To Love A Monster

by Marina Simcoe

  His phone buzzed in the back pocket. He yanked it out and flung it at the wall, without a glance then stormed out of the office and slammed the door behind him with the force that made his mother’s delicate crystal wall cones clink vehemently in protest.

  Vince’s black Hummer was parked on the circular driveway, in front of the mansion, with Vince hanging halfway out of the open window on driver’s side.

  “Hey, Hunter.” He tipped his head towards the passenger’s side seat, prompting him to hurry. “Move it, man, while the beer is still cold and chicks are still hot.”

  The idiot guffawed at his own joke, and for a moment Hunter envisioned Vince’s stupid mug with a few teeth missing and blood dripping from his broken hose after a good punch in the face.

  He savored the picture in his mind as he climbed in the Hummer, taking another huge swig from the bottle of whisky he still held in his hand.

  “It’s fucking early,” he snarled, completely ignoring the two others in the back. He was picked up the last, but the front seat was kept for him. Hunter didn’t ride in the back, unless it was a limo, and his friends knew better than to piss him off.

  Right now, though, he wished they didn’t. He craved a fight, wishing for someone to give him a reason to land a blow, so he could have an outlet of the anger gnawing at his insides.

  As the Hummer roared through the streets towards Macleod Trail—the highway that ran through the city—Hunter focused on the burn of each scorching gulp of whisky as it ran down his throat, numbing the pain of the bruises on his body.

  What hurt the most, though, weren’t the physical injuries.

  Just a few more months.

  That was how long he still had to share a roof with his father. In September, Hunter was starting university. Of course, it could only be Ivy League—nothing else would ever be acceptable to his father. That meant he would be on the East Coast, in another country, thousands of miles away from here.

  His father’s minions were all lined up to keep on eye on him there and to report everything back to his father. However, it would be the most freedom Hunter had been allowed in his entire life.

  In Calgary, he couldn’t breathe without his father’s permission. He couldn’t even fuck without William Reed knowing whom and where.

  Hunter got his driver’s licence years ago, but had no car in his name. If he ever wanted to use one from The Reeds’ expansive collection of luxury vehicles, he had to beg his father, who would unfailingly use the situation to his advantage, striking another debilitating bargain with his son.

  One couldn’t get something for nothing, and his father used every single leniency to gain the upper hand. Each ‘favour’ cost something or was a reward for better grades in school, for winning a game in sports, for leaving a good impression on important people at some social event.

  This was one of William Reed’s many talents—he routinely used money to construct invisible chains for everyone in his life. Yanking at these chains at will, he always got what he wanted, manipulating people around him like his very own circus of marionettes.

  No matter how much Hunter craved freedom, he couldn’t easily run away from home. Without his father’s money, Hunter had no idea how to support himself on his own.

  It was another way of control on the part of William Reed. Hunter was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and raised in luxury. He didn’t work a day in his life, and knew little about how to survive in the real world without the allowance from his father. He didn’t know where to begin looking for a job. Even the most basic things in life like cooking a meal or doing laundry were outside of his skills and abilities.

  Even if he took a chance and ran away in hopes to make it on his own, his father would simply pull the strings of the intricate web he had constructed over the course of his long and shady life, and Hunter would be back in the mansion in no time, facing the consequences of his disobedience.

  But Hunter had a plan.

  Over the course of several months, he worked out the details with the help of David, their chauffeur, during the fifteen-minute rides to and from school each day.

  David was a simple and honest man, and he listened. Hunter took special care to hide his bruises from him, because, out of the many people surrounding him every day, David cared enough to figure out the reason for them. And if he did, if David found out of his boss’s physical abuse of his son, Hunter couldn’t predict the outcome of his possible actions then. He couldn’t risk getting David fired and removed from his life.

  It didn’t escape David’s attention, however, that the relationship between Hunter and his father was strained. His tactful questions and endless patience, along with an ability to listen, finally coaxed Hunter out of his protective shell and compelled him to open up.

  Together, they had concluded that hockey was Hunter’s best ticket to freedom. Of all the sports, he loved playing hockey the most, and he excelled at it. The plan was to join a team at university and work his ass off to make it to the pros.

  Signing a big league contract would not only ensure his independence, but would also give him the means to keep his father out of his life for good.

  Hunter experienced a flash of satisfaction every time he thought about the fit of rage his father would have when he’d find out that his son was not going to lead the carefully planned life he’d arranged for him.

  Maybe that would be the time when that angry, burgundy vein on his forehead would finally burst, and the rage would end William Reed.

  “We’re gonna go to Kevin’s house first. Drink his dad’s booze.” Vince’s annoyingly cheerful voice brought Hunter back to the moment. “Looks like we need to catch up with you, man.” He tipped his chin at the bottle of Crown Royal in Hunter’s hand.

  “Why wait?” Hunter rasped and shoved the bottle at Vince. It’s not like they needed to worry about DUI charges—Vince’s dad would get his son cleared of them in no time.

  Just like if Hunter were to commit a crime, William Reed would promptly deal with it. Hunter’s crime would be his father’s problem.

  ‘My name is your legacy,’ his father loved to repeat. And there was nothing in this world that he seemed to care more about than his name.

  See how you’d like it if I soiled it. If I ripped to shreds you pristine reputation, which is built on lies. If I shoved your legacy into the mud where it belongs.

  The poison of deep-rooted hatred, mixed with whisky, flowed through his veins. Anger and hate kept building up, churning hot, with nowhere to go.

  “Hey, I know that girl.” Vince pointed ahead. “It’s Sophie Morel, she tutors Riley. Not that she could make my dumb sister smarter. No one could,” he snorted.

  Hunter’s focus narrowed on the lone figure walking along the road. Lost in his troubled thoughts, he noticed just now that they had gotten off the highway and were driving along a ravine on the road going through the park by the river.

  It was well into spring, the time when the ever-fluctuating weather in Calgary was the most volatile. The bright Alberta sun would warm up the air well into the double digits during the day, only for the temperatures to drop to below zero after the sunset.

  Illuminated by the Hummer’s headlights, the girl walked swiftly, huddling into the thick, light-brown sweater and hiding her face from the wind behind the fuzzy collar.

  Sophie Morel.

  He recognized the name from his mother talking about some charity events he always only half listened to. His mother seemed to be most impressed by the girl’s French father, especially, by his financial success and vast influence in Europe.

  His stare glued to the girl’s back.

  Another one born with a silver spoon in her mouth.

  “I know her, too. She’s weird.” Jared’s deep voice chimed in from the back seat. “She volunteers at the shelter that my mom wrote an article about last month.”

  The small figure fighting against the wind on the deserted road didn’t seem entirely unfamiliar. Hunter must hav
e seen her around the school somewhere. As exclusive as Sunny Ridge was, it didn’t have that many students.

  Another fake.

  As if the world wasn’t full of them, people like his mother, who handed out checks to charities for photo-ops, publicity, and tax write-offs for his father, who murdered animals that didn’t fit into his fucking budget.

  “It doesn’t look like she’s going to the party. Must think she’s too good to hang out with us,” Vince snickered. “Let’s bring the party to her!”

  There was something about the girl that irritated Hunter as Vince pulled the Hummer over. The fog of alcohol clouding his senses made it hard for him to put his finger on what it was.

  Her skirt?

  It was wide and long, the hem brushed the top of her ballet flats, the wide frill on the bottom embroidered with small blue flowers. The rest of the skirt was pure white.

  Pristine, untouched, innocent.

  Fake.

  There was nothing pure or innocent left in this world. Only dirt and lies were real.

  He hardly heard Vince offer a ride, was barely aware of the girl accepting it and getting in the Hummer.

  His eyes straight ahead, he gulped whiskey from the now half-empty bottle, his chest heaving, straining to contain the intoxicated rage that had a whole world as its target now.

  It barely registered with Hunter that Vince turned from the road and drove along the riverbank.

  The girl protested the detour from the back seat, but no one paid her much attention. Her voice, melodious and sweet, supported the illusion of an angel on Earth, which only increased Hunter’s fury.

  A sick feeling churned his stomach, and he jumped out of his seat as soon as Vince stopped the truck. He slammed the door shut with force that made him stagger, unsteady on his feet.

  Somewhere in the periphery of his impaired awareness, his friends were laughing at their own crude jokes. Someone, probably Jared, pushed the girl. She stumbled backwards, only to be caught by Taj, his arms around her middle.

  The whisky had reached his brain and took over completely. The muddy cloud of intoxication reduced all his thoughts and emotions to a fuzzy tunnel. His perception narrowed to one single focus—the pure white of the girl’s skirt. No one had the right to look so pure and innocent, because the whole world around him was build on hatred and lies.

  She begged them to let her go, but it wasn’t her pleas that made him yell, “Stop!” at his friends. It was the sight of Taj’s hands crushing the soft material of her skirt. Soiling its purity with his touch.

  She was Hunter’s to crush, to soil, to ruin. Only his. In his twisted mind, flooded with alcohol, the world owed him, and she was the one to pay.

  He lurched forward, struggling to keep his balance.

  “Mine,” he growled, tossing the near-empty bottle away with force, and grubbed her.

  The sweet girly smell of her skin caught him off guard and overwhelmed his senses, making him pause for a second.

  She used the moment and twisted out of his arms.

  The sight of her fleeing ignited a predatory urge. He tore after her, his gaze glued to the soles of her ballet flats kicking up the hem of her skirt as she ran from him.

  Even in her shoes with slippery flat soles, even with her legs shorter than his, she ran faster than him. Fear gave her the speed, and the amount of alcohol he consumed left him unfocused and clumsy.

  Desperate to get away from him, though, she tripped over her own feet and fell, crying out in defeat, because she must have known then that she had lost.

  He fell on top of her, trapping her under his larger body. Her delicate scent, the warmth of her slender body under him did not escape him, but it was not about that. The lust that made his dick rock-hard the moment his crotch connected with her ass thrashing under him had little to do with the person he was assaulting and had everything to do with the intoxicating sense of power that rose from a dark pit of anger and overtook his entire being.

  The painful memory of the defeat he felt laying on the floor in his father’s office—the helplessness of that moment—had finally receded under the onslaught of invigorating sense of power and control. Crushing another into the ground, made him feel strong, his head reeling from his own dominance. For once, the victim wasn’t him.

  Right now, he was the one on top, like his father.

  Father.

  That was what Hunter was doing right now—he was acting exactly like William Reed. The thought pierced through him like an icy arrow, momentarily sobering his foggy brain and paralyzing his body.

  This was his father’s true legacy.

  The legacy of blood he couldn’t fight.

  There was no escape for Hunter, his father’s son. Sooner or later he would turn just like him. Judging by what he was doing—the transformation had already begun.

  The girl’s desperate scream solidified the horrifying awareness of the monster he had become, shaking him to the core.

  She pushed up from the ground, rolling his now limp body aside, and glanced his way. Her large, grey eyes, wide with terror, met his just for a fraction of a moment. In the moonlight, they glistened bright and wild on her face covered in dirt.

  The next moment she was gone. But the memory would remain forever.

  His eyes closed, he pressed his forehead into the dry grass, wishing he could just stay here until the earth took him like a pile of old leaves.

  All emotion vanished, drained into the cold ground below him, leaving behind just a black hole in his chest, in the place he had once believed he had a heart.

  Chapter 24

  MONSTER. NOW . . .

  Propped on an elbow, he leaned over the sleeping Sophie. The moon rose outside the balcony doors. In its soft light mixed with the warm glow from the fireplace, Sophie’s face seemed peaceful. She trusted him to keep her safe in her dreams, without realizing what kind of a monster she’d allowed close to her.

  For days after that night, he’d waited for her to report him, expecting the doorbell of the mansion to ring any minute, with the police standing on the other side to arrest him.

  The punishment he was waiting for never happened. And the gnawing guilt inside turned into a deeper form of torment.

  His partying increased, helping him make it through those last months at home. Alcohol had become his trusted tool for coping with guilt and trying to forget about the monster he had glimpsed inside himself. But whiskey made it impossible to control the anger.

  The suppressed rage had been seething inside him for years, fed and nurtured by his father’s regular attacks. With alcohol weakening his defences, the anger sprang out in fiery outbursts that no one could control, definitely not Hunter himself.

  Somehow he still made it through high school, and flew to New York State for his first year of university. Being away from home gave him a new hope.

  Initially, he was even able to stick to the life plan that he had devised with David. He made into the university hockey team and for a while kept up with the rigorous training and discipline. He even maintained his grades at the required level.

  Eventually, however, the monster caught up with him. And the parties, the fights, and the booze took over his lifestyle once again with a vengeance.

  His grades started slipping. After a while, he was barely able to keep up with his team’s practice times, turning from one of the most promising athletes into a wild card that the coach didn’t want to bet on anymore.

  Just a couple of months into his second year, it became clear even his father’s money and influence wouldn’t be able to keep him from being expelled at the end of the semester.

  That was about the time when he met Cecilia, and then all his problems became trivial when faced with the impossible.

  Scared and alone, he ended up revealing himself to David when he came to the remote estate in the woods with William Reed’s party.

  David, overwhelmed with the realization of what his charge had become once he finally accepted the fa
ct that the wild beast in front of him was indeed Hunter—insisted they tell his father.

  If anyone could do anything about his situation and find a way to undo what was done to him, Hunter still believed it was William Reed. The faith that his father’s powers were limitless had been with him since childhood, compelling him to ask for help.

  As expected, his father had an extremely hard time believing Hunter’s story, even more so accepting his son’s new appearance.

  When David recounted their conversation, Hunter feared that his father would actually decide to use one of the brand new, never-fired rifles from the house to hunt his own son.

  A rifle was slung over his father’s shoulder when he met Hunter on the riverbank for the last time, but at least he wasn’t pointing it at him. He threatened Hunter in every other way, though. Furious, he accused him of every sin under the sun, cursing him and the day he was born.

  As the grey, icy water of the river tumbled past—the noise barely masking the filthy abuse and threats spewing from his father’s mouth—the blinding rage rose to the surface again, annihilating commonsense.

  Hunter rose to his feet. The maddening fury that made him go against a baseball bat once, propelled him into an attack when his father yanked the rifle off his shoulder.

  He knocked the gun out of his father’s grip. His monstrous paws wrapped tight around the man’s throat, the tips of his claws piercing the delicate human skin. He saw the flash of terror in his father’s bulging eyes.

  Just like that, the balance of power shifted. The childhood fear beaten into him during years of abuse fell away. And the god he had believed his father to be, turned out to be nothing but a sniveling old man.

  Hunter could have had his revenge right then and there. He had nothing to lose—he was already a monster. By killing his father he would just become a hunted one. But he refused to take the last step in abandoning his humanity by killing this whimpering excuse of a man hanging limp in his hands.