by Mason, V. F.
“I guess you can’t be trusted after all,” I hiss, plastering my back against the tile, watching him warily. He comes to me in the middle of the night, enters the bathroom whenever he pleases, and that’s the man who claims he will never take anything by force?
Yeah, right.
“If you like dramatics this much, you should have joined the theater,” he says, sarcasm lacing his tone. “We are leaving in thirty minutes. So finish up quickly and have a bite. We have a long flight ahead of us.” Scanning me one more time, he turns around while I blink in confusion.
“Where are we going?” Does he have some other secret place he wants to go and extend his plans?
God only knows what goes on inside the heads of serial killers.
“Back to New York.” He glances over his shoulder, his brown eyes drilling into me. “Will you marry me?”
As far as proposals go, this one sucks.
Swallowing back the bile in my throat, I nod and see how his mouth lifts in a smile for a second before he covers it with boredom once again.
“Very well. The wedding will happen in a week, so we have to get ready. Invite whoever you want.” He drops the news and shuts the door behind him, while I freeze, cold sinking into me despite the hot shower.
In a week?
He plans to marry me within a week?
His need for revenge is this strong?
What has his family ever done to him?
I wipe away the tears sliding down my cheeks, and hollow laughter ricochets off the walls when I think about how, in the last year, I’ve gotten two proposals from two different men.
One was romantic and beautiful, accompanied by a ring, with a guy who was safe and perfect. In the end, he cheated on me with my own sister, betraying my trust. The other one is a blackmailed marriage, where he offers me a way out at the expense of my loved ones. The guy is a murderer, and perfect is not even a word that exists when it comes to him. Yet he is a man who will never let me go, because in his mind, I belong to him.
One of them broke my pride.
The other one broke my heart, and I’m afraid nothing will ever fix it.
Callum
Rage is building inside me, insisting on release. So I hit the wall, welcoming the pain traveling from my bruised knuckles to my arm, because it dulls the emotions brewing up a storm through my entire system.
Her pushing me away really pisses off the beast roaring inside me who wants to tie her up in one of my basements and show her what a true monster looks like. But the second part of me rages over the fucked-up proposal I gave her.
Soon, soon.
Entering the kitchen, I salute Magnolia and walk toward the table, scratching the stool against the floor before dropping onto it. She places a plate in front of me filled with scrambled eggs and two slices of toast. “Thank you.”
“Will Giselle eat too?” she asks worriedly, hurrying to fetch another plate, and I shrug.
“I’m not sure. She must be hungry.” But if she doesn’t want to, she can starve.
I’m not gonna tiptoe around her childish behavior and act like the worried lover, when she constantly bites my hand.
And what fucking changed for her anyway? I’ve never as much as harmed a hair on her body, yet she acts as if I raped her the whole fucking time.
Magnolia pours coffee for me and brings it to me. “Callum, you won’t hurt this girl, right?”
The fork pauses midway to my mouth, not expecting the question.
In all the years she has been with me, never once has she questioned my motives or stuff I’ve done. She knows some of my past and accepts what I do. I’m not sure why, but I’ve always suspected it had to do with pity.
As if it excuses my vile deeds.
Truth be told, killing is killing no matter how you want to spin it. Nothing justifies it, and we are all the same. Some are sicker than others, but the end result is still a dead body lying around somewhere.
I don’t seek atonement for my actions and never fucking will.
“Don’t worry; I won’t.”
She perches her hip on the counter, doubt crossing her face. “But she was crying.”
“She discovered my truth. It was bound to happen.” I wanted to introduce her to it once she was so in love with me she couldn’t imagine her life without me in it.
Love is a weapon, or at least it was supposed to be one in my hands.
“Yes, but don’t you think—” Whatever she wants to say dies on her lips when Giselle comes in, bringing with her the scent of her flower perfume I always associate with her. Fuck, at this rate, even the lightest flower smell will make me hard.
She is wearing a purple summer dress along with shiny flip-flops that have stones embedded in them that reflect the sunshine. Her face is void of any makeup, and her brown locks fall freely over her shoulders.
I drink her in, the beauty that has been unnoticed by many, but has become mine in the end. Satisfaction fills me as I imagine showing her off to the world. Not hide her like all those fucking assholes did. I might be a monster, but I’m a monster who cherishes his prey, making sure she fears no one in this world but me.
“Breakfast is ready,” I announce and wait for the inevitable resistance or shouts, but none come. Instead, to my surprise and Magnolia’s, judging by her widened eyes, Giselle sits on the chair and grabs her fork.
Without uttering a word, she starts eating, shoveling food in, probably barely tasting it by the speed she’s going.
Magnolia puts tea next to her and clears her throat. “Would you like a cinnamon roll, honey?”
Giselle tenses for a second, pausing her chewing, but then resumes, shaking her head. Her stare is glued on the plate. Magnolia gives me a devastated look, and her shoulders sag as she clearly reads the vibe Giselle is projecting—fuck off all of you.
“I’ll go tell David to put the bags in the car,” she informs me before dashing out of the kitchen, and I face Giselle, resting my elbows on the table.
“Magnolia is not guilty of my crimes,” I tell her.
Giselle finally raises her eyes from her plate, giving me a blank stare, and I fucking hate it. I can’t read her expression at all. Her emotions, just like her, belong to me. And right now, she is denying me this fucking right!
“Don’t punish people for my mistakes.”
“I’m not punishing her for your mistakes,” she says, her voice raspy, and it travels straight to my dick. “I punish her for hers. If she’s okay with you keeping me hostage, then I have nothing to talk about with her.” She gets up, pushing the plate away, and takes a sip of her tea. “I’d like to leave now, if you don’t mind of course.”
If I don’t mind.
Only now, it dawns on me how fucking calm she is, well-put-together and no hair out of place. She agreed to my proposal so easily, even though yesterday she argued to no end.
What changed?
Narrowing my eyes at her, I study her posture along with her straight back, and it hits me.
Prey doesn’t succumb to their hunters; they always want to run away. But when the inevitable happens and they meet?
The prey runs for her life as fast as she can, because otherwise, she’ll be dead.
Giselle is no lamb, so she won’t run, but she can plot.
Un-fucking-believable.
Does she really think she has a chance of winning this?
Game fucking on.
Giselle
Callum puts our two bags inside the trunk, and I want to hop into the back seat, because the idea of spending any time with him in close proximity unsettles me.
A hand on my shoulder stops me though, and I take a deep breath, hating the inevitable scene. “Giselle,” Magnolia says, and I look at her, noticing her wrinkled face holds nothing but sorrow. “I’m sorry.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Callum answering someone’s call, so he doesn’t hear our conversation, and decide to attack because he is protective of his housekeeper. “You’re helping
him, which means you’re not.”
I grab the handle, but she places her soft palm over mine, once again stilling my movements.
“He has a heart.”
Is she serious right now? “He kills people without an ounce of remorse.” I wonder if she’s seen any of this footage. How can anyone defend him after the horrific acts he displays?
She pales a little. “I know that. But did you ask him why?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Even though I did ask why, he just never bothered to answer me. “Nothing justifies that, and I can’t be with a man who does this.”
“Sometimes evil is a necessity to survive.” She raises her palm and softly caresses my cheek, and I stand there in stunned silence. “Can you imagine the amount of pain one has to experience to think killing is the only solution to the problem?” She exhales heavily. “Judging is easy. Understanding and accepting is not.”
“We’re not talking about some bad situation. He kills them.” I feel like a parrot repeating all this to him and her. Why don’t they see my side of things?
They act like the only problem is that I found out. Not that he is a serial killer and will continue to be so. Did they expect a woman to be thrilled with this possibility?
“The heart is an interesting organ, you know that?” She changes the subject so quickly I blink again. “It can be bruised so many times, by so many different people, yet it still longs for love. It dictates our emotions, our choices, our attachments.” She palms my face and asks a question that erupts chaos inside my head. “But what do you think has happened to a person who doesn’t think he has a heart? Who uses his brain for every choice and decision? How many times do you think it was bruised to create a man like Callum?” Her hands slide down, and she pats my shoulders, hiccupping a little. “There is goodness in him. Deep down. Don’t destroy the last little bit of goodness he has. You have the ability to bruise the heart still beating in his chest. I’m asking you not to.” With one last squeeze, she lets me go and waves at Callum, who comes back, looking between us with his brows raised.
I get inside the car, while thousands of thoughts swirl in my mind.
My heart contracts painfully in my chest, and I press my fist over it, stilling the whimper of pain threatening to slip past my lips.
Magnolia couldn’t be more wrong.
Callum has to love me for me to have the ability to bruise his heart, but he doesn’t.
And in the end, no one’s heart will get bruised but my own.
Because I fell in love with a heartless devil forever living in the nightmares of his past.
Chapter Nineteen
Callum, 14 years old
Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway as the walls practically vibrate with the sound, and I order, “Quickly, guys, put on handcuffs before they come in.” Santiago and Artem hide the weapons, right in time for Roccko—of all fucking people—to show up.
“What the fuck happened here?” We stay silent when he checks Jonathan and curses. “Old fucker finally died. Good riddance.” We exchange looks with each other but still stay silent.
We thought he loved him?
He then shifts his attention to us and scans us from head to toe. “Follow me. There is a fire in Edward’s part of the wing.” He motions with his hand and we do as he commands, while I’m shocked with his treatment of us.
Shouldn’t he be dragging us by the chains like dogs? That’s what most people here do. So the prey won’t run away—or that’s the explanation Jonathan once gave us.
He speaks into the mic on his jacket. “All guards by the gate, come inside. Edward is trapped in his wing.”
Someone on the radio replies, “On it.” And then Roccko does something unthinkable.
He gives the keys to Santiago, ordering, “The car is right by the gate. It’s open right now, because the guy brought the gunpowder supply. You need to run as fast as you can. Do you understand me?” Our jaws drop open, shocked to our core.
The scariest motherfucker of them all decided to help us?
“Now you,” he addresses Artem, “take this.” He gives him a big-ass knife and then gives me the gun. “And you this. I know your hands are uncuffed, so you can loosen them.”
We drop the chains while lurking behind the wall as chaos erupts around us. “I will lead you to the main door, and then you will fire.”
“What?” I exclaim, not ready to kill anyone.
What the hell?
He ignores my words. “Afterward, you will run to the gate, which will be empty. You will have a maximum of two minutes before they all catch up. It’s the only chance I could give you,” he says to Jonathan. “After slipping the pill into this asshole’s drink, that is.”
“Why?” Artem asks the question that’s probably on all our minds, and Roccko gives us a sad smile. “I can no longer work undercover for that shit, and they don’t want to jeopardize their chances.”
Undercover? What does that mean? Who is they?
But we have no time for any explanation, because heavy footsteps thump on the floor, and he motions for us to go after him. We move speedily through the hall, where all the guards are running in different directions. The smell of smoke is strong from the fire erupting in the other wings.
He barks, “Now.”
My hands are shaking, and I fumble with the trigger, which makes Santiago next to me curse. He wraps his hands above mine to steady me, and we both fire right into the guy’s chest.
He groans loudly and then rasps, “Go, go, go.”
In a state of shock and with adrenaline running high, I barely even comprehend what’s going on.
The guards are already shouting, “Roccko is shot!”
Despite all the mistreatment and malnourishment and breathing heavily, we run with all our might to the gate, my bare feet burning on the concrete, but I ignore it.
Instead, I run like thousands of dogs are chasing me, and so do the guys. We can focus on the pain and labored breathing later.
We spot the car, with Santiago shouting, “I’ll get behind the wheel!”
Only then, it dawns on me. “None of us knows how to drive.”
Santiago snaps his fingers, fumbling with keys. “I’ll handle it.”
I want to argue more, but then I notice Artem is frozen, blinking at the gunpowder in the open van. Also, there is a stash of lighters and cigarettes, probably one more delivery for the guards.
“Artem,” I call, while I hear Santiago get inside the vehicle. I extend my hand to Artem who is shorter than us, and I suspect younger.
Artem runs his fingers over the products, almost caressing the things, and I frown.
“What the hell are you doing, Artem?” I hiss, while Santiago plays with the keys in the car, trying to start it. “Hop inside!”
Artem ignores my words though, and instead, to my disbelief, snatches the gunpowder and lighters, rushing right back inside the gate. He starts to dig his knife into a tree, as if wanting to cut off a branch.
“For fuck’s sake, what is he doing?” I ask no one in particular, since Santiago curses and tries to turn the keys.
Finally, the engine roars to life, and he exclaims, “Gracias, Dios!”
“You don’t even know how to drive this thing!” I shout, but he fucking smirks. “How hard can it be? The car is on; I just need to drive fast enough to get us out of here and that’s it.” He points to his legs. “Here is the speed pedal and stop pedal. No worries, I won’t get us killed,” he assures me, and my jaw about drops to the floor.
I can’t believe I’m running away with these two psychos!
“No, you’re right, you won’t. Because Artem will fucking kill us before you!” I grab the gun and hop down, running toward him while throwing over my shoulder to Santiago, “Be ready to get us any minute. Don’t move your ass.”
He gives me a thumbs-up and puts on the baseball hat lying on the seat.
Like I said, complete psycho.
I see several guards darting out of
the flaming house, firing bullets at us, but Artem continues to chop on the wood. “We need to leave now!” I scream at him as I fire at the guards, not hitting any of them since my aim is shit. “Artem!”
Finally, he picks up what he took from the van, and then my eyes almost bulge from their sockets when he spreads the gun powder we found in a line and then lights up the branch, dropping it. Instantly flames flash around us, spreading through the gun powder and grass, leading right to the house.
When in the fuck did he manage to do that?
The guards stop abruptly while Artem runs to the other side and repeats his actions, making it impossible for anyone to run away.
The fire reaches the guards now, and even though some of them manage to escape, I see two of them go up in flames, while Artem watches, completely still and mesmerized.
Their cries fill the garden, and then I hear Santiago’s whistle. He motions for me to hit Artem and bring him.
I grab his arm, snapping him out of the nirvana he is experiencing, and drag him out of the gate as I order, “We are leaving. Fucking come on!” All the way to the vehicle, he continues to watch the fire, barely moving, making me use all my strength, or what’s left of it anyway.
We get inside, and Santiago presses on the speed pedal, the car moving so fast the breeze from the open windows slaps me on the cheeks while Artem gazes at the fire of his creation.
Santiago cheers. “This is freedom.”
Yeah, we’re free.
But what happens next?
We don’t know it yet… but even though we escaped one nightmare, we will end up in another.
Destiny.
Giselle
The minute the plane lands in New York, I unfasten my seatbelt and dash to the door, seeking fresh air after being stuck with Callum and his brooding stare for the last six hours.
We’ve been silent ever since the island, in the car, and then on the plane. Occasionally, the stewardess asked me questions, and I gave her curt replies. And while he stayed silent, his eyes spoke volumes as they constantly watched me or swept their gaze over me with such possessiveness and ownership and satisfaction I wanted to throw something at him.