Arson’s Captive

by Mason , V. F.

  After all, her life depends on it.

  “Are you waiting for a special invitation, Chloe?” I ask, slipping my glasses lower with my finger so she’ll see the full impact of my stare. “Or you want me to pull you inside by the hair?”

  Her lips thin while her hold on the skirt of her dress tightens, but she must bite her tongue, because the stays silent.

  Ah, what a waste.

  I’m disappointed she hides her fire. Whenever she has one of her outbursts, her cheeks redden, and she has this glow about her that I can’t help but want to destroy.

  Piece by little piece.

  For a second, fear flashes in her gaze and she glances over her shoulder at Levi who clasps his hands together, sighing heavily, probably afraid for his little girl.

  At least that’s what the old man started calling her while bringing her an endless supply of food and formed a stupid attachment, which evidently started in Chloe too, despite her less than stellar behavior toward him.

  And that sense of attachment gave her at least some source of comfort, like there was someone who could protect her from me.

  Even the idea itself is laughable as fuck.

  She can resist, deny, beg… but she is mine for the time being, and even the devil himself has no power to take her away.

  I roar the engine to life, and she finally snaps out of her shock, running toward the car and jumping inside, her scent filling the space.

  A blank expression settles on her face while she straightens on her seat, fastening her seatbelt all while gazing ahead as she silently tells me to fuck off.

  Ah, princesses and their high horses.

  They should be careful, because there is always someone lurking in the shadows, ready to strike them so hard they will have no choice but to fall from them.

  She presses the button to slide the window closed, but my words stop her, as I speed the car toward the iron gates guarding Lachlan’s mansion. “Keep it open, darling. Quite frankly, you stink.” From the corner of my eye, I notice her stiffen and a blush appear on her cheeks, while her head turns in my direction, sending me a glare that sparkles in her green orbs.

  Resistance.

  It’s way more fun than her holier-than-thou attitude.

  “I think we’ll have a lot of fun, Chloe,” I say, raising my hand in greeting to one of the guards who with a nod slides the gates open, allowing me to fly through them and get on the main road, driving so fast the wind slaps my face and blows her hair in different directions.

  “Go to hell, Arson,” she mutters, and my laughter fills the car.

  Yes, indeed her resistance is way more interesting.

  Chapter Nine

  “Love is an illusion created by fools while darkness is a solace for lost souls.”

  Arson

  Callista, 17 years old

  “Everything is so delicious, Carmen,” Rick, one of the guests, says to my mom with his mouth full of risotto. “No wonder Pastor always looks blissfully happy with you.”

  A man opposite him picks up his glass, raising it in the direction of my mom. “A well-fed man is always happy. Carmen, you are a prime example why all women need to learn how to cook.”

  Mom blushes and waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, I’m not really—” She winces a little, and I know that Pastor who sits next to her probably squeezed her knee hard under the table so she wouldn’t blab to everyone how she is not the one who cooked.

  Apparently, it’s important for Pastor to portray that his wife knows it all, and he loves the constant praise she gets for every little thing they notice around the house.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Another man, Oliver, speaks up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. His gaze lands on me, and I shift uncomfortably when they flash with pleasure.

  The hell?

  “How old are you, child?” The man addresses me this time, and Pastor nods, allowing me to speak.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Are you betrothed by any chance?”

  The fork drops on my plate with a loud clatter while I gape at him in shock. “Of course not,” I tell him, not waiting for Pastor’s interference, probably failing to hide my disgust at this whole thing. “Why would you think I was?”

  “That’s enough, Chloe,” Pastor says, and my head swings in his direction, warning evident in his face before he smiles at the man.

  “We don’t think about such things here before girls turn eighteen.”

  What in the hell?

  Mom frowns and puts back her spoon, listening intently to the conversation while I want to get up and demand answers right freaking now.

  What does Pastor plan to do to girls when they are eighteen?

  I worriedly think about it but come up blank, because our so-called town is still relatively new, and we don’t have any girls who are eighteen yet.

  But we will next year, and this is their plan… a marriage?

  Didn’t Pastor promise everyone that once they are eighteen, they can choose their life and leave, and he would even pay for our education?

  At least that’s what he told me, while hope bloomed in my chest from the prospect of getting the hell out of here.

  Was it all a lie?

  My heart beats wildly against my ribs, and slowly I feel fear sinking into me, so I pinch myself under the table to balance myself in this situation and think rationally.

  “Eighteen.” The man huffs, sipping his drink and then clacking loudly with his tongue. “Why wait so long?”

  “These are my rules. And I wouldn’t question them if I were you,” Pastor says with a threat in his voice, and I slowly relax, realizing he is probably playing along to his guests’ behavior.

  It wouldn’t be the first time he has done that either.

  “Fair enough.” But then Oliver leans closer and proposes something outrageous. “I have a son just ten years older than her. I wouldn’t mind an alliance with your daughter.”

  “He has to be worthy of her,” Pastor replies, rubbing his chin. “He can come visit anytime so I can see if he is an appropriate candidate for her.”

  Appropriate candidate? He will see?

  “It would be beneficial for both businesses,” the man adds, while scanning me quickly. “She is beautiful enough. Marcello will be happy with my choice.” He waits a beat before continuing, “My son will do what I order him to do. Can you say the same about your step-daughter?”

  Dear God, is this really happening?

  I shoot from the chair before anyone can stop me and hiss, “I won’t marry anyone until I want to.”

  I throw the napkin on the table and Pastor shouts, “Chloe!”

  “Honey.” But even the pleading in my mom’s voice can’t stop my defending myself from this disaster about to happen.

  I put up with a lot of shit from Pastor, from attending all the Sunday church services to listening to the crap the priest spews at us in school—that we are all sinners, and by being in and working in the town, we clean ourselves so God can forgive us.

  I gritted my teeth every single time the priest and Pastor laughed when I mentioned how I want to be a doctor, only because they said at eighteen we can leave.

  Even Mom supported my decision, reminding me that Pastor had money and he promised to pay for my education.

  I never said anything.

  But this?

  Agreeing to a marriage on my behalf no longer makes me think this is a temporary chore where Mom brought us so her wounds could heal, but a life sentence without an option of parole.

  And no way in hell will I sacrifice my life in exchange for hers, because she made her choices, so she can live with them.

  I won’t ever subject myself to this insanity!

  Oliver sips from his drink before smacking his lips together. “She has spirit. I like it.” He taps on the rim of the glass. “Marcello will love it.” The odd note lacing his tone indicates to me his son must have some sadistic desires, because what else explains the glint in his e
yes?

  “I will never marry your son, so I don’t care what he loves.” Pushing my chair back, I walk around it while Pastor bangs his fist on the table, rattling the silverware making several waiters jump up, sharing concerned glances.

  “Apologize to Oliver right now,” he orders, and Mom places her hand over his fist, but he shakes off her hold, his eyes trained on me, promising me all kinds of retribution if I don’t listen.

  While he never directed this kind of stare at me, I’ve seen enough of it in the past aimed toward people who screwed up to know that he won’t let it slide.

  Mom swings her head from me to him, biting on her lip and worrying about the outcome of this situation. The familiar guilt present since I was a child hits me with full force, allowing all the painful flashbacks in my life to play in front of my eyes.

  All her screams, pain, bruises, life without peace.

  Can I subject her to this torture again, or can I bite my tongue now, finding a solution for this crappy situation all on my own?

  Digging my nails into my palm so hard I probably draw blood, I speak the words that taste like bitter fruit in my mouth while everything inside me screams about the injustice of it all. “I’m sorry for my outburst.” I duck my head to show even more submission to a man who probably loves it, if his behavior is any indication to go by. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  I hear Mom’s barely audible relieved exhale and from the corner of my eye see how Pastor smiles brightly, shifting his attention to the man. “She lost her favorite horse just two days ago. She is a bit emotional.” My heart pangs painfully when he reminds me about Star, my most beloved mare who had been with me since the very first day in this hell and listened to all my secrets.

  Riding her while the wind blew my hair back and gave me at least an illusion of freedom was the highlight of my existence.

  But even she was taken away from me.

  Oliver clears his throat. “No hard feelings. Like I said, I wouldn’t have wanted a mousy daughter-in-law anyway.”

  I bite my tongue so hard the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, but thankfully Pastor says, “Chloe, I think it’s best if you go to your room now.”

  I nod and without raising my head quickly go to the hallway where I grab a napkin from one of the waiters who passes me by and wipe the blood from my mouth.

  Resting my back against the wall, I close my eyes and will myself to act rationally, reminding myself that my tears and pain mean nothing to anyone.

  I’m just a stupid teenager who doesn’t appreciate the gifts this life has granted me, or at least that’s what everyone says around me.

  Slapping both my cheeks lightly, I take a step in the direction of the stairs, wanting to hide inside my room, but change my mind and go toward the back door leading into the garden instead.

  I manage to slip past the chef who argues over the sauce with Marianna, so they both stay oblivious to me. I breathe in the fresh air the minute I’m outside.

  Quietly slipping my ballerinas off, I curl my toes into the grass as I stroll through the various statues representing scenes from the Bible while the scents of lilies and roses fill the air, making me forget about the awful man inside.

  Finding the secret bench the gardener made for me right under the big oak trees whose leaves cover it up, I drop onto it and rest my elbows on my knees, running my hands over my hair.

  Thousands of thoughts fly through my mind, each grimmer than the other, because it’s clear to me Pastor never plans to let any of us go.

  Instead, he has decided to act like God, assigning our fates to us without our consent.

  But the worst part about it all?

  People love him so much and have such strong gratitude to him for what he has done for them in the past that I know no one will ever mind and everyone will follow him blindly in everything.

  Isn’t it ironic that the one girl who showed resistance is his own stepdaughter who should love being a princess in this place?

  But I don’t have time to dwell on it for long, because that’s when hushed voices filter through the night air. “Are you sure no one will see us?”

  My brows furrow when I recognize to whom this voice belongs.

  Andrew.

  What is Caspian’s best friend doing here?

  “Didn’t know you were such a sissy,” Caspian replies sarcastically, their boots almost soundless on the neatly cut grass as they move toward the horse barn.

  I jump from the bench, still hiding behind the trees, walking along with them so they won’t see me while they continue to argue.

  “I prefer to be called smart.”

  “Didn’t know smart was a code name for coward.”

  Andrew snorts. “Well, fuck you, Caspian. Some of us want to live and don’t have suicidal tendencies like you.” He bumps into Caspian who suddenly stands still, turning his head slightly to the right and raises his hand to Andrew, who shuts up.

  Then his hand fists while his low voice washes over me in dread, pulling me in his direction with an invisible chain. “Callista.” Holding the breath in my lungs, I’m afraid to even breathe, because I’m not sure I want his attention on me. “I know you’re there.” There is no point in hiding now, so pushing away the leaves, I dash toward them while Andrew’s eyes widen in shock.

  “Well just fucking great.” He hits Caspian in the shoulder, and he stumbles slightly back but then steadies himself. “Princess of Heaven is here. If you’ve had a death wish all along, you should have told me. I wouldn’t have bothered with your plan.”

  “You think I invited her?” Caspian grabs my shoulder, bringing me closer to him while drilling his stare into me. “I told you to go to your room. Why didn’t you listen?”

  His ordering tone along with the earlier events from tonight bring the anger inside me to a boil, and I hiss, “I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do. And what are you doing here anyway?” I briefly glance at Andrew who continues to frown at me. “Especially with him.”

  “‘Especially him’ has a name, and we want to get the hell out of here, so if you don’t mind, how about going back to your castle while we do that.”

  “What?” I mutter in confusion while Caspian whispers, “Fuck.” Then he throws some keys to Andrew, motioning with his head toward the barn. “Pick up our things while I handle this.”

  Andrew opens his mouth as if wanting to say something but then shrugs, running to do what he’s been told while Caspian focuses his attention on me, his intense brown eyes almost drilling a hole in me. “Please go back to the house now before someone comes looking for you.”

  Removing his hands from me, I step back and cross my arms. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m getting out of this hell before he starts selling again. I won’t let him do it.” I frown at this, confused to no end, because his words make no sense to me. Thankfully, he elaborates. “I have to save the kids.”

  “What are you talking about? And how do you plan to run away from here anyway?” Even though the land Pastor owns is enormous, we have borders and huge fences all around the perimeter with radar that notifies the guards when someone tries to cross it, or even so much as breathes near it.

  They have weapons ready to kill anyone who threatens the safety of the society, and they like to explain during their classes that people should know better than to sneak away.

  In all the years I’ve been here, only one person tried to run away and he died from the shock when electricity from the wires surrounding the place hit him.

  The reminder of it makes me fist his jacket while I say in distress, “You’ll die.” I tighten my hold on him even more. “Pastor won’t forgive you this.”

  His law is absolute, and he has no mercy for those who break it.

  “If I don’t, then they won’t have a future. I can’t live with that. I just can’t, Callista.” Who is they?

  He places his palms above mine, squeezing my fists while his breath fans my ch
eeks, and he leans closer, enveloping us in a very different embrace all together.

  For a second, the energy around us changes, like it’s electrified with something that makes me uncomfortable and I can barely stand Caspian being this near.

  Thankfully, Andrew is back, breathing heavily. “We have to go.” I notice a small folder peeking from his jacket, and before anyone can stop me, I snatch it from him, taking several steps back while Andrew exclaims, “Fucking hell.” Then he addresses Caspian, “Do something about your fucking girlfriend or we’ll all be dead in a few minutes.”

  I flip it open, and my breath hitches in my lungs when different photos of boys aged from six to twelve come into view with details about their health.

  Countless photos of children who have nothing but desperation reflected on their faces, and their eyes seem almost dead.

  But that’s not even what shocks me the most.

  No.

  It’s the price attached to each one of them with notes of their special skills, or rather how well they can withstand pain and any other desires a client might wish.

  Raising my gaze on the guys who watch me warily, I rasp through my dry throat. “What is it?”

  Callista

  Resting my elbow on the car door, I put my chin on my arm and lift my face toward the wind, enjoying how each slap of it makes me feel alive and washes away all the fears from Arson’s presence.

  Or humiliation of his earlier words.

  Quite frankly, darling, you stink.

  My hand fists my dress that’s probably hideous too with dirt, blood, and God knows what else smeared on it, and I can’t help but shift a little closer to the door, in hopes of him not smelling me.

  Anger sparks in me at the thought of that, because it’s his fault! If it weren’t for his desire to use me for some hidden agenda, I wouldn’t have spent three months in the cage without the ability to shower.

  A little nagging voice inside my head doesn’t let me find comfort in this though, reminding me of the many times Levi came to me, asking if I wanted to take a shower or change into different clothes.