by V. F. Mason
“Lachlan,” he says, his voice barely controlling the fury that comes from him, and then he clicks his fingers. “Get up and step outside. Everyone else, continue to write and open your books. If it’s not done by the time I’m back here….” He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.
We all know.
I get out and he grabs me harshly by the nape, bending me a little as he drags me in the direction of his office. We enter, and then he goes to the wall near his library and presses the button, and the wall sides open.
Then he takes me downstairs to his basement, where humidity greets us and I hear the distinctive hissing sounds.
Snakes.
The entire area is covered in glass walls that hold various snakes, spiders, and lizards that gaze at you like you are their favorite prey and they can’t wait to dig their fangs into you.
He places me on the metal chair pinned right in the middle, straps my legs and arms so I won’t be able to move, and then seethes into my face. “You will learn how to respect me, boy.” I don’t say anything else, although everything in me rises at the idea of what comes next. “You think I don’t know how resistant you are with Pastor? And how you tried to tell on my son?” he asks, and I grit my teeth when I remember Matt.
He kept picking on Anna, but no one said anything. So I told on him to the minor security guards, and of course, they must have tattled on me.
Fuck them. I’m not even sorry for swearing in church. “Boys who point their fingers and accuse others are sinners fit for hell, Lachlan.” He straps my mouth with tape, and adds, “You will spend a few hours here and then take a shower once I’m done. So your aunt won’t know about this or she might get upset. You don’t want that, do you?” I shake my head, even though I hate myself for it.
I hate whatever requires me to comply with their orders.
Satisfied with all this, he leaves, shuts the door, and probably presses the button as I hear the sound of the glass door opening, allowing the bigger snakes to slide out and have free rein.
Three of them slide back and forth at the far end, making loud noises that grate on my nerves, but I try to think about something else.
Like a life I will have once it’s all over and I can go to college. I will take Aunt Jessica and Anna with me, and we can build our life there. That stupid asshole of an uncle brought her into this fucked-up community that lived by their religion and did unspeakable things.
But then the snakes turn and one of them slides closer and closer to me, rising to my level. My heart beats rapidly, while I do my best to keep eye contact with her.
Sometimes it helps, and I almost exhale in relief when she hisses and goes back to the floor. They were probably fed before this hoopla, as none of them pays me attention for a few hours.
But then one of them comes back, rises, and I understand that’s a battle I lost. She swiftly leans to me and bites me right on the foot, and I scream although it’s muffled through the tape, and then two of the others follow. However, it’s not as interesting for them and they let go of me, while sweat and blood coats my body.
Those are dry bites, as the snakes were stripped of their venom.
And I have nothing else to do but wait in the dark room surrounded by lizards and wait for my freedom.
Just because I broke a pencil.
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
This is what happens when you let emotions rule your life.
Saying this to myself doesn’t help though as I wash my face in the sink. Every one of my aching muscles causes me to replay last night over and over in my mind.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, my hands fist as I see several hickeys scattered on my neck, collarbone, and even breasts. The fucker marked everything he could, as if taunting me with this.
So I’ll never forget the devil seduced me easily.
But is he a devil in my mind though? He is the man who awakened dormant feelings inside me back in Italy, showing up in my life unexpectedly, yet spinning it in a way that made me feel alive. I’m not sure my subconscious can separate the two—or wants to, for that matter.
Shouldn’t there be goodness in him despite all the flaws?
Tapping my foot loudly on the wooden floor, I try to glance over the guy’s shoulder to see if my coffee is ready, but he is so freaking tall I don’t see anything.
Huffing in annoyance, I check the time and groan. It’s only five minutes till my museum tour starts, and it won’t be as fun without my morning coffee.
I decide to go to the side, and due to the long line, I bump my shoulder against the stranger’s and he turns his smoldering blue eyes on me.
Dangerously handsome doesn’t even begin to describe him. His knuckles that drum on the counter pause midair, while he gives me the most sinister smile. “Hi, there.”
Blushing, because he totally caught me staring at him with my mouth open, I just nod and smile at the barista as he holds my cup in front of me. “Double espresso.” I wiggle my fingers for it and he chuckles as he gives it to me. With one last side-eye to the man who still holds his gaze on me, I dart to the door, but to my utter horror, I slip on a wet spot and the double espresso goes flying and lands on the floor with a loud splat, while strong hands catch me from behind just before I fall any farther.
“You all right?” the deep voice asks. With nothing but his smell surrounding me and with my heart beating rapidly in my chest, I know I’m not.
Everything is freaking humiliating; that’s what it is. “Yeah, I’m so sorry.”
The barista guy comes to my aid, mopping the mess and shrugging. “No big deal.”
So much for a perfect first morning in Florence as the “new” me.
Although creating big messes is so me. Groaning, I cover my face with my hands while the stranger speaks with amusement lacing his tone. “It’s just coffee.”
Just coffee?
Glaring at him, I point at it. “No, it’s not just a coffee. It’s my morning espresso on my vacation, right before my museum tour. I’ve been looking forward to it for a few days and now it’s ruined.” Oh my God, he probably thinks I’m a psycho who seethes like this to a stranger.
Mortification fills me, but instead of revulsion, something entirely different flashes in his eyes.
Curiosity. “Here, take mine.” He places his untouched coffee in my hands and then winks. “And I think we are on the same tour, so let’s hurry to make sure your vacation starts right.” And surprisingly, as guarded as I am about my life, I follow him as we chat all the way to the museum and then spend the entire day together.
And soon, I think that slip was the best thing that could have happened to me on vacation.
Shaking my head and bringing myself back to the present, I understand now everything was carefully planned to lure me into his web.
Was any of it true?
Lachlan was nowhere in sight when I woke up, and it filled me with relief, because I just had no clue how to act around him when his dry sense of humor found everything I did or said amusing.
He is like two different men with me. There is this harsh killer and then the passionate and tender man who needs to own me. But none of it changes the fact that waking up with him is out of the question for me.
I rush to take a shower to wash away our mutual smells, hating the idea of him on me, even if yesterday I was a willing participant.
My body shivers from the cold, and with one last glance, I step out of the shower and dry myself off. It’s when I’m quickly grabbing the shirt that still lies on the floor that something dawns on me.
Knowing Lachlan and whatever fucked-up plans he has in mind for me, shouldn’t he provide me clothes too? Yes, it’s his room, but he plans everything.
Even if I’m nothing but the prey he caught, the man is still very much possessive of me. I can’t image him being okay with me strolling through the place wearing nothing but this.
I walk to the wardrobe and open
it up, but find it empty.
So much for my freaking hope. I try the drawers and other things, but find nothing except his clothes. I huff in frustration, adjusting the towel that almost slips off.
And then my eyes land on the chair in the far corner, and my heart stills. There lay shorts, lingerie, and a hoodie along with Uggs.
My brows furrow as I snatch them up and quickly put them on, all while wondering what kind of serial killer this guy is if he provides all this for me.
What’s his agenda? No matter what it is though, it scares the hell out of me, because this is nothing but madness.
It’s as if he waits for me to be cooked just right in the oven, before placing me on the table and feeding on all my miseries. Truly, just what does his kidnapping imply?
A voice from behind me startles me and I spin around to see Maria holding a tray of food in her hand. Do they have orders for me to eat all the freaking time or what? Since the moment I came here, they always dangle a tray of some sort in front of me. “You’re awake.” She places it on the small table and smiles while passing by me. “Lachlan said to bring you breakfast and let you know that you are free to explore the mansion as you wish.”
“I’m free to explore?” I repeat like a parrot with nothing but disbelief pouring from me.
Why is he giving me freedom? Is this another tricky plan? It must be; a man like him won’t leave yesterday’s deed unpunished.
She nods, and then asks, “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.” At my answer, she beams and then quickly disappears while I just blink, wondering if I’m stupid or what. Maybe what happens with me is no biggie for the staff and Lachlan. I imagine they’ve played this game before.
They sure don’t follow any scripts like I’ve seen in movies. I’m a prisoner who can walk freely wherever!
Ignoring the breakfast, I go into the hall with dark walls holding odd pictures that remind me of Picasso, displaying the cubism artistic style.
Considering this style focused on seeing the art from a three-dimensional view, meaning it has more than one meaning depending on who gazed at it, it doesn’t surprise me Lachlan likes it.
Sort of implying everyone has their own truth.
The man even has to make statements with his own decor.
As I walk to the stairs, I count at least five rooms including “mine.” Why would he need such a big house just for himself?
He doesn’t host serial killer events, does he?
Shaking my head from the idiotic thoughts, I hop down a few steps and end up on the first floor, which has three directions to choose from.
One to the dining room with dancing space, one to what I assume is the kitchen and terrace if the smells of freshly baked bread are anything to go by, and finally another that leads with a narrow path to somewhere.
Taking a deep breath, I step that way, but quickly hide behind a column as I hear Levi’s voice. “He wants red sheets, red. He doesn’t like white. They annoy him. I always have to do everything myself,” he instructs someone, and then passes by without noticing me. Once he disappears behind the kitchen wing, I look once again where he came from and dart there.
Maybe it’s my chance for an escape?
I see a path leading to some massive wooden doors that remind me of an office. If I were as powerful as Lachlan, I’d probably make it one.
But then my eyes land on a wall that is moved back, with a security code pad next to it, and narrow stairs that lead down.
As in a secret passage? This place seriously used some fairytales for inspiration, but maybe that’s like a safety exit? In case shit hits the fan, they can run off here.
With this hopeful thought in mind, I go into the stairwell and shiver slightly as doom falls over me, sending unpleasant sensations through me where nothing but cold and… death greet me.
It takes me around five minutes to get downstairs, and when I do, I look around only to see several metal rooms that remind me of prison cells. I see only one light bulb above that brightens the place, but it keeps flickering.
A buzzing sound disturbs my ears, and I understand this is not an exit.
More like another secret that will only cement my fear.
Right when I’m about to go back up, because oddly enough it seems safer than this place, one of the doors opens and a beautiful blonde saunters out of it, flipping her long locks back with a breezy gesture.
She is wearing tight pink shorts along with a white T-shirt, and knee-high socks with pink boots. Her huge blue eyes study me for a moment as she tips her head to the side, and then blinks rapidly. “Hey, doll! Where did you come from?” She sounds cheerful as she bounces in place, nothing but friendliness coming from her.
I want to reply, but my words still in my throat, and instead I swallow as panic swirls through my veins.
Because her hands and legs have blood smeared all over them.
Lachlan
Twisting the pen through my fingers, I lean back in my chair while counting down the numbers in my head, hoping to evade this fucking obsession that doesn’t let me do anything but watch Valencia on my screen as she occupies my room. I turned it off half an hour ago to rein in the chaos that erupts when she is concerned.
I still can’t fucking believe she managed to get to the ground floor with that plan of hers, but I watched her and she did everything right, so there was no worry something would happen to her. The hope, the adrenaline, the fear… brought a glow from within her in a way that mesmerized me, and yet…
Anger filled my chest at the idea of her harming herself, so I ran downstairs to make sure she’d be all right. If it hadn’t been winter, I would have allowed her to roam around the maze, searching for an escape while making my presence known so she’d use all her instincts to survive.
But I couldn’t stomach the idea of her in agony.
And that’s a problem.
She gave herself to me last night, but try as I might, it doesn’t bring me pleasure; in fact, there is a bitter taste of revulsion.
One should never use another’s body without consent, and although her body was into it, her soul wasn’t.
It was the one single thing I had promised myself, and I failed.
I manage somehow to fail at all things when it comes to Valencia.
I get up and lean on the window as scenes from our meeting play in my mind. My plan escalated in a direction neither of us saw coming, and in a way, I hate I went to Italy after her.
Had I stayed, kidnapping her wouldn’t involve all this. The conflict, the discomfort, the confusion.
All emotions that simply never existed in my new life.
“You are awfully eager for this trip. Fan of renaissance?”
She nods excitedly, gaping at the Michelangelo painting and sighs. “There is something magical about that particular era. Leonardo Da Vinci. Raphael. Michelangelo. They were geniuses who created such beauty… people who lived by their own rules.” Her last words are said with a little sadness. She is probably comparing her timid lifestyle to the vividness of those who lived before her.
“Da Vinci is considered one of the greatest scientists of all time with his drawings of human anatomy and helicopters.”
“Yes, along with Nicola Tesla,” she says and frowns, rubbing her chin. Rarely anyone adds anything about Tesla; he is almost as forgotten as everyone else. What a genius though.
“Interested in physics?” I ask, and she laughs, motioning for me to follow the guide who walks farther into the museum, with tourists posing and snapping pics.
“Creation is an art form, you know? People are used to considering something artistic as a creation, but truth be told, we are all artists just in different jobs.”
Gazing at her beaming face as she so passionately explains her points, unfamiliar emotions fill my chest and I do my best to squish them inside me.
Regret has no place in my perfectly laid plans, because it goes hand-in-hand with pity. And the minute those emotions sett
le inside someone, he cannot do anything levelheaded.
Because everything else centers on the happiness of another person. “This is our final destination; after this, we have a lunch break scheduled, and then we will go explore Florence. Ladies, get ready for amazing shopping,” the tour guide says cheerfully, and it is followed with groans from the men and squeals from the ladies.
I look at Valencia, and offer, “How about lunch? Pizza and pasta sound good?” She doesn’t eat on a regular basis. The reports stated as much, but she is on vacation.
I have a feeling everything will be different with her here.
She hesitates, removing some hair from her face, but then nods, her cheeks flushed. “I’d love to.”
“Valencia Moore, please don’t forget to get your refund for the part of the trip you missed since you joined us a day late,” the tour guide shouts, and tension comes back at once.
Moore.
I should always remember her last name and what capturing her represents.
Apparently, I haven’t done it enough. Women never evoked anything but a hard-on for me, and that lasted only as long as they could keep my attention on sex, which rarely lasted an hour.
Valencia though? She is on my mind twenty-four fucking seven, and this only intensifies the burning in my chest, which nothing can explain.
Pinching my nose, I think about going back to her and following my plan; the faster she is gone from here, the faster the emotions will settle and become nothing but memories in my good-for-nothing life.
I hear the clearing of a throat and my eyes snap open to see Levi standing in the doorway. “We have a problem in the underground.”
I had redesigned the house specifically concentrating on the underground, since it’s where all the magic happened. No one had access to it without my or Levi’s permission, and only trusted ones entered. It’s not as if I chased around the town hunting willing protégés, but I chose the best of the best or those who everyone pitied.
Like Shon, he was so pathetic on the New York street near my club that I figured the kid needed a little help reining in all his emotions. I generally don’t believe in killing for killing.