by V. F. Mason
But what surprises me is his eyes. They are green and hold so much kindness that for a moment I stop screaming, because there is no threat coming from him.
Wrapping my hand around my neck, I croak past my abused throat, “Who are you and what do you want from me?” And then I remember the studio and a man chasing after me, and fear envelops me even more. “Why did you kidnap me?”
What do victims usually do in such situations? I shouldn’t analyze all this like that, should I? But then that’s me. I’ve always been put together during stressful situations, and then I allow myself to cry once the stress is over.
However, the over part is nowhere in sight.
“He didn’t.”
The deep yet husky voice sends tremors down my skin, yet not from its tone but the person it belongs to, because I would recognize it anywhere. Back in Patricia’s office, I couldn’t concentrate properly.
Lachlan.
My head swings toward the sound, and then I see him through the glass as he steps down from the door, his shoes making thumping noises as he walks in with his cane held level in front of him.
He grins at me while sweeping his gaze over his own creation, and only then does it register where I am.
One word that can describe it is insanity.
Four glass walls surround me, creating a cage-like atmosphere while the mattress, small table, and toilet in the other corner are the only other things occupying the inside of the space. The harsh light comes from above me, bright like on a football field, and someone is trying to blind me.
Outside the cage, there are various knives and ropes displayed on the wall, along with a very long metal table and a sink that has water dripping, drop by drop. The sound echoes through the entire space, grating on the nerves.
And cameras.
Cameras that are above me in every corner, giving whoever is sitting and watching a perfect view of everything I do.
AC blasts on my skin and I shiver, then gasp as I see a long, white flannel nightgown on me that reminds me of those Victorian Era nightgowns that cared about a girl’s modesty.
“Child—” the older man starts, but Lachlan interrupts him.
“Leave, Levi.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but Lachlan gives him a look and points his cane behind his back. He finally goes to the door and shuts it, while I gaze at Lachlan, who presses the button and enters the glassed cage, tsking.
“Pathetic state, Valencia. It took you what… a minute to scream your lungs out? No one even touched you.” He wiggles his finger. “I expected more.”
I stand up but fall down on my knees, because the chains are too short to move around. He sighs dramatically, kicking the chair closer and dropping onto it while rubbing his chin with the top of his cane. “It’s short for now. Maria will change it once we are done so you can… well… roam around freely I guess.” I don’t even bother to ask who that is, probably some other psycho who thinks all this is acceptable.
“Why are you doing this to me?” If he orchestrated this, then… “The notes?” I need to know, and he nods. I puff out air, not knowing what to make of it all.
What if it was his strategy to get me in a panic just to prove something? But as I rack my brain, nothing explains it. “You want to kill me? Is that it?” Is this the kind of thing they show on TV, where a man is obsessed with a woman, and he creates a web around her to trap her in? Because he has some unexplainable cravings and he’s focused them on me?
He chuckles, inspecting his cane, and I really have a deep desire to knock him off the chair with it just to not see that smile of his. “Valencia, if I wanted that, you’d be dead. I don’t do anything in half measures.” He says it so casually, as if we are discussing the weather. “Your father owes me a debt. And I will collect it. From you.”
“Victor?’’ It’s about him? He wants to use me in some kind of business deal? That calms some of my fear, because it means he won’t do anything to me. He knows my stepdad will need proof that I’m all right. Braden was kidnapped once, and Victor handled the situation brilliantly.
I don’t have to be careful with my words, just withstand this environment that at least doesn’t have rats or gross things. Granted, the toilet is open, but I can take some humiliation.
As long as I’m not dead.
Mom won’t survive losing me.
“So all this… Italy… and what followed after… it was a game to lure me in?” Maybe it’s not the question that is supposed to be important to me. After all, isn’t the answer obvious? Yet I demand to hear the answer from him, to cement my stupidity more.
He stays silent, but I see his jaw tic. Otherwise, his face is completely indifferent. He rises on his chair and comes slowly to me, then flicks his cane open and the tip of a blade extends from it.
Lachlan presses it against my chin, urging me to get up. I have no choice but to sit up on my knees. He taps the blade on my skin while still holding my chin high. “No. Fucking you has everything to do with your charm and nothing with your father,” he says seductively. Then he slides the tip lower and digs it into my collarbone as I cry out and try to move away, but he stops me. “Careful or it might touch the artery.” I still as I feel blood slip down my breast, and then the metal slides lower, nudging slightly at my stomach and bruises on the skin there.
Enough to sting, but not enough to do permanent harm. “Your skin was made for torture, you know that? Pale, so pale. It will show every bruise, every drop of blood.” He slides it back to my neck, and before he even does, I know what he will say. “It’s a beautiful sight along with my mark for everyone to see and never wonder who you belong to.”
“I’m not yours.” I fume. Does he really think this kind of thing will turn me on?
“We will see about that.” He flicks the blade back and taps the cane against my cheek. “Be the good girl that you always fucking are and cooperate, Valencia. It will be easier.”
I snort. “You mean I will be safe?”
He turns around and walks to the door, then says over his shoulder, “No, it will be easier. The word safe doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.” And with that, I’m left alone to ponder his words, while nothing but the buzzing of AC and dripping water sound in my ears.
Lachlan
Emerging from the torture room, I bark at Levi, who still stands by the door. “What the hell was that?” He doesn’t reply, so I shift my attention to Maria, who immediately casts her eyes down, tugging on her long, black uniform dress. “Feed her in a few hours. Leave water there. Also change the chain for a longer one so she can move freely inside the cage. And put the screens around the toilet so she has privacy there.” Levi’s brows rise, but my harsh expression keeps him quiet. The last thing I need is for him to gloat that I can’t dish out a proper punishment. “Also, turn off the lights inside the cage and leave one bulb on outside. No one enters besides you and Levi.”
She nods, holding the card tightly. Maria sold her body on the streets for years until Levi found her half beaten to death. He brought her here and we gave her a job. Last time I checked, she married one of the security guards.
At this point, I could be considered a fucking matchmaker or something.
She trails off to the kitchen, probably for the tray of food, when Levi says to me, “Folders are on the desk. Jaxon sent them in.”
“Good. No one disturbs me. Keep an eye on her.” Before I go, I add, “Don’t gloat.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
As I go down the hall, all I can think about is the woman who is left in the torture room.
And how I hate leaving her there. But at the same time, I love having her completely at my mercy, not knowing my next move.
Victor.
My laughter bounces off the walls.
If she only knew.
Valencia
Pacing the cage, I knock on the glass, but it’s so strong my knuckles hurt. Huffing in frustration, I go to the table as the heavy chain on my leg drags behind.
I wince as it presses on my ankle exactly on the spot that always throbs after rehearsal.
The meal the woman brought earlier is lying on the floor untouched, as I only hydrated myself with water. I want to be conscious for whatever he dishes out.
Nothing here can be used to help me escape, so I drop back on the mattress, hiding my head between my knees, and wonder about my calmness. I’ve tried breaking the wall with the heavy chain, but all it did was bruise the pads of my fingertips.
Why am I not freaking out? This is too calm, even for me.
But deep down I know.
Maybe I consider it a punishment once again for wanting to do something for myself.
Why can’t God just allow me to live my life in peace without sacrifices?
Leaning against the wall, tucked into a ball, I allow a single tear to drop on the mattress, hiding it away from the cameras.
My pain should always be only my own.
The monster got the angel.
Chapter Thirteen
Lachlan, 7 years old
The loud footsteps that make cracking sounds on the old wooden floor snap me wide-awake. My breath hitches, sending my body into alarm. I glance at the clock, which shows seven o’clock, and whine in desperation when I realize I’m alone with him tonight.
Aunt Jessica is at her evening church service.
I grab the blanket from the bed and throw it over me, hoping to escape the monster that slowly creeps into my room. I chant the prayer my aunt has taught me.
She said if I do it while in pain or fear that God will always help me out. That I won’t be left alone.
I chant and chant while tears stream down my cheeks, and my whole body shakes while I squeeze into a little ball, hoping he won’t find me. Even though it won’t help.
Too soon, the door bursts open and a bright light shines in the space. His voice makes me shut my eyes harder, hoping it’s just a nightmare that’ll go away soon. “Lachlan.” The word sounds funny, which means he’s been drinking again while Aunt can’t see.
He does a lot of things when she doesn’t pay attention.
“Please, God. Please help me,” I murmur, holding on to the belief that something will take me away from him, that he will stop his actions and won’t harm me again.
But all my prayers don’t get heard, ‘cause he pulls the blanket off, leaving me lying in my pajamas while he stands over me. The light behind his back hides his face, and that scares me even more when he cracks his head to the side.
He looks at me sadly as he squeezes the cross around his neck. “Lachlan, you understand I don’t want to do this, right?” he asks, as I shake my head and sit up, moving until my back hits the headboard, my body shaking to the point of my teeth clacking against each other. “You are a devil’s temptation, and I’m too weak to fight it.” My eyes widen as he flicks his belt open, pulling it out of his pants with a loud whoosh, and I shiver at it, knowing what that leather thing can do.
My back holds the scars that will never go away.
“Please don’t.” The room is so quiet, but my voice can barely be heard, and he frowns, slapping himself on the cheek while bending in two, and my tears drop down on the bedsheets. I hope that this time my begging will make him stop, that this time he won’t do what the devil tells him to do.
But my hope goes away when he raises his eyes on me, and orders, “Get on your knees.”
I shake my head, scooting back even though there isn’t space to do that. “Lachlan, get on your knees.” He hits the belt buckle on the floor and it makes me move. With my heart beating fast, I slowly get on the floor, but not before trying again. “Please.”
He cups my cheek, running his thumb over my skin. I can’t help but pull away at the touch, and he doesn’t miss it. He squeezes my chin, making me hurt through my bones. “You are a sinner, Lachlan, for bringing these desires in me. And sinners need to be punished. I’m helping you to get to heaven. Otherwise, boys like you will go to hell. Do you want to go to hell, Lachlan?”
I just want to get away from him, and it doesn’t matter to me if it’s heaven or hell.
He roughly pushes me on my knees, and I hit the floor with a groan as he rests me against the bed and wraps the belt around my mouth, pressing it against my lips so I have no choice but to open my mouth and dig my teeth into it. I close my eyes as he hikes his fingers in my pajamas bottoms and slides them down, opening me to him.
And because it’s not the first time he does it—I’ve lost count of his Thursday and Saturday visits to my room—in my mind, I go to the beautiful green field where I think about lying on the grass as the sun shines on me. There is nothing but endless sky, and I make myself not feel the agonizing pain that pushes and pushes into me, the groaning and heavy breathing that threatens to suffocate me, the smells that forever stay in my brain.
Instead, I breathe in the flowers blooming on the pretty green grass, the sound of a waterfall, and go to a place inside me where no one holds me prisoner and does bad stuff to me.
The pulling of the belt from my mouth and the taste of blood on my tongue brings me back as Uncle gets up, stepping back, and then I bite on my fist, ‘cause I know what will come next.
And that I can’t make a sound.
The hard metal buckle hits my back. My entire body is full of pain that tells me my skin didn’t heal from the last time and it’ll hurt for more days. He continues his blows two, three, four more times until he stops, and says, “You had to be punished for tempting me, Lachlan. It’s all for you to go to heaven.” I don’t turn or reply, just press my forehead against the bedsheets and breathe in and out, as it holds the tears that threaten to escape me any minute.
Finally, he pulls his zipper up and leaves the room, closing the door, and I let myself cry on the sheets that still smell like him.
As soon as I can, I wash myself in the bathroom and put on my pajamas. Aunt Jessica comes back while Anna, my cousin, sleeps soundly in her bed. I climb on mine, cover myself with the blanket, and wish with all my heart to go to hell.
Because if heaven is like this place, then I don’t want any part of it.
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
The bright light blinds me as Lachlan steps inside the cage, wearing his fucking three-piece suit. Does he not have other clothes or what?
I’ve lost count of time in this place, as they keep me mostly in darkness where the dripping water in the sink is the only sound that keeps me company. They don’t forget to feed me, but that’s all sent back untouched.
He clucks with his tongue as he leans forward, his finger trailing my chin, and I move my head to the side, avoiding his touch. He grips my chin tightly and a slight moan of pain escapes me. “Valencia, I do like your stubbornness, but when it borders on stupidity, it quite annoys me.” His voice is void of any emotion as he points at the food scattered all over the floor where I threw it the minute the “nurse” brought it inside.
“I’m not a pig who you’ll get ready for the slaughter.” I spit into his face, and he merely lifts a brow, wipes the spit away, and places the strands of my hair behind my ear with his other hand. He finally lets go, stepping back and scanning me with those assertive icy-blue eyes of his. “I will never beg my father for a ransom.” If he thinks I will beg Victor for anything, he has another think coming. Victor mentioned having a new important project with Lachlan, but also that the man was dangerous. He probably refused to have anything to do with him, and that’s why I’ve been kidnapped.
What else can explain this madness? And besides, he doesn’t look like a serial killer anyway.
All this is a carefully placed tactic to create panic inside me and scare me, but ha-ha on him, because I’m not falling for it.
I push back the thought of what I did with him, avoiding those memories like a plague, because they meant nothing. He used me in his game, and like the idiot I am, I have been caught in the trap.
This has only solidi
fied the truth I’ve lived by all these years. Emotional decisions lead to chaos that has the power to destroy your life and those close to you.
He takes out a cigarette from his pocket, lights it up, and says before taking a long pull of it, “Oh really? My plan went to shit.” He mocks me, exhaling the smoke all over the place, and I wave it away with my hand, hating everything about it.
He grabs the single chair next to him that is close to the table and sits on it, placing his cane between his legs as he crosses his arms over it. If anything, he reminds me of a pirate who has kidnapped a lady.
I groan inwardly, because who the hell compares this guy to a pirate in my current situation? “So, using your logic,” he says with his patronizing tone that grates on my nerves, “keeping you alive has no point, right? Since you won’t ask for ransom.” He chuckles as if finding this idea truly hilarious.
I freeze, searching for words, because I have no answer to that. Will he kill me if I won’t comply with his wishes?
Focusing my attention back on him, I notice his watchful gaze on me as he cocks his head to the side and scans me as if trying to search for something.
Like weak spots that he can press on in case he needs leverage. His whole demeanor is about indifference, control, and dominance, but he is not using it in a threatening way.
Yet.
But beneath the cold exterior, I see flashes of fury and barely controlled emotion I can’t name when he squeezes the cane harder as his cigarette ash continues to drop on the floor, barely used. Half the time, he doesn’t actually smokes those things. Why then does he light them up?
With his handsomeness, one could compare him to a lion, but he is a hawk. He doesn’t miss anything and always has the advantage over his victims who never see his attack coming, and then he is free in the air.