by Mason, V. F.
Each time the buckle connects with my bare skin, the hurt intensifies by a thousand. The sensations are so strong I just want to close my eyes and fall asleep. Maybe then I won’t feel anything.
But if I do that, I will wake up sticky again with Daddy accusing me of seducing him with my pretty face that should have never been born anyway.
At least that’s what he always claims whenever he has these moments where the devil rules his soul, as he calls it.
“Why did she leave you with me, huh? Took everything and everyone else but left me you?”
Hit. Hit. Hit.
“Useless shit that I shitted.”
Hit. Hit. Hit.
“Even the cheating bitch didn’t want you.”
Hit. Hit. Hit.
He continues to deliver blow after blow until I’m bleeding so much I can’t keep my eyes open no matter how much I try, and pass out, finally free from all this pain.
And when I wake up shortly, I feel Daddy drag me to the carpet, pressing my face into the soaked spot while he orders me to lick it off so it won’t be wasted, and I can’t do anything but silently cry while my nails dig into my palms.
Until he lets me go, ordering me to clean the mess and cook him food.
The next day comes… and once again, I do something that angers him.
Because Daddy never loved me and the only people he loved left a long time ago, giving me to him as their peace offering.
“Would you like your usual table?” Betty asks, smiling brightly at me and putting a stop to the memory that makes me almost want to barf all over the floor despite the smell of tasty food floating in the air. “Mr. King is right there. I can ask him if he’d like you to join him.” She asks, half turning, ready to do so if I wish, but I shake my head.
Being in Zachary’s company is a chore that requires tremendous strength from me. My hands always itch to wrap around his neck and deprive him of oxygen, killing him once and for all, but I can’t do that.
Not yet, not when the game is still going.
So putting my sunglasses back on, I grin at Betty and shake my head. “No, there is no need for that. I changed my mind. I don’t want to eat.”
“I hope to see you again,” she says when I spin around, walking to the exit and chuckling at her words.
Once I’m outside, I sit inside my car, the latest model with only a few others in the world, and press on the accelerator, practically flying from the parking lot while anger fills me so much I can’t breathe without needing an outlet.
My hands squeeze the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, and I have this deep urge to bite my nails just like I did as a child whenever I had to withstand Daddy’s abuse.
And Zachary King is just like my daddy, a ruthless man who deserves nothing but punishment for his deeds.
For what he has done to me.
He will not take Phoenix away from me.
She won’t be stupid enough to fall for his lies and handsome face that might promise her the world but, in truth, hides his rotten nature that is capable of violence that knows no bounds.
He is the executioner in my life, the one who destroyed it even if he doesn’t know it. He and my daddy deserve to rot in hell for eternity, and I won’t let him hurt me a second time.
Let him hurt Phoenix again.
But if Phoenix is stupid enough to fall for him….
Chapter Fifteen
“When God gives you a second chance at love… do you take it or run away from it, knowing how fucking much it hurts when it’s ripped away from you?”
Zachary
New York, New York
Zachary, 21 years old
“Damn it,” I mutter, leaning on the railing of the viewing platform while trying to catch my breath, because I’d run for thirty minutes straight.
When James took a wrong turn and got stuck in traffic several blocks away from here, I knew I would be late but at least thought I’d be able to make it if I ran fast enough.
My stupid fucked-up phone had to die too to add insult to injury.
I glance at the flowers in my hand, almost broken as I squeezed them so hard, doing my best to keep my word and come on time.
The stupid idea came to me as we rode from the airport, and a lady on the sidewalk sold them, claiming they’re from her own garden.
Pile of crap, of course, but I figured I could be nice and bring the girl flowers for the first time.
Only I ended up being that asshole again who came in late and missed her.
I bang my splayed hand on the railing, not even caring about the harsh whoosh of the wind. “Damn it!” I repeat, furious with myself for being so reckless with my time and disappointing the girl.
Growing up in foster care, she probably had enough of those to last her a lifetime.
“She waited a long time” comes the soft voice from behind me, and I look over my shoulder to see a beautiful blonde woman cocking her head to the side, her heavy locks swaying as her eyes hold compassion. “She left just a minute ago. She took an elevator. I’m sure you can still catch her if you try,” she says with hope in her voice while all I can do is stare at her, because in the current situation, she looks like an angel sent from heaven.
Down to her serene voice that has the ability to lullaby a man to sleep so he won’t see what is coming at him.
I shake my head, snapping out of such stupid comparisons, and besides, I’ve seen more beautiful women. As an heir to an empire, I never lack female company ready for everything as long as all their needs are paid for.
Yeah, everything has a price in this world.
Everything but this girl I just missed because of the stupid fucking traffic.
One of the reasons I wanted to meet her today… I craved, for one day, to know what it’s like when the person you are spending time with doesn’t know you are a King.
The entire idea seemed like a bad joke wrapped in disaster, but I agreed to it. I figured the girl didn’t have much going in her life if she asked for it.
So what the fuck is this disappointment and rage at myself sliding through my blood like venom, demanding that I find this girl, no matter the cost, and give her what I promised?
Or at least let her know I didn’t stand her up.
“I don’t know what she looks like,” I finally say, taking in her appearance.
From her black jeans and boots to her trench coat with a designer bag, I know the woman belongs to my world yet doesn’t reek of desperation and fakeness that a lot of women do.
Not to catch a guy, oh no, although there’s always a fair share of those around. But it’s the desire to cover the chaos that goes on inside one’s life and the need to create a façade of a person who doesn’t exist as the result.
Somehow with this girl, I think I’ll get what I see, and what I see is her sadness at my words, but then determination settles on her features.
She grabs me by my elbow and starts to pull me toward the stairs, informing me on the way, “I know what she looks like. That means we’ll go together and catch her. You should have seen her. I think she cried.”
Well, fuck.
Way to make me feel like an even bigger dick.
Just as we come to the stairs, the elevator dings its arrival, and she maneuvers us with fucking speed I didn’t expect from her. Slipping inside between the bodies, we start to go down all while she continues to talk. “I thought such stuff didn’t happen in real life, but who knew.”
Instead of focusing much on what she says, I pay attention to how her cheeks brighten up and her eyes sparkle in joy and anticipation as if she is about to do something big.
How fascinating; a man could get used to such a view.
Finally, we are on the first floor and get out quickly with her running toward the exit, her heels clicking loudly on the floor, and then we are outside with her twisting her head from side to side, trying to find my letter girl.
Then she exclaims, pointing at the gray-hat-covered girl ge
tting into a cab. “There she is. Go, go, hurry before she leaves!”
She pushes me in that direction, and I dart toward her shouting, “P!” But she doesn’t turn or even stop, instead hops inside the car, and the cabbie drives off before I can even bang on the door. “For fuck’s sake!” I growl, ready to rip my hair out for this, when the other girl runs toward me, ready to burst into tears.
“I’m so sorry. We should’ve come sooner.”
“Apparently, it wasn’t meant to be.”
My philosophical statement is not met with joy, but she nods, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. “I’m sorry,” she repeats.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Kind of feels like it is.” She sighs heavily. “I’m gonna go back and enjoy the view for a little longer. I hope you have a nice day.”
With this, she is ready to walk away, but I surprise myself when I proposition, “Would you like to grab a cup of coffee? I’ve been running for so long in this cold-ass weather I could use something warm.”
She blinks and then watches the road, probably not sure how to react to a guy who invites her for coffee while another girl just drove off. “We’re not a couple. We’ve been pen pals for a long time. As you see, we should have stayed pen pals. I’m sure now she won’t even talk to me.” I extend my hand toward her. “My name is Zachary.”
“Angelica,” she replies. “And, yes, I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.”
I don’t know it yet, but this woman will become my first love, the woman who will change everything for me.
And lying with her in bed at night, I think that maybe that’s why I’d been keeping in touch with the girl from the park for so long.
Because, thanks to her, I met my beautiful wife.
She was a guardian angel leading me to a blessing, and I was grateful for that.
Even though she hadn’t replied to any of my emails whenever I tried to thank her for that.
Destiny has a way of finding you in the most unexpected places.
Except nothing in life is ever that simple.
Phoenix
I still, coughing slightly even though there is no food in my mouth, and quickly take a sip of my tea, wondering how I should react to this.
Or maybe my imagination is playing tricks on me, and I need more sleep, because no way Zachary just proposed marriage, right?
Clearing my throat, I put the cup back on the saucer, studying the flowery design on it for a fraction of a second before saying, “I’m sorry, Zachary. I haven’t heard you right. Could you please repeat that?”
He does, his voice so unemotional as if he’s offering a walk through the park. “We’ll get married.” And he puts a piece of his steak in his mouth, chewing on it, acting all breezy and shit.
My hands tighten on my fork. I barely hold myself back from throwing it at him just to wipe away the smug expression from his handsome face.
Truce, remember? You can’t burst into hysterics. Mutual goal and all?
So with all the willpower I possess, and I have to say it slips past my fingers every time he opens his mouth, I shout, “Have you lost your mind?” A man at the table next to us glances our way but quickly casts his gaze on the menu when I notice him staring.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t subtle at all, but is he insane? “I will never marry you!” I tell him, wondering what kind of trap he’s trying to set up in this scenario.
Why would a man of his social standing want to get married to me, an ex-con with a questionable reputation? This whole serial killer thing might excuse me in the law’s eyes, but in society’s? To most, I was still the driver who drove that damned car that killed his wife, so no one will understand his decision.
“On the contrary, I’m thinking quite clearly, darling.” He washes down his steak with a glass of water—all these high-end restaurants have water on the table in case anyone needs it—gulping a large sip. “You’re his best friend who he protects. While I’m the big bad wolf. Well, if you become mine—” There is an odd edge to the last word; something flashes in his green pools, but he quickly masks it with indifference, so I don’t get the chance to study it. “—he is the one who becomes the bad wolf. And I’m not sure he can handle such a role.” A humorless chuckle echoes between us. “Trust me, it takes a certain mindset to be one.”
“You think if we get together, he or she will be… jealous?” However, my mind dismisses this idea, as it doesn’t fit his profile. “I don’t think he cares what our relationship is,” I conclude, sighing inwardly in relief, because we can drop this ridiculous idea.
I never want to get married again. What’s the point if the man runs in the other direction the minute you burn in hell? Let alone have a fake marriage for the sake of an unstable unsub?
He or she has had enough of my life as it is; I won’t give the unsub an inch more!
“Whatever thoughts are running through your mind now, you can forget about them. I’m not dropping down on my knee offering you eternal love for real. Love at first glance is not our story. However, a marriage is the only way to shake his stability.” He must read the confusion on my face, because he elaborates. “He loves you. Really loves you in his twisted way, since he formed a connection with you. So, let’s say you cheat on that connection.” I want to protest, but he wiggles his fork, shutting me up before I can utter a single word. “How do you think it will make him feel? The answer is bad. He won’t think clearly and will make a mistake. And then we’ll catch him.”
I huff in disbelief. “Catch him? Do you even hear how ridiculous it sounds? You want to get married just because you think it’ll unsettle him. What if it doesn’t? What if he doesn’t care that much what you do?”
“He does. He loves you in his gentle way.” He throws the phrase back in my face. “The minute you are on my side and he thinks you are important to me, you become what I love.” I shift uncomfortably at what he says. The word love associated with us sounds wrong on his lips. “He loses, because he will have to drive that fucking car into you. That’s how fucking simple it is,” he says, finishing his drink in one gulp while I shake my head.
“Except it’s not. You’re wrong, Zachary.” He sends me a questioning stare. “You’re trying to understand the unsub through the prism of your character. That’s what you would have done in this situation. Like you’ve done with me. Took Sebastian away.” That’s purely a guess on my part. But I see how remorse, for a second, crosses his face but then is replaced with an odd possessiveness and anger; he doesn’t like the reminder of my husband between us.
Well then, tough luck. “If the profile is right and my suspicions about his childhood are correct, he will want to punish me for what I’ve done in his eyes. Trying to find someone to kill who I love.” I laugh bitterly. “Ideal choice would have been for him to find someone we both love and hurt us with it, but there is no such person.”
A cracking sound reverberates through the space, and I gasp, watching the glass in Zachary’s hand shatter, the blood spilling from his palm. I get up swiftly, grabbing the white napkin, wrapping it tightly around his hand.
Betty runs to us, and I ask her, “We need a first aid kit. Please, do you have one?”
I don’t have the chance to examine the wound, because Zachary stands up, puts several hundred dollar bills on the table, grabs my elbow, and pulls me in the direction of the exit, saying over his shoulder to Betty, “After paying my bill, the rest is your tip.” He continues to drag us toward the elevators, pressing furiously on the button, unfazed with the fact that his freaking blood is dripping on the floor, leaving red stains.
“Zachary, we need to take care of your hand.” He ignores my words and leads us inside the elevator the minute it opens on our floor then presses the ground button. “Zachary!” I scream in his face, still like an idiot holding his hand wrapped in a napkin. “What the hell is going on with you?”
Instead of answering me, he takes out his phone, pressing on the name Zeke to call him, as I
open up the cloth. I sigh in relief that there are no tiny glass slivers in his skin, but the cut looks deep and might need a few stitches.
Which I could easily do if he’d just freaking let me!
Covering the wound again, I hear a male voice on the other end of the line, answering on the first ring. “Yes.”
“Is there a chance anyone can know the details of Emmaline’s adoption?”
I freeze, wondering why he wants to ask this question right now, of all times.
Is this what has unsettled him? But didn’t he say that with this plan, the attention would be on me? What does Emmaline have to do with me?
A thought brushes over my mind—disturbing and hideous in its nature with the power to turn me insane for how impossible it is—whispering in my ear that maybe there is a connection.
Maybe there is an explanation.
But I grit my teeth, putting a stop to it before I start building something in my head that doesn’t exist.
“No, why? Everything was confidential, signed contracts and all,” the man replies, and unconsciously I press closer to Zachary to eavesdrop on the conversation. “Not to mention, all the paperwork is in a safe, stored in the bank, just as you asked.”
“Check with them to see if they had anyone come recently to fetch the papers.”
“It’s impossible. The person would have to know all the details, like numbers and such. Why is it an issue right now? Is someone blackmailing you with this information?” I frown at this, finding his conclusion very odd. Who would be stupid enough to blackmail Zachary with it? His family knows, and I’m sure the public does as well that he adopted a child; besides, isn’t it a good thing?
“Zeke, I’m not paying you to ask me questions. I’m paying you to do as I say.” With this, he hangs up on him, puts the phone into his back pocket, and that’s when the elevator dings on the ground floor. And then he’s dragging me once freaking again, and I’ve finally had enough of this.
Tugging on my arm, I dig my heels into the floor, and he stops, half turning to me while I still hold his injured hand. “What’s going on with you? We need to look at your hand, yet you’re rushing God knows where,” I say with a loud exhale, not knowing what to make of his constant mood swings.