Masochist

by Nadia Aidan

  With the events of that afternoon, Selena and Adonis had not stopped for food, but she found she had no appetite as she made her way upstairs and collapsed atop the bed. Adonis followed after her, but he did not join her there.

  Instead, he sat across from Selena in the armchair that was tucked in the corner. He brooded quietly, his glare alternating between nothing at all and the phone in his hand.

  “Your brother will call as soon as he can.”

  “I am not worried about my brother. He is known for these unexpected absences.”

  Selena had no doubt such was the case. Ares struck her as a man of his own mind and purpose, one who was impossible to make demands upon unless he wished it.

  “I thought you said we would have a day, maybe even two?” Selena queried.

  “There has not been enough time for them to alter their plans. They are still after Serena.”

  “Then who is after us?” What she left unasked was—who had killed Rutherford, who knew they’d even visited him or what he’d told them about rewiring the money, within just minutes of them leaving his office?

  The dark scowl across Adonis’ face filled her with dread and a sense of foreboding she’d managed to evade, until now.

  His next words did not improve her feelings of unease when he said quietly, “I don’t know.”

  * * * *

  Ares sat in his nondescript black car with its tinted windows, his eyes on the home of Woodward Gowen. He continued to sit as the beaming, blazing afternoon sun yielded to the burnished rays of dusk until twilight settled over the affluent neighbourhood. He waited, his eyes stalking.

  He did not relish keeping secrets from his brothers, but this would not be the first time. Ares had many secrets. His soul was burdened by every one of them. Compared to the secrets he carried inside him, this one troubled him the least.

  Dieu had glimpsed a darkness inside Ares that he’d nurtured then unleashed upon his enemies. Ares was adept at the art of subterfuge…and the art of murder. That was why he was quick to spot amateurs in the game he’d been born to play and trained to master.

  Woodward Gowen was still missing, and that concerned Ares somewhat. His son, however, was very much present and alive, as Ares soon spotted him walking up the steps into his father’s home.

  Ares had been born and bred to play the game of intrigue and murder well. He wondered if Jarrod Gowen could say the same. He was never one to dismiss or underestimate any opponent, but on this point, he doubted if Jarrod Gowen had played this game before. If he had, he would have known to disguise himself or to only walk around under the cover of night.

  With Rutherford’s death and the blatant manner in which his body had been disposed of, Jarrod Gowen had to know he was being watched. Ares would have gone into hiding, but Jarrod Gowen was walking around as if nothing was amiss. Either he was arrogant or foolish—Ares suspected both. He also suspected that Jarrod Gowen was purposely baiting him.

  When the entire street was plunged into darkness and the moon hovered high in the sky, Ares slipped from his car. It did not matter whether Jarrod Gowen was arrogant, foolish or an unrivalled master in this game. Even if he was baiting Ares, drawing him into a trap…well, then, he’d let himself be caught. The man had answers and Ares needed them—desperately and quickly… before another body was found. Before one of his brothers was caught up in this game Ares had unintentionally set into motion, and died because of the one secret that still burdened his soul.

  Ares found the small window the young maid had left unlocked and slightly ajar. She did not want to lose her job, but, when Ares had returned alone to question her, she’d stared into his black, empty eyes and had quickly concluded there was more to lose than one’s job. Ares was obscured by the darkness of the night and black clothing as he pushed the window open and crawled inside, landing on his feet with not so much as a sound. He moved like a silent panther stalking through the jungle as he made his way to the main level of the house.

  The stairwell led up to the dining room, and from his earlier visit he knew the study was just off to the left. He turned the corner and was greeted by the door to the private office. He tested the knob. That it was locked was neither a surprise nor an obstacle for him. With practiced skill, he pulled out a small metal rod—curved at the ends, no longer than his index finger and no thicker than a hairpin—slipped it into the keyhole and slowly twisted it until there was a faint click. This time when he tried the knob, it turned in a clockwise motion and he was able to slip quietly into the study.

  He pocketed the metal rod and pulled out a small flashlight, which he used to guide his footsteps to the desk. Papers were scattered atop the desk and Ares rummaged through them.

  Bills, correspondences…nothing of note.

  The drawers to the desk were unlocked and one by one he pulled them open, searching for anything that would yield the answers he sought. He got to the last drawer, which was locked, but he made quick work of it. Only then, as he opened it and learned what was inside, was he faced with answers to questions he’d never had. The shock of what he found was probably what made him careless. He didn’t sense the other presence in the room until it was almost too late.

  He reached for the gun, holstered beneath his arm at the same time that he heard the click of a gun being cocked.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Ares slowly pulled his hand away from his weapon and raised his hands high into the air.

  In one moment he was staring into the darkness, listening to a disembodied voice. The next the room was awash in light and he was staring into hard, walnut brown eyes.

  The man before him could have easily been one of his brothers. His hair was a reddish, golden brown and curled about his shoulders, his eyes were of the same hue, his skin a smooth copper. He was the male embodiment of the woman who now slept in his father’s home—Selena and Serena’s brother—Jarrod Gowen.

  Jarrod was ethereal in his beauty, his handsomeness. His very presence was magnetic and seductive. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Jarrod Gowen had been born of Dieu’s seed.

  “I will put this gun down if you promise not to reach for yours.”

  That surprised him, but Ares nodded, relaxing when Jarrod lowered the gun, and he in turn lowered his hands to his sides.

  “You could have killed me,” said Ares, “but instead you trust me enough to lower your weapon with the assurance that I will not reach for mine. Why?”

  He shrugged. “I know well of your reputation. I might shoot you, but I have a feeling you would not die. If anything, you’d rise from the dead to kill me.”

  Ares bit back a smug grin because Jarrod’s words were not far from the truth. Ares’ life had been threatened many times before, and, yet, here he stood.

  “Besides, killing you would only hamper my agenda,” Jarrod added, his statement raising Ares’ eyebrows.

  “And what is your agenda?”

  “I just caught you rummaging through my personal files, so why don’t you tell me?”

  Ares considered how much he was prepared to reveal and what he still wanted to keep to himself. He decided to proceed with caution.

  “I must say I did not expect this turn of events. It seems you both have us all fooled.”

  Jarrod surprised him again by smiling. His plan had been uncovered, the success of which Ares now threatened, and he stood there wearing a grin as if nothing had changed. Ares wondered if indeed nothing had changed as far as Jarrod was concerned.

  “And even with the information you have, there is much you still do not know. I realise it is tempting to put an end to our plan, but I assure you this engine cannot be stopped. There are more factors at play and more players involved. I suggest you return home and get a good night’s sleep and simply accept that you cannot stop what must happen.”

  “I cannot do that.” Ares face was grim. “Your plan has dragged my brothers into this and placed them in danger.”

  “That is w
here you’re wrong. You placed them in danger. You thought your actions would save them, but you only ensured their deaths. If you do not stand in our way, there is a chance we can all survive this.”

  Ares didn’t ask how, for to ask how would be an admission to the act he’d committed a year ago—an act only four people knew of…or so he’d thought.

  “I will see you out now,” Jarrod said after a long silence stretched between them.

  Ares had no choice but to walk before Jarrod Gowen as he escorted him to the front door.

  “I am sure our paths will cross again,” Jarrod assured him before he closed the door. Ares stood on the doorstep for only a moment before he marched down the steps and got into his car.

  Very few could boast that they’d outmanoeuvred him. Ares had no doubt he would be seeing Jarrod Gowen again—it was a certainty.

  * * * *

  Adonis watched Selena until she fell asleep across his bed. Hours later, when the darkness of night began to creep through the shuttered windows, she still slept, while Ares still had not returned.

  His brother’s phone was turned off, his outgoing message revealing nothing of his whereabouts, but that was just like Ares, the eldest of them all.

  Dieu had often used his oldest son to do his dirty work. When they walked into a room, down the street, whispers followed in Ares’ wake, and people unconsciously took a step or two away from him.

  Out of all of them, Ares was the most feared, for he’d seen and done things no man should ever have to.

  Adonis did not fear for his brother, for whom killing was as natural as breathing. Adonis feared for the person Ares would unleash his fury upon.

  With his brothers gone and Selena asleep, he was restless, the home of his childhood eerily quiet. He dreaded getting up, walking the empty corridors alone, but he could no longer sit beside Selena’s bed—his mind and body could no longer weather the stillness.

  This was what he’d feared, why he’d resisted returning to his father’s estate. When the house was empty and the rooms silent, Adonis swore he could feel his father’s presence, as though his ghost haunted the space.

  Since that night, over a year ago, the four brothers had never mentioned what had happened in these halls, nor the dark secret that now bound them together for life.

  His bare feet were silent as they padded across the cold, marble floor. Everything about Dieu’s home epitomised the man himself. Lavishness, opulence, extravagance. Dieu had thought himself a god and no one had dared to correct him. To know the man was to know a god. Dieu’s beauty had been unrivalled, even by his sons. He could seduce with a single look—he could destroy with a single touch. That was why Adonis had been chosen along with Ares, Eros and Apollo. Each brother embodied the qualities of Dieu. Both the darkness of cruelty, and the pure light of ethereal beauty—each man possessed a godliness that one could only be born with. Dieu had glimpsed that in each one of them, and then he’d nurtured it, manipulated it…corrupted it.

  Adonis strode through the corridors, aimlessly wandering down the stairs to the chambers below. The demons that still haunted him and the ghosts that lurked in the shadows of his mind—their presence surrounded him as he plunged deeper into the bowels of his father’s home.

  He knew what awaited him below, and it had been many years since he’d returned to the chambers where he’d been stripped of both his boyish innocence and his manhood. The stairway came to an end as he entered a narrow corridor. He walked through darkness that was only pierced by the occasional light from a wall sconce. Adonis did not need to see what surrounded him. He could have closed his eyes and the vision would have been as vivid as ever.

  Even now—though it had been sixteen years since he’d been trapped within these walls, his usefulness to his father found only in these chambers—he could still smell the heavy cologne and perfume that clung to those who visited this place, those who’d visited him. Soft music had always played, filtering through the rooms to mute the sounds of sex and sin. But even music could not completely drown out the ever-present sounds of a brothel. There was nothing that could do that.

  Overhead, a light flickered, casting shadows on the closed doors that led into opulent bedrooms. He stilled when the flickering stopped but a shadow continued to darken the hallway. He peered into the blackness, moving towards it, then stopped at the sound of footsteps behind him.

  He whirled around, his hand already curled into a fist. In the last instant, he froze before his hand could strike its mark.

  Wide topaz eyes stared at him in shock, and two delicate hands hovered in the air, poised to deflect his attack.

  “Why did you sneak up on me without warning? I could have hurt you,” Adonis bellowed, trying to ignore the furious hammering of his heart in his chest.

  “I thought you heard me. I even called your name.” Selena looked over his shoulder, then back at him. “What were you staring at? What had you so absorbed that you did not even notice my presence?”

  He glanced in the direction she’d just looked, but the corridor was empty. “Nothing.” His brows knitted together. “What are you doing down here? I thought you were asleep.”

  His cryptic response to her question did not go unnoticed and she frowned, but he was grateful she did not probe deeper. “I was, but then I missed your presence. When I awoke I came searching for you.” She brushed past him, glancing about. “What is this place?”

  He did not answer her immediately, so when she tried a door and found it unlocked, he had no choice but to follow after her. Adonis knew what she saw as soon as she stepped into the room. It was as if he stared through her eyes.

  Dieu had always believed in the irony of things. He enjoyed paradoxes. While the other bordellos and brothels in the city were fashioned in rich, decadent hues of sable and scarlet, the walls of this room, as with all the others in this secret place, were a pure, radiant white. The furnishings, the bed covers—a beautiful tapestry of shimmering gold and bone white. Only a man who thought himself a god would portray the baser sins of the flesh as the purest of virtues.

  Selena studied the room much like one would the finest art in a museum—with awe and amazement and a quiet reverence.

  “Why is this painting hidden behind a curtain?” she asked, pushing aside the heavy brocade drapery to reveal a portrait depicting a bouquet of white orchids in a simple crystal vase.

  He came up behind her, pulling the curtain closed, his hand lightly brushing hers in the process.

  “The painting actually functions as a window of sorts. Behind it sits a camera. The curtain stayed closed when there were guests, and open when there weren’t.”

  “Did the guests know there was a camera behind the painting?”

  “Yes.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Then why even have a curtain? If it was closed when you had guests, and open when you didn’t, what would be the point of even having a camera?”

  “To provide the illusion of privacy. The camera possesses infrared X-ray technology. It can see through these draperies, just as easily as it can see in the dark. The guests believed they weren’t being viewed, but every moment they spent within these walls they were being watched.”

  “It was for security, then, to make sure you and your brothers were safe?”

  Adonis recalled all of the cruelties he’d suffered at the hands of one guest after another—the brutal violence, the pain…all in the pursuit of pleasure. His smile was humourless as he grasped her arm, led her from the room, and closed the door firmly behind him and the memories of his past. “It was so that one man could feel he had unlimited control and omnipotent power over everyone who came here.” He thought of guests who’d later been blackmailed by Dieu.

  That was the problem with sins of the flesh—the high cost one had to pay for one’s perversions.

  “Did you ever enjoy being a consort?”

  He glanced down at her—her question an odd one and wholly unexpected—but he did not stop as he propelled her up
stairs, far away from the chambers below.

  “No.”

  “But you were good at it.”

  “One of the best.”

  His statement silenced her—out of shock, revulsion or both, he wasn’t sure. But she did not speak until they were once again upstairs in the outer chambers of his bedroom.

  “Serena is also one of the best.”

  He looked closely at her, trying to discern the direction of her thoughts, the direction of this conversation even. Her face, which was normally so expressive, stared at him in contemplation.

  “She is,” he responded, giving voice to the rumours that abounded that indeed she was, mainly because he did not know what else to say. Selena stared at him expectantly as if she desired an answer to a question she had not posed.

  “All these years, I wondered why Serena sought such a life, how she endured it.” Selena’s eyes snared him with their subtle intensity. “But when I spoke to her, I could tell that she’d sought such a life because it appealed to her. Her life as a courtesan has freed her, it has liberated her.”

  “It is that way for some.” Adonis thought of Eros. Of the four of them, he was the only one to revel in such a lifestyle. Even now he still entertained those who would pay well for pleasure.

  “I thought something was wrong with me, that I would choose to live in a convent, while my sister chose the life of a courtesan. I could not bear the thought of so many men touching me after what happened. And I didn’t understand how she could. ”

  “There is nothing wrong with you,” he said harshly, rougher than was necessary. Some of that was owing to the conviction he felt…but most of it was because of the guilt. “We are all made differently. You may be twins, but your needs are not intertwined with your sister’s. After what was done to you, you both sought solace in your own ways. That does not mean anything is wrong with either of you.”

  She seemed to consider his words with the tilt of her head to one side, her unbound locks caressing her shoulder. He followed the tendrils of hair as they came to rest just beneath the curve of her breast. His heartbeat quickened and a steady pulse of heat drummed through him.