by Rina Kent
So what if I met a serial-killer-like stranger in a dark alley?
What if I had nightmares about his darker-than-the-alley eyes every night since?
What if I sense those same eyes on me every second? Even this instant?
Worse, what if I want to keep feeling his eyes on me?
My current state is dangerously close to an erupting storm or a bubble ready to burst any second.
“Mae? Mae!”
I blink at Sydney. “Huh?”
“We passed the turn for our regular boutique. What’s wrong with you?”
“Sorry.” I offer an apologetic smile and turn the car around.
Focus, Mae. Snap out of it!
The task doesn’t prove hard once Sydney and I become immersed in a shopping spree. Dresses after shoes after bags, and I’m one hundred per cent with my friend.
“Try this one on.” Sydney hands me a wine-red gown. “I love the colour, but it wouldn’t suit me.”
“Isn’t it too revealing?” I inspect the bared back and the short length. “I feel like I have the choice of covering either my cleavage or my butt.”
“That’s the point!” Sydney snaps her fingers and coerces me toward one of the fitting rooms.
I laugh, but the sound dies on my lips. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin. My fingers clutch the soft material as if it’s a shield. A dark, but familiar foreboding envelops my mind. My feet twitch, fighting the impulse to whirl around and look at the shadows.
At him.
The nightmares’ stranger.
My stalker.
Chapter Three
Aaron
An unyielding madness itches at the inside of my skull. Prominent. Persistent. Pounding.
‘We want blood, Aaron. Give it to us.’ Aunt hums, over and over.
I said not now. Go away!
‘You don’t get to call the shots when it comes to blood.’ Father’s voice digs deeper into my head as if aiming to eject my neurons. ‘Do you want a reminder of what happens when you disobey us?’
Screw it.
Throwing the covers away, I swing my legs off the bed and storm to the bathroom. Stone grey tiles chill my feet as cold water drenches my skin.
The sound of the stream doesn’t drown the demons’ heinous voices.
A week since the last kill ought to drive them— and therefore me— mad.
With the name I extracted out of Hampton, I’ve been restless for the next kill. Until I received a text from Tristan.
‘Don’t do anything until I return. That’s an order, Aaron. I mean it.’
My fist crashes against the solid tiles. The shock reverberates in my bones, and my knuckles burn. It does nothing to tone down the rage flooding my bloodstream.
This is it. I’ll kill Tristan.
‘Calm down. That option is out of the question,’ Mother whispers, trying to find a way between the dominating demons. ‘He’s family.’
With a deep breath, I close my eyes and allow the cold water to disperse some tension. Images of electric blue eyes come to my mind.
Mae.
The girl harasses my thoughts. Our collision a week back keeps playing in the back of my consciousness, like one of Uncle Alexander’s old broken films.
At the beginning, I succumbed to watching her only to unravel her. Normalise her. Deem her unimportant for my intrigue. Surely her physical appearance didn’t enamour me. I don’t work that way. Thus, I hid in the shadows and made use of my analytical observation.
The empaths label it as stalking.
I learnt snippets of her life and engraved the tiniest of her habits to memory. I recorded every step, laugh, and smile to contemplate later.
Mae is a princess.
She comes from new money, with a crowd of friends, and an effortless feminine aura.
However, those aren’t what kept me going back for more. What drew my attention, and worsened my dark intents, was her art. I sneaked into her college’s workshop and saw the paintings she kept there.
What I witnessed piqued my interest to an alarming level.
A girl whose world is surrounded with a happy cliched circle of family and friends isn’t supposed to paint those haunting works. They spoke to me in a language only my demons and I can understand.
Is her seemingly perfect little world a camouflage? Does she perhaps hide a darkness that sallies her soul?
She’s an abnormality that I yearn to unravel. Maybe tarnish her pureness, and throw her off the edge when I’m done.
Although her little existence is— by all rules— off limits. The longer I observe, the deeper I crave to act on my uncontainable desires.
My skin turns to a pale blue shade. I take the sign to step out of the icy stream, and into the centre of my quarters. This Western Wing was Uncle Alexander’s. Once in time, it was greenish, with floral scents oozing from the main bedroom, adjoining rooms, reception hall, and even the office. There used to be a large happy family picture above the bed, and a dozen others throughout the place.
They sickened me.
I ripped them all down and turned the whole place black.
My phone vibrates. I answer while drying my hair with a towel. “What is it, Kane?”
“Two journalists are here for you, Sir.”
The damn pests won’t leave me alone.
I throw the towel on the bed. “I have no appointments this evening. Let alone with journalists. Turn them down.”
There is a crunch at the other side the line. Another crackle. Kane saying something unintelligible. Then a feminine yell. Straight into my ears. “Lord Rhodes, please! We won’t ask many questions! We only want—”
Another crunch. Kane barking orders, then silence.
“Did you kill her?” I ask.
“No, Sir.” He pauses. “Do you want me to?”
They’re the ones who came to my house. I ought to give them a special interview and satiate my blood lust in between.
No. Innocents are off the hook. I can at least be that civil.
“Send them away, and don’t contact me about journalists again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
This is the second time in three days. The attention my last name and title attracts is infuriating.
The monitor in my bedroom lights up, flashing my cousin’s name.
Here comes my babysitter.
I put on some shorts, sit on the leather sofa, and answer with my most charming smile. His face, with a few days worth of stubble, greets me through the screen.
“It’s been a while, Tristan.”
“I call whenever I have time.” He points at me. “You are the one who doesn’t pick up. Are you ignoring me?”
“I am not.”— I am— “I don’t keep the phone on me when I’m occupied with business.”
His lips tighten, then he sighs, brushing it off. He used to be the best at reading my deception. Perhaps I outgrew him after all.
‘Which means we can get what we want.’
Quiet, demons. I’m trying to have a civilised conversation here.
Tristan leans back into his chair. “How are things in the estate?”
He left some of his personal guards behind, to send detailed reports, and yet he thinks of misleading me. I may not care, but I observe and record every little thing in my surroundings.
“Same old. But I’m sure Dylan filled you in. He has been my keeper since you went to Japan.”
The blackness in Tristan�
�s eyes, almost identical to mine, softens. “He’s the only one we can call a family friend.”
“Dylan may be your friend, but he isn’t mine. He’s only a pain in the arse.”
“You’re the only pain in the arse between the three of us.”
“Then maybe the two of you should stop acting like my parents.”
“We will, when you stop jeopardising what we worked years to accomplish.” He raised his eyebrows in a challenge. One I wouldn’t take. This exchange isn’t worth it. “Anything else happened?”
I take a sip of water from the bottle in front of me. “Some bothersome journalists who refuse to leave me in peace.”
“They’re curious about us. We own one of the most powerful conglomerates not only in England but also in the world. Not to mention our titles. Naturally, they will not stop until we give them something. We agreed that you will allow them an interview.”
“I didn’t agree. You ordered.” My left eye twitches. “The type of orders that I don’t listen to.”
“Aaron.” His voice takes its stern father tone. “An interview won’t hurt. We need to maintain the family’s image.”
“You do it. You’re the duke after all, Your Grace.”
“Fine. But you will be there with me.”
“No, and that’s final.” I place my hands behind my head and relax further into the leather of the sofa.
He grits his teeth. “You’re infuriating most of the time, do you know that?”
I grin in response. Irritating Tristan is one of my favourite hobbies. Like a payback of some sort.
“We’ll discuss the interview some other time, for now...” He cuts off when his gaze travels to the bruise on my chest. “When did you get that?”
“Forget about it.” I straighten. “When will you give me my next target?”
“I won’t forget about it!” His face tighten, eyes blazing. “Do you have a death wish? You promised you won’t engage in fights with targets anymore!”
“If it’s not necessary.”
“What?!”
“I promised not to fight if it isn’t necessary. In Hampton’s case, my hand was forced.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
He could still read my acting after all.
“Aaron.” Tristan edges closer to the camera until I can make out the pores in his skin. “You’re the only family I have left and I will do anything to keep you safe. Anything. Even if it goes against what you want. Do you understand?”
My eyebrows rise. “Is that a love confession or a threat?”
“I’m serious,” he says in his you’re-my-responsibility voice. “The only reason I shackle you with the targets’ system is to rein in your self-destruction. I have your best interest in mind.”
Tristan’s weakness is me. He shouldn’t have, for any reason, given me emotional power to manipulate him with.
I bow my head. “If you care about me, you won’t send me to the mental institute.”
“Don’t give me a reason to.”
Fucker.
“And drop the vulnerability act.” He pushes off his chair to pour himself Bourbon from the hotel room’s cabinet.
One of these days, I will make Tristan fall. So hard. He wouldn’t even know what happened. Perhaps then, he’d understand he’s not my damn keeper.
“When will I get a target?”
He takes a sip of his beverage. “Not now.”
“It’s been a whole week. Eight days of constant scratching while I conduct the stupid affairs and smile at people whose heads I want to rip off. I did my part. Now, give me my due. I worked for that blood!”
Tristan’s brows knit together. “You used to go fine for a week.”
“Never did.” I spit the words out. “I was only better at controlling the urges. Now, they’re worsening.”
“That can’t go on. We will deal with the situation once I return.”
“I can’t take this until Your Grace comes back from the other end of the world!”
“Fine.” He releases a long breath. “I was going to let my guards take care of this target, but since you need it, it’s yours.”
Perhaps I won’t make him fall so hard after all.
“Who?” I ask.
“Celeste.”
Memories from our time together rush back. She is a female replica of me. I taught her how to kill and, in return, she demonstrated some forgotten torture methods. I only had one partner in my assassin career, and it was her.
“You’re not apprehensive about killing her, are you?” Tristan asks.
I smirk. “Of course not.”
Now she’s another target. A thrilling one. The hunt is already calling to me, and she better not disappoint my expectations.
“Good.” Tristan takes another sip of his drink.
Strange. He never mentioned her before.
“Why do you want her dead?” I ask.
“My sources informed me that she got a contract on your head.”
“Was it—”
“The Pit.” He slams his glass on the table before him, and droplets splash out. “They even dispatched Team Zero after us. Hades is growing restless to wipe the three of us.”
Which means he’ll only make mistakes. Many assassins have defected after mine, Tristan, and Dylan’s legendary escape. They’re losing trust in The Pit.
Only a few assassins remained beside Team Zero who are controlled through drugs.
Let those emotionless druggies come. I’ll erase every last bastard from the face of the earth. At least they’re worthy opponents compared to the new, unexperienced recruits.
If they’re after me... “I assume there’s a contract on your head, too?”
“I think either Crow or Ghost is assigned to me. I’m still trying to pinpoint the style.”
Lucky bastard. Why can’t Crow and Ghost, our bloody trainers and two of the strongest The Pit’s assassins alive, come after me instead of Tristan?
I’m a lot more fun.
“Just be careful,” Tristan continues. “If Celeste could betray Dylan, then she can betray you. She might never took the drugs, but her emotional level is no different than Team Zero’s.”
She just lashes on weaknesses. Unlucky for her, I have very little susceptible to cripple me.
Except for the asylum. And only Tristan owns that option.
Unless...Blue Eyes.
A foreign flip invades my insides, perturbing a part of me that should have been sleeping.
Dammit.
I dash to my walk-in and yank the shorts down while fumbling through my clothes.
“What’s wrong?” Tristan’s concerned voice filters from the room.
“When did you get the information about Celeste?” I step out, zip my trousers, then throw a T-shirt over my head.
“Ten days ago.”
“Ever thought about warning me? It’s only my life, so a head start would be nice.”
“I had men on her, but they lost her trace two days ago in France.”
Long enough for Celeste to realise that I’m watching someone. And no, certainly she isn’t in France anymore.
My jacket in hand, I face my cousin. “I got a name out of Hampton and I have his son on the leash, so you better bring something to the table in return. I’ll handle things over here until you’re back.”
A proud expression illuminates Tristan’s face. He thinks I give a damn about the hellhole called our heritage or our bloody family. If i
t hasn’t been for the camouflage it provides me and the promise I made to Uncle Alexander, I would’ve burned this place to the ground.
I hop down the stairs and storm across the Western Wing. My boots graze the long grass of the estate as I jog towards the garage.
My fingers latch around the first car keys in front of me. I slump to the driver’s seat, my mind focused on Celeste.
If she’s been watching me all along, she would realise something is off. Of all people, Celeste knows I don’t waste a lot of time on tracking and hunting. If I let Blue Eyes live until now, then I don’t plan to kill her.
Mae is in danger.
I stomp on the breaks, drawing the car to a halt outside the estate.
So what if she’s in danger? She can die by Celeste’s hands for all I care. Whatever happens to her because of me is collateral damage.
‘No. You should be the one to kill her,’ Aunt scolds.
‘You haven’t wasted so much time reading and recording her details to let another take the joy of spilling her blood.’ Father’s voice is firm.
Exactly.
I set the car back in motion. The blowing wind whirls inside and slaps me across the face as I drive to the city.
Several streets away from Mae’s house, I park the car and climb out to scrutinise the area for the merest trace of Celeste. The longer I walk the empty streets, lit by bright bulbs, the calmer I become.
Nothing. As expected.
If she’s watching me, and from a short distance no less, I would’ve noticed her. The good thing about being a tracker is having the intuition to prevent being tracked back.
Since I’m already here...
I proceed to my usual ritual of watching the human being who conquered the majority of my thoughts. I can already form images of her in my head.
Obsession.
That’s the right term. I’m fucking obsessed.
Not long after I settle in a dark corner across from her house, Mae’s graceful chuckle reaches me. Arm encircling her father’s waist, they climb the stairs towards their house. She throws her head back, laughing at something he said. My senses are unwillingly drawn to the feathery sound of her laughter.