Ruin (The Rhodes Book 1)

by Rina Kent

  How can someone be so full of... life?

  Worse, why am I transfixed on a neurotypical person?

  I spent my entire existence observing people. Reading. Recording. Analysing. I always, without a doubt, have a clear course of action: if I didn’t seek blood, I plotted manipulation. This is the first time where the situation falls in between.

  There must be something special about Mae that makes her paintings speak to my soul.

  The need to delve deep into her and unravel that darkness overwhelms me.

  My phone vibrates. A blocked number.

  “Who is it?”

  “Heeey, partner!” Celeste’s honeyed voice almost deafens me. “Or should I say, ex-partner? After all, you left me in The Pit all by myself. No worries, though. I get to reign alone now. Except for those pesky Team Zero, they keep stealing contracts from me. No worries, though, they’ll be gone sooner or later.”

  My eyes dart sideways, but there’s no alarming feeling of being watched.

  “What do you want?”

  She laughs. “Are you ready for me? Because anything you care about will turn to ashes soon.”

  “Are you sure you want to die by my hands? It will be very painful.”

  “That should be my line. You better hide, Aaron.”

  “You better run, Celeste.”

  My grip on the phone tightens after I hang up.

  My gaze strays to Mae’s house. She’s really in danger now. I’ve to do something about her.

  A jolt of excitement travels through me at the thought.

  How many buttons can I push before Mae collapses? How long can I torture her before she breaks into tiny shreds? Would she scream? Fight? Or disappoint me by begging?

  For her own good, she better not resort to the latter.

  Gaining my interest is dangerous. Losing it was lethal.

  Chapter Four

  Mae

  The aroma of chocolate cake tickles my nose, compelling me to dash downstairs and devour it all.

  First thing’s first.

  Looking in the mirror, I tug on my short, sleeveless wine-red dress.

  Yesterday, I followed Sydney’s advice and bought the damn thing, running to the cashier without trying the dress on. I needed to get out of that place before a panic attack assaulted me in public.

  The wisest option is to report the stalker. But I have no evidence. Not to mention that a small part of me wants to see where this is heading.

  Am I a masochist or something?

  I need to talk to Sydney or Owen about it. They will know how to deal with this psychological mess.

  “Stop thinking about him!” I glare at myself in the mirror. “Tonight is for partying.”

  I concentrate on my scandalous dress. Its velvet-like material hugs my modest curves, and the colour is in good contrast with my skin tone.

  So what if I wear a racy outfit? I only live once.

  I release my hair, letting it cascade down my lower back, covering my bare skin.

  Mascara. Red lipstick. Handbag. Impossibly high heels – which I’ll regret later. And I’m out.

  Mum’s graceful movements greet me as soon as I stroll in the kitchen. She wipes the marbled counter, then puts the chocolate cake pieces onto a plate.

  We have maids, but Mum insists on making all our meals herself. A family tradition, she said.

  I throw my arms around her waist from behind and press a kiss on her adorable cheek.

  She pulls away with a smile, her former fashion designer’s critical eye inspects me from head to toe.

  “Good choice. Finally, something daring. Where are you going?”

  “Night out with the guys.” I rub my palms together, targeting the biggest piece of chocolate cake. I sweep it off the plate, take a bite that stuffs my mouth, and stifle a moan at its rich sweetness.

  “That’s great, Honey.” Mum’s eyes glint as she removes her apron. “Maybe this time you’ll find a boyfriend.”

  “Mum!”

  Here we go again. She makes it seem like it’s my duty as her daughter to have a boyfriend.

  Men interest me; it’s the relationship part I don’t care for. It isn’t a priority. I would rather dedicate my time to art. At least for now. The last thing I want is to sabotage my career over some man, or worse, a broken heart. Like the one my ex-boyfriend left me with after high school.

  The smell of Dad’s signature aftershave pulls me back from my musings.

  I pop a kiss on his cheek. It hasn’t been more than an hour since we came back from one of Dad’s business conferences— I like to attend out of curiosity— but I already miss him.

  “My baby girl doesn’t need a man to complete her,” he says to Mum, raising his eyebrows. “She’s perfect all on her own.”

  My hero!

  With a grin, I attack the second piece of cake, its sinfully sweet taste seducing me to eat more.

  Mum nudges Dad. “You’re the reason she’s been single ever since high school. Stop spoiling her so much.”

  “She decides if, and when she’s ready for another relationship.” He smiles, his cobalt blue eyes boring into my identical ones.

  I mouth, ‘I love you, Dad,’ which morphs his smile into a grin.

  “Besides,” he says, “we should be celebrating her accomplishment instead. Our baby is now an artist.”

  “With her grades, she could’ve been a successful med student by now.”

  My arms drop to my side. “Mum, please. Would you stop throwing that around? I’m anxious enough as it is.”

  “Leave her alone, Lily,” Dad says with a gentle tone, offering me a sympathetic look. “It’s her life. We don’t get to live it for her.”

  My unconditional hero!

  “I can’t win with you two.” Mum sighs and ushers me outside.

  I grab my handbag, my coat, and left.

  Sydney’s car awaits in front of my parents’ house.

  She throws me a grin as I settle inside. Her heavy black make-up coupled with the white hair too witch-like. “Ready to bring out your inner diva?”

  “Always am.” I wink as we take off to the club.

  Sydney talks about school and her next project, but my mind doesn’t filter her words. My eyes stay glued to the rear-view mirror, expecting a monster to jump us any second.

  And the worst part is that I’m giddy about seeing him one more time.

  “Mae!”

  I startle at Sydney’s yell.

  Oh hell.

  I didn’t hear a word she said. I’m becoming a horrible friend. This can’t go on. I’m slowly losing myself in this turmoil. “I need to tell you something, Syd.”

  “What?” she asks, her attention on the road.

  Okay, this is it.

  “I think I’m being followed.”

  She steals a quick glance my way, her eyebrows creasing, but quickly focuses back on the road. Silence remains the only element for a moment. Sydney is probably weighing things in her head. She’s always been the patient type. Nothing like me.

  “Say something, Syd.” I plead.

  “Are you sure it’s not another manifestation of your Nyctophobia?” she asks in her calmest voice, the one meant for business.

  “No, it’s not about that.”

  “Then have you seen the one following you?”

  “Not really.” I revert my eyes to the rear-view mirror. It’s become a nasty habit. “But I can feel his attention on me a
ll the time.”

  Should I tell her about that night?

  But how can I without mentioning the strange sensation that coursed through me? The one where I wasn’t the least scared but mostly fascinated? Better not. She would deem me nuts.

  Sydney hums. “That’s the exhibition and contest’s stress talking, Mae. Your mind is escaping your anxiousness in the form of this twisted paranoia. You have that habit in your art, don’t you?”

  “It’s different,” I say as we pull in the club’s parking lot. “This type of darkness isn’t like anything I’ve experienced before. It’s much more terrifying. I’m scared to draw anything anymore. For the first time in my life, I don’t want to hold the brush because I’ve no idea what it’ll do on the canvas.”

  She opens her mouth when Owen taps on Sydney’s window and waves.

  Sydney offers me a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it’s paranoia, but we’ll talk about it later.” She grabs her sparkling handbag, grinning wide. “Tonight is for fun, okay?”

  I nod, smiling back. “For fun.”

  . . . . .

  I go all out.

  Channelling my inner diva, I drink and dance with the guys.

  My friends are dead serious about partying. Countless shots end up in our systems. One after the other, like crazed addicts. The downside being that my tolerance level is the worst amongst us.

  I stop paying attention to my surroundings, swaying to the energetic music, barely feeling my legs.

  Owen spins me in circles, and my alcohol-induced daze almost lands me on the floor, head first. Owen catches me at the last second.

  “All right, party girl!” he calls over the pulsing music. “You need to rest.”

  I stumble on the way to our VIP bench on the second floor. Once more, Owen’s arms are there to catch me.

  “You’re my guardian angel!” I slur as he takes my hand in his and guides me as if I’m a little girl.

  Owen smiles and hands me a glass of water. “Take this. You’re drunk.”

  What’s so wrong about being drunk? It’s light, empty, and liberating. For once, I needn’t plague my mind with unwanted thoughts about the stalker phantom or the upcoming contest.

  “Look at that hot thing, eleven o’clock to your right!” Sydney shouts over the music, her voice reaches me in a hazy wave. “He’s been checking you out the entire evening!”

  Despite my drunken state, dread creeps through my limbs.

  It can’t be him.

  Right?

  It isn’t his style to make himself obvious. He never bothers me. Doesn’t make a move to meet me. He just... exists. Everywhere. As if some mythical forces hired him to be my shadow.

  With clumsy fingers, I manoeuvre my hair to hide my right eye. Despite my sharp intake of breath, it takes time to refocus my gaze, but once I see the man’s face, I release a puff of air. In relief or disappointment, I can’t really tell.

  Not him. The man Sydney pointed at is black.

  “What do you think?” Sydney gets so close, I smell tequila on her breath. She’s not driving me home after all.

  “I’m not in the mood.” My words come out slurred.

  “You’re never in the mood!” Sydney throws her hands in the air. “Get a boyfriend for fuck’s sake.”

  I grin. “I’m married to art, thank you very much.”

  “Mae.” Sydney’s narrowed eyes pin me down. “I hate to burst your bubble but art won’t give you the children you want so much.”

  My eyebrows furrow. “That’s so rude. Paintings are our children, dummy!”

  Sydney rolls her eyes and tips her head to the ceiling. “God, give me patience!”

  Owen laughs and shoos Sydney away to sit next to me. His whiskey-infused breath fans my nostrils. He jokes and I chuckle at his corniness. Not long after, Sydney storms to our table with a tray full of greenish beverage, courtesy of the bartender. Owen doesn’t like the ‘puke-like’ drink. That’s all it takes for him and Sydney to go all out in their usual banter.

  Relaxing in my seat, I sip the green cocktail. The liquid travels my throat leaving an instant burn in its wake.

  “You know what?” I cut the heated profanity-filled conversation between Owen and Sydney. “I believe a shag would drive all this tension between you two away. Have you considered that?”

  “Say that again and I’ll kill you!” Sydney glares at me while Owen gives an awkward laugh.

  Well, at least that cools things for a while.

  When we go back to the dance floor, my head swims in a hazy fog. I can’t keep up with the music, and my steps become more and more unbalanced. The urge to throw up hits me like a crashing wave.

  “I’m going out for some air!” I shout over the music.

  Sydney clutches my arm. “Do you want me or Owen to come with you?!”

  I shake my head. “I won’t be long!”

  They took care of me the entire night. No need to ruin what remains of it.

  The nightclub is so crowded I can’t see where I’m headed. Pushing my way through the writhing bodies, my eyes dart in all directions, looking for an exit. After bumping into blurry people and objects, I reach the back entrance. I didn’t plan to end up here, but either way, there’s air in the empty alleyway.

  Ash grey walls surround me. The only light in sight is a street lamp several meters away. At least, it’s not entirely dark. The rotten smell of garbage violates my nose and I have to gulp to not throw up. I lean against the nightclub’s wall, wishing for a seat of some sort.

  A breeze of fresh air whips my hair back and soothes my nausea. Maybe I won’t throw up after all. I stand there, listening to the fading music and kicking cigarette butts and pebbles away. My heels are killing me.

  A shiver cloaks my body. I grit my teeth. Why am I so cold?

  I look down on my bare arms. My coat is still in our booth.

  Great, Mae. What an adult you are.

  When I turn towards the club’s back entrance, the hairs on the back of my neck stand like needles. Is this even due to cold anymore? I close my eyes, trying as much as possible to scoot the haze away.

  This isn’t real. My mind is playing dirty tricks on me. A false premonition. A needless paranoia.

  An intoxicating smell, different from garbage, invades my nostrils. As if compelled by some invisible force, I open my eyes. My feet almost fail me. I stagger and catch myself on a wall. My dizzy vision focuses on the tall man standing between me and the club’s entrance.

  All warmth leaves my blood stream. An unknown force draws down my spine, freezing my shoulder blades together.

  It’s him.

  The stranger is all in black. The hood he wears shadows his face, obscuring his features.

  A faceless Grim Reaper.

  And he’s here for me.

  Oh. God.

  “Good evening, Mae.”

  I swallow at the deep, familiar voice and clasp my hands together to prevent them from shaking.

  “H-how do you know my name?”

  He tilts his head to the side but doesn’t answer.

  Ugh. I hate the stutter on top of my slur. I’m coming off as an easy victim. Who the hell would ask such a question under these circumstances? My top priority is to run. Every cell in my being screams at me to turn and leave.

  Peeking sideways, I seek the easiest way out. The situation doesn’t play in my favour. For one, my intoxicated brain is so slow at deciphering information. For two, the choice of the back entrance was a lousy one.

  The stranger approaches silen
t and slow. Firm with intent. Like a painter would chase their muse.

  “No, no, no...” I move two wobbly steps back. I’m not moving fast enough, and the stranger will be on me any second.

  “Help–” I attempt to scream, but my heel catches a crack in the pavement. I fall so fast, so hard. My head bumps onto a sharp edge.

  Cheek resting against the cold ground, my eyes prickle with tears as intense pain assaults my head. My skull seems to have been cracked into two separate entities. My lungs no longer receive air as my vision doubles then triples.

  In my peripheral vision, the stranger’s blurred face smirks.

  I was scared the first time I met him. Now, I’m terrified.

  Darkness sucks me in its clutches.

  Chapter Five

  Aaron

  Twenty-two years ago,

  Faint moaning reaches my ears in a persistent chant.

  I roll to my back, cover my head with the pillow, and count to one hundred. Aloud. Urging the sound to go away. The darkness, looming in every corner of my room, makes it eminent.

  The moaning turns to long relentless mewling. I huff and kick the covers away. Can’t I sleep like everyone else?

  My feet carry me through the dimly lit corridors. The dark red walls cast shadows in my wake. The black shades seem to follow me towards the intensifying mewling. My steps falter when the source turns out to be in my father’s office. Out of the Eastern Wing’s countless rooms, this office and my parents’ bedroom are off limits.

  A woman’s muffled scream shatters my indecisiveness. I slowly push the door into a crack.

  Blood. Lots of blood.

  A woman, naked and chained to a chair, whimpers like my cousin Thia when she’s scared. Father, fully dressed, hovers over her, doing something I can’t see. It involves making her blood drip on the beige carpet.

  “I thought you still wanted me, Victoria.” Father’s stern voice wafts across the room. “Are you having second thoughts? Do you want me to stop?”

  Victoria? She can’t be Uncle Hugh’s wife, right?