by Mason, V. F.
What’s the harm in sharing with someone, right? It’s not like I can tell it to my parents or Pat, who laughed right along with everyone else.
“Since I was little, I’ve kept telling everyone I’d win a medal one day. That’s all I ever wanted. Now it will be a miracle if I get on the ice again”—I point at my knee—“let alone win gold. Dorothy joked today that usually people who dream too much end up like me with nothing.”
“Did she?” His voice stays neutral, but he tenses next to me.
“Soon, everyone picked it up, and now all they do in the hallways is call me ‘loser medalist.’ Dorothy even gave me a medal today for the ‘biggest loser in our school’ award.” I wipe away the tears with the handkerchief, not so much upset with what she said, because screw her. She was just bitter she didn’t have friends. But more so that her jab hit home. What am I if I’m not skating?
Skating was one thing I still carried from my childhood, one thing that never changed.
The idea of losing it seems as painful as losing the twins’ friendship was.
“Coach said I have a chance with special therapy, but the only therapist available is in the island town. It’s expensive.” My cheeks heat a bit at this, because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have money problems. Plus, it’s kind of weird with my parents working for his. “We had to buy a new car this year, so I can’t ask my parents for it.” Concluding all this, I puff air, blowing into the handkerchief again. “I’m really sorry you had to witness this.”
Then he does something unexpected.
He wraps his arm around me, pulling me into his embrace, even though I feel how tense he is, and that’s all it takes.
Waterfalls come again with me crying my heart out in the arms of the sweetest boy in town. As I sob into his neck, he runs his hand up and down mine, soothing me lightly while not allowing me to wallow in my misery alone.
Gradually, the sobs stop, and I just sniff into the handkerchief.
Then he lets go of me, gets up, and I think he will go silently, but instead he palms my head and tilts it back so his green eyes lock with my violet ones. “Arianna, you know how the lunar calendar has twenty-nine days?” I blink and then nod. “No matter what happens, the moon becomes full again. Even if it loses its pieces on the way. Nothing can stop it from shining brightly for everyone to see.” He leans closer and his breath fans my lips. My heartbeat speeds up inside my chest while I want to gasp for breath, but I’m afraid to move so I won’t break this moment with him. “Remember that.” He slides his hands away and walks off, but not before telling me, “Come to this alcove anytime you want. No one will bother you.”
I was stunned for so long after that encounter, but it cemented my crush on Eachann, making it bloom inside my chest.
Strangely enough, the next day, Dorothy and the football team stopped all the jokes; no one spread rumors about me again. And to my greatest joy, my coach said the therapist was his friend, and I got a grant to get treatment for free there.
Exhaling heavily, I shake my head from the images of the past but notice how Eudard’s knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. Do memories haunt him too despite his cold demeanor?
And his knuckles are smeared in blood too.
Realization hits me like a ton of bricks, and it’s hard to breathe. “It was you,” I whisper, turning in my seat to face him while he stays silent. “That day in the garden… it was you.” There is accusation in my words, but for what I’m not sure. It’s not like he hurt me back then; he gave me hope. “You probably paid for the therapy too, right?”
Again he says nothing, just pulls along their never-ending driveway toward the house.
He loved me silently, being there all the time, but never admitting to it. Allowing me to crush on his brother instead when, in fact, I don’t think Eachann was present that much or invested in my life to begin with. Yes, he attended my few championships, but that’s about it.
“Why? Why did you put us through such misery?” I ask him, finally seeing their three-level mansion on the horizon. Its castle-like design still has the ability to take my breath away.
It’s made out of dark brown bricks with lots of lights surrounding it, showcasing its beauty and the fifty windows—I counted back in the day.
The marble stairs leading to the main door are carved to the specific design of Ridge Campbell. He wanted the best and didn’t want his wife to slip.
All in all, despite traveling all over the world, I’ve never seen a more beautiful house that has the aura of power and secrecy but also the fundamental stability that screams power to me, and even more power to everyone else.
A castle surrounded by rosebushes, as if wanting to hide away from the outside world.
“Because loving you was a privilege I didn’t have.” With these words that slam into me like a hammer, he stops the car by the gate with the butler already rushing down the stairs toward us.
We’ve arrived in hell.
But why would I worry about it when I’m in the company of the devil?
Chapter Eleven
“We have choices in this life.
To be good or to be bad.
No one tells us to pick up a knife.
But what do you do when it’s the only way to survive?”
Eudard
Eudard, 17 years old
Summer Before Senior Year of High School
The minute we enter the house, I know nothing has changed. The walls, the furniture, even the fucking art is all the same, as if Uncle never died.
Down to the staff who wear the same clothes and, to my surprise, have fear etched on their features, while men who look like guards stroll inside.
Why does he need bodyguards? Is he afraid someone from the past will come back to get revenge?
According to Lachlan, they killed everyone who was closely associated with Uncle and his business, not that it removed the problem.
There are always hungry fuckers ready to use innocent people any way they see fit.
But at least some of them are dead.
Liam smiles brightly before sprawling on the chair his father usually occupied, throwing his leg over another and bouncing it back and forth. “I can’t believe you’re here!” he exclaims. “I was hoping, of course, but you haven’t replied to any of my calls except the last one.” He pouts and my brows furrow at the weird edge to his tone, so uncharacteristic for Liam. “Sit, sit.”
He motions to the couch opposite him and I finally ask, “What the hell is this?”
He blinks and then asks, “What do you mean?”
I snap my fingers before swirling them around. “All this. Nothing has changed.” My tone drops dead. “Even Kirk is here.”
He winces. “Yes, I remember what he did. But he knows it all better than anyone, and I needed guidance.” He shrugs while his words make zero sense to me. “So I have to keep him, at least for now.” His eyes flash in a dangerous manner, sending awareness through me, because he no longer resembles the scared boy he always used to be.
Instead, he might be the one person scared boys actually need to fear, but even thinking that seems laughable.
Yet I don't want to laugh, only yell in his presence.
“And besides. He might die soon.” His laughter surrounds us like he’s finding it really amusing.
What the fuck?
“He knows what?”
Liam jumps from the seat and puffs his chest. “The business.” He must read the confusion on my face, because he slaps his forehead, rolling his eyes. “I’m such a moron. I should have started with an explanation.” He clasps his hands together, holding my gaze. “After everyone left, I came back here. Daddy had a safe, remember?”
I say nothing, just stare at him, because I can almost predict what he’s talking about.
But I give him the benefit of the doubt, not wanting to believe my suspicions. “I found all the information there. Business associates, overseas numbers, passwords to his accounts.” He starts
pacing the room, continuing to spit words at me. “It’s like he left his legacy to us. So I kept everything as he wanted here and tried all these numbers,” he says, and a huge grin plasters on his face. “And I found a man in Europe willing to restart the family business. Kirk helped me go over the preparations and find the guys. I even found contacts in the States again. So many contacts.” He sounds so proud of himself, like he has accomplished something impossible, while I’m horrified.
Then he focuses on me, coming swiftly toward me, and grabs my shoulders. “The only missing piece was you.”
Swallowing back the acid in my throat, I repeat, “Me?”
He nods vigorously. “Of course. Daddy left his legacy to both of us. We survived his training together.” Training? That's what raping a child for years and psychological torture and blackmail are called now? “It was meant to be. Me and you ruling this world. Together. I know you spend time with Lachlan.” He frowns. “But you can’t do that anymore. He would destroy our business, and I can’t have that.”
“Liam, you want us to start a human-trafficking business?” I ask just to clarify for myself, because I’m about to kill him with my bare hands. The anger fueling my blood demands I use it on him so his blood will smear the ground.
Never did I think I’d want him dead, because the hell we lived through was almost unbearable.
But he became just like the monster who created us, and how can I allow him to continue to exist in this world?
He even sounds insane! Did he lose his marbles at some point during his childhood, and I never noticed?
Tears stream down his cheeks and he hugs me close, while I stay unmovable, stone-fucking-cold. “I knew you’d understand. It was always me and you against the world.” He leans back. “I’m like your true twin.” The more he says, the more I realize how truly insane he is. “He was never part of us.” How did I not notice his resentment toward Eachann sooner? Maybe that’s why he helped me convince Uncle not to bring Eachann here anymore during the last three years. I stupidly thought Liam cared about him, but everything is becoming painfully clear in light of his revelation. “We don’t need your family either. We’re rich!”
I can’t fucking believe the joy he radiates. The money he speaks of was collected by selling innocent children just like us. The vile things done to them… how can he do something like this?
I’ve read so many books about serial killers and abuse and everything I could get my hands on to understand the likes of me or what triggers us.
And almost everyone said that those who suffered sexual abuse as kids do not become rapists themselves or participate in the acts that trigger them.
Then why is Liam willing to continue this fucked up legacy as he calls it? And the most disgusting part is he doesn’t think I would even refuse; he assumes that’s what I want.
Arson was right.
When we think about certain actions and reactions, we only think from our perspective, studying people through the lens of how we see the world. We never think other people might have different views than us.
I stay silent for so long that he stills, the smile slipping from his lips and his shoulders sagging. “You are not happy. Is it because of Arianna?” I snap from my trance at the sound of her name, and he smirks, although it’s a cold one. “I knew it. You have a thing for her?” He doesn’t wait for my reply and snaps his fingers. “Just like that, we can kidnap her and bring her to you. She won’t trail after Eachann anymore.”
Everything inside me freezes at how much information he is sharing because terror rushes through me.
How does he know all that?
Never in the years of captivity did I share with him about them; they are part of my heart that belongs to no one but me. How would he know anything? “What are you talking about?” I grit through my teeth, and he waves my words off.
“I’ve had people spying on you, just to make sure you are safe. I saw how she looks at him.” His hands fist. “Ungrateful bitch,” he spits, and I’m about to wrap my hands around his throat when coughing from the back stops me.
We both turn around to see a guard, and Liam shouts, “Why are you interrupting us?”
The guard pales a little but speaks up. “The present is here.”
Liam is smiling brightly again, clapping, and grabbing my elbow. “I have a gift for you.” He presses his head against my shoulder. “I wish someone would have given this to me, but I felt like properly welcoming you back.”
Oh no.
I know all about the gifts the likes of his father had.
I push back my instinct and instead follow him down the familiar hallway to the wall leading to the basement, dread filling my stomach along with desperation, because this was supposed to be put behind me.
Instead, it still has roots in my present, creating a monster out of the boy who I thought shared my pain. But he waited for his time to become the boss of everyone.
The victim becomes the persecutor, craving the power it gives and hiding his fears away. This way, he compensates for the abuse done to him in the past, erasing it from his mind and pretending like it never happened.
Like the purpose of it set him on the path of power.
And in all this fucked up shit, once again I need to be the rescuer, for how can I allow him to do something like that? But first, I need to see the extent he’s gone to in this business.
When we are inside the basement, I hear quiet sobs, and my hands fist while I push back the anger. I’m not sure how long I can continue this charade of interest without snapping someone’s neck.
He clicks his fingers, and instantly bright light shines from every corner, showing this fucked up basement in all its glory, and Liam explains. “I found all those fire sticks tiring, so I installed a light here. This way it’s easier to study the products.” The ringing in my ears intensifies, and I close my eyes, breathing heavily through my nose, reining in the storm brewing inside me.
I’m going to fucking kill him.
My heart stops when I see filled cages, each one of them with two or three kids inside. They are all sitting pressed against each other, all-too-familiar fear on their faces, and trembling while looking at me, terrified.
Their clothes are torn and dirty, which means they’ve been here a while. “That’s a lot of kids” is all I manage to get out. “Where did you get them from?” He won’t be able to tell me all the details after choking on the blood once I stab him, enjoying life slowly slipping out of him.
At this point, it’s the only thought keeping me sane.
Liam leans his shoulder on one of the bars, waving at the kids who gasp and push harder against the wall, as if afraid of him.
Just how many times did he visit them? “Most Daddy’s business partners died two years ago.” He sighs, clearly hating that fact. “And others wanted to know if I had anything to offer. Sort of, you know, show them I’m serious about it. So I took them from the streets. No one will come looking for them. Don’t need any trouble while establishing it all.”
“Right,” I reply, my gaze trained on the kids while I wrack my mind on how to help them all. I don’t see many wounds on them, but they are all thin. Does he not feed them? They’d need medical attention regardless. “Did you sell anyone?” I never thought I’d have this kind of conversation with anyone, let alone Liam.
I guess some monsters are born, polluted by the seed of who fathered them.
He shakes his head. “Not yet. We will have a deal tomorrow. That’s why I needed you here.” He blows a kiss to the kids, who only turn away, and walks toward the cage I used to sit in, at the far end of this basement. “And this is my gift to you.” With that, he places his hand on the bar, shakes it a little so the rattling sound echoes off the walls, and calls softly, although annoyance lingers on the edges of his voice. “Say hello to Eudard, sweetie.” Only then do I notice a small girl sitting at the far end of the cell, her bright pink dress smeared in dirt and something purple. “You didn’t drink the
juice I brought you again. Spilled it all over your skirt,” Liam chastises, but the girl stays silent, rocking back and forth while her long, dark hair sways in time with her movement. “You shouldn’t make Liam angry, honey.”
I expect the girl to burst out crying, but she doesn’t do it.
Instead, she raises her head, and I blink at the fury flashing in her crystal blue eyes, her hands wrapping around a chocolate bar lying by her feet, and then she throws it with all her power at us, where it hits the bars and lands back on the floor, missing Liam of course.
She screams at him, “Vete al infierno.” Which in Spanish translates to “go to hell.”
I applaud the girl inwardly for her bravery, but at the same time wonder how she can display this much courage in the current circumstances.
“I wouldn’t be this difficult, sweetie.” Liam huffs, probably due to his frustration of not knowing the language, and then smiles at me. “She is special.” Special? “The guys said she was fighting for one of the kids, didn’t want them to take some girl, so she got in the fight. She is not from the streets, must be from a rich family. That dress isn’t cheap,” he muses and then winks. “That’s why she is your gift.”
“And what should I do with my gift?” This question is asked purely for me to confirm he’s completely lost his mind, because surely he didn’t bring me a kid to—
“To train her like father did us.” He exhales heavily, glancing down. “You are the oldest, and he wanted to leave you the legacy.” By his tone, it’s clear he still hates his father for that. “So you have to be the first to take someone under your wing. She is so pretty.” He points at her, licking his lips. Revulsion rushes through me, and my hands almost wrap around his neck, but I have around fifteen kids to fucking think of here.
No rash decisions, Eudard.
Is this why Lachlan sent me here? He suspected we can’t trust Liam? Why the fuck is he not here then, everything else be damned?
Since my silence stretches out when the girl rises, her chin high, giving me all the attitude in the world, Liam asks worriedly, “Don’t you like her?” Sadness crosses his face while I mentally count to ten to help me act compliant in this fucking situation just to buy some time.