden between the bushes leading to the alcove, and I freeze, zooming in with my fingers. If I didn’t take a photo of the tree, I’d have completely missed it!
It can’t be.
I’m afraid to even breathe for fear the picture might disappear from my vision.
Is that?
I take a screenshot of the plant and rush to the orchid section in the library, scanning the shelves for the title I need.
Finally noticing it on the top shelf, I stretch for it but can’t reach it. I rise on my tiptoes, my fingers almost touching it, but then I feel hot breath on the back of my neck and a male presence behind me.
The hand above me snags it and places the book right into my palm, and then he wraps his hand around mine, bringing it down. “Here you go, Giselle,” he says, and I spin around only to be squished between the bookshelf and muscle.