Madman’s Method: Madman Duet Book One

by Mason, V. F.

  One of the reasons I can’t imagine working without her. Despite her weird relationship with Ethan that lasted until his marriage, she always had strong morals, and that’s one of the things I value the most in people.

  Their principles.

  “Fancy office you have here,” Santiago says, dropping onto the chair opposite me and propping his legs on my desk. He points at the wall showcasing different hunting trophies. “Hobby of yours?” Then he chuckles. “Had a thing for the hunt from an early age, si?”

  “They are my father’s. Shit like that does not interest me,” I reply casually, not fooled by his breezy attitude.

  Santiago is a fucker like that. He’ll wait for you to drop your guard and only then strike you when you least expect it, enjoying your agony and confusion.

  I can do this for hours, so getting more comfortable in my chair, I wait for the continuation of this charade, and Cortez doesn't disappoint me.

  “Ah, I see. Lover of animals then, no?” he proposes, whistling. “I quite enjoy horses myself for example—”

  Callum apparently has no patience for this game of ours, because he barks, “Cut this shit, Santiago.” And then he addresses me, gripping the top of the other chair while his brown eyes almost burn a hole in me. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Santiago opens his arms wide, shrugging and shaking his head. “I try to be nice, amigo.” Since when does he use Spanish words in every single sentence? “This one though.” He motions with his head toward Callum. “Is rude as fuck.” He clacks his tongue. “No manners.”

  My mouth twitches in amusement with this, but Callum doesn't let me enjoy it. “You killed Ethan White?”

  “News travels fast here,” I reply instead, swiveling the chair while Callum watches me carefully, as if searching for clues on my face. “Who called you?”

  “No one.” He must read disbelief on my face, because he exhales heavily, leaning on his elbows now. “We came to see you on our own, because we know Arson paid you a visit.” Ah, yes. “We wanted to defuse the situation a little, but then you go and fucking kill one of them?” Even though he doesn't raise his voice due to being in my office, it’s hard to miss the deadliness of his tone. “You might as well have gone to Lachlan and waved your middle finger at him.” Before I can say anything, he points his index finger at me. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Pressing my palm to my chest, I sigh dramatically. “I would never.” Santiago chuckles at this, and I grin at him.

  Callum hits the top of the chair loudly, and I wince, detesting this outburst of emotions. “None of it is funny. You are declaring war.”

  I’ve had about enough of his display of dominance. I might respect him and consider him a friend even though he doesn’t, but I’m no one’s bitch.

  And I won’t be scolded like a child.

  “By protecting what’s mine?” Pushing up on my seat, I plaster my palms on the table while facing them both. “Tell me, Callum. What would you do in my place?” His jaw tics, but he doesn't reply, so I do it for him. “Wait, we don't have to wonder about that, do we? Because you give zero shits about any warnings concerning your wild orchid.” My focus shifts to Santiago, who raises his hands in surrender.

  “Don’t have a woman.”

  “For now,” I say, and an unreadable expression crosses his face, so I dig deeper. “Suppose you have her and I come and tell you to stay away. To not react when someone touches her against her will. What would you do?”

  He rubs his chin and then steeples his fingers, his elbows resting on the chair’s arms while he taps his fingertips against each other. “Kill you,” he finally says, and I blink at that, because he is dead serious.

  Sharing a look with Callum, I see him rolling his eyes, clearly unfazed with Santiago’s level of crazy. “My point exactly,” I say, dropping back in my seat, but Callum is not done.

  “They are not telling you to stay away from her. They are telling you to stay away from her until this shit is done.”

  “And I told them they could fuck themselves with that plan,” I fire back, but Callum stands his ground.

  “They have reasons. Remember what happened when you didn't listen to any fucking warnings last time? We told you to wait, but did you?”

  We both freeze when his words hang in air between us, bringing back memories from a long time ago.

  Callum, I need help.

  I’ll be there.

  First and last time I ever begged in my life.

  But not for myself, no.

  For them.

  Yet I still managed to fail both of them.

  Santiago whistles. “Low blow, my friend.” But then he gets up too, and they both loom above me. All traces of amusement are gone from his face, leaving only a cold, sinister expression that probably sends his victims into panic. “You declared a war by killing Ethan. She has what? Three more guys she wants dead? You will kill them all?”

  “I do whatever I see fit.” My voice leaves no doubt to my intentions, because fuck them all for turning their backs on me when they vowed to help me.

  “Is this what she wants though?” he questions. “Have you ever stopped to consider what her desires about their crimes are? Maybe she wished not for Ethan to be dead but to rot in prison.”

  Fuck this bullshit. “I kept them alive for ten years. That’s enough.”

  “I hope it is, Eudard. Otherwise, you’ve started a war with no winner in sight,” he says and goes to the door, clearly done with our conversation.

  Before he exits though, he stops and throws over his shoulder, “Seu confraternitate vestra mea usque ad mortem.”

  Which is Latin for “Brotherhood till my or your death.”

  And with that, he disappears into the hallway as Callum stays, running his fingers through his hair. “We mean it.”

  I get up from the chair, walking around the table and pouring myself a drink before offering him one, waggling the bottle in the air.

  “No thanks. We are on your side, Eudard. But are you sure you can keep the show running with her in town?” I put ice cubes into the glass and they clink against each other, reminding me that everything is fleeting, just like the cubes that melt into water within no time. “Protect her this time?”

  “I don’t have a choice.” The act has been almost two decades in the making; I can’t lose now.

  Not when there are so many variables to this equation.

  Other Latin words sound in my ears, bringing with them the familiar scent of gasoline, and blood smeared on skin accompanied by sadistic laughter.

  Vincere semper.

  I always win.

  The glass in my hand shatters, cutting my skin, but I don't even feel the sting.

  Not this time around.

  Till my or his death… I won’t let him win this time.

  Cassandra

  Loud sobs accompanying hoarse cries greet me when I enter Patricia’s house.

  Even poor James is green as grass, barely holding onto his tears after learning the truth.

  Isn't it interesting how some people can’t live with something just because they heard those horrific details, yet some of us have to live forever with it despite having experienced all those vile things?

  A twisted way of life, I guess.

  Stepping into the living room, I see Dorothy on the floor wailing by Patricia’s knees. Patricia holds her hand but gazes off in the distance, her eyes watering.

  Cole rests his elbow on the wall, drinking whiskey I think while Frank paces back and forth, worry flashing through him.

  And finally, Ralph who sits on the chair, sipping his coffee with a blank expression on his face as if he doesn't know how to react to the new reality they awoke in.

  The only person missing is Eachann, but maybe our heavenly priest doesn’t feel much guilt, since he never touched me.

  After all, guilt and remorse are in the eyes of a beholder.

  Cole is the first one to notice me, and then he gasps in surpris
e and says, “Cassandra.” Everyone’s attention shifts to me, and Patricia pales even more, probably anticipating me spilling the truth.

  Ah, not so soon.

  “I came as soon as I heard.” I clasp my hands together, allowing a tear to slide down my cheek. “It’s horrible. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, no.” Patricia jumps up, freeing herself from Dorothy, who rests her head on the cushions when the hostess runs to me, hugging me close and whispering into my ear, “Please.”

  I return her embrace and pat her back, murmuring softly, “Of course. I’m so sorry for your loss.” I lean back and focus my gaze on Ralph, who gets up as well. “I lost my family a long time ago. I know the pain.” Relating to someone’s pain is an easy way to establish a connection when someone is grieving, because it gives them silent support.

  At least that’s what Isabella taught me during her twisted psychological games class.

  Ralph nods. For a second, his mask slips, leaving his agony displayed. He probably never imagined his cousin would die, and I know her theory worked. “Please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you. We appreciate it.”

  “My Ethan is dead,” Dorothy whispers, sobbing again into her fist, her face red and puffy from all the crying. “My only love is dead.” She twists her head to press against the cushion, her shoulders shaking as sobs rock her body.

  Kneeling in front of her, I gently glide my palm over her head, in soothing motions. “It will get better,” I say with all the sympathy I can muster in the current situation, even if inside all their suffering leaves me cold.

  Does this make me as horrible as them?

  Some people experience what I did and never allow the darkness to sink into them, rising above all those hardships and living their life to the fullest.

  They shine like diamonds and find happiness.

  But I can’t. No matter how much I’ve tried, I can never forgive, and part of me hates myself for it. My parents wouldn't have been proud of the person I’ve become.

  Life gave me a chance to live better, and I’ve wasted it for revenge. But digging into my soul, I never find regret there.

  Because it’s the only thing that keeps me alive in this world where I’m completely alone.

  So even if it makes me a despicable human being, I will enjoy this moment, because joy is an emotion that rarely exists in my life.

  “He was my everything,” Dorothy says, her voice barely audible in the room, and I notice how Cole winces, although he sends her a pitiful glance. “How can I live without him?” she asks me, sitting up straight, her hair all over the place. “You said you lost your family. How did you live after that?”

  My heart pangs painfully in my chest, but I block out the anguish. “By finding a reason to live,” I reply, cupping her cheek and wiping her tears away as she whimpers. “We honor the dead by living our life to our fullest potential, so they can live above us in peace. Not worrying that we suffer here.” I place my hand over my heart. “That’s the only way.”

  At least that’s what I intend to do once all this is over.

  She traps my hand between her cheek and shoulder, whispering, “Thank you.”

  Patting her one last time, I get up. I sweep my gaze over everyone as they watch me in shock, and Cole’s eyes even hold awe. My compassionate nature must speak to his artistic soul.

  “If you need anything, please let me know. It must be horrible… with all the rumors…” I trail off, and they frown in confusion, so I elaborate. “About the letter. That he mentioned first initials. How he threw you under the bus.” The tension in the air rises so swiftly I’m hit with it and blink in surprise when panic crosses their faces, and even Dorothy stops her pity party for one.

  “He is not talking about us,” Frank quickly says, cracking a few of his fingers.

  “Oh. I just assumed like everyone else that he meant you.” But then I wave it off. “But of course, all of this is a lie. Someone killed him. Horribly. And then accused him and you of this. I’m sure he had no choice.” I look at Ralph, whose gaze darts anywhere but at me. “Don’t hold it against him. Victims do a lot of stuff to survive while in captivity.”

  Patricia huffs in exasperation, and it’s clear she doesn't care about Ethan’s suffering one way or the other. Only how his letter will have repercussions on her persona.

  “Thank you for not trusting these rumors.” Ralph speaks up, relief coming from him. “You are new in town, so you don't know us. But I assure you… we have nothing to do with that,” he says, and I see he really believes his own words.

  Does he even remember what he did or were they all so high it never registered in their brains?

  But score again, because now they think I’m on their side, which means they trust me despite the short time I’ve been here.

  Mission accomplished.

  “You were all so nice toward me. How can I believe otherwise?” Clearing my throat, I remove my dark lock from my forehead and announce, “I’m going to go now, but please don't hesitate to contact me. When will the funeral be held?” I ask Patricia, who bites on her lip, displeasure written all over her that she has to deal with that.

  Oh my, is the queen afraid of public scrutiny?

  “In five days. We want it over as quickly as possible.”

  “Pat!” Dorothy cries out, but no one agrees with her, because fear is running in their blood.

  So they want it buried in the ground along with Ethan so no one will discover their sins.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door. Mev, tell James to prepare Cassandra’s car.” Patricia wraps her hand around my wrist, dragging me outside, and with one last wave to the group, I end up in the hallway, where she checks that we are alone before moving us to the door. “I can explain last night.”

  “There is nothing to explain, Patricia. You are cheating; that’s your business.” She blinks in surprise. “I don't get involved in anyone’s marital business.” Sincerity must ring in my tone, because she relaxes, sighing heavily and fumbling with her thumbs.

  “It just happened one time. We have problems, Ralph and me. I felt neglected and—”

  My splayed palm stops her and I half hug her. “It’s okay. Your secret is safe with me,” I assure her. “I hope you get it fixed.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean. I don't have many friends… well, besides Dorothy.” She rolls her eyes. “But she has been insane over Ethan ever since they got married. I hope this is the beginning of a friendship.”

  Over my dead body! I shout in my head, but out loud, I say, “I hope so too.” With a quick peck on her cheek, I go outside, breathing in the fresh air that is not coated in selfishness and deceit.

  Walking down the stairs, I think about how to shove Patricia from her pedestal and expose her affair without proof.

  Maybe I’ll find something in those reports. I’ll have to go over them now then swing by the studio since Eudard lifted the ban.

  At the thought of the man, butterflies erupt in my stomach and my cheeks heat up, instantly changing me into a lovesick fool who can’t wait to see her crush.

  And my body buzzes with the awareness that it has been denied for so long.

  If I have this kind of reaction after only one night, what will happen to me if I allow this affair to continue?

  I should stop it before it goes any further.

  With that determination in mind, I sit in my car and start the engine, only to notice an envelope lying on the front seat with a bloomed, red rose over it.

  Curiously, I open it up and remove a red letter with lavender scent lingering on it.

  Come to me, my phoenix.

  I have a surprise waiting for you.

  James installed the address into your navigation system titled Surprise.

  Eudard

  I wonder if he ever intends to explain to me this nickname he has given me.

  Dipping my head, I see James through the window, saluti
ng me with a smile on his face, and I return it, grinning while I pick up the rose, pressing my lips to its petals and then rubbing it on my cheek.

  Who knew Eudard Campbell could be romantic?

  One more day.

  I’ll give us that before I forever let him go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “To new beginnings.”

  I’ve heard this phrase a lot through the course of my life, mostly said during weddings or when people opened new places.

  It made me believe that new beginnings were always a joyful thing, when one embarks on a journey of new discoveries that only adds to the happiness they possess.

  However, as I’ve discovered, new beginnings can be tragic too.

  Because a new beginning might mean the ending of life as you know it, and in this forever taking away those you love.

  Once upon a time, I was a saint who lived in her beautiful bubble.

  Until monsters sank their venom into it, bursting it and making me a sinner whose heart is filled with vengeance.

  From the memories of Arianna Griffin…

  A weird smell infiltrates my nose and I frown, turning away from it. Ready to exhale in relief, I flinch when the smell follows. It presses firmer against my nostrils, and I croak, “It stinks.”

  Someone chuckles, but judging by the breeze carrying the horrid smell, they’re waving something in front of my nose. “Afraid we need you awake for this.” And since this voice is so deep and husky like I’ve never heard before, my eyelids flutter then snap open to see hazel pools gazing at me with interest.

  He has dark brown hair slightly longer than his ears, tanned skin, jeans, and a muscled physique, judging by the T-shirt straining on his chest.

  Several tattoos grace his neck, but that’s all I notice before I ask, “Who are you?” And where am I? The smell of antiseptics fills the air, so familiar from spending the last several weeks in hospital.