by Mason, V. F.
We quickly do as he says and slip into them. Pleasure rushes through me at the soft texture tickling me and soothing the various bruises and cracks in my heels acquired from running without shoes.
He motions for us to follow him, and we do while my eyes drink in the environment around us, needing to find all the exits and possible escape routes should this go south.
You cannot trust anyone, and once a upon a time, I heard a woman mutter on the street the following phrase.
The free cheese lies only in the mouse trap.
Meaning that when someone gives you something for free, you have to be very careful as he or she might demand something in return.
“Wow!” Andreas exclaims, tightening his coat around him while blinking in awe at the place that could be considered a palace compared to the conditions we live in.
A short hallway leads to a line of closed brown doors. Pop music blasts from speakers, echoing through the space and raising goose bumps on my flesh for some reason, unsettling me.
The wooden floor covered by carpet creaks under our steps, and delicious smells float around, making my stomach grumble again as Andreas licks his lips, clearly hungry too. “Do you think he will talk first and then feed us?” he whispers for my ears only, and I shrug, because the man keeps his back toward us still strolling through the entire hall and the exit becomes farther away.
I notice there aren’t any windows either, so I discreetly rap my knuckles on the wall, wincing when pain travels through me, indicting they are made out of brick or concrete.
So should one scream for help in this house, the chances of anyone hearing are very slim.
Familiar fear sinks into me once again, suspicion nagging on my mind, but I trail after the man, letting myself trust my fate this once.
Maybe the good things I’ve prayed for all these years finally have happened to me, and I don’t want to turn my back on them.
The man walks through an arched entrance into a huge room with leather furniture filling it, several couches and chairs with a dining table in the right corner.
Several bowls hold chips, various candies, and some even have apples.
He points at the couch. “Sit down, boys.”
We share a look, and Andreas clears his throat. “We’re dirty.” And we stink too, which is especially noticeable in the enclosed space.
The man smiles although it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s fine. Sit.” We do as he says, and he drops on the opposite chair, grabbing a notepad and a pen. “Why are you here?” He plucks a cigarette tucked behind his ear and lights it up, throwing the lighter on the floor where I see an ashtray as well, so all he has to do is extend his hand to dispose of the ash.
Andreas shrinks under his invasive stare, so I respond, “We heard from someone that you give food to the likes of us.” He stays silent, inhaling smoke into his lungs. “His name was Dylan.” He chuckles at hearing the name and then clicks his pen, writing something down on the paper.
“What are your names, and how old are you?” he asks, and this makes me pause, wondering why a man would need our names and ages.
Maybe he works for some charity organization? The ones that give away free food on Christmas Day and let us hang out by the tables, always wondering how old we are.
Before I can question it though, Andreas eagerly answers him. “He’s Javier and I’m Andreas. We’re seven.” Or so we think anyway. As if anyone on the streets knows their exact age.
The man writes it all down and then wiggles his nose in distaste. “You need to clean up.”
“What? Why?”
His brow rises at my demanding question, and Andreas elbows me. Clearly his mind is too clouded by the food on the table rather than what all this generosity might entail.
Andreas always prefers fast results, having no patience to wait for anything and never thinks about the consequences it might bring us.
“I’d like to give you some new clothes, and I think it’s better if you wash yourself. Have you ever done it?” Disdain coats his voice and disgust fills his gaze when he sweeps it over us one more time.
Anger sparks inside me because this man offers food to the likes of us, but deep down, he still treats us like the rest of society do.
We are nothing but dirt under their nails; they hate us and wish they never saw us at all, because we don’t fit in their perfect images.
“We won’t do it,” I say and growl at Andreas when he wants to protest. I will not get naked here while we know nothing about this man.
I might be a child, but even I’ve heard certain things that gave me nightmares for days.
The man watches me for a second and the barks a laugh, smashing his cigarette in the ashtray. “You have character. I like it.” He gets up and then motions with his head toward the table. “Dig in, boys.”
Andreas rushes to it, grabbing chips and shoveling them down his throat barely chewing, then reaches for candies, quickly putting stuff in his mouth without even thinking. “Careful. It might make you sick,” I warn him. Eating all this food on an empty stomach isn’t wise.
He ignores me of course, and shaking my head, I pick up an apple, munching on it, and saliva gathers in my mouth at the sour taste.
My body welcomes this sustenance, and I sneak another apple inside my pocket, while Andreas moves toward the chocolates.
The man roams behind us, turning the volume up on the music, and it washes over us while my head gets a little bit dizzy.
Falling on the nearby chair, I cover my ears while trying to control the world spinning around me as strength slowly leaves me, and my eyelids beg me to close them.
A thud echoes from my right, and I have a split second to see Andreas fall on the floor before I finally succumb to the oblivion calling my name, despite the scream in my mind warning about danger.
* * *
Pain.
That’s the first thing coming to my mind when I move my head to the side, the cold concrete greeting me, and numbness travels all over my body, pinching my skin.
I must have fallen asleep without wearing a coat again, a price I will have to pay for a whole day as my muscles ache and I can barely move my toes.
My throat feels impossibly dry, and as I raise my legs up, a clanging sound reverberates through the walls as heavy weight settles around my ankles. Instantly my eyes snap open and then scrunch at the blinding light from the lamp above me.
It sways from side to side on the ceiling, brightening up the small space that reminds me of the basement that we call home.
With the only difference that several feet away, there’s a toilet smeared in orange rust with a sink that drips water drop by drop. Several small bowls stand closer to us, overflowing with some disgusting food that reminds me more of vomit and shit.
Chattering echoes in the air, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s my teeth clacking against each other. I’m soaking wet and wearing only my pants. Trembles shake my entire system, and I glance to the side to see Andreas lying next to me, still unconscious but dry.
“Finally, one of the princesses is awake.” The familiar voice speaks up, and I follow the sound, spotting a man standing several feet away, holding a hose in his hand.
However, that’s not what has my whole attention.
No, it’s the man sitting on the chair next to him. He wears a three-piece suit while his gold watch glistens under the light, and he sips something from his glass.
His eyes flicker in amusement, and he winks at me. “Francis, you were right.” He addresses the man for the first time, and I carve this name in my brain so I’ll never forget. “He’s indeed pretty. The clients will love him.”
The clients?
A coldness slips into me that has nothing to do with my wet state. Certain images pop in my head, creating a grim future for me, and I shake Andreas, wanting to wake him up, and then…
Then what?
There is no escape. We came into the trap ourselves because he was so hungry!
>
“Andreas!” I shout, tapping on his shoulder. “Andreas!”
“Let me help you, Javier,” Francis says right before turning on the hose and spraying water on my friend who springs awake and then groans in pain, palming his head.
I scoot back, detesting the chains restraining me, but only cold concrete meets me, indicating to me there is nowhere to hide from this monster’s prying eyes.
Andreas sits up as well, fear settling on his features, and he crawls closer to me, although right in this moment, I really hate him and hate myself for feeling such emotions.
Resentment is hard to swallow, especially when I knew this will end badly.
Free cheese lies only in the mouse trap.
I should have known with grown-ups, there is always a price to pay for goodness as their true self always includes evilness.
“James, what do you think about this one?”
James.
I carve that name too.
Judging by how he sits and how Francis dances around him, he must be his boss, so whatever they plan to do… he makes all the decisions.
“Pretty as well. I’m already counting the money. Good job.” He slaps Francis on his back, and the man beams at him, pleasure spreading on his face. “Take a picture now so we can add it to the catalogue.”
Francis throws the hose away and grabs the camera lying on the floor. He clicks on it, and then shortly it produces square picture. He waves it in the air and gives them to James who puts it in his jacket pocket.
“Javier,” Andreas whispers, terror coating his voice, and I let him burrow his face in my shoulder while meeting their drilling stares head-on.
I will never show them how this situation truly scares me or allow them to see my weakness, for weaknesses are always used against you.
James gets up, his leather shoes thumping loudly as he comes closer to us. Andreas shivers next to me, but I clench my fists, controlling my emotions.
He grips my chin, his fingers cutting into my skin; the pain travels through my scalp. “Don’t throw silent challenges, boy. Every resistance can be broken.” He removes his hand and then kicks Andreas in the stomach, his piercing scream filling my ears. “Stop being such a coward. They don’t sell well in my business.” He lifts his foot once again, but I cover Andreas, and the shoe connects with my back. The pain slams into me at once; the air hitches in my throat while tears form in my eyes. Andreas rolls into a ball, his pants quickly getting wet, and not because of the water, which only adds to his whimpers while his cheeks redden in humiliation.
James spits on Andreas and orders Francis, “Be extra rough with these two.” I block their view of Andreas who sobs uncontrollably on the floor, and even though it kills me, I will not let them harm him.
He’s all I’ve got in this hell, and I will protect him at all costs.
“They both need to learn a hard lesson.” He fists my hair and tilts my head back as his alcohol breath fans my face. “That they are disposable trash no one gives a shit about.” He pulls at my hair rougher, almost ripping it from my scalp, but I still the cry in my throat, concentrating on the thick vein beating on his neck, imagining what it would be like if I stabbed a knife in it.
Would he think I’m disposable trash no one gives a shit about then?
Would the blood pour from it and weaken him?
Would he then wet his pants in fear and call for help that never comes?
“Lesson number one, boy, always know your place.” With this he straightens up, adjusts his jacket, and walks toward the door while ordering Francis, “Keep them here for a month. Train them well.”
Francis nods and then asks, “What kind of torture do you want?”
“Use everything. I want them exhausted from pain and dreading facing another day. If they survive this then we’ll take them to the main quarters. They’ll be perfect.’’ He snaps his fingers. “Bring a few guys in here.”
“Will do, boss.”
James sends a glance my way one last time and smiles, his white teeth in full view, and I have a deep desire to knock them all out. “You will lose this game, boy. Play by the rules, or you’ll die.”
Die?
No.
Never.
Survive.
I will survive until I can beat them.
And then I’m going to kill them all.
Esmeralda
“Is everything okay, miss?” A security guard finally reaches us as Lucian sends me a questioning look, clearly indicating that the ball right now is in my court. “Miss?” he asks again, his gaze darting between us both while his eyes narrow on the rings.
“Yes,” I reply in a hushed whisper and then clear my throat, adding more strength to my voice. “Just talking to my husband.” Lucian squeezes my fingers between his and then lowers our joined hands.
He smiles at the security guard. “I’m afraid my wife and I had a little disagreement about the honeymoon.” His thumb runs across my fingers, and I jerk in his hold, craving to tear my hand from him but can’t do so in front of the still-suspicious guard. “She wanted New York, and I preferred Hawaii.” He sighs dramatically, and I barely refrain from scratching his face to wipe away the mask he wears, fooling all these people around him.
The guard turns his attention to me. “Is that true?”
Since there is no other choice but to lie, I widen my mouth in a forced grin, leaning slightly on Lucian. “Like my husband said. A little disagreement that I took too seriously.”
He then addresses the lady by the counter. “Did she want a ticket to New York?” She nods and he gives us one last look. “Okay then. Have a good day!”
“You too,” I reply and then huff in exasperation when Lucian pulls me toward the entrance, my skirt trailing after me as I have to take quick steps to match his tempo, and the stupid veil tugs painfully on my scalp, making me want to rip it away, so I do just that.
The hairpins fall on the floor with tiny dings, and I throw the veil in the nearest trash can, detesting the thing.
Lucian moves flawlessly in the crowd, navigating us smoothly between rushing bodies while protecting me from anyone who might touch me, and in a few more short steps, we stride outside.
I inhale the fresh air into my lungs, welcoming the smell of wet concrete into my nostrils while the small droplets continue to tap over the asphalt and graze my cheeks, washing away all the worries for a moment in time while nature shows its power to the world.
Wind swirls around me, billowing my hair back. Shivers run down my spine, and I rub my arms only to freeze when Lucian throws his jacket over me, his warmth instantly surrounding me.
He places his hand on my back and pushes me to the car parked nearby.
George springs out and quickly runs to the back passenger door, opening it wide while motioning with his hand for me to get in. “Mrs. Cortez. Congratulations on the wedding.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, and he frowns albeit still nodding. I gather my skirts up, get into the car, and plop onto the cushions among all the silk of my dress.
Lucian enters the vehicle from the other side, and in a few short seconds, George drives off, pulling onto the narrow road that leads to a highway while rain falls on the windshield, blocking most of the view.
Pressing my head to the window, I focus on the blurry, colorful lights illuminating the airport as the rain intensifies once again, adding to the chaos thundering inside me.
My thumb slides over the rings on my finger, and I glance at them, studying them or rather what they represent.
They have given me a title I will wear until the day I die because there are no divorces in the Cortez dynasty, one of the reasons they always carefully chose their spouses.
Mrs. Cortez.
For a lot of women, that would be a blessing, but for me… honestly, I don’t know what to think anymore.
Exhaustion consumes my body and mind. A person can fight for only so long, until he or she accepts the challenges destiny has bestowed
on them and wave a white flag in surrender.
Being dramatic won’t really help me in the current situation, but how do I play nice with a man who doesn’t play by the rules and stays cryptic on most days?
Right in this moment, all my earlier resistance and plans to expose his persona sound so idiotic. Did I really think I could go against Lucian Cortez and win?
Maybe there was merit in my grandmother’s words. She always considered me too damned naïve for my own good and preached it would inevitably be my downfall one day.
“What did you do to Paul?” My question breaks the silence around us, and I notice how George briefly catches my gaze in the rearview mirror before tightening his lips. “I ran away by myself, so whatever punishment you have in mind for him, please don’t do it.” The request tastes bitter on my tongue; however, the idea of anyone suffering because of me is unsettling.
Lucian presses the button and the window slides open a little, enough to let the wind in but not for the rain to splash on us.
He takes out a cigarette from his pocket, puts it in his mouth, and flicks a lighter, the orange flames dancing in the cold air, and lights it up. “Dropped him at the church on my way here,” he replies breezily as if we’re discussing the freaking weather. He inhales smoke into his lungs and then puffs it out, creating a fog around us.
Does he expect me to believe he hasn’t done anything to the priest when he found out about his involvement in my escape?
“And before that?” Dread coats my voice, yet I push the words out. “Did you torture him?” I might have said using any weapon to outsmart Lucian was worth it, but I won’t be able to live with the knowledge if the poor priest died because of me.
He chuckles, finding my worry amusing, and exhales more smoke toward the window as the scenery passes, already showing endless rows of trees, which means we’ll be at the mansion soon. “Your imagination astonishes me.”
“Well, I married a murderer. Forgive me for my judgment.” Sarcasm seeps through me while I fist my skirt, doing my best to control my temper and not slap him hard in the face.