by Tara Hart
“You need help, Dad.” My voice sounds small when I finally say the unspoken truth. He needs help.
He considers my words for a moment before shaking his head. He looks down at me, raising his fist once again. I shield my face with my hands as I wait for the next blow.
“You just proved you are not my son,” he says. “I didn’t raise a coward.”
He lays into me again. Fist meets flesh until I can no longer feel, my whole body now numb. I close my eyes and dream of another place. I don’t fight back. I don’t have the energy. He beats me to the point where I’m sure death is close.
Leila’s deafening cries bring me back to the here and now.
It’s time.
I reach under the bed, my hand feeling around for the knife’s handle. My fingers are slow to react, but eventually they grasp the smooth bone end of the knife. He grabs me by the cuff of my shirt, my body lurches forward and my hand flies out from underneath me causing the knife to slide against the floor.
Fuck!
He doesn’t notice. He doesn’t hear the metal and bone skidding across the concrete. He’s blinded by rage and can’t see anything other than me. I spot the knife, it’s near the foot of the stairs and no longer within my reach. My ticket out of here just slipped from my hands—literally. The hope I felt diminishes, and my body succumbs to the beating.
He lays into my face again and again.
“Stop! Stop!” I hear the voice of the angels shouting—or maybe it’s Leila—I can’t tell. “Stop,” the voice shouts again.
It only spurs him on more. His hands clench around my neck like a vice. He’s going to strangle me. I never imagined this is how it would end. Being strangled by the man who gave me life, but as I look into his eyes, my vision blurs and I know this is it. It’s over.
I’m close, so close. My vision is a mass of stars and darkness. Death is coming. I can feel it drawing me closer, enticing me with promises of no more pain.
I pull my focus back to my father’s face one last time. My eyes slowly drift closed as I wait for the next blow—but it doesn’t come. I peek through my lashes and watch my father’s face distort, his eyes are wide and his mouth falls open. Blood pours from his mouth and hits my face. The warmth runs over my skin and I smell that familiar metallic scent. Is this what death feels like?
His body collapses on top of me like a dead weight. I’m pinned beneath him and struggling to breathe, fighting to keep my eyes open.
And then I hear her scream, a loud, ear-piercing scream that forces my eyes open. I roll out from underneath his body, shock causing my pulse to race. I look down at his body and that’s when I see it. The bone edged knife protruding from my father’s back.
I look to Leila. Her hands are stained red and her body shakes violently, her eyes locked on my father’s lifeless body. Her bottom lip begins to tremble before she lets out another deafening scream.
“Ohmigod, Ohmigod, Ohmigod. What have I done?”
I want to stand and walk over to her, but I can’t. My arm is still tied to the bed. “Leila, shhh,” I whisper. “Come here.”
She stands in place. Her gaze fixed on my father’s body.
“Come here,” I say again.
She looks at me through tear glazed eyes.
“What have I done?”
“You saved me, Leila,” I say. “You hear? You saved me.”
“Callum,” she squeals. “What have I done?”
Tears streak her face. She’s in shock.
“Come here,” I say again as gently as possible.
Her feet are immobile beneath her, she can’t move. She looks down at her hand that is soaked by my father’s blood. Her body shakes as she watches the blood drip down her arm and trickle to the floor.
“Leila, look at me,” I say calmly.
“What did I do?”
“It’s okay. Shhh,” I soften. “Leila, walk over to me now.”
Her eyes flash to mine. The realization of what just happened hits her. She just killed a man.
Chapter 38
Leila
It’s like I stepped into a dream. I had no control over my body. I was hovering above, witnessing it all with no control over anything. He was going to kill Callum. He was choking him. Callum was going to die.
I can hear Callum’s voice, his sweet, calm voice, but I can’t react. I can’t focus on anything but the still, lifeless body before me.
“Leila, look at me,” Callum says again.
My eyes drift to him. I study him for a moment, making sure he’s really alive. And then I meet his eyes. From just one look, I remember. I trust.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I rush to his side, kneeling down next to him.
I cradle his face in my hands. Blood covers his beautiful features, but I don’t care, I wipe at the blood and kiss his lips.
“Shhh, don’t cry,” he murmurs. “I need you to cut the rope. Can you do that?”
I look to the rope and then to Callum’s face.
“How?”
He gestures toward the knife. The same knife I used to stab his father.
I shake my head. “I can’t. I can’t.”
“Hey, look at me,” he says, his voice gentle, yet assertive. “You can do it, it’s the only way.”
I can’t do it. It’s too much. “I will go upstairs, to the kitchen,” I say. I rush to the stairs, climbing two at a time, adrenaline surging through my body.
“Leila,” Callum shouts from behind me. The harshness of his voice tells me to stop. I turn to look at him. “You don’t know who’s out there.” His voice is soft and calm once again. “The guard could be there. He can’t see you like that.”
I look down at my bloodied hands and my soiled clothes. Callum is right. I can’t be seen, but the alternative is so much worse. I don’t want to look at his body, let alone go near it.
“You can do this Leila,” he tells me. “Once you cut the rope I will take care of everything, I promise.”
I draw in a deep, steadying breath before walking down the stairs. It takes me a few moments to pluck up the courage and remove the knife from his back. The sound is worse than the act itself. It reminds me of slicing a watermelon, drawing the knife from the flesh readying for the next cut.
“Good girl,” Callum says. I drop the knife to the floor, the handle slipping from my grasp. It lands at Callum’s feet and he reaches for it. “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” he tells me.
He uses his right hand to saw away at the fibers. The rope begins to unravel and within moments it snaps.
I hear the sound of the knife crashing to the floor and then his arms are around me. He holds me and tells me I’m safe, that nothing will hurt me ever again. I believe him.
I let his words wash over me, never wanting him to let go. He holds me tight, breathing into my hair.
“You’re okay. We’re okay.”
“Cal—Callum, I stabbed him,” I stutter.
“Don’t think about it,” he whispers into my ear. “You did what you had to do.”
He lets go too soon. He walks over to his father’s body, nudging him with his foot. There is no movement. His body is lifeless. Callum kneels on the ground and places two fingers at the base of his father’s neck. He waits.
“Is he…dead?” I ask.
I know the answer, but I’m not ready to hear it.
“There’s no pulse,” Callum says. I look at him in question, unable to process his words. “He’s dead.”
I immediately burst into tears. I’m a murderer. I killed a man and for the rest of my life I will have to live with that fact. Every. Single. Day.
“You had to, otherwise he would have killed me,” he says softly.
I know it’s true, but it doesn’t take the sting away.
Callum stares at his father’s face for a moment before shaking his head. “Stupid man,” he mutters under his breath.
I stand with my fingers pressed against my temples. “I will be put in prison.” It’s
not a question. I will spend the rest of my days in a new type of prison.
Callum walks over to me. “You didn’t do this,” he says. He takes my face in his hands, locking his eyes with mine. “If anyone asks, you didn’t do this.”
He wants me to lie?
“This was all me, Leila,” he says the words with so much conviction that I almost believe him. “Say it. Tell me who stabbed him.”
I did.
He cups my face in his hands.
“Tell me, Leila,” he demands as he looks into my eyes. “Tell me.”
“It was…you,” I test the words on my tongue.
“Good.” He swiftly kisses my forehead and then kneels down once more. He feels around in his father’s pockets, pulling out a cell phone and scrolling through the contacts.
“I need to make a phone call,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate as to whom he’s calling and I’m too afraid to ask. “Why don’t you go wash up?” He gestures toward my blood stained clothes.
I nod my head and walk towards the bathroom. Once I reach the recess of the shower I fall to the floor, huddling in the safety of the hidden alcove. I wrap my arms around myself and begin to sob quietly.
I cry because I’m scared about what will happen next. I cry because I’m a murderer and that memory will remain with me for the rest of my life. But most of all, I cry because it’s over. I cry because I’m relieved.
Chapter 39
William Osborne Mathers
I didn’t choose her because she reminded me of my wife, Emma. It wasn’t like that. She was just beautiful in her own way. Her face had this innocence, like she’d never been touched. I liked that about her. I liked the idea that I was the only one who could touch her.
For the most part she was a distraction.
It was the Italian who introduced me to the auctions. Callum’s future father-in-law, can you believe the irony? He had two girls for himself. A brunette and a blonde, both foreign, both beautiful. I went to the auction with no intention of bidding, but then I saw her, all doe-eyed and innocent, like she didn’t belong there at all. I knew I had to have her.
I didn’t touch her for weeks after we arrived home. It felt wrong, like I’d made a terrible mistake, but soon enough I could no longer resist. The temptation was too much.
She was good in bed without even trying. Her tight pussy, generous curves, and those cherry red nipples that always rose to attention. She was everything I needed, and she barely fought back.
Once she painted her lips with the same shade of lipstick, sprayed the same perfume on her neck, it was as if she was still with me, as if she never left me, my one true love, Emmy.
When Callum came to the party, it struck me as odd. Watching the security footage confirmed my suspicions. Upon his return, he found her, and she found him. Their relationship progressed smoothly. It was as if I was watching a bad Spanish novela play out in front of my eyes. The way she looked at him made me sick, the way he looked at her even more so.
How could he have been so stupid? To think I wouldn’t know, to think I wouldn’t care? I’ll be honest. I didn’t think they would win, but I’d always felt invincible. Call me cocky, but I wasn’t accustomed to losing.
I would have killed him if I had the chance. As my hands tightened around his neck, watching the veins protruding from his forehead, I could see the life draining from his eyes. I felt so powerful in that moment, as if I was God and he was my pawn. I gave him life, and I could take it away just as easy.
But then there was this feeling, a burning pain deep in my chest. I felt something twist, the metal piercing something vital, causing blood to spurt from my mouth.
That’s all I remember, all I care to remember. At last I was put out of my misery, finally put to sleep. It was the end of my journey and the beginning of my son’s.
He won. He wasn’t the coward, he was the victor, and she was his prize.
Chapter 40
Callum
I flick through the phone and stop at his name. My thumb hovers over the dial button. Once I hit the button there is no turning back, I have to be sure that I’m doing the right thing. One look at Leila and I’m decided, this is what I need to do.
I take a deep breath and press the call button.
He answers on the third ring. I don’t say hello, I don’t ask how he is, there’s no time for pleasantries. I jump straight into it.
“It’s Callum. I need your help,” my voice is steady, which surprises me.
The rest of the conversation is a blur.
Forty minutes later the doorbell rings. Luckily the house is empty and there’s none of my father’s detail to stop what’s about to happen. He must have sent the guards home because he was here. He thought he was in control. He underestimated me—underestimated us. Now I’m in control and I like it.
I open the door. My face reads unsure. I know it. I’m still not convinced I can trust him.
“Callum,” my uncle greets me.
It’s not a warm address, but at the same time, he doesn’t have an entourage of police waiting in the wings to cart me off to jail.
“Follow me,” I say before turning on my heel and heading for the basement.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs his eyes lock with my father’s body before moving to my face.
“What have you done, boy?” His eyes are filled with an anger I didn’t know he was capable of.
Maybe I don’t know this guy at all. Maybe calling him was a huge mistake, one that will cost Leila and I greatly.
“It—It was…” I fumble with my words.
“It was me.” Leila steps out from behind me, her lips set in a straight line, her face stoic and her stance firm.
“No.” I step in front of Leila, pushing her behind me as if my bruised and battered body will protect her from the rest of the world. “It wasn’t her.” I shoot Leila a look of warning, but she offers me the same indifferent expression.
“You two want to get your stories straight?” Harry’s gaze holds mine, his jaw working overtime.
“I did it,” Leila says softly. “He was going to kill Callum.”
Her arm wraps around my middle and I instantly relax against her touch. I press a kiss to the crown of her head. Breathing in the scent of her hair, realizing this might be the last time we’ll be together.
Harry looks us both up and down. For the first time he seems to notice the blood on my face, the bruises marring my skin and the piece of rope still looped around my wrist.
His eyes shift up my body, finally resting on my face. “What the fuck went on here?”
“You knew he held her here,” I say, my tone is harsher than I initially intend. “You knew she was a prisoner and you did nothing about it.”
Harry sighs, his face looks tired, his eyes red for lack of sleep. “It’s complicated, Callum.”
“Please explain it to me. Explain how you let this go on for three years?”
Harry looks shocked. “Three years?”
I nod my head, wrapping an arm around Leila’s shoulders. “Three fucking years.”
“Callum, I had no idea.”
He turns to Leila, his face in a state of shock. “I knew you lived here, but only for the last few months,” he says to her. “He told me he saved you from a whore house in Richmond.”
The look on Harry’s face tells me what he’s saying is true. He hadn’t realized the extent of my father’s obsession. He had been to parties before, even enjoyed looking at the girls, but he never took part, never forced himself on any of the girls. I have no choice but to believe him.
I step forward, looking Harry straight in the face.
“Can you fix this?” I point to the body, my gaze holding his. “He was going to beat me to death. We both would have died down here if we didn’t stop him.”
Harry draws in a breath. He rests his hands on his hips as he assesses my father’s body. “Maybe it was a robbery gone wrong.” He’s toying with the idea out loud.
&nb
sp; I nod. “We could make it look real.”
He presses his lips together before stepping into action. “Let’s get started then I’ll call it in.” He grabs me by the elbow. “But Callum you can’t be here.”
“Of course not.” I shrug. “We’ll just break some windows and stuff, then I’ll leave.”
“No,” he keeps his voice low. “You can’t stay here, in Merling.” He points to Leila. “Not with her anyway.”
I understand what he’s saying and yet, I don’t know if I can leave.
He reads the uncertainty on my face. “Stay for the funeral, but after that you need to leave this town. For good.”
He doesn’t state the reason, but I suspect he can’t wait to see the back of me. Maybe he doesn’t want me to inherit the house and my father’s tainted money. Or perhaps he doesn’t want to see me every day, a lasting reminder that his brother is dead.
“I’ll leave,” I agree.
“After the funeral,” he adds. “We need to make it look realistic.”
He gives me one last glance. “There won’t be any questions, I’ll make sure of it.”
I turn around and meet Leila’s gaze, her eyes now brimming with tears. The unthinkable has happened and in a matter of moments we will be walking out of here alive.
I pull her against me as I press a kiss to her temple. “You’re free,” I whisper against her skin.
We’re free.
Chapter 41
Callum
“It’s okay.” I press my hand to the small of her back. “You can go in.”
She enters Eric’s apartment hesitantly, the same uncertain expression on her face. Eric stands on the other side of the room, his hands hanging out of his pockets casually.
I walk over to him. He’s my best friend who I thought I would never see again. He shakes my hand and claps me on the back. I notice the expression on his face. It’s as if he’s seen a ghost.
“Is she okay?” He gestures towards Leila.