by Mason, V. F.
So, opening my mouth, I shout, “Somebody, help me!” But it becomes a cry of agony when Veronica slides the knife to my cheek, piercing my skin and slashes my cheek from my jaw to my forehead, the pain so strong for a second I forget to breathe while everyone around me laughs. “Here, here. Problem one solved.” She pushes at me, and I feel the blood dripping on the floor, and the choking woman comes closer and delivers a hard blow to my face, one, two, three times, and even though the pain is so strong, I still twist my hands, wanting to run away, because I can handle them disfiguring me.
My beauty has no meaning for me anyway. But I can’t allow them to hurt other parts of my body.
“Please,” I whisper, barely able to move my jaw from their assault, but they once again laugh, holding me in their hands while the woman continues to hit me until Veronica nudges her and stands in front of me again.
“Well, it finally reminds me of a giant bruise. You look more like us, darling. You can thank me later.” She clicks her fingers. “Pearl, come here with the chain. Let’s see your work.” Then she addresses another woman. “Mercy, guard the door with me. She might scream louder now. He paid off the guard surveilling this area, but we can’t risk anyone coming in here.”
My God.
How much does the man hate me in order to bribe anyone in this prison to bring me misery?
Or maybe I’m asking the wrong question.
Is it possible for a man to love a woman so much he is ready to almost kill another woman to punish her for her death?
How heartless or brokenhearted do you have to be?
Reality doesn’t let me dwell on this philosophical question much though, when Pearl swings the chain back and forth in front of me, and I gasp when she wraps it around her fists, ordering to two other women, “Get her up.” They do, even though I press down, too afraid to move in fear of greater punishment, and in this position I can protect my stomach before help comes.
Someone must stroll through this hallway, right? Some not-paid guard who cares about the well-being of the inmates, even if the majority of these people are considered nothing but dirt under the nails of society.
Forcibly, they raise me up, and that’s when the first blow comes. The sharp edge of the chain connects with my front, surely leaving an imprint and spreading instant agony through me, the pain traveling so fast it’s a wonder I don’t pass out from shock. “No!” I scream, but she only hits again, while I try to turn away from her to present my back instead, not my stomach.
Please, God, please. Not my stomach.
“I haven’t had this much fun since the last time I killed someone,” Pearl says, wrapping the chain around my neck and connecting the end, depriving me of oxygen for a second while smiling brightly. “God, how I missed this.”
Veronica calls from the door, her tone laced with steel. “Don’t forget yourself. He paid for the pain, not for her death. Not to mention, I don’t want to spend more time in this hellhole.”
Pearl frowns, her hold on me tightens, and I squeeze my fists, fighting for breath, my lungs almost shrinking inside me, and finally she lets go, stepping back while I gulp for air only to groan as agony zips through me, reminding me of their abuse.
It’s a wonder none of them broke anything, although by the blood sliding over my face, I can’t be one hundred percent sure about that. The human body is very smart; during stress, we can group inside and face difficulties, not acknowledging the pain that has the ability to kill us.
All we think about is survival and focus all our strength there, but once it’s over… that’s when the body truly understands the full scope of the damage done to it.
I drop back on the floor, coughing. Blood spills from my mouth, indicating I might have internal bleeding. I place my hand on my stomach, rubbing it lightly and praying for a miracle to show up here and save me.
“We want to have fun too.” The two women from the back speak up before one of them stabs a knife in my shoulder blade, making me arch my back and scream, but then I fall on my front when one of them kicks me hard.
I quickly roll to the side while they continue to kick me over and over again, but I make myself into a ball, not caring what they do to other parts of my body.
The ringing in my ears starts and my sight becomes blurry. I’m barely staying afloat, probably from all the bleeding, and want to sleep so badly, but I know I can’t do that.
Under no circumstance can I succumb to the calling within me that says to let go and allow this cruel fate to win.
I will protect you. I will always protect you.
Veronica shrieks and orders, “Someone is coming. Quick, let’s go.” The kicking stops, and one of them leans down, pulls the knife out, and I feel how my warm blood slides over my back, opening the wound. By the pain and location, I doubt she touched an important blood vessel, but at this point, any wound can be catastrophic for me.
Their boots thump heavily on the floor that vibrates underneath me, and in the next second, I hear the click of the door. All I can do is lie here and rub my stomach, struggling for every breath.
My eyes open and close, my view becoming blurrier and blurrier with each blink, but then I hear the door click again. A shocked voice mutters, “Dear God.” And the person runs toward me, dropping on her knees, and looms above me. Through my hazy vision, I recognize Lori. “What have they done to you, girlie?” she asks, then shouts without waiting for my reply, “Dena! Call the guards; scream for help. She’s bleeding.”
I manage to catch her hand, using all my strength to squeeze it, even though I feel how my body slowly sinks into the oblivion that calls my name louder and louder. “Please,” I beg, and she shushes me.
“Don’t say anything, girl. Help is on the way. Hold on.”
Even though I’m grateful for what she is doing, I need her to listen to me. “My pants are wet,” I inform her, and her brows furrow while she glances between my legs.
She pats my hands a little, very gently as if she is afraid to bring me more pain. “It’s okay. Happens to everyone. They will pay for it.” An odd tone coats her voice. “That bitch couldn’t resist the price. I should have expected she’d be stupid enough to do it.”
Too far gone to care about the implications of her words, I squeeze her hand again and whisper, “I’m six months pregnant. And my water just broke. Please help me save my baby.” Finally voicing my condition for the first time to anyone, since no one listened to whatever I had to say before, I allow the darkness to claim me, lullabying me to sleep with the eternal promise of surrender in exchange for peace.
For a moment in time.
* * *
My eyelids flutter open. I see a bright light above me and close them again, wincing. I’m breathing into a mask as various machines beep around me, the smell of antiseptic twitching my nose.
A nurse is standing next to me, writing something on the tablet in her hands, but then gasps when her gaze lands on me. “You’re awake.” She presses the button above my head while I try to whisper through my dry throat that desperately begs for liquid.
“Water.” The air sticks in my lungs when even the slightest of movements sends hurt through me, reminding me of all the things that happened to me in that room.
A whimper slips past my lips.
“Shh,” the nurse says and presses the straw to my lips, allowing me to sip it a little, although it still brings pain. “Don’t talk, sweetheart. They broke your jaw and nose. Thankfully, our kickass doctor managed to put it all back together. It’s healing nicely. You shouldn’t have any lasting damage from that.” Her fingers skim my bandaged face. “Although I’m not sure about the wound. It’s really deep. But doctor said it should go away with time.” She then elaborates more. “You’ve been out for almost a week in a medically induced coma. We were afraid of the swelling in your brain, but thankfully it’s all okay now.”
I’ve been out for so long?
Before I can ask her about my baby, I hear heavy footsteps and then a
doctor, judging by his scrubs, hovers over me, smiling at me, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
My heart stills, because I’m a doctor—or I was.
I know what it means.
“My baby,” I whisper, not waiting for him to speak, because I know what he will say. Or rather prolong the inevitable.
And even though I know what kind of words will spill from his lips, I still allow hope to flutter inside me, gripping the feeling so hard, because that’s the only thing steadying me in the present.
“How about we start with—”
I interrupt him, “My baby.”
Regret crosses his face before he shares a look with the nurse and finally mutters, each word stabbing me with an invisible knife that goes deeper and deeper into me. “The baby was premature. We tried to save your baby girl, but she was too weak. I’m sorry, Phoenix. She is dead.”
“No,” I whisper and then try to get up, which only sends more pain, but I don’t give a shit about that.
What’s pain compared to the breaking of my heart into tiny little pieces while my precious girl, my baby, the baby I wanted for so long, my only ray of sunshine in this world, is dead?
The nurse pushes on my shoulders as the doctor shouts, “We have to sedate her!” But I don’t care, and pull at my arms, only to find them restrained.
Weeping into my pillow, I shake my head from side to side, trying to free my hands from the leather cuffs keeping me bound to the bed. I want to get away from this hospital, the place that destroyed my baby girl.
Straight-up killed her with no remorse!
The pain suffocates me so much I can’t get any air in my lungs or cry out to God for this injustice, for turning His back on me when He knew I didn’t do what everyone accused me of doing.
In all this cruelness heaven dished out on me, why couldn’t He keep my baby girl safe? Why did He have to take her away too?
In all this agony, another face pops into my head along with his hollow green eyes piercing through my soul with each glance that promises me retribution for my actions.
I will become your worst nightmare. You will bleed and cry… but even then, it won’t be enough for me.
Zachary King.
A man who I will hate till my last breath.
Chapter Four
“Nothing brings me greater pleasure than her suffering.
To the point of me even forgetting who I am as long as I ensure her pain.
The saying is true, after all.
Evil is not born. Evil is made.”
Zachary
Zachary
The ringing of my phone echoes through the house, mixing with the sound of the night owls hooting in the distance. I tear my gaze away from the surveillance camera showing me the Phoenix’s torment, her face full of pain from the agony the women deliver to her. I snag it out of my pocket and answer on the fifth ring on my way to the bar located in the left corner of my spacious living room. “Talk.”
“You son of a bitch.” That’s all the greeting I get from my sister Lydia, whose voice practically screeches in my ears, not that it annoys me.
Instead, a hollow chuckle slips past my lips, and I pour myself a glass of whiskey on the rocks, and pick it up, allowing the cubes to click against each other, the only sound lately that grounds me .
Alcohol, as I’ve discovered in the last few months, has the magic power to cure any pain raging inside you just for a while and make you numb to any of the monstrous things you are capable of dishing.
No wonder it’s called the drink of the gods; it must have cured them from any guilt they felt whenever they destroyed someone’s life.
“I’ve been called worse.”
“You did this, didn’t you?”
Taking a large sip and groaning in pleasure at the burning liquid sliding down my throat, I say, “You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”
“You organized that beating. She was pregnant, Zach. Pregnant!” she screams in my ear, and my eyes travel back to the screen. I’ve seen the footage so many times at this point I have probably memorized it second by second. Phoenix is lying on the floor, holding onto her stomach, and crying out for help. I can’t hear her voice, but the agony and fear on her face is forever etched in my brain.
Because the same expression is reflected right back at me every single day of my life whenever I look in the mirror.
How does it feel, Phoenix Hale, to be helpless against the cruel fate who takes everything away from you without asking and then never apologizes?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally reply, finishing my drink and throwing the glass on the floor where it shatters, but I don’t give a fuck about that.
At least the fucking help I hired to clean this house will have a job to do instead of just sending reports about my life to my family. They think they’re so sneaky that I don’t know about their little agreement.
Nothing in my life happens without my permission or knowledge, and those who cross me… well, they should be prepared to live hell on earth.
Like Phoenix is right now.
“She lost the baby, Zach!” Lydia shouts, and by how hoarse her voice gets, I know she is barely holding back the tears.
My little sister is very sensitive to such matters, but she really shouldn’t be. She chose a career as a criminal lawyer, and as such, she has to learn to rein in her emotions and stay cold, no matter the situation. Otherwise, the profession will destroy her and claim her soul, stripping her of everything human.
“How could you have done this?” Disgust and hurt lace her tone as if she can’t believe her older brother is capable of such bad things, and in a way, her confusion in understandable.
If someone had told me just a year ago that I would feel nothing from what I’ve done… I’d have laughed in their face, because how can a man be so cruel to a woman?
But now?
Fate has taught me that cruelty is a fickle thing, and sometimes we have no choice but to surrender to its call to show people the true nature of payback.
“Phoenix Hale lost her baby, because she killed my wife,” I tell her, flicking the bottle open and taking a huge sip directly from it and swallowing it harshly, hoping that the quantity of alcohol will shut up my conscience nipping at my mind at the horrendous words I’m speaking right now.
“You’ve become a monster, Zach. A vicious monster.”
Since it’s the truth, I don’t reply. Instead, I drop onto the couch, kicking my legs up on the table while saluting with my bottle when I notice Phoenix’s tears and another shout for help.
No matter how many times I watch this shit, the joy doesn’t go away; it just intensifies as I understand how much I destroyed her life.
But it’s not enough.
Nothing in this life will be enough as long as I live.
“Stay away from her. Do you hear me?”
My hollow laughter bounces off the walls, filling the house—that my wife decorated in a way that brings peace to my mind—in misery. “Or what, little sister? What will you do?” I gotta give her props for even raising her voice to me and having the guts to threaten me. Not many people do that with my power and influence.
After all, going against me means going against the Kings, and no one in their right mind does it.
That’s the reality every single member of my family learned quickly as we grew up, after all we are treated like royalty.
Lydia is a King, but not by blood, and as such, she has no grounds to ever fucking threaten me.
“You’ll see. Phoenix might have accidentally killed your wife, but what you did is far worse.” She takes a moment before adding, “I’m telling Dad about this.”
“You do that.” I hang up on her before she can spit more bullshit at me; although, I wouldn’t mind seeing her face once she knows our dad will do absolutely nothing.
While she might be his princess who he adopted when he married his second wife after my mother’s death, on whom he h
as doted for the last twenty years… I’m his only heir who, despite my grief for my wife, still continues to bring billions to his company.
Besides, the times when I sought the acceptance of my ruthless father are long gone, given he forgot about me the minute his fucking wife entered the picture with her three kids, and I don’t give a flying fuck about him.
The only person who loved me died six months ago, leaving me alone in this desolate world where I’ve always had to fight for my existence.
Closing my eyes and sliding a little lower on the couch so I can rest my head on the back of it, I will my mind to wipe away the images of Phoenix from my brain and replace it with Angelica’s face when she saw this house for the first time.
How her eyes sparkled with adoration and shock while her heart-shaped lips opened as she drank in the beauty around her, running barefoot on the emerald-green grass and studying the Victorian house from every corner.
“It’s the perfect place to raise kids, Zach. I can’t believe you bought it! Don’t you prefer modern designs?” She flicks her locks back, turning to face me, and I wink at her, hooking my thumbs on my pockets.
“I do, but this is what you wanted, right?” Angelica might have never voiced her wish whenever my stepmother asked about our plans, but I didn’t miss how her gaze always lingered on all those magazines of Victorian-style houses with acres of land filled with lush gardens.
Personally, such houses suffocate me, as I prefer more light and empty spaces all around me, but whatever my woman wants, she gets.
Besides, living with her here could never be suffocating.
Angelica shakes her head in disbelief but then runs toward me, and I have a second to prepare myself before catching her. She circles her arms around my neck and raises up on her tiptoes, her breath fanning my cheek. She whispers right before placing her mouth on mine, “I love you, Zachary King.”
The loud ringing of my phone once fucking again snaps me out of my only solace in this darkness that I’m living right now, and without looking at the display, I put it to my ear and say, “Yes.”