by Rina Kent
“He has no proof. If he intended to report me, he would’ve already.” I pick a drink from a passing butler. “But the fact that the word came out means we have a rat to take care of.”
More blood for me.
Dylan’s relaxed features sweep the guests, nodding and smiling at anyone who crosses his gaze. “That’s one more reason to be careful. This is a sensitive period. I’m not Tristan. I don’t give a damn about protecting you and I certainly find no pleasure in covering your tracks.”
“How do you manage to smile like that all the time?” I ask, struggling with my own show-time smile.
His grinning face slips into a scowl. “Have you been listening?”
I take a long swig of my drink as we stop in the centre of the hall. “You were talking?”
He glares at me, but soon goes back to his smiling façade. Everything in his face is unmovable except the curving lips. “Smile. Lowell is coming,” Dylan mutters under his breath. “He’s the next name on the list.”
Our host’s grey hair comes into view. He marches towards us, a flute of Champagne in one hand, and his young wife latching onto the other.
“Lord Hart, Lord Rhodes.” Lowell nods at us. “You honour our Noble Community gathering.”
“The honour is ours, Lord Lowell.” I smile longer than I’m comfortable with. “The reception you prepared is quite remarkable.”
Not long after, a few other guests join our circle. I receive the usual sugar-coated comments and begrudgingly offer some of my own. Dylan, on the other hand, takes the fake nonsense way too seriously. Offering compliments, and treating the masquerade like some theatrical accomplishment.
Everyone here is an arrogant, egotistical bastard. Dylan and I included. We only come to these gatherings to brag about our royalties, names, and power.
Our noble blood is a deal with the devil. It gives us the power to step on everything.
The world where predators like me hide in plain sight. Nourishing our sadist needs in dark dungeons. I doubt any of them have actual demons planted in their heads, though.
“Ladies, gentlemen.” I nod. “If you shall excuse me.”
I head to the balcony, abandoning the drink on the way. Spending the night fantasising about killing the old men would’ve been a splendid option, but this is much more important.
Lowell’s showy reception hall fades in the background as I reach the dark empty terrace. Cold wind fans me in increasing waves, mocking my tailored tuxedo’s inability to protect me.
I retrieve my phone and work its code.
The dimly lit dungeon room comes into view. A half-naked Mae sits on the bed.
The sight of her clothes— or the lack thereof— sends flowing heat into my veins. One half wants to see the rest of her skin. The other wishes to extract blood from it.
An empty tray of food lies at her side as her feet dangle over the edge. Her shoulders are pushed back, legs and knees straight. That determined expression has been plastered on her face ever since yesterday. She didn’t cry, scream, or kick the door. She has been calm. In a strange way.
What could she be thinking about?
Me. Or more precisely, the situation I put her into. Her mind must be wrapping around the reality of things, crowding with options to escape this.
As if on cue, she hops off the bed and paces the room in hasty steps. Back and forth. Like a caged mouse. Her arms wrap around her waist, and she rubs the bare skin of her back as much as she can reach.
She’s cold.
My freezing fingers twitch reminding me she’s not alone in that. Only a terrace’s balcony is different than a dungeon.
Mae puts the tray on the floor. Her fingers tug on the mattress’ cover and pull it with a force that trips her and almost causes her to fall.
‘Safe.’ Mae’s lips read.
I couldn’t turn the volume on in such a place, so I’ll have to put my lips’ reading skills into use.
She wraps the sheet around her body, the white cloth serving as a ghost’s halo.
Her mouth blows air into her palms as she resumes her pacing. This time, her eyes dart around the room, assessing every stone, every corner, and every tile of the floor. Her concentrated gaze stops now and then. Her brows furrow, her lips pout, then she shakes her head in obvious dismissal.
Hell. Her features are so expressive, it’s almost unbelievable.
When her observation— or whatever she’s doing— is over, one of her hands keeps the sheet in place while the other runs along the walls as if looking for a secret passageway.
Mae’s fingers reach one of the doors. She stops for several beats, eyes narrowing before she pulls at the small latch with her free hand. When that doesn’t work, she uses both hands, letting the cover fall to the floor. She then places a leg to the wall and pulls. The pale skin of her thigh distracts me, but I rip my gaze away and refocus on her reddening face, and gritted teeth.
After several moments, she loosens her hold with a frustrated stomp.
Well, she’s doing it the wrong way.
‘Why. Don’t. You. Open?!’ She pounds the metal between every word.
The door swings open. She jumps back like a frightened kitten, her expression morphing into pure horror.
Maybe not enough horror.
Like any kitten, curiosity gets the best of her. With tense footsteps and spooked posture, she dips her head inside.
I navigate through cameras until the small bathroom comes into view.
Mae releases a long breath. ‘Oh, all I had to do was push?’ She pats herself on the shoulder. ‘Great job, Mae.’
What the...?
My chest reverberates as a deep laugh leaves my lips, the sound echoing in my empty surrounding.
If I knew it would be so entertaining to watch her up close, I would’ve taken her the night I met her.
Mae gasps when she sees her reflection in the mirror. A grimace of disgust forms on her soft features before she glares at the chaotic version of herself. She combs her hair with her fingers then washes her face.
Her gaze falls on the shower and her lips pout— again. She works on the faucet and grins when water drenches her palm.
How can an insignificant thing make her eyes shine with happiness?
How can someone who’s easily satisfied paint that darkness?
It made no sense.
She tucks her hair to the side, exposing a bare delicate back. Her hand shoots to pull the zipper of her provocative dress.
My nerve endings tingle as my hand tightens around the phone, gaze concentrated on the slow strip show.
One that’s not meant for me.
When the little zipper’s halfway down, Mae halts her movements— as if feeling my eyes on her. She dashes to the door and closes it. Her gaze roams the bathroom, probably looking for a camera. One that’s hidden beyond recognition.
“I knew you would be here.” Lowell’s wife’s voice sounds from behind me.
I thrust the phone back into my pocket. “My Lady.”
She leans close until her strong cherry perfume chokes me.
“No one is here, Aaron.” She purrs and bites her lower lip. “You can lose the honorifics.”
What was her name again? All I remember is that it starts with P. She’s a blonde with blue eyes, too. Her body a perfect hour glass. She’s beautiful. Even more so than Mae – objectively speaking.
Yet, beside irritation, she brings no emotion whatsoever.
None of them do. Women for me are either a one-night thing or targets I can manipulate. Nothing more. Not
hing less.
Why is Mae different? Why in the gates of hell’s name do I want to throw P-something from the balcony so I could go back to watching the kitten?
“Well, that’s the thing. Your name isn’t important enough for me to remember.”
I walk past her, but she clutches my arm. My glare falls to her fingers, then back to her face. She licks her lips and my hand twitches to break her arm or choke her. No one touches me unless I allow them to.
“Remove your hand this instant,” I growl, barely reining the urge to break her neck.
She flinches and moves back, opening her mouth to say something. Her words don’t reach me as I stride out of the windy terrace, and back to the reception hall.
I spend the rest of the evening chatting with rotten souls. All while itching for a solitary moment so I can check on Mae.
This obsession of mine is growing to an alarming level. Another human being possessing my thoughts should be out of the question.
‘Kill her and get it over with,’ Aunt whispers.
That’s the most logical thing to do. Yet, some strange place in my mind is discarding that option. Is it Mother’s voice? I can’t really hear it.
When the long evening is finally over, I march to the car and skip the etiquette of waiting for the driver to open the door. Once I’m inside, my hand reaches into my pocket to restart my watching session. I motion to the driver to go when babysitter number two barges into the backseat.
Gates of hell, suck Dylan out of existence in the most gruesome way.
My prayers aren’t answered, and the car rolls away from Lowell’s residence.
“You have your own car.” I don’t bother to tone down the irritation lacing my voice.
“Our estates are next to each other. Why waste gas?” Dylan pulls out his phone and starts typing in it. Probably stocks as usual. He’s obsessed with those. That’s why he’s the mastermind of investment in Rhodes & Hart Conglomerate.
“You only like being my keeper.”
His smiles widens. “There’s that too.”
Now is a good time to explode his head, gates of hell.
Nope. Nothing.
Instead, we talk about business. Actually, Dylan does the talking part. I’m musing about what to do with Mae.
My blood pumps faster at the thought of breaking that free bird inside her. How long can she keep that determined face once I start pushing her thresholds?
‘Don’t stoop that low. She’s an innocent, Aaron.’ Mother echoes in a soft voice I grew to despise. ‘You don’t hurt people who never hurt you or those who don’t present danger to others.’
‘Stop being a smart-arse,’ Aunt replies. ‘Aaron fantasises about spilling everyone’s blood.’
‘But you don’t do it, Aaron,’ Mother says, tone urgent. ‘You have that much restraint. Don’t lose it now.’
‘Fuck off!’ Aunt bellows. ‘Aaron, can we kill that cheesy voice?’
“You shut me out, didn’t you?” My attention switches to Dylan. He sighs, more grey than green slipping into his eyes. “You can always leave, Aaron.” When I remain silent, he continues in a low infuriated voice. “Or talk. We know what it’s like.”
“You know nothing.” I focus on the window and the shadows blurring past us. “You and Tristan were made into monsters, but I was born one. It’s entirely different.”
“Then get treated,” he says in a calm voice. “You don’t have to let Tristan threaten you with it.”
“Why would I willingly go back to the mentally insane ward? So they can strip me from myself further more?” I point a finger at his chest. “Not going to happen, Dylan.”
He thrusts his phone in his pocket. “The conditions back then weren’t the same as now. At that time, their aim was to break, not heal you.”
“You always saw me as a hindrance to your little revenge game with Tristan.” My voice is monotone. “I know you’ve been plotting to send me away, but your schemes won’t work on me. Give it up.”
“Giving up isn’t in my dictionary.” A smirk plays on his lips. “You’re the one who told me I’m infuriatingly persistent.”
At least he’s aware of that. “For now, take care of your own demons and leave me with mine.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Fair enough.”
The rest of the ride is spent in mollifying silence as he goes back to stock trading on his phone. Unlike Tristan, Dylan knows when to hold his tongue. Probably because he hates me.
Mutual feelings.
Once I reach my quarters, I loosen my bow-tie, easing pressure off my neck.
The clock on the wall reads half past midnight. I dial Kane.
“What can I do for you, Sir?” There’s no hint of sleepiness in his modulated voice.
“From now on, I shall need two portions for my supper.” I gave up my soup for Mae earlier.
“Very well, Sir.”
No enquiries. No questions whatsoever. He’s a model help. No wonder he excels as an executive in the conglomerate, too.
Once I end the call, I click the remote control, springing the security footage to life.
Mae is curled in a ball on the bed, eyes closed, the sheet covering her from head to toe. Strands of grey-blonde hair cocoon her in their grasp. Her feet twitch as she tightens her hold on the sheet.
Long-term captives aren’t my expertise, but I assume they can freeze to death.
I rummage through my clothes and pick cotton trousers, a shirt, a jacket and a blanket, then head to the dungeons.
I press the automatic key, clicking the door open.
Mae isn’t on the bed. Strange, she was sleeping a few minutes ago.
I step into the room to check the bathroom when ripples of pain explode in my skull. I halt. My hands unclench. The clothes fall to the ground. Dizziness takes over, and I sway back, almost losing my balance.
Despite the momentary disorientation, I spot Mae dodging past me.
Even with the warm liquid blurring my vision, my reflexes shoot to high alert. I steady my feet, clutching the wall for balance. I wipe at my forehead. The sight of my own blood springs the need to draw pain in return.
‘She hurt you!’ Aunt’s voice freezes my veins. ‘Even by the cheesy voice’s rules, you can hurt her too.’
I smile, whirling towards the darkness of the dungeons.
Mae has to pay.
Chapter Eight
Mae
I did it.
I ran.
My bare feet hobble along the icy stone floor. Prickling shivers travel throughout my body.
The tight long corridor slumps in silence. Grey light gets darker the further my vision goes. A scream forms at the depth of my throat, tingling to carve its way out.
My pace weakens, and I clasp my eyes shut, so tight, they hurt. Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’s okay, Mae. You can do this.
Running in the dark is a better fate than dying at that psycho’s hands.
I open my eyes. Ahead of me is a sombre tunnel-like-corridor with no end in sight.
The sour taste of adrenaline floods my mouth. My mind clears. Renewed energy storms my limbs.
I can do this. I can escape.
Run. Run. Run.
Droplets of sweat sting my lids, blurring my vision. Hair sticks to the back of my neck. My frozen feet tingle. Pain shreds my leg and thigh muscles. My lungs burn, my breaths coming in gasps.
I don’t know how much I go at it, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.
If the
psycho finds me, I’ll be long dead.
I won’t die. Not now. And definitely not in this Godforsaken place.
Endless stone walls fly past, soon morphing into heinous grey phantoms. Their mouths so wide as if they plan to have me for supper. Unintelligible chants remind me of the frightened little seven-year-old girl I once were.
They’re not real, Mae.
I focus on the humming beat in my ears and my ragged breaths instead of the dreadful sounds.
Does this place have an exit?
I need out of here, I—
I fall to the ground with a thud, my hipbone stings from the impact. My chest heaves so prominently as if dislocating my heart.
The sound of my inhales and exhales heighten, filling the silent darkness. It rings in my ears like a trapped animal’s voice.
With shaky fingers, I tuck my hair back and wipe my sweaty forehead.
The smell of dust and a hint of humidity invade my nostrils. The monsters in the dark threaten to reappear. I focus on my surroundings to block them out.
There must be an exit. I’m sure my kidnapper doesn’t live here. Or does he?
What is this place, anyway?
It’s too big for a basement. The long corridors are a sou-terrain city all on their own. They’re freaking endless.
“Mae...”
Although it comes from a distance, I hold my breath at the now-familiar voice.
No way.
He still talks and sounds normal?
I struck him with all my might. With a metal plate no less. He’s supposed to at least pass out for a while, right?
Or was I that weak?
“I’m not in the mood to hunt, so don’t force me, lamb.” His voice is calm, modulated as if he’s a programmed robot. “If you show up now, I may not hurt you.” A pause. “For long.”
Sick, sick bastard!
I jump to my feet. I can’t pinpoint the sudden energy’s source, but pain and fear blur in the background. I bolt towards the unknown. Walls fade into an endless sprout of grey.