by V. F. Mason
Huffing in disbelief, I push at his arm again and exhale heavily when he doesn’t even budge but instead only molds his body firmer against mine. The feeling of perfectly carved muscle makes me shake my head at the electricity prickling my skin.
My body still remembers our encounter; the hot flush spreading through me awakens every hair on my body. Yet my mind screams at me to get as far away from this man as possible, flashing images of his dark deeds from tonight to serve as a warning to never succumb to the lust burning in my veins.
Hormones.
My hormones might still find the man attractive, my ovaries exploding inside at the knowledge of what he can do to me, but it doesn’t mean I’ll ever again act on those desires.
Willingly at least.
A thought enters my mind, one I haven’t had before, and its coldness slams into me, chilling my blood at the hurtful possibilities lying ahead of me. The words spill from my lips before registering in my brain. “Your touch disgusts me. Or will rape be part of this marriage?” I barely manage to finish the sentence before he wraps his hand around my neck, squeezing it so tightly and cutting off my oxygen at once.
Putting my palms above his, I try to snatch them away, desperately needing to breathe air into my lungs, yet Santiago continues his hold, bruising the already bruised flesh. “Let go,” I croak through my dry throat, slapping him while dizziness washes over me, and black dots appear in front of me. “Let—” He finally releases me, and I stumble back, landing against the cage’s bars and falling on the ground, my hand replacing his on my neck. I cough so hard, gulping much-needed air while the sting and pain burn my throat.
However, the hate and rage blazing in his gaze wipes away any thought of my discomfort. He points his finger at me, ready to say something, but then he fists it, closing his eyes on the anger still clearly running through his system at my accusation.
Remi and Octavius march toward us, and Florian stands closer as if he wants to stop Santiago should he lunge for my throat again.
Tension rises in the air, so palpable it sends goose bumps down my spine and fear scorches me, hinting to me I’ve done something horribly wrong and might pay the price for it.
Snapping his blue orbs open, his gaze settles on me before he steps closer, lacing his fingers in my hair, pulling at it so hard and tiling my head back while my cry of distress ricochets off the walls. “Don’t. Ever. Accuse. Me. Of. That.” Venom coats his every word, hatred toward me so strong I shrink inwardly and whimper when he tugs on my hair again. “Do you understand?”
At my nod, his touch changes. He glides his fingers over the sore spots, soothing the sting by massaging my scalp. “Remi, get her out of here,” he orders to my surprise, as none of them strike me as someone who listens to anyone let alone commands from his friends.
But then again, I don’t know anything about their dynamic inside the group.
Remi motions with his hand toward somewhere far away straight ahead of us, and asks Santiago without taking his eyes off me, “In two hours at the church?”
“Si.”
“My father?” I wince. Speaking seems as if I’m tearing my skin from inside out, and Santiago shrugs.
“He’ll attend the wedding.” His voice brooks no argument, so I follow Remi without even asking where he plans to take me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Briseis. One mistake and he’s dead.”
Giving my father one last glance, who watches us all with horror in his one eye, I leave him at the mercy of monsters, because quite frankly, I can’t muster an ounce of compassion after his earlier rejection.
When we’re almost by the door hidden in the darkness, Santiago’s voice washes over me, and his meaning disturbs the strings of my soul more than they should. “Take care of her throat. I don’t want her in pain.”
Take care of her throat. I don’t want her in pain.
The man who just viciously hurt me orders them to tend to my wounds, confusing me to no end, because actions like those make me almost believe he has a heart buried somewhere under all the darkness weighing on it.
Remi kicks open the door, blocking the thoughts of Santiago away for the time being, and we end up in a spacious… garage? Without lights, I don’t see much besides the silhouette in the distance, so probably one of their cars awaits ready to drive off wherever.
My jaw though hits the floor when Remi claps his hands and the place lights up, showcasing two helicopters taking up the majority of the otherwise empty wide space. One of them stands in the middle of a small circle painted on the floor, its polished black paint glistening in the light. It has five seats available, two in front and three in the back, and uneasiness rushes through me at the prospect of flying in this thing.
While a lot of people dream of jumping on one of those for sightseeing purposes, the idea always scared the crap out of me.
Remi lifts my jaw up with the tip of his finger, making me frown, and he laughs, his dark eyes filled with amusement. “Hop in. We don’t want to be late.” He walks around the helicopter, and I blink several times when he occupies the front seat, only now realizing he plans to operate the damn thing!
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I get into the cockpit, closing the door with a loud thud.
Remi gives me headphones, and I put them on while he does the same before clicking on a remote.
“Oh God,” I mutter when we start to move up on the platform, and I grab the door handle, pressing myself closer to Remi’s side. “What’s going on? Are we on the roof?”
“Underground. The platform will take us up to where we can fly easily.” Thousands of thoughts rush through my mind at this information, the most prominent of them being the lengths Santiago went to in order to create his dungeon.
He hid it well, and I can’t even comprehend the amount of work it took to build something like this underground. Doesn’t he need permission from the state? How in the hell did he cover up his dark deeds all this time; did no one bother to check his arena with all those accusations floating around over the years?
I close my eyes, the air sticking in my lungs when we stop only for Remi to flick on several buttons, and the machine starts buzzing, the loud sound of the turbine with its main and tail rotors starting, blocking away anything else. I feel us going slowly up, the helicopter swaying gently from side to side, and I scrunch my eyes harder, my pulse speeding up. The machine starts to move forward and then goes higher and higher again. Tickling sensations constantly run all over me, and I snap my orbs wide, gluing my nose to the window to spot the circle opening shut behind us and the endless amount of green land surrounding it, which seems to have no borders.
He flies us smoothly, the city lights in the distance indicating to me we aren’t that far from Chicago. “Where are we going?” Hopefully, their prisoners are allowed to ask questions, because going in blind on disasters would be the icing on the cake.
“To get you ready for the wedding,” he replies, and I tense when a harsh wind shakes us in the air and wrap my arms around myself. Remi props his back against the seat, both hands holding the control between his legs. “I’ve been doing this for ten years, Briseis. Don’t worry,” he reassures me, his voice even and calm as if I should trust his word, the serial killer who participated in the killing of my family and laughed when his friend tortured me.
“I’ll believe you when we land,” I shout, gazing ahead, succumbing to my desire despite my earlier resolve to drink in the beauty of the world around me. Stars fill the night sky, the moon shining brightly, casting a magical spell on the magnificent city ahead of us full of life, judging by how lit up it is and all the moving cars. “It’s beautiful.”
“I remember my first time flying the thing. Nothing compares to the power swirling around you with the helicopter fully in your control, watching the ground from above, and realizing our possibilities are endless if we only let ourselves dream.”
I gape at him in shock at the description he gives of flying, not expecting a serial ki
ller to be this poetic. I clamp my lips and roll them together while focusing back on the environment, because talking to Remi confuses me.
When someone dangerous acts this nice, there must be a trick hidden somewhere; maybe they need me relaxed enough before striking again.
We reach Chicago in a few minutes, drifting over the city where I have the opportunity to look at the sidewalks with people running around, some even dancing on the streets. And so much amazing architecture is spread all over. Some of the buildings were created back in the nineteenth century.
When we pass by Millennium Park, I see people snapping pictures near the Cloud Gate, and longing scorches through me, because I never got the opportunity to do that, and who knows if I’ll have such a chance in the future. My luck hasn’t been that great the last couple of days.
A true torture really, to live in a city with one-of-a-kind art pieces available all over, only to be denied appreciating the amazing talent they represent.
Street food trucks have people lining up to them, forming small crowds on the streets, and vehicles move flawlessly on the road, slightly busier than usual.
All in all, Chicago might just be my one true love, because nothing compares to my hometown.
“I love the city too. I would never want to live anywhere else,” Remi informs me before taking a swift turn and then clicking a few buttons as we speed up, heading to the tall skyscraper with the Cortez name on it.
“Sometimes, we don’t have a choice,” I tell Remi, popping my fingers and enjoying the cracking despite the slight discomfort. With all the sightseeing he arranged for me, I almost forgot the real reason for it all and how I’m about to participate in a wedding that might as well be my funeral.
Remi easily lands the helicopter on the roof of the building, before turning it off, and a woman runs toward us, holding her hair with her hand as she plasters a fake smile on her mouth. “Ms. Dawson! We’ve been waiting for you.” I remove my headphones, and I look at Remi for an explanation.
He hangs his headphones back in place, motioning to the woman. “Aly has everything ready for you. Just follow her.” Once again rolling my lips together so a frustrated scream won’t slip from it, because being ordered around like a soulless doll can hardly be enjoyable for anyone, I place my foot on the step, ready to hop down, when his voice freezes my movements.
“We always have a choice. Your choices just always include being a victim.” Glancing over my shoulder at him, I open my mouth to protest, because fuck him and his fucked-up way of thinking, but his splayed palm stops me. “We cannot change our childhood. But we can stop it from dictating our future.”
The audacity of this guy! “So I should have let him kill my father and go on my merry way?” Aly subtly moves several steps away, probably to give us a sense of privacy during our conversation. “Or should I have died by his hand?”
An odd expression flickers in his dark eyes when he answers. “Loyalty is a great character strength. However, given to the wrong people, it might be suffocating or stupid.” My silence must indicate to him my complete confusion on some warped point in his head, so he elaborates. “They say blood is thicker than water, and people blindly believe in this notion. Family hurts, destroys, and feast on the flesh of their young, and still the young go back to face more abuse. It’s drilled into them from their early life that they owe this loyalty, so they sacrifice everything for the great concept, and it’s rarely a reality.” He leans closer to me. “The Cortez family love and protect their own, and they don’t ask for sacrifices. The same goes for the dark four. When the times comes… pick your alliances and loyalties well, Briseis.”
“Or what?” I understand Remi wants to communicate something to me, yet I’m failing to see how any of this is relevant to the situation at hand.
His friend blackmailed me into marriage. Why does my loyalty even matter?
A sinister smile curves his mouth, the deadly expression settling on his features transforming Remi into a dangerous man whose powerful energy of dominance prickles my skin in fear. “Or you’ll regret it. We don’t give second chances. You ever do something to jeopardize the Cortez family”—his voice drops low, and I lock my hands, barely holding back the urge to dart outside, and lift my chin, waiting for his threat—“Santiago won’t be the one to end you. I’ll do it for him.” He leans back on his seat and dismisses me with his hand. “Go on.”
And that’s when the vindictive and dark part of me rears its head again, stepping in to protect me with the only available weapon I have, aiming to hurt Remi just a little bit, if it’s possible. “You’re a disgusting human being, Remi, and that’s why no sane woman will ever be with you.” His dark orbs flare in surprise, and I gloat inwardly, because it means my guesses to his frequent trips to another city were correct.
Stalking Santiago along with the dark four finally paid off!
Before he can comment on it, I get out of the helicopter and walk toward Aly, who starts to chat swiftly about the quick preparations we need to do.
While we go to the elevator, I think about Remi’s words and shake my head in disbelief.
Hell could freeze a thousand times over, and even then I wouldn’t give my loyalty or alliances to serial killers.
Santiago
When I kick him in the stomach, Howard groans in pain, curling into a ball and sobbing violently while chanting, “Please. Please. Please.” The fucker hasn’t shut up ever since I dragged him out of the cage.
If only he knew begging for salvation would never work for sinners like him who are destined to spend an eternity in hell.
Rage swirls through me, enveloping all my senses in it, and the beast inside me roars at the idea of my Briseis hurt by all those fuckers calling themselves her family, and the need to kill Howard in the vilest of ways becomes so strong I barely manage to control it.
Not yet.
“I’ll repeat my question again,” I say, kicking him in the stomach so hard he starts to choke on blood, and a sigh of pleasure escapes me, as finally his fucking voice stops disturbing my ears with useless pleas. “How did you get Briseis?”
Walking toward the weapon table, I trail my fingers over my blade collection made out of the finest steel and silver, their sharp tips able to pierce flesh so easily with one stab, destroying internal organs if the hand holding it is skillful.
Oh, and I have all the skill in the world.
Picking the one with a full tang handle, I spin around to face Howard, who finally mumbles something. “Diaries. Diaries.” Sauntering back to him, my heavy steps on the concrete alert him to my presence and send fear into every pore. I glance at Octavius and Florian standing near, awaiting my next move.
Usually none of them complies with my requests, let alone orders; however, when we engage in one’s revenge, we follow the rules.
One of them includes letting the one who wants vengeance run the show.
I motion toward Howard, and they get my meaning instantly.
Each grabs one of his arms, lifting him up so he can stand on his wobbly knees, swaying a little in their hold and breathing heavily. Blood drips from his forehead, covering his face. Other bruises are scattered all over his body, leaving almost no flesh unscratched by Andreas or me.
It’s not enough though.
Nothing will be enough.
He hurt my Briseis.
I might be the monster hunting in the night with no redeeming qualities, but no one gets to hurt my woman besides me.
“Flora wrote diaries,” he whispers, licking his lips and wincing, probably at the blood entering his mouth. “You’ll find your answer there.”
Cocking my head to the side, I ask, “Where are they?”
He coughs, sinking forward, but the guys bring him back up, and he gazes at me with both eyes—the other one finally opened up—to my delight.
Only a true serial killer appreciates the gaze of a victim during unimaginable pain. “In a bank. Safe.” A beat before he adds, “Andreas raped my
Flora. The only woman I loved.”
Anger penetrates my every bone, the desire to kill Andreas intensifying by tenfold, because his hideous crimes seem never ending, and I should have suspected that was the case.
Andreas could be charming when he wanted to, but even an innocent girl like Flora would have seen his true nature.
“I could never love Briseis.” Howard’s words snap me out of my thoughts, my brows furrowing, and I fist my hand, delivering a blow he doesn’t expect.
His head is thrown back, his whimper rocking between us, and I wipe away his blood on my pants. My hate is so strong in this moment I’m contemplating going back on my word and killing him.
Anyone who thinks kids should be punished for the sins of their father deserve no mercy or compassion.
Life entrusted Howard with a little girl who got fathered by a monster through no fault of her own, and he could have given her something instead of abuse and constant neglect.
He shouldn’t talk about love, because he doesn’t understand what that means.
If something so hideous happened to my mother and she got pregnant and decided to keep it, my father would have never given up on them.
He would have loved the baby, because it was part hers.
But not everyone has my dad’s heart.
Checking the time on my wristwatch, I realize we only have an hour and a half left before the wedding, so this torture sadly has to speed up. “Hold his arms out.” I address the guys, and Howard finds the strength to look at me, confusion crossing his face when my friends do as I ask. “Howard, I promised Briseis not to kill you, and I won’t.” He sighs in relief but freezes when I grin at him. “But you see, nadie lastima a mi mujer. No one hurts my woman. And those hands abused her time and time again. So let me make that point clear.”
Before he utters another word, I chop off his right hand, and his agonized cry echoes through the space, bringing such profound pleasure I still for a moment, drinking in the sounds. Then I quickly do the same with the left one, both of his chopped off limbs lying by his feet, and I step on them, enjoying the cracking under my shoes while blood oozes from his wounds. “Now, the wedding awaits us.” I shift my focus to Octavius. “Can you wrap and pack him in a way that won’t show Briseis the state of his injuries?”