The Land Where Sinners Atone

by Mason, V. F.

  Maybe years of abstinence transformed me into someone who wants sex, and it doesn’t matter with who? Any available, willing partner would do.

  Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Any excuse sounds good under the current circumstances.

  I groan in frustration, trying to think about anything else as long as it doesn’t involve a handsome, green-eyed devil who must’ve cast a spell on me to obsesses over him this much.

  Why does he push for it anyway? He must not lack female companionship, but that thought alone makes my hands fist, as the idiotic anger rushes over me. The idea of him with someone else while I’m still living under his roof is almost unbearable.

  Oh my God, call the freaking shrinks, because I have officially lost my mind.

  “I share your sentiments, darling. If it wasn’t for your denial, we’d now be kissing in the car, and I could have pulled it behind the house where we could fuck. Have you ever fucked in a car?” he asks and chuckles when I send daggers his way with my stare. He taps me on the nose. “Now we’re both unsatisfied.” He clacks with his tongue. “I have good news for you.” He motions with his hand up and down his torso. “This body is ready whenever you are.” He leans closer, whispering in my ear, “Just ask or beg for it. I don’t care which one.”

  “In your dreams, King,” I reply, nudging him with my elbow so he’ll step back and finally enter the house, the door slamming into the wall—that’s how hard I push it.

  Zachary sighs dramatically. “No need to take your anger out on the house, love.” He winks. “Take it out on me.”

  “I swear to God, Zachary, if you don’t stop, I will—” I don’t get the chance to finish my sentence, because tiny feet pitter-patter on the floor as Emmaline rushes toward us down the stairs, her dark hair falling loose and flying in different directions. This time, she’s wearing a white T-shirt and pink leggings.

  Her mouth spreads in the brightest smile I’ve ever seen as her eyes fill with joy, and she screams, “Daddy! Daddy is home!” And she bounces on him from the last step, and since Zachary dashed toward her the minute he spotted her, she ends up in his arms. He raises her high, throwing her in the air and catching her swiftly while she giggles happily. “Daddy!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing the life out of him.

  Or at least trying to as Zachary rocks her in his arms, his hold on her strong too, and then Emmaline leans back, palming his head. “I missed you, Daddy. I don’t like your work trips. At all,” she says before circling her arms around him again, sighing heavily while she rests her chin on his shoulder.

  Zachary kisses the side of her head, rubbing his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her distress. “I missed you too, baby girl.”

  “You didn’t read me a story yesterday, Daddy,” she exclaims with slight annoyance in her voice but then sighs again. “I forgive you. Patience says you were busy.”

  “I was. I’m going to read you a story today though. How does that sound?”

  She quickly leans back again and raises her hands, shouting, “Woohoo!” And then she asks, twirling her dark locks on her finger, “Did you bring me a present?”

  Zachary lifts his brow. “Present? What present?”

  She gasps, claps both hands together, her eyes growing huge on her face as they widen in shock. “No presents?”

  I expect her to burst into tears or wobble her lip to at least try to soften up her dad or make him feel guilty, but she does none of those things. Instead, she taps her index finger on her chin, musing over his words, and then asks, “Then does this mean you owe me, Daddy?”

  Zachary grins, amusement flashing in his eyes as he replies, “I think so.”

  Yeah, she is his daughter; no doubts there. Business shark in the making, not missing any opportunities.

  She claps a few times before announcing, “Then will you play with me? I’m having a tea party upstairs, and you are honor invited.” Her brows furrow. “It sounds funny.” She laughs and then drops her voice to a hush, glancing upstairs as if checking no one can hear her. “Patience said it.” She giggles but covers her mouth with her palm, clearly not wanting Patience to know how funny she finds it.

  Zachary hooks the hair from her face behind her ear and corrects her, “Honorary guest.”

  “Whatever. Let’s go upstairs!” She points there. “My tea is getting cold, Daddy.”

  Watching them now, my heart pangs painfully by how gently he holds her and how much trust she has, how secure she looks in his arms. It’s clear he loves his daughter, and she gives the affection right back to him.

  The ruthless man ready to succumb to anything as long as it serves his purpose is not present here; instead, she gets the gentle Zachary I didn’t even know existed.

  Was this the side of him that made Angelica fall in love with him? Was this the man he was before the unsub happened in both our lives?

  Is this the true Zachary who hides behind the exterior of the businessman ruling an empire, and the one I got is just the product of a broken heart?

  Emmaline’s soft voice snaps my attention to the present, and she cocks her head to the side. “Will you come with us? I have one more place left. Only one.” She sticks up her finger, and he throws me a questioning look.

  Everything in me screams to refuse and hide inside my room, not wanting to see this father-daughter relationship that is like an open wound for my pain and makes me dwell on what ifs.

  Or other things.

  But how can I say no to this pretty girl who is pure joy, spoiling her happiness right now with my bitterness?

  So, mustering up a smile for her sake, I nod, and she cries out, “Great! Let’s go, Daddy.” And we stroll to her room with Emmaline telling Zachary all about her day, which mostly consists of her ballet stories.

  “I learned how to lift my foot this high.” She places her hand on her shoulder level.

  “That’s great, munchkin. Just don’t overdo it.” Protectiveness rings in his tone, and we finally come to her room, the double doors white with round knobs.

  Emmaline wiggles in his arms, and he puts her down. She hurls the double doors open, and I blink at the sheer beauty presented before me.

  The huge space spreads horizontally in an oval shape, covered in white carpet that is soundless under her feet as she runs inside, flipping her hair back.

  It’s separated into two areas, the sleeping one has a bed with a canopy over it. Several pillows are scattered on it, along with a lot of fluffy toys, and there is a nightstand with a globe-shaped lamp that probably casts a soft blue light at night as she goes to sleep.

  The dresser, located in the right corner, has some hairpins on it, along with photos of ballerinas, and a small, throne-like chair sits in front of it.

  I shift my gaze to the play area where dolls sit on the floor in an upright position, some learning toys, a huge doll house that has other various toys, and finally right in the middle, a round table with four small chairs.

  A tea pot with several cups are on it and a chocolate bar too. I notice a room to the bathroom and then there is a closed one. Peeking into it, I see what seems like hundreds of dresses with a platform in the middle, surrounded by four mirrors.

  Pink and white dominates the color palette. The balcony doors are slightly open, allowing fresh air to slip inside and blow the white and pink curtains back, finishing this magnificent design.

  Her room is straight out of a fairytale, the dream every little girl has, I think, or at least what I would have loved to have when I was her age.

  “You have a very beautiful room, Emmaline,” I tell her, and she grins, pressing her face into Zachary’s knee before going to her table.

  “Daddy made it.”

  My brows lift as I look at Zachary, and he shrugs, “The person I originally hired designed it like she was already eighteen or something. Plus, she went for a neutral style—whatever that is.” It doesn’t escape my notice how he holds himself in check and doesn’t curse in fro
nt of his daughter. “She was preaching to my three-year-old about the fact that girls don’t have to have pink anything. Emmaline cried for days because of that, and she almost never cries or throws tantrums.” Yes, I can easily believe that, judging by her reaction on the whole lack of present thing. “I told the designer to get lost. My girl loves this color, and I won’t let anyone shame her for it.”

  My brows furrow as I watch Emmaline pour make-believe tea into the cups and crack the chocolate so she can put a piece on the side of the saucers. “She was three at the time? That’s how long it took for you to design this house?”

  An emotion crosses his face, but it’s so quickly gone I don’t catch it. He gives me amusement instead that doesn’t reach his eyes. “We lived in another house up until a few months ago.”

  “All this”—I swirl my finger in the air—“was ready within a few months?” But then I shake my head at myself; of course, it’s possible with the kind of wealth he has. Besides what do I know about designing a house anyway? Sebastian and I only had the beach house given to him by his parents, and the penthouse.

  I hadn’t even finished buying furniture for it when the tragedy happened.

  Zachary removes his jacket, throwing it on the bed, and I do my best not to pay attention to the flex of his muscles with each move, the six-pack visible even from here, which is so odd, because I wouldn’t call him beefy.

  Yet his muscles are so defined, like they are carved from stone, and when you press against them, you almost have the feeling that nothing else in the world has the ability to hurt you, because he’ll protect you.

  Groaning at my stupid and horny thoughts, I notice his slight smirk as he must guess what I was thinking about, but since Emmaline is close by, he doesn’t throw any other innuendos. Instead, he answers my earlier question. “I acquired this property a long time ago, but Angelica preferred a different style, so I let go of the idea.” He waits a bit before adding, “But it didn’t feel right living in that house anymore, and to be completely honest, I couldn’t care less for it.”

  “I see,” I reply, reading between the lines, because I can’t help it with my profession. It’s common for people to move to a different place after the loss of a spouse if they have the means or opportunity to do so, especially when they start dating again and it feels like from every corner your dead spouse is watching you.

  Zachary clacks his tongue. “No, Ms. Shrink, it’s not because of that.” I blink at this. How can he possibly guess what I was thinking about? “This house belonged to my mom, and I want Emmaline to grow up here. It holds good memories; the other house… not so much.” His gaze clashes with mine as he says, “I became a monster in that house, capable of doing a lot of stuff I’m not proud of.” I quickly glance at Emmaline to make sure she doesn’t hear us, but she seems to be in her own world, still preparing the tea party and humming some tune.

  “Sometimes grief changes us in a way we don’t expect,” I say, shocking both of us with my words, if his surprised look is anything to go by. “Still, the pain is no excuse for anything, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” His voice drops, but I don’t have time to examine it.

  “It’s ready!” Emmaline shouts and motions for us to sit down, and we do. I almost burst out laughing when Zachary can barely fit on one of the chairs, his long legs almost up to his chin, but he puts them a bit apart so he can have access to the table.

  I’m much smaller than him, so it’s easier for me to get comfortable on the chair as Emmaline announces, “Welcome to my tea party.” She picks up her cup and raises it to her mouth, inhaling the pretend rich smell and then closes her eyes. “It’s chamomile tea to soothe you.” She smiles, the dimple in her cheek more visible at this, and she says, “That’s what Patience said, but she likes coffee, so she’s not invited.”

  Zachary and I share an amused glance—more like Emmaline didn’t want her for other reasons. The lady is probably nice and all, but for a perky three-year-old, she might be too strict and calm sometimes.

  She peeks one eye open. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She points at the cups. “Drink!”

  We pick up our cups as well, and seeing Zachary hold a tiny, pink, porcelain thing is hilarious, and we all lift them to our mouths, taking an imaginary greedy gulp where I pretend to love it so much, groaning in pleasure.

  “It’s good right?” Emmaline watches Zachary, who gives her a thumbs up.

  “The best tea I’ve ever tried, baby girl.”

  She giggles. “You said that about my last tea party.”

  He winks. “That’s because your tea gets better and better.”

  “I practice,” she tells me and pours us all some more before tapping on the saucer. “Try the chocolate. Daddy brought it to me from Swit- Swit- Swit-something,” she finishes, giving up on the country name and popping a chocolate in her mouth.

  “Switzerland,” Zach corrects her and slides the saucer toward me. “It’s really good.”

  “I bet,” I say and take one piece, putting it in my mouth, and moan when it melts on my tongue.

  Emmaline jumps up to me, abandoning her teacup and placing both her hands on the table as she leans in my direction. “Is it good?” I nod and she gives me thumbs up. “I was right.” Then she runs to Zachary, and he manages to catch her in time before she knocks both of them out of the chair. “Daddy, you promised to come to my ballet. It’s in two weeks.” She splays her palm open as if wanting to emphasize it. “Don’t forget.” Then she half turns to me. “You too.”

  The little girl doesn’t even question why I’m around her dad or in this house, doesn’t ask me thousands of questions as I imagine kids her age do, but instead oddly takes it all in stride.

  And it takes me a moment to realize that’s how much she trusts Zachary; she knows she is under his protection no matter what happens to her, and she can run to him with any request.

  This kind of safety, you can get only from a loving parent, and the kind of safety I’ve never gotten. Granted, Sebastian was there for me, but the loneliness of childhood is hard to wipe away from memories.

  My ring glistens under the light, and my eyes focus on it, the shimmering beauty of it all reminding me of the one Sebastian gave me on the beach, proposing his eternal love.

  If it weren’t for the unsub, I’d be sitting right now in a slightly different room, wearing another ring, and playing tea party with my baby girl.

  Instead, I’m at the house and with a family that’s nothing but an illusion.

  At least for me.

  An illusion of what could have been and never will be.

  “And also…” Emmaline’s voice fades away as I slowly put my cup down on the table and get up, bringing the father’s and daughter’s focus on me, both their faces so confused I would have laughed in different circumstances.

  But right now, I want to run away from here, from this illusion that haunts me in my dreams and kills me in my nightmares.

  Running away is the only option to survive and not let it swallow me whole, not let me forget about my reality that is so cruel.

  “Where are you going?” Emmaline asks, resting her cheek on Zachary’s arm, and despite my heartache, I order myself to smile for her.

  “I’m a bit tired, sweetie. I think I need to go to bed.” Unable to resist, I cup her cheek, rubbing my thumb over it before dashing to the door, avoiding clashing gazes with her father who probably is not happy with my decision.

  After all, here everyone breathes by his orders, yet any minute longer here and I might suffocate.

  I’m almost by the door when Emmaline catches up with me, her hand extended up as she holds a big unwrapped chocolate bar. “Take it with you. In case you feel sad.”

  Oh, this girl is going for my heart, isn’t she?

  Kneeling in front of her, I palm her head and kiss her lightly on the forehead, murmuring, “Thank you, sweetie.” She smiles at me, albeit still confused while I wonder how Zachary can travel without he
r.

  If I had such an angel as my daughter, I would hold her tight until she begged me to let go.

  With one last wink her way, I get the hell out of the room and practically sprint toward mine, not allowing myself to look back.

  Everything around me is an illusion inside a bubble that has been created for the sake of the unsub, and once we find him… the bubble is going to burst. If I allow my heart to get attached to any of it… I won’t survive what follows.

  I must protect myself from this pain.

  Because when the chips are down, there is no one in my corner to fight for me.

  Unsub

  Adjusting the face mask over my mouth, I check myself in the hospital bathroom mirror.

  I’m wearing navy blue scrubs along with a hat, almost making it seem like I’m a surgeon who just left surgery to check on her patients.

  I lean closer to the mirror, making sure my contacts are in place, as my real color would have been too telling when they start asking for witnesses.

  And they will—after all, it’s inevitable.

  Anticipation rushes through me, breaking goose bumps on my skin while my heartbeat speeds up, my fingers twitching at the prospect of my next action.

  “Control yourself,” I order and slip on the gloves, snapping the elastic band on my wrist before finally rushing out of the bathroom into the neurosurgical unit, smiling at a few passing people on my way to room twenty-four.

  Sliding open the door and slipping inside, I see Rafe sleeping soundly on the bed, his chest rising and falling.

  Oh so peaceful, unaware of what awaits him next.

  Alone without anyone watching him.

  A smile curves my mouth.

  How might one not experience joy when fate itself does everything in her power to help me in my cause?

  Maybe I’m needed to restore a certain balance in this world, to get rid of all the men like Daddy who do not deserve this life God has granted them.

  And if I have some collateral damage along the way, shouldn’t those sacrifices be considered something other than murder? After all, no great battles happened without losses.