Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Why would you want to see such a thing?” Pascal asks, pulling me from my musings and staring at Alexander intently. He pulls a gun from the dashboard pocket as I turn back to him and then starts fiddling with it.

  “To understand.” It’s the best reply I’ve got, the only reason I’m here. That, and ensuring the man I love comes home in one piece. “It might seem fucked up to you, but I need to be here.” He snorts, chuckling away to himself about something and clicking the gun around. A bit comes off the end and the clip flies out, which he instantly shoves back in, all the time watching Alexander rather than the metal he’s holding. Talented fingers, it appears. Ones that make me smile regardless of the object he’s currently playing with.

  “Fucked up are the last words I would use to define you, my love. You are far from it,” he says, handing the gun over to me and then fishing out another one from somewhere. “Do you require instruction?”

  “Safety’s off?”

  “Indeed. The safety is always off within my arms, hmm?” My brow rises. Truer words have never been spoken. I smile wider, amused by his unwavering way of making light of the situation. “Will you at least give me your oath you will not interfere with him? Morals and their accompanying courtesy will hold no court in this building.” I’m sure they won’t. I glance at Alexander as he shoves the other man, apparently disturbed by something the chap has said to him. Morals? Its unlikely ethics have anything to do with this moment. Although, a child molester doesn’t deserve my sense of integrity, or what little there is left of it. I’m not Elizabeth. I’m nothing like her. And if anyone here thinks I am, they’re wrong. They’ll see that when I don’t flinch as the act happens in front of me. I know what pokerfaced means. I live it. And I intend to live it again, right now.

  “Are we getting on with it at any point soon?” I ask, irritated with the waiting around. Pascal laughs quietly again, flicking deviant green eyes at me and shaking his head. I’m not sure what at, and I don’t really care. I’m just becoming bored with waiting.

  “You are quite extraordinary.” Indeed I am—all the more so for him being anywhere near me.

  I raise my chin, smirking at his compliment and then watching as Alexander suddenly storms off, hotly followed by Pascal easing the door open and moving his gun around.

  “Stay close, hmm? I would hate to lose you before we have begun.” Sweet. I scramble across the seat and lever the door open until I’m standing with him and we’re both watching Alexander crossing the yard purposefully. His long strides cover the ground quickly to his destination.

  “Could you remove the gun from my spine, my love?” What? I check the gun. It’s pointing at him. Bad move. I shake myself down, trying to find my composure and letting the fucking thing hang at my side instead. Master killer I most certainly am not.

  We stalk across the dusty yard, or rather, he does, which makes me snort in amusement as I walk tall behind him and scour the outbuildings for threats. It’s like Hawaii Five-O, but in Italy. Stupid. And boring. When does the action happen?

  “When exactly does something happen?” I whisper, trying to find sensible ground for my heels to walk on and straightening my dress down.

  “Is this not enough for your blood lust, my love?” he replies, snagging his arm around my waist to haul me closer to him. Nothing is happening, which is dull, and not worth the long drive out here. He pushes me behind him a little, crossing the ground soundlessly like a professional and finally turning us into the same doorway Alexander just walked through.

  The moment the stale air hits me, I know something is going down. I lift my hand and tuck my hair back into place then blow out a breath in frustration or nerves. I’m not sure which. Everything just seems to be taking so long as we turn corners and corridors, and darkness creeps in. I can’t hear anything but the shuffling of feet. I can’t even really see much, only Pascal’s back as he weaves us in and out of old rooms. Everything’s dirty, causing me to skirt objects rather than touch them in the hope of keeping my dress clean. My feet end up kicking an old copper pot, sending the sound ricocheting around the place. Pascal turns back to me, catching my arse before I stumble back any further and end up in the twelve foot fireplace.

  “Why thank you, kind Sir,” I say flippantly, taking his hand. The shiver that rides over me at his smirk is most inopportune given what’s happening around us.

  “Hmm, later, yes?” he says, kissing my lips and letting me stand on my own again. I lick my lips at the thought, watching his arse wandering away.

  Two shots sound out in front of me somewhere, yanking my attention back to the here and now. My body begins to shake a little at the possibility of harm, or perhaps it’s that adrenalin Alexander talks about. Perhaps it’s flooding me with endorphins, readying me to run for my life. I snatch a glance at Pascal instead of the door in front of us, suddenly worried that he’s actually been shot. He hasn’t, though, and he doesn’t seem worried. He just stands there, unruffled, his gun still hanging at his side and a wicked smile on his face.

  “Death, hmm? Is it not what you wanted to witness? You could always run away, my love? Scuttle and hide as a weakling would.” Arsehole.

  Chapter 20

  I stand up again, daring him to say something like that to me again. Hide? I no longer hide from anything. Face on, that’s how I greet things, him included. If I knew more about what was happening I’d go through that doorway in front of him, shouting hell’s chorus at Jon for being such a despicable human being, but I don’t. Instead, I walk up to him, grinding my foot down onto his purposely in the hope that he feels pain for such a remark. He doesn’t even flinch. He just smiles and nods his head, spinning it round to the door again as another sound rings out.

  “Shine, my love. Hmm?”

  Shine. Yes. I suppose that’s his way of rallying my little nervous moment and sending it back to whatever useless place it came from. It works. Well done, him. I could slap him for his mouth sometimes but, well, it functioned correctly for once so he can have that one.

  “You don’t think he’s been shot, do you?” I ask, suddenly remembering Alexander is in that room we’re heading into.

  “If he had, there would be a rather exuberant display of brutality sounding. Being shot does not stem the rebel, hmm?”

  I nod at him and flex my fingers around the metal in my palm again, somehow hoping to make it feel more comfortable there.

  “Are we prepared?”

  He might be. I’m not sure I am, but I’m going forward regardless.

  He doesn’t take my hand or show he has any attachment to me as we once again begin to weave through the furniture. Perhaps that’s his way of making me stronger in these moments, making me centre myself rather than relying on his support. I don’t know, but it’s comforting in its own way. It reinforces me somehow as I remember his words, “You will learn to pick yourself up.”

  I smile at the thought and continue forward into him, nudging him for momentum because these damn steps seem to be taking too long. He chuckles a little, but there’s no more conversation as his body begins to tense the closer we get, causing some of my own nerves to come back.

  The eventual opening of the door reveals a large space, perhaps a barn attached to the house. It’s murky and unlit by anything but the dim flicker of some outside light filtering in. I squint, trying to see what’s happening at the far end. There’s a few men scattered around, one of whom is Alexander standing perfectly still as I notice his back and follow it down his legs to the floor. There, lying around his feet, bodies lay discarded. That explains the shots, I suppose, because they appear dead. I push past Pascal, needing to see it for myself and assimilate the sensation that suddenly thunders around me, unafraid of threat or retaliation. It’s too calm for that here, too peaceful in a strange sort of way.

  I thought I’d be bothered by freshly deceased people. It appears I’m not. I saw a couple on the streets, but they weren’t warm and still bleeding out like these ones are. They’d b
een dead a while. One was an old tramp lying by some bins in the rubbish, the other a woman, probably a drug addict. I tried to help her at the time, but she’s was cold by the time I found her, rigor mortis already fusing her body into stone. But these two men are still almost living. I can smell the blood in the air as I walk closer, trusting Alexander has all of this under control.

  It’s only when I reach him that I notice Jon in the corner, tied to an old wooden chair with a piece of cloth stuffed in his mouth. Everything seems so ordered, as if it’s all been planned with precision. How long has he been preparing for this? We’ve all been worried about Jon coming for us and yet, looking at this scene now, it seems like there was never anything to worry about.

  “How long have you been planning?” I ask Alexander as I move in front of him and step over one of the bodies. No wonder he seemed so calm earlier. He’s clearly been prepared for war for ages.

  There’s only the slightest lift of the corner of his lip as keeps staring at Jon, telling me everything I need to know. Long enough. Long enough to ensure no one he cared about got hurt. Long enough that none of us would be put in harm’s way. I glance my eyes over some of the other men, all of them dressed in suits, looking like the Mafia. In fact, apart from Alexander, everyone’s dressed immaculately, including the man I eventually look back at with a smile. He winks at me. I’m not sure he knew what was happening, but he sure as hell knew Alexander would handle whatever he needed him to. I watch him gaze at the man he loves. His small private smile shows he’s impressed by what Alexander’s been up to behind our backs. He’s proud of him, I suppose. He is Pascal’s creation in some ways, isn’t he? A troubled man who has been harnessed and guided, loved. It doesn’t surprise me that, even in this scenario, I can sense that love from both of them in their own ways. This is what Alexander can do for him, isn’t it? He protects him and the ones he cares for. True lovers they might not be yet, but he is Pascal’s protector, mine too now if I let it happen. Or maybe I don’t have a choice in that. Maybe that’s just the way it is.

  Somebody coughs behind me, making me turn back to the sound of spluttering coming from the corner. Jon Innsbrucker. I gaze at him, wondering what’s going through his mind as Alexander holds something out to me. Does he know he’s going to die? Does he know how that threat feels? Has he felt it before, or is he so arrogant that he never prepared for this? My laugh comes out unexpectedly, amusing me all the more as I take the memory stick Alexander’s holding and watch another man pull the rest of the rag from Jon’s throat. My feet don’t stop as I step over another irrelevant body and make my way towards the arsehole, scowling at his bound hands as I do. I’d like him untied, just for five minutes, so he could try grabbing me again and see my newfound reactions to such things. Fucking man deserves some pain before he dies. He needs it so he understands what he did to all those children he’s sent into harm’s waiting arms. He should be made to suffer as they did. Tortured. Raped and held down until he begs and pleads for his life. I swing my eyes back to Pascal, knowing he could do it. Then to Alexander, knowing they could do it together if pushed. I could make that happen now if I wound them both up enough. Everything would hurt, wouldn’t it? Skin, bone, muscle. They’d break it all. They’d rip holes in him, and tear flesh from his limbs, showing him how it feels to be used and treated as a commodity for sale. The vision alone disturbs me enough that I halt my steps on my way over to him, checking myself and trying to regain rational thought. It’s not that the fucker doesn’t deserve it, more that I don’t want the vision of my two guardians spoilt by such hatred. There’s been enough hatred for them over the years, I’m sure.

  Enough now.

  Alexander’s shoulder brushes past mine as he eventually moves, disturbing the silence as he does and looking over his shoulder at me. There’s no smile, no warmth. It doesn’t even really look like there’s thought. All that reflects back at me are dark blue eyes and a void of emotion. He seems static in his own reality, as if the rest of us are barely here. Maybe we’re just ghosts watching on as the controller controls. That’s how it feels, like we’re all limited to only reactions to his actions. It’s cold suddenly, frosty. Pascal’s warmth scarcely registers over the hollowed eyes of the killer getting closer to Jon. I feel my mouth part, knowing what’s coming and wondering if protesting would make any difference, or even if I should. I want the man dead as much as he does, but something still burns brightly inside me, reminding me that I am not a killer. That this man has not been tried, found guilty and sentenced. This is animalistic, ugly, no matter how tempting.

  I lick my lips, ready to find speech, only to feel an arm wrapping around my waist from behind and warm lips caressing my neck. My mouth hangs open, suspended, unable to find any words to stop anything. How can he? In such a moment, how is he possibly making this seem okay? Because he is. He’s somehow drawing away all of Alexander’s ice and replacing it with the rainbows I want. Even here, now, in this dirty, sordid room full of death and blood, his warmth is sheltering me, relinquishing any thought of moral obligation to a justice system and replacing it with simple rights and wrongs.

  “He took her from me,” his voice whispers into my neck, his hand tightening on my stomach and drawing me further into him. Claire. Her beautiful little eyes in my mind seem to blink in time with Alexander’s footsteps as he eventually gets behind Jon and pulls out a knife. I can even see them reflecting in the silver blade as I stare at it in his hand, haunting the moment and embedding it into my brain. Swipe, slash, and it’s done. That’s all I need to think about as I watch manly fingers gripping the metal purposefully. I refuse to acknowledge Jon’s reaction or listen to the words that begin tumbling from his mouth in fear. He’s going to die. Nothing anyone here says is going to stop it. No objecting will stay Alexander’s hand, because this is his way, and John played with his family, threatened them, took Pascal’s sanity and toyed with it like it was some fucking game. No one will do that to us again. Any of us. This master is proving his point.

  My mouth closes as I realise this is the only way it stops. It’s the only way it can. We won’t feel safe until this man is gone because he has too many connections. We won’t be able to relax and enjoy life, find our route onwards together and embrace love to its fullest effect. He will chase us down if we let him live. He’ll hunt for us until he gets Claire again or perhaps even attempts taking Pascal’s life. Maybe even Alexander’s, Beth’s. No, this has to be done now, and I feel myself nodding as I cover Pascal’s hand with mine, for once allowing his support to help me stand through this and remember what it’s for. Him. Us.

  Time seems to slow down. It seems to take an eternity for my eyes to meet Alexander’s as he stares straight at me then grabs Jon’s hair to yank his neck backwards. I’m not sure where to focus, so I stay concentrated on exactly where I’m already looking—straight into blackening holes while I try to understand him rather than the revolting man in his grasp. No one understands that kind of immorality. Frankly, who would want to? I’d rather comprehend the man holding me firmly against his chest, or the one about to slice Jon’s throat open for crimes against his household.

  My peripheral vision tells me the other guys in suits have moved away, perhaps avoiding the blood that will splatter when he cuts through flesh. I find myself feeling calm all of a sudden, like the wave has already crashed, petering out to nothing but small ripples and bubbles. I think that’s Alexander’s doing as he continues gazing at me, drawing me closer to him as I notice his arm moving and a slight sneer breaking onto his face. Or maybe it’s the way Pascal’s heart is beating against my spine, linking us and holding us together as he slows time with me. Either way, I can almost feel Alexander’s breathing hitching the second he does the deed, as can Pascal. I feel him stiffen at the exact same moment, a puff of air connecting all three of us as we live the act together. There’s no jerk, no harsh, jagged movement like I thought there would be. Alexander’s body is fluid, as if wringing the moment dry of blood rather
than stabbing at it to cause the greatest harm. But he does change as the shadows loom deeper. He does show an emotion: regret. His eyes soften a little, barely noticeable, but I see it. I can still see it now as he continues watching me and lets Jon’s head go. He’s not a monster—killer maybe, but certainly not a monster. I knew that already from the way he’s helped me, been kind, but I truly know now because he’s remorseful for making me watch this. He needn’t be. He’s done nothing that he should be ashamed of, not here anyway. A life that was not worthy has been taken from the planet and sent to hell, something that’s going to haunt my existence as a legal entity for the rest of my life, isn’t it? But it’s a haunting I’ll take. To make us all feel safe, I’ll bury it in my own depths and remember it’s merit to those who need protecting.

  “It’s done now,” I whisper as I nod at Alexander and turn in Pascal’s arms, detaching myself the moment I can and skirting around his frame. It is finished. Although, as my feet keep me moving out of the bloody, foul room, choosing not to look at the ground beneath me nor at Jon’s lifeless body, I can’t help but think it’s not. The killing may be done, but the bond between them isn’t finalised yet, is it? Alexander didn’t do this for me. He did it for Pascal, because he loves him.

  I pull in a long breath as I skirt the edges of old tables and chairs, knocking pots off cupboards as I go and letting them crash to the floor. Maybe I’m letting all my pent up frustration out, or maybe I’m just more angered by what’s happened than I thought. I couldn’t give a fuck at the moment. I just want it out of me so the calm can come back and level me again. I watched a man be killed. No, worse, I watched the killer kill and let him do it, even honoured him for it. That riles the living fuck out of me, regardless of the reasoning. Perhaps I should go and see that Sabella woman. Perhaps she can help me get a handle on this overriding need to cause damage that keeps creeping up on me.