by Rina Kent
His signature gentleman’s voice breaks the tension. “You obviously dislike me.” He tilts his head to the side. “Why did you hug me?”
Heat courses through my veins. Silence seems the better option now. “I took you for someone else.”
He smirks. “You’re a terrible liar, little mouse.”
Damn it.
“I’m not lying! I really thought you were my father.”
“Lying is a stupid thing to do when you are too readable.” The smirk is still plastered on his otherwise smooth expression.
I glare at him. “If I’m too readable, then why are you asking me? Answer your damn question on your own.”
His smirk is gone replaced by a dark shadow. I swallow, cursing my loud mouth as he walks to my side with slow measured strides.
He leans close, his breath tickling my cheek. “Is a day in darkness so short? Do you wish to extend the period?”
Was it only one day? It felt like freaking eternity.
A longer period will kill me for sure. That is if he doesn’t do it physically.
“I-I’m sorry.” My arms wrap around myself. I’m a coward, I admit it. But cowardice is better than being thrust into that nightmare.
He removes his hand from his trousers. My gaze follows a shiny silver-coloured ring on his index finger as if charmed. There’s a black crest-like design carved on top of it in a shape of two black panthers. The unique symbol is both beautiful and terrifying— like the one wearing it. Was it there the entire time?
“What is it?” Aaron asks in a relaxed tone. It’s then I notice that he’s holding a phone to his ear.
Chance!
I open my mouth to shout for help. I meet his stare and clamp my lips shut.
He listens to whoever is on the other line, piercing me with a dark glint and an arched brow.
He wants me to do this, which means that it won’t end well for me.
I dig my nails into the mattress.
His lips move into a sardonic smile. Something tells me it’s not because of the phone call.
Sadist, sick bastard.
“Yes, continue,” he says on the phone before nodding to the corner of the room.
Before I can see what he motioned at, Aaron leaves with the phone to his ear. The door clicks shut behind him.
I follow the direction of his gesture. Folded clothes, slippers, a blanket, a plate of food, and a bottle of water sit nestled in the corner.
I’m not grateful. I am not!
. . . . .
A sigh of contentment leaves my lips before I can stop it.
I never thought a shower and warm clothes could become such an extravagance.
I fold the trousers to my breasts but it still swallows my feet. The pullover is also three sizes too big, serving more like a mini robe. The jacket is even worse.
I must look like a clown.
Yet, these clothes are a lot comfier than my non-existent dress.
The cloth is soft as if they’re fresh from the dryer. There’s also the faint familiar cedar scent that indicates whom the clothes belong to.
I refuse to consider it kindness. He kidnapped me. Nothing can redeem that.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I pull the plate of food close. The soup is already cold, but the contorting in my stomach suggests I eat whatever is available.
The first sip comes with a tear down my cheek and a rush of memories of warm meals with my parents and friends.
I miss them. So much. It hurts.
How are they doing right now? The news of my disappearance must’ve reached them. The image of their sadness and possible tears makes mine flood my face.
The second sip causes my lips to tremble. My teeth clink against the spoon as more tears soak my cheeks like a downpour. I give up on the spoon and drink the bowl of soup in one go. The cold liquid tastes like salt due to mixing with my tears.
Is this my life now? Loneliness and cold soup?
Yes, Mae. Or he’ll throw you in that abhorrent darkness.
A shaky sigh leaves the recess of my soul as I place the tray on the floor.
I need a hug. A long, soothing hug.
Crawling into the blanket, I pull my knees into my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“It’s okay, Mae. You’ll be all right.”
Even as I say the words aloud, tears continue soaking my cheeks. I’m only fooling myself.
Mum always told me not to cry myself to sleep, but she isn’t here. Her calming words can’t reach me anymore. It aches like tiny needles piercing into my heart. They’re not enough to kill me, but they’re sufficient to make me wish I died already.
Slumber whisks me away, saving me from my depressive thoughts. I hug the blanket as if it’s a body.
When I wake up, I need to think of a way to survive while being under a psycho’s mercy.
. . . . .
Bloodshot eyes outlined by black circles greet me in the mirror.
I wince. What a mess.
None of my beauty products is here to help so I rely on a medical-smelling soap and water. There isn’t much difference after I wash my face. I couldn’t care less.
After using the toilet, I comb my entangled hair the best I can, and walk back to my solitary prison.
Once I crawl into the blanket, void weighs on my insides, shadowing all thoughts.
I hate being alone.
“Morning, bird.”
My attention snaps to the room’s door.
When the hell did he come in?
Mr gentleman psycho is wearing a dark brown suit. Italian cut. Tailored. I’ve picked many of Dad’s to recognise them. Only Aaron seems to wear them more for power and impact rather than business. He holds a plate in his hands, his relaxed expression suggests he’s out to have fun.
“Will you not greet me back?”
I open my mouth to retort with something smart but soon close it. He can have his own medicine. Two can play the silent game.
I focus elsewhere. Nowhere specific. Just not on him. The sense of his eyes digging a hole in the back of my head isn’t helping, though.
“The trick turned on me now?”
I huff but don’t answer. This power of silence feels good. No wonder he likes to toy people with it.
In your face, psycho!
“I thought you would want this, but perhaps not.”
A familiar smell tickles my nostrils. I spin around to find a plate full of mouth-watering little chocolate cake pieces, a breath away. I lick my lips, my stomach growls.
“I’ll leave then.” Aaron swirls away.
I clutch his arm, stopping him before he’s out of reach.
“I want those!” I say without an ounce of shame. If this is my last meal, I’ll die happy after having these.
His lips curve into the devil’s smile as he hands me the plate.
Not bothering to use the fork, I throw the first piece in whole. When the sugary taste explodes in my mouth, my non-ladylike behaviour becomes the least of my concerns. The divine flavour transports me elsewhere.
Aaron doesn’t move away. I can feel his eyes on me, but I pay him no attention as I devour half the plate in record time.
“Where did you get these?” I ask between bites.
His lips twitch into something similar to a smile, but not exactly. It’s an almost-smile, like Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa’s. As if his mind forbids his facial muscles from expressing whatever’s inside him. “Is your silence stri
ke over already?”
I purse my lips. “Obviously.”
“It lasted less than two minutes. That must be a record.”
“Stop rubbing it in, would you?”
He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
Sadist bastard. He enjoys putting people down and crowning himself as the invincible dominator. I wish I could slap that smug haughtiness off his aristocratic face.
But I can’t. If I want to survive him— and darkness— then I need to be on his good side.
I pick up the fork to eat the remaining chocolate cake pieces. “How can you spend a long time without talking?”
“Nonessential talk isn’t part of my routine.”
“It’s called conversing. I don’t know how a person is physically able to stay quiet for a long period. You’re weird.”
“In my book, you’re the strange one, little lamb.”
I stop chewing at the bizarre soft tone. There is no harshness or a hint of arrogance whatsoever. I swallow the contents filling my mouth before I revert my gaze his way.
His face is, as usual, an unreadable blankness. But his eyes lose some of their deadliness, softening a little in the corners.
Well, well, well. That’s a first.
“Why do you think I’m strange?” I whisper as if afraid a louder voice will break the moment.
“Can you keep a secret, Mae?” His eyes go back to their emotionless state.
“Yeah, sure. It’s not like I’ll tell the walls or something.”
Ugh. I should stop with the smart-arse remarks.
His neutral expression doesn’t change. His hand, with the unique ring on it, makes a beckoning sign.
I put the plate on the bed and stand on my knees, my neck reaching out to where he stands.
His fresh breath tickles my skin before his deep voice whispers in my ear, “I dislike people who ask lots of questions.”
He steps back, leaving me dumbfounded.
What. The. Hell? Was that his way to warn me off?
Well, screw him.
“You forced me into this.” I’m thankful my voice comes in its calmest tones. “How am I supposed to live day-to-day under your mercy if I don’t even know you? If you’re going to kill me, do it. If not, then I won’t be a silent puppet in your sick show. Whatever the hell that is.”
His unmoving eyes fix mine, but he doesn’t utter a word. Once again, I’m under the obligation to break the oppressive silence. “So?”
“What did I warn you of the first time you woke up here?”
Ugh. Why does he always answer a question with one of his own? Is there a way I can do that? I want to hold the freaking power for once.
He raises his eyebrows, silently demanding an answer. As a fool, I give him what he wants.
“Not to test your patience,” I mutter under my breath.
“I suggest you don’t forget that, kitten.”
He doesn’t have to add the ‘or else’ for me to understand the hidden threat.
“Would you stop nicknaming me as an animal?” My voice rises by a notch. I curse myself for the millionth time.
What is it about him that scares and irritates me at the same time?
“That’s another question.” He smirks.
“Stop referring to me as an animal.” I smirk back, internally patting myself for my great comeback.
“That’s not up for you to decide, mouse.”
I open my mouth to say whatever my brain didn’t get a chance to think about when he cuts me off.
“If you’re a good kitten, I’ll move you to a better place than this.”
Before I can register the information, he leaves. The click of the door gives birth to a grim void. It heightens with each passing second, forming dismay at the bottom of my psyche.
“Bastard.” I chew the last piece of chocolate cake. “He could’ve at least stayed until I finished these.”
I hate eating alone.
Chapter Eleven
Aaron
I throw my head back on the sofa and stare into the security feed.
I sacrificed half my resting time to watch Mae sleep.
How absurd is that?
‘Very. Kill her already.’
Shut up, demons. I need no such encouragements.
It has been a long week of handling Mae sporadically, trying to figure out what to do with her. My thoughts are plagued with ways to end her life and get it over with. I had my little fun. I got her close. I shattered her calm life. I could break her soul to pieces with one more night in the darkness.
Yet, the reason behind her haunting paintings still eludes me. It’s even more confusing that she’s terrified of the dark in the first place. Is she a masochist to draw about something she fears?
The more I visit her, the stronger I’m drawn to unravel her.
I don’t want things to end here.
My gaze darts to the file Kane delivered. It lays on my desk, untouched, seducing me to delve into its pages.
I’ve read nothing beside the front cover. The report could appease my curiosity and put an end to this random obsession. But do I want to get acquainted with Mae that way?
‘Stop playing morals, you kidnapped her.’ Aunt’s tone is bored.
‘Read about her and end her life already,’ Father says.
Where’s the fun in that? It’s more enticing when we face each other. It’s amusing when she tries to extract courage from her fears.
Mae’s a readable yet somehow an unpredictable book. It’s not what I expected when I took her. By my rules, she should be either off the hook or for the take. The in-between where she sleeps isn’t supposed to exist. It’s making the whole taking her thing sound more and more like a mistake.
‘You just figured that out?’ Mother asks in a sad voice.
My phone buzzes. The estate’s front security’s number. I answer. “It’s still early for the meeting, Kane.”
“It’s me, Sir.”
Xan. Tristan’s version of Kane. Bloody hell. My cousin is back.
I jump from the sofa, and turn off the office’s monitor. “Where’s Tristan?”
“He’s at the dungeons, Sir.” Xan’s monotone voice resonates in my ear like a hammer.
Fuck!
My freedom will be snatched without mercy if Tristan finds out about Mae. “Which dungeons?”
“The Northern Wing’s, Sir.”
I release a long breath. “Where’s Kane?” I’ll kill the bastard. His job is to alert me when Tristan returns.
“He went to the company, Sir.”
Huh.
Without telling me first?
“You’re asked at the main dungeons, Sir.”
“What for?”
“I’m not allowed to say, Sir.”
When I hang up, I notice a text message received an hour before Xan’s call.
Kane— Tristan’s back.
Hell. I can’t believe I was too preoccupied with watching Mae to notice Kane’s warning.
Acting out of character. Again.
I toss the phone away, put on my boots, add a few extra knives to my usual stash, and storm out of my wing.
The echo of my steps in the empty surroundings does nothing to silence my thoughts.
If I get Mae out of the dungeons, I may as well fall for one of Tristan’s schemes. My next move needs to wait until I assess the situation.
Xan salutes me in
military style in front of the Northern Wing’s entrance. The male bun at the back of his head is the only break in his stoic image. Ever since his last tour in Afghanistan, he’s become even more robotic.
No family. No weaknesses whatsoever. Kane is more fun than him.
Xan reaches to his sheath and pulls three hunting knives. “You will need these, Sir.”
It’s never wrong to accept more weapons. I take them with a nod. This eliminates the option that Tristan suspects anything.
It’s useless to ask. If Tristan instructed him to keep his mouth shut, he won’t open it to death itself.
I descend the long stairs leading to the mansion’s main secured dungeons, hand pressing against a knife’s handle.
What’s Tristan up to? Is this about the traitor?
My fingers work the security code. The door clicks open. Dylan and Tristan stand at the entrance, wearing black suits meant for business.
Dylan arches an eyebrow while Tristan waves me in with a grin.
It’s rarely fun when those two are enjoying themselves.
“Morning, little brother.” Tristan says in a cheerful tonne. “Have you slept well?”
“I’m not your brother. Stop calling me that.”
His smile turns into a slight smirk. “My father adopted you which makes you my brother whether you like it or not.”
“What a heartfelt family reunion.” Dylan chimes in with a bright tone, in complete contrast with his bored expression. “Now, can we focus on business?”
“Yes, Tristan. Business.” My left eye twitches. “Why didn’t you inform me of your return?”
“I wanted to surprise you.” He offers his rare devilish smile. “Come and see the souvenir I brought with me.”
I approach their side. It’s either something extremely terrific or an absolute horror if Tristan smiles like that.
Thankfully, this time it’s the first.
The fumed glass reveals a bulky man strapped to a metallic chair in the interrogation room. Unconscious, his head lolls down to his chest. Although a few blond strands fall to his chest, I can’t mistake that face.