Do it, a Devilish voice whispers in the back of my mind.
He’ll never notice you’re gone.
Go.
With my heart thudding recklessly in my chest, I slip past our maids and the night staff, making my way out the back French doors and through the garden. Following the bright lights and the lilting laughter of children floating through the air, I leave the estate. I only glance back once at the looming structure before I trudge through the immaculate grounds toward my destination.
It’s chaos.
The carnival is blinding chaos.
And I welcome it.
With a blinding smile on my face, I follow a group of rowdy teenagers in through the entrance. They laugh so freely, as if they have not a single care in the world. They walk past the vibrant lights and the packed food stands, as if they’ve seen it all, done it all a million times, and I’m sure they have. Whereas I’ve never experienced any of it. I soak it in. The aggressive smells are so pungent they damn-near curl on my tongue. I marvel at the sounds of children screaming in fear and joy on rides. There are loud dings and pops from people trying their luck at various booths. It’s on overload to my senses as I try to keep up with everything that is seemingly happening all at once. I take in the multitude of families, the young children gripping their prized stuffed animals, others walking around with bright blue and pink sticks of cotton candy. Ice creams wobble perilously over cones, dripping over tiny fingers.
It’s beautiful.
Exhilarating.
I spin in a slow circle, taking in the bright flashes of colors, the blaring carousel music that is seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere. It’s a burst of color in a world of black and white. I jerk to a halt in the center of the walkway when I spot the Ferris wheel up ahead. The colorful lights are a siren, calling to me. People pay me no mind; it’s like I’m invisible to everyone. They skirt around me, only a few tossing a rude “move it” over their shoulders.
Rubbing my damp palms down my floral sundress, I force my feet to move. I brush past large groups of people that are blocking my way, letting their laughter roll right off me. Dirt kicks up against my ankles, and I welcome the foreign sensation.
With only a few people in line to get on, I stand there, waiting patiently, people watching. The wind whips my hair around my face, causing a slight chill to roll through me. If I was smart, I would’ve thought to change before leaving, but that was the very last thing on my mind. I just wanted out. It was my eighteenth birthday, and I deserved a single night out, even if it just was at some foolish carnival.
Craning my head back, I stare up at the looming metal structure. It’s painted white with hundreds of colorful light bulbs scattered along the bars. The seats are a variation of colors. From red to blue to green to yellow, then the pattern starts back at red. The wheel goes around and around, slowly coming to a stop as each person or couple gets off.
“Ticket!”
I jump at the man’s sharp voice. I didn’t even realize when the people in front of me moved and got on. Dressed like you’d imagine all carnies, the man stands there, with a slight beer belly, looking less than enthused with me. With his hand outstretched between us, he’s blocking the gate, keeping me from entering. I frown at him.
“Ticket for what?”
“You need a ticket to get on. The booths are over by the entrance. Next!” he calls out, dismissing me.
Feeling heat rise to my cheeks in embarrassment, I step out of line, searching for this ticket booth he’s talking about. I didn’t bring my purse and I have no cash on me, so the chances of me getting on this Ferris wheel, or any ride here, are slim. I might be able to barter with this ticket seller, maybe beg some unsuspecting teen or child for an extra ticket, but all that seems pretty drastic, considering it’s just a simple ride.
Heaving a sigh, I turn on my heels, heading toward the booths anyway. A group of kids chasing each other run past me, nearly knocking me over. I shoot the boys a glare over my shoulder, and in the process, I crash into a warm body.
“Oh, my God! I’m so sorr—”
My mouth snaps shut.
Ice floods my veins.
The warmth of this stranger’s hands sear into my skin, but the smell, the smell is what hits me first. Despite being out here with so many other scents surrounding us, I’d know this one anywhere. It’s deeply ingrained in my memory.
With my heart pounding in my chest, I glance up, and my breath catches. There is suddenly a vise around my lungs, keeping me from pulling in a single breath. A ruckus of emotions has taken residence in my body. I take a wary step back from the stranger, my eyes widening with surprise as I do. This man isn’t just any stranger, though, he’s the same man who was lurking in the shadowed hallway on my floor of the estate all those years ago.
The monster.
“I know you,” I whisper. Everything feels off-kilter. A cold sweat seeps from my pores, and my hands tremble. As if sensing danger, my feet move of their own accord, taking me farther and farther away from the man in the black suit. He’s dressed almost identically as he was years ago. So much so, I think I’m imagining this. Imagining him.
But I can’t be, can I?
His mouth quirks, like he finds me amusing. There’s a frightening glint in his eyes that has me wanting to turn and run. Run as far away from him and this carnival as I can get.
“Do you now?” he asks the question calmly, as if he knows the effect he’s having on me.
“You were in my house. In the hallway outside of my room.”
He smiles then. It’s as devastatingly beautiful as it is frightening. “Are you scared of me, Tesoro?”
My stomach dips. Gooseflesh raises on my skin, and my throat constricts, refusing to swallow. “Should I be?” I croak.
He takes a step toward me, his eyes darkening with each second that passes between us. “Yes.”
One word.
One answer.
It’s enough to cause my soul to leave my body. Fear claws at my chest, warning bells ring in my ears, and without thinking about it, I run.
Hard and fast.
Colors blur and bodies whiz past me. Voices and laughter trail behind me. I don’t turn, too afraid to face the reality of the man in the dark suit. Wind whips savagely at my cheeks. Fear claws at my chest.
I weave around booths and rides, running this way and that, clipping people as I go, stumbling in my haste. My lungs burn. My feet ache in these tennis shoes and my heart, the organ feels like it’s on the verge of bursting out of my chest. I spot large crowds of people up ahead and dig deeper, running harder, faster. I’m nearing the carousel and the entrance of the carnival when it happens. The music grows louder and louder as do the bright lights of the carousel. I can almost taste the safety. Pushing past the sharp stitching in my side, beneath my ribs, I force myself to keep going.
Suddenly, pain rips through my skull, and I’m roughly yanked from behind. I let out a scream that only lasts a few seconds before a fist is wrapped in my hair, a gloved hand slapped over my mouth and I’m airborne. My body is cruelly snatched away from safety, and I’m dragged away from the lights and the crowds of people, hidden behind one of the booths. Not one person notices the struggle.
There is an unrelenting hold around me. It’s suffocating and painful, spurring me into a panic. I kick and flail my arms, trying to free myself. I hear pained grunts and feel multiple sets of hands trying to restrain me. The unrelenting grip on my hair tightens, and I scream as more pain burns at the base of my skull. Fear wraps cold and savage around my heart. In a last-ditch effort, I dig my teeth into someone’s arm and one of the men hiss in pain.
“Basta!” is the last thing I hear before a fist comes sailing toward my face. Pain explodes, and everything fades to black.
CHAPTER THREE
Saint
Plans have changed.
It was supposed to be a somewhat civil affair as I collected my down payment. Westwood asked for one more night with h
is daughter and a breakfast meeting between the three of us where he could explain to the young girl her new “adventure” in life. His word, not mine. To allow her to pack her bags and say goodbye.
But it’s like Westwood forgot the very essence of the Vitale name. It’s as though he thinks I’m a watered-down version of my father.
Fool.
I’m worse.
Dad ruled this city with an iron fist. Tight. Impenetrable. Unyielding.
Unlike Dad, though, I rule like the night. Dark. Suffocating. Terrifying.
Where my father had a code of fucked-up morals, I have none. I have agendas that require the patience of a saint, my name being a coincidence I pride myself on, that take years to fulfill. But, oh, are they so worth it. Rich, old bastards like Silas Westwood think because they’re damn near double my thirty years in age, they’re wiser and more cunning.
They’re pathetic.
And I enjoy unraveling their perfectly constructed worlds one thread at a time. Westwood fucked my father over. In the worst possible way. Used Dad’s untimely death six years ago as an excuse to pretend money wasn’t owed to the Vitale name. As I slowly made my way through the list of people who took advantage of my father and me, I left the worst ones for last.
Westwood owes more than he could ever afford.
I will extract every dime from his name.
Catching him off-guard and taking her tonight rather than tomorrow was a subtle reminder of who truly calls the shots in our business relationship.
I’m stolen from my furious thoughts when the door to the Denali opens and Roscoe dumps my down payment onto the floorboard at my feet. He then rounds the vehicle and climbs up front with Hyde. Behind us, the rest of my security detail will follow in other black SUVs.
The men who protect me are just an image to portray for those who might view me as weak. Roscoe, Hyde, and the others don’t protect me. They assist me. I’m a cruel motherfucker who deals in blood and someone has to clean up after me.
I stare down at the mess of blonde waves covering the face of the Westwood girl. So small and innocent and young. Her fool of a father thought I negotiated in virgin pussy. In reality, I deal in pain. I wanted to hurt what he loves most. He clearly saw that vicious, predatory hunger inside me and delivered me a sweet morsel on a silver platter.
But this girl isn’t the one whom he loves most.
No, he loves himself more than money or expensive cars or women or his own fucking flesh and blood.
Because of this, I will find a way to shred every part of the thing he loves most. It begins with the child and it’ll end with everything. Finally having her in my possession is the first step in taking everything away from him.
Patience, Saint, you’re playing a long game.
The girl groans from the floor, gently rubbing her face and wincing when she does. It’s dark but her hair almost glows with the moonlight seeking her innocence through the windows like a perverted stalker wanting to catch a peek. It makes me wonder by what means they used to procure the girl once she ran from me at the carnival. My men aren’t gentle or the coddling type.
They’re killers.
As am I.
Accepting the girl—Melody—as payment had been the first move in the game Westwood and I are playing. The game I’ve strategized over for three years prior to our meeting as I analyzed his every move and watched him from afar. The motherfucker thought he pulled a fast one over me and I allowed him to think it too.
But the moment I showed up on his property three years ago, he knew he was in deep shit. The weasel attempted to play me with the whole, “Please don’t hurt my daughter,” nonsense. I’d been watching him for three fucking years before that meeting. It’s what he wanted. An easy way out. Take out the trash, Vitale.
If I had a heart in the cavernous, abyss inside my chest, I’d have felt bad for the fifteen-year-old girl the man was silently offering me. He knew what a bad man like me could do to a girl like her. And when I prowled through his estate to take a peek of the innocent thing, I almost felt bad for her.
Almost.
I, once again, allowed Westwood to think I was weak. Told him she was too young and that I’d come for her on her eighteenth birthday. It sounded so noble and I nearly smile at the thought of how easily I played the man. So, I waited him out, continued to watch his every move, and then came to collect my down payment.
She’s exactly that.
Nothing more than a token to be palmed inside my hand before I swoop in and wreck everything in the Westwood world. I will rob him of everything—his land, his assets, the suit off his back, his motherfucking dignity.
The girl moans again and tries to sit up. My cock reacts to the soft, feminine sound but I ignore it. If I end up fucking the girl, so be it, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about extracting what she knows about Westwood, biding more time, and then using her to my advantage as I take even more from her father. The poor girl will fall in love and beg for favor. That’s how this sort of thing goes, right? I’ve seen it enough with my father whom had a soft spot for women. I imagine she’ll think she can change the villain into a broken hero.
Oh, how wrong she will be.
My eyes skim over her appearance. Everything about her screams delicate princess locked away in her daddy’s tower. Her floral-print dress is demure in style, though her position on the floor has the material riding up her pale thighs in a tempting way. She wears pink Converse tennis shoes that don’t go with a dress, but I suppose for a teenager it may be the style. The girl doesn’t wear any jewelry, her face is makeup free, and she doesn’t wear nail polish. Such a far cry from the women I usually invite into my bed.
“Happy birthday, Tesoro.” Treasure. Because, after all, that’s exactly what she is. The proverbial X that marks the spot where I begin my ruthless dig until I uncover every Westwood dime that belongs to my family, plus interest.
“You,” she croaks out, making no move to sit up.
I can smell her fear from here—a salty sweat that makes my tongue water for a taste. The vehicle bounces and I lift my gaze to glance out the window. Almost home. Where Westwood lives in extravagance on sprawling acreage meant to impress everyone in this city, I live in exclusion where I can plot my deviant plans without interruption.
The trees whiz by us in a blur as we make our way down my bumpy road. Deep in the thicket is a fully restored Victorian era home. When I’d purchased it after Dad’s death, it’d been nothing but a dilapidated old house. Now, it is fit for a dark prince turned king.
“We’re home,” I tell the girl who’s only hours into adulthood. “You will walk inside like a good girl or I will have Roscoe carry you. The choice is yours.”
“My head hurts,” she mutters as she tries to sit up. “He hit me.”
I tense up, my gaze darting to the rearview mirror. Roscoe’s are already there, his eyes burning with fire.
“She bit me,” he clips out. “You said to subdue her by any means necessary.”
I lean forward in my seat and reach down to brush the hair away from her face. She flinches at my touch. “Don’t bite me,” I rumble, my voice deceptively calm. “I wouldn’t want to have to punish you.”
Her eyes—a fierce jade green—widen comically at my words. The girl probably never saw a day of punishment in her entire life. My father used a belt to drive his point home when I was a boy and then graduated into more psychological means the older I got. Though I hated it at the time, I admit it was effective, because it made me who I am today.
It makes me wonder how compliant I could make this young thing simply by bending her over my knee, shoving her girly dress up over her tiny ass, and smacking her pale flesh until it turns crimson. My cock thickens uncomfortably in my slacks. As much as I’d enjoy playing into my fantasies, I won’t. I have a purpose in this life: continue Dad’s work and create a legacy he’d be proud of. I’ve never let my dick drive me in the past and I certainly won’t start now.
&nbs
p; Roscoe stops in front of my home, shutting off the vehicle. Hyde climbs out and opens the door for me. I nudge Melody with my foot.
“Get up,” I instruct.
She sits up, seemingly woozy, and clutches onto my knee. Her touch singes me, shooting fire straight to my heavy balls and aching cock. Slowly, she rises up. With unsure steps, she makes it out of the Denali and rubs at her head.
I catch the quick, clear glint in her eyes as she scans the property. Her head doesn’t hurt as bad as she says. She’s faking it. Fuck, she’s going to run.
Before I can open my mouth to warn her not to, the girl takes off in a sprint. Hyde isn’t even looking at her, which means I’m forced to flee from the vehicle, stalking her at top speed. Heavy footsteps thud behind me, but I have a head start on my men.
“Stop!” I bark out. “Now!”
My words only make her run faster. I’ll catch her. There’s no doubt in my mind I will. I run my ass off every day in my gym to ensure that everything my men can do, I can do better. A girl who was only seventeen less than twelve hours ago is no match for a man with my stamina.
When I’m close enough to her, I swipe out and grab a handful of her golden tresses. She screams—blood curdling and horrified—as I yank her back. Still in fight or flight mode, she tugs and twists, swinging at me with her useless fists. I tackle her to the leaf-covered earth in the woods, pinning her facedown with my knee on her spine. She squirms and wiggles to no avail.
“There’s something you must learn now, Tesoro, or the two of us will have many problems,” I grind out as I unfasten my belt. “You. Will. Not. Run. From. Me.”
She shrieks at the sound of my belt swooshing from the loops of my pants. Hyde and Roscoe, who just arrived, watch with barely concealed interest. I ignore her yelps as I shove her dress up, exposing her white cotton panties. Grabbing a handful, I drag them down her thin thighs, exposing her creamy ass. I twist the leather of my belt around my fist and then slam it down across her unblemished flesh. Her entire body stiffens and then a soul-crushing screech bursts out of her.
Tales of Darkness & Sin: An Anthology Page 15