by West, Sam
The excited butterflies in Sebastian’s stomach fluttered all the harder. His head was already swimming with the possibilities.
“Shall we draw up a guest list now? You are right about that waitress, she is certainly at the top of my list. But what about Harlan? Shouldn’t we wait for him before we plan any further?”
“I don’t see the need,” the older man replied. “I think we should present it to him as fait accomplie. Besides, you know my brother’s tastes, they are broad, to say the least.”
The very least, Sebastian silently agreed.
Both Sebastian and Dick were evil sadists. Dick’s little brother Harlan was different. Yes, he was evil. Yes, he was a sexual sadist, (a sadist with no sexual preferences; if it was a hole, he’d fuck it.) But he was also insane. That is, insane in the manner of a wild animal; his actions were completely unpredictable and he was prone to violent tantrums. Only Dick, and occasionally Sebastian, could go some way to controlling his behaviour.
Sebastian could do little to suppress the gleeful smirk that tugged at the corner of his full mouth. “So let’s talk details.”
“I was also thinking that perhaps we could also invite our wives to the party.”
“Our wives? Are you serious? I thought you hated yours as much as I hated mine.”
Sebastian thought of his loser of a wife, and shuddered. He honestly didn’t know why he had married her. She was a retired model who had never quite made it to supermodel league, and he had made the mistake of marrying her for her tight body, pretty face and sexually submissive nature. If he divorced her now, the bitch would screw him over for every penny he was worth. He knew he would end up killing her one day, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
Then the penny dropped.
Well, maybe that time has just come.
A grin slowly spread across Richard’s puddingy face. “Yes, my dear boy, this going to be one hell of a party.”
3.
Molly Harris couldn’t stop thinking about that handsome guy she’d seen at work; the guy who’d been sat with the short, fat one. There was just something about him, something mesmerising. It had been two days since she’d last seen him, but the image of his face still burned bright in her mind.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again?
She shook her head in disbelief. This was most unlike her. And anyway, he must be a pervert to frequent strip-clubs.
But he didn’t look like a pervert.
She had never seen a man like him. He was so attractive it hurt; handsome in the way of a Hollywood actor. There was a stillness about him, a brooding look of intensity that blazed behind his carefully composed, perfect features. That intensity was heightened by his relatively young age. She figured he couldn’t have been that much older than her, like, maybe mid-twenties. He exuded such maturity, from his expensive, tailored shirt, to his immaculately clipped, light brown hair, down to his gym honed body that was just on the right side of tastefully worked out. He was, without doubt, a man in control.
And those eyes. God, those eyes. Pale blue, like a winter’s sky and equally as cold.
Sighing heavily and shaking her head to dispel the image of him, she stepped out the front door, closing and locking it behind her.
As she walked away from the large terraced house she shared with five other students on the main road, her mind turned to more mundane matters. Like how much she hated the fact she had been forced to take the job at the strip-club to pay her way through uni. It made her feel dirty, like a whore of something. Not that she was. Far from it.
It’s just a waitressing job, she reminded herself. It could be on the moon for all it matters, a waitress job is a waitress job.
Even so, she knew she should have taken the cashier position at Tesco, despite the money being a lot less.
I wonder if he’ll be there tonight?
She pulled the duffel coat more tightly around her body, as if the action would somehow squeeze the stupid thought out of her head along with the cold that seeped past her clothes into her bones.
She shivered in the cold, December night and quickened her pace.
Should of got a taxi to work.
But being a student, taxis were a luxury she simply couldn’t afford. She decided to treat herself to one after her shift with her tip money.
She was so lost in thoughts of the shift ahead that she didn’t notice the non-descript, black car that was curb-crawling her. It was hardly unusual, this was London after all, and the car didn’t register with her. There could be a hundred reasons for the car to creep along next to her; the driver could be looking for a convenient place to spit out the passenger, or was lost, or was perhaps waiting to pick up a friend…
Or Molly Harris was about to be abducted.
Before she even had a chance to react, the rear car door threw open and a tall, wide man dressed from head to toe in black blocked her path. The stranger grabbed her and spun her round, holding her tight in a head-lock. Her feet paddled air where seconds ago they had been firmly planted on the pavement, then she was launched face-first onto the backseat.
This happened in less time than it took her to draw breath to scream. The scream died before it erupted from her lips thanks to a hard blow to the back of her head. Then there was nothing but blackness.
4.
Bethan Connell-Wright sat at her elaborately carved, white, fairy-tale dressing table. She looked beautiful, and she knew it. She applied a final coat of red lipstick, patted her new, Marilyn Monroe-esque platinum blonde bob, and allowed herself a nervous smile of approval. She stood up, briefly admiring the way the floor-length, slinky black dress clung to her equally slinky body.
I hope Sebastian likes my new look.
He won’t. He won’t because he doesn’t want you anymore and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it…
She knew that Sebastian was getting bored of her. They had been married for all of six months, but with every day that passed she could sense his emotional distance as surely and as predictably as autumn turned to winter. She was getting more than a little worried. The new hair was desperate measures.
My marriage has gone beyond a new haircut. Nothing can save it.
“Bethan? Are you ready?”
It was Sebastian’s voice, drifting to her from beyond the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, she went to join him in the dining room.
Her heart sank when he didn’t comment on her hair.
“They won’t be long,” he said instead, gesturing absently for her to take a seat at the long, highly polished table.
Sebastian remained standing when she nervously sat, her mouth dry with nerves and her voice shaky when she spoke:
“I was rather hoping we might spend the evening just the two of us. I can’t remember the last time we spent an evening together, just talking, like we used to.”
He regarded her thoughtfully, as if seeing her properly for the first time since she entered the room.
“What the fuck have you done to your hair?”
Despite the humour in his voice, Bethan was humiliated and dangerously close to tears. She was saved from answering when the door to the dining room opened.
“Would sir care to test the wine?” the butler asked.
The overweight man in the black suit suited entered the room. He carried a silver tray held aloft, on which was balanced a crystal decanter half filled with red wine and five glasses.
“No, sir wouldn’t. Just leave it on the table and show in the guests when they arrive.”
The butler bowed slightly, and silently shut the door behind him. Sebastian proceeded to pour out two glasses of red, sliding one of them across the table towards her.
She took a big gulp out of the glass, not savouring the taste of one of the finest Merlots in the land or giving a shit how expensive it was. All she wanted to do was get pissed. It burned a path of comforting fire down to her stomach.
I wish this was whisky, was all she could think.
She felt Sebast
ian’s eyes on her but refused to look up from the red liquid she swirled around in the glass.
“I have exciting news, sweetheart. I’ll be sharing it at dinner tonight.”
“News? What news?”
She looked up from the swirling red liquid, her heart skipping a beat when her eyes locked with his. He may not love her anymore, but she sure as hell still loved him.
Even when he hurt her, she still loved him.
God help me.
“It’s a surprise. Trust me, you’re gonna love it.”
Although judging from the malicious glint in his eye, she very much doubted it. She allowed herself to take in how handsome he was, how at ease he was with the opulent surroundings of their five bedroomed, London home. Or rather, her home. This was where she spent all her time, despite Sebastian having at least five other homes dotted around Britain. If only he spent as much time in this house as she did.
Just like the room he stood in, he was perfect. The crystal chandelier worth hundreds of thousands of pounds glittered like his pale blue eyes. Both were cold and hard, reflecting light, not warmth. The exquisite tailoring of his grey suit matched the understated décor of the room; both were classic and priceless.
“Why did you marry me, Sebastian?”
The question surprised her as much as it did him. He looked at her blankly.
“Because I loved you.”
Loved.
Her heart sank.
“And do you still?”
“Do I still what?”
“Love me. You’re twenty-five, blue blooded and with limitless wealth. I’m a washed up catwalk queen pushing thirty. Please tell me why you married me?”
“Because you understood me. You understood my needs.”
Indeed she did. They may not have had sex for a few weeks, but the bruises remained. Unconsciously her fingertips fluttered to her right breast which still ached a little.
He said understood. Past tense.
“Let’s not have this conversation now. Our guests are arriving any second.”
“Your guests, Sebastian. Not ours.”
How she hated his stupid, fat friend, Richard Granger, and his equally stupid, fat wife. But not as much as she hated Richard’s brother, Harlan. Oh yes, that guy didn’t just take the biscuit, he took the whole fucking barrel. And if truth be told, he scared her.
“What’s wrong with you tonight? Why are you being a miserable bitch?”
She looked up at him with sad eyes. “I miss you.”
“For fuck’s sake, Bethan, we’re married, aren’t we? I’m here now, aren’t I?”
“It’s not what I mean and you know it.”
In a flash he was upon her, roughly pulling her to her feet by her slender upper arms and snarling into her face.
“What the fuck is with you? I give you everything you want, don’t I? Look at your surroundings, do you know how fucking lucky you are to have all of this?”
My beautiful, gilded cage, she thought sadly. Bethan wasn’t quite the gold-digger she was made out to be. She would swap all the money and the trappings of wealth if he would just love her like he used to.
“I love you,” she said simply.
He squeezed her arms harder until she cried out.
“You’re hurting me,” she panted.
“Yeah. And you love it, don’t you bitch?”
Tears prickled her eyes, but they were tears of shame, not pain. He was right. She was a born masochist. She lived to receive pain, and more specifically, pain inflicted by Sebastian. Her soulful brown eyes locked with his. She recognised the hard glint in his gaze, she could tell he was seconds away from bending her over the table, impending guests be damned.
It didn’t happen, and Bethan didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. He put her through the ringer, emotionally and physically, there was no doubt about it.
Richard and Esther Granger were shown into the dining room by the butler and Sebastian left her side to shake Richard’s hand and slap him on the back.
In that moment, for some inexplicable reason, she felt more alone than she had ever done in her life. Like he had truly deserted her in every possible way.
She shook her head slightly to dispel the silly, paranoid thought.
The two women politely nodded a greeting to each other. Bethan could tell that her dislike for the stupid fat cow was reciprocated. It didn’t take a genius to work it out from the way Esther glared at her when she thought no one was looking.
“Where’s Harlan?” her husband asked.
“Said he was running late when I called him just now,” Richard replied. “Busy with something, he said.”
Bethan caught the unholy fire behind the fat, little man’s grin. She didn’t know what his secretive smirk was all about, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
Nope, she didn’t like it one bit.
“Yeah, well, he’s probably getting warmed up for the big event.”
Both men laughed and Bethan shuddered without understanding why she did so. That bad feeling was back in all its glory.
Sebastian proceeded to pour out the wine for his guests and gestured for the overweight couple to sit down. Her eyes locked with Esther’s for the briefest of moments when she sat down directly opposite her. Was that a flicker of sadness she detected? Or perhaps fear? She almost felt sorry for her, being married to that fat cunt.
Almost. Her fleeting pity was instantly replaced with the usual dislike when the passing look of human vulnerability on Esther’s wide face was pushed aside by a condescending smirk.
Fat bitch. What’s she got to be so smug about?
“Cheers,” Sebastian said, raising his glass in a toast. “To mine and Richard’s glorious surprise to be unveiled over dinner.”
“Cheers,” Richard echoed, he too raising his glass.
The table was too wide for the glasses to meet – not that either woman joined their husbands in the toast.
The door opened and the butler entered, carrying four large plates effortlessly balanced up his arm.
“Fabulous,” Sebastian boomed, clapping his hands together in delight. “My favourite. Chicken.”
The men laughed again, and Bethan just didn’t get it. As far as she had always been aware, Sebastian’s favourite dishes were steak or fish, not chicken. Especially not chicken that to her untrained eye just looked like a single chicken-breast fillet plonked in the middle of each plate.
“Shouldn’t we have white wine with chicken?” Esther asked, addressing Sebastian for the first time since they had arrived.
“No. White wine is too acidic, you’ll be drinking only red. And perhaps champagne, apparently the bubbles reduce the acidity.”
Richard brayed laughter and Bethan felt her heart kick up a notch.
What the hell is going on here?
She stared glumly down at the plate that the butler had placed in front of her. There wasn’t any kind of sauce on it or anything.
“Sebastian?” she asked softly, tearing her gaze away from her bizarre dinner to look at him.
“Yes, dear?” he said, the mirth in his eyes painfully obvious.
“What’s going on?”
When she glanced over at Esther, she too bore the same quizzical expression.
“Should I tell them? Or would you like to do the honours?” Sebastian asked Richard.
“Oh, I think we should eat first, this starter looks so delicious, I can hardly wait.”
Sebastian almost sprayed his wine out over the table at that.
Esther put down her knife and fork and glared at her husband.
“Richard. What on earth is going on? Don’t you think you’re too old for whatever this juvenile, school-boy prank might be?”
Richard regarded his wife thoughtfully and Bethan watched their exchange in fascination, despite the weird turns this evening was taking. Absently she thought what an ugly couple they made. Esther was in her late forties to Richard’s late fifties. Like her husband, she was
short and fat. Bethan doubted that she had ever been pretty. Her nose was too bulbous, and her eyes were too small. Her jawline was weak, further highlighting her numerous chins. The hair didn’t help either, a salt and pepper bowl cut that drew attention to the worst of every feature.
And she really needs a dose of botox to sort out the forehead. Shit, it’s not like she can’t afford it.
She wondered what Richard saw in her. Yes, he was a pig and she hated him, but he was still one of the richest men in Britain. A self-made man that could take his pick. It wasn’t like Esther was even nice. No, she just didn’t get it at all.
“You’re never too old to have fun, my dear wife. And we are going to have a lot of fun, aren’t we Sebastian?”
“Oh yes, Richard, we are.”
Bethan glanced at her husband but he was ignoring her and tucking into his bland chicken fillet. Esther looked like she was about to say something further, but seemed to think better of it. The men ate the chicken and yet again the women locked eyes across the table.
That seemed to spur Esther into action. With a look of disdain on her fat face she picked up her knife and fork and cut into the chicken.
Bethan didn’t pick up her own knife and fork.
I don’t like this.
“Eat,” Sebastian barked at her.
That pissed her off. Yes, he was a sexually dominant monster in the bedroom, but he usually respected her in front of others.
In her head she was walking out of the dining room and slamming the door behind her. Slamming the door on their relationship for good.
Instead she began to eat the bland chicken and Sebastian threw her the smallest nod of approval. It didn’t make her feel any better.
The four of them ate the ridiculous starter in silence and the creeping sense of unease intensified. Bethan drained her wine when the dry chicken got stuck in her throat.
Sebastian and Richard finished their chicken at the same time.
“Come on ladies, eat up,” Sebastian cajoled. “We’ll tell you all about our little surprise when you’ve finished your starters and we’re eating the main.”
It felt like it took forever to finish the dry chicken, but the women persevered.