While I let the darkness take me far away from this place.
But not before the full meaning of Caspian’s betrayal registers in my mind.
* * *
“Hey, amigo. You alive?” A slap to my cheek wakes me from a deep sleep, forcefully pulling my eyelids open, and only then do I understand that someone is using his finger to do that. “They didn’t put me in a wagon with a corpse, right? Esto es una mierda!” he muses and slaps me again.
Barely finding any strength, I croak through my dry throat, “Stop,” and will myself to open my eyes, only to blink at the intense blue ones staring back at me.
And the huge grin curving his mouth at my voice while he claps his hands. “You are alive. Bueno!” Why does he use Spanish in almost all his sentences?
But the rough rumble of the ground under me sends me flying in the opposite direction and I hit my shoulder on the wall, only to realize we're inside a van and going really fast.
“Who are you? Where am I? Where are we going?” I croak the questions, pressing my back against the side of the vehicle, and wince when even the lift of my finger brings me pain.
The boy drops back on the opposite seat, studying me with interest instead of answering my question. So I do the same, my brows furrowing when I notice his expensive clothes and even a golden watch.
He is not skinny and has a healthy glow to him, as Parker likes to call rich people, and it leaves no doubt in my mind that mine and this boy’s past are very different.
“My name is Santiago Cortez.” He says it in a way as if it’s supposed to mean something to me. “We were kidnapped and are being taken to some guy named Philip. This”—he twirls his finger in the air—“is where they’ve kept us for hours.”
“Hours?” I’ve been out for so long?
“Yeah.” He flashes me another grin and extends his hands, popping his fingers loudly. “I was getting really bored, so I thought I’d wake you up.” He drills his stare into me. “Life wasn’t kind to you, amigo. Is this why they are taking you?”
I’m not sure how to react to all this information he dumped on me so calmly as if he is discussing the latest news with me. There is no fear, agony, or panic.
He’s so relaxed, even though he just said we were kidnapped!
Sitting up straighter, I say, “No, it wasn’t. What are you doing here?” I ask, curious despite our situation as to why a boy who probably has everything in this life ended up with me in the same car.
“I’m here, because I’m Lucian Cortez’s son.” And I assume this is explanation enough for me, so I nod, not having a clue who his father is.
“My name is Artem,” I finally say.
He smiles. “Ah, you are Russian?”
“My great-grandma was.” That’s why Mom gave me this name, and I even learned the language a bit when one of the whores who spoke fluent Russian told me I should learn the native language.
Although Parker shut down this relationship really quick.
“Glad to have your company, Artem,” he announces before dropping next to me and whispering, “My dad once told me a thing.” I’m baffled at his change of subject so quickly but listen nevertheless. I never had anyone share what their dad said, because all the kids I know didn’t have one. “If you can’t beat the enemy, survive. Survive until you can beat it.”
Lucian Cortez must have been one wise man.
Because his advice rang in my ears every single day we spent in hell.
Only to discover there is no limit to the cruelty in this world.
Arson
Strolling through the hallway, I’m replaying the earlier phone call and still don’t understand the urgency in Lachlan’s tone. As a rule, he never calls me, period, unless some disaster is happening where he gathers everyone around.
Apparently, someone screwed up again, and I have to clean up their mess.
Finally reaching the massive oak double doors, I knock four times before entering, while the owner of the office occupies his chair.
The sun streaming from the window behind him lights his blond hair in a way that makes him seem almost angelic if it weren’t for the sinister glint in his blue eyes.
He twirls the glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice clinking against each other as he greets me, “Arson, you finally graced us with your presence.” His voice stays even, yet I detect traces of barely controlled fury in it, and I mentally prepare for battle. Although I don’t remember a time I had to fight with him of all people.
But I’m no one’s bitch and certainly no longer a protégé who listens to his every word.
And who is us?
Only then do I notice that someone else is in the office too, sitting on the chair opposite him.
Florian, of all fucking people!
“What are you doing here?”
He leans forward, puts his glass on the table, and stands up to face me. “Is that the way to greet a man who brought you an important gift?” He winks. “For a price, of course.”
The Four Dark Horsemen love to strike deals with everyone, having people owe them one way or the other, and they always come to collect.
And whatever they want… you better give them if you value your life.
As for me?
They can all go fuck themselves, even Santiago, with their fucked deals.
“I’m not interested in your gift.” Then I address Lachlan, “What’s going on? And since when do you trade with them?” This situation is beyond bizarre. Usually Lachlan doesn’t even let them on his property; this is how deep their dislike for each other runs.
We are at a cold peace, so to speak, where no one attacks for now, but the situation could change at any moment.
“Since you do whatever the fuck you please in this town without thinking about consequences.” He grabs a folder from the table and waves it in the air. “Not only do I find out you decided to keep a woman from Pastor’s heaven. Which you should have consulted with me first. Now I’m told she’s an heiress of Alec Castillo?”
As in the only male heir to the Castillo empire, one of the richest families in Chicago? Their worth is estimated in the billions, and the only living member of this family is the matriarch and her brother. She lost her daughter in a car accident, while her drug-addict son, Alec, overdosed when he was with three whores.
I chuckle, finding this assumption really hilarious, and ask, “Says who?”
Florian snaps his fingers and points at himself. “Says me.” I frown at this, so he elaborates. “You see, your captive shared her real name with Jimena. Callista Castillo.”
Inwardly, anger spikes in my veins at this information; she fed me a lie, because she was afraid to tell me her real name.
Why?
And why the fuck did she share this with Jimena who she knew for two seconds?
Outwardly, I show no reaction, keeping my face expressionless, not that it stops Florian from talking. “Alec used to be married to Carmen Jones. She was a good woman, a hardworking one, and even started her degree in accounting. But she wasn’t good enough for Alec’s mother. Surprisingly, he loved her enough to run away with her, and in this got disowned by his mother.”
But my Chloe… no, Callista ended up in “heaven,” which means Alec…? “He abused his wife.”
“He called that love.” Lachlan speaks up again, finishing his drink and setting the glass on the table with a rattle. “Mama’s boy couldn’t handle the real-life challenges and took it out on his family.” He fists his hand. “What else to expect from a selfish, privileged asshole who was born in luxury.”
“I resent that. Money has nothing to do with anyone being an asshole. To some, it's just a natural state,” Florian protests, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it up.
Right.
After all, he himself is an heir to the throne he refuses to take no matter how much his father begs him.
All the dark horsemen except Remi were born into old money and have basked in luxury their entire life.
That’s a story for another time though, and I focus back on the conversation at hand. “Anyhow, the old hag”—I assume he’s speaking about Callista’s grandmother—“knows she has a granddaughter somewhere. She tried searching for her but with no luck.” He exhales smoke, tapping on the folder that Lachlan put back on the table. “In hopes of people finding her or maybe Callista showing up herself, grandma dearest signed off fifty percent of her money to her granddaughter.” He winks at me. “You got yourself a rich heiress.”
Ignoring his words, like I give a shit about her money, I ask, “She is remorseful about the whole situation?”
Florian chokes on the smoke, laughing although it lacks any humor. “Yeah, right. She wants only two things. For the family name to be preserved and not to give her money to her brother’s illegitimate offspring.”
“So she doesn’t care about my Callista?” Well, then this family can go fuck themselves for all I care. I would have considered traveling with her to Chicago so she could mend some family relations and maybe heal the parts of her that still bleed.
In this case, no fucking way. She doesn’t need their money or connection. She will have all of mine.
“This information changes nothing,” I say, and both of them watch me tentatively. “She is mine and that’s the end of discussion.” I catch Lachlan’s stare, holding it with mine so he can see for himself I’m not backing off. “If you have a problem with that, tough.”
Florian drops back on the chair, taking a deep inhale and murmuring, “This should be interesting.”
“I don’t give a shit who your woman is. It makes no difference to me.” Lachlan leans forward, placing his hands on the table while anger vibrates from him. “However, what you plan to do next does.”
Well, he knows.
No surprise there. I never shared with him my backstory, but it wasn’t like it was hard for him to guess.
There is always one person we want to end, no matter our circumstances. Someone we blame for all our darkness that touched us even if we’ve learned to thrive in it.
Revenge though is not a word present in my vocabulary; I don’t believe in it.
All sins and debts should be paid for, however, and this is what Caspian owes me.
His life for so carelessly destroying mine.
A payback more than two decades in the making.
“This shit won’t touch her.”
“You wanted to use her,” he muses, rubbing his chin. “One glance at her, and he’ll be tempted. I think he’s managed to fuck every willing blonde in this town.”
For the first time since my hunt for Caspian started, realization dawns on me.
He must have been obsessed with a woman in the past and wanted her so much but could never have her. Only this explains his sexcapades and how according to sources, he sometimes calls them by a different name.
Too bad it’s impossible to find out about the mystery woman, since any information about his past from eight to twenty-three years old is erased. Bringing him his ultimate obsession would have forever destroyed him, especially if I tortured him while he had to watch her turn away from him.
And walk away with me while he died in agony.
“Arson,” Lachlan snaps.
I finally answer. “I changed my mind. This part of my life won’t touch her. She is no part of this.”
Lachlan laughs; the sound bouncing off the walls would likely send chills down the spine of most people for how sadistic it is. “The minute you have someone you care about, she or he becomes collateral damage in this life.” He hits the table with his fist. “If you start a war with this guy, she will be the first one he takes away from you. You are putting her in danger by keeping her here.”
What the fuck? “No one can protect her better than I am.” I saved her from that fucked-up “heaven,” gave her everything, and guarded her with my life.
Who the fuck will take better care of her? Sure as fuck not her family, who couldn't give two shits about her as a child.
Everyone failed my woman. I won't be one of them.
Lachlan gets up, slapping both his hands on the table while leaning on it, and asks, “When a hunter wants to catch his prey, what does he need to do?” My hands fist while anger mixing with annoyance fuels my blood, refusing to answer him. “A hunter has to have his focus on the prey all the time in order to trap it. If the hunter worries about someone else, the prey will slip away. There is no hunt without concentration and preparation.”
“Nice!” Florian exclaims, extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray and wonders, “Is this what you teach here? Because I’d quote it in my office.” He chuckles, but we both ignore his sarcasm.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do with my woman.”
“No, I don’t,” Lachlan agrees, only to say, “Your woman though will be hurt in this. Listen to me for once in this life.” Even though I know Lachlan has his own regrets, everything inside me rebels at what he suggests.
He doesn’t say it outright, but I can read between the lines.
Send Callista with the dark four to meet her family and take her legacy while I deal with Caspian. Only then can I claim my woman back, but then again… only if she wants me.
Unfortunately for Callista, she became mine when I decided to burn down “heaven,” and nothing on this earth will ever change that.
She is the light in my darkness, the only thing brightening up my world with her smile alone. She is the gasoline to my fire, the angel to my demon reigning inside me, and the calm during my life that is nothing but an endless storm.
And deep down, I know Lachlan is right.
I cannot lose her because of Caspian; he took everything else from me.
He doesn’t get to take Callista.
Callista
Pouring myself a cup of tea, I walk to the living room, dropping onto the carpet while trying to understand this new phone. Thanks to the tablet Arson showed me how to use earlier, I managed to turn on the video that played tutorials for me.
I’ve learned how to use it, how to get music or watch certain things. But even though it has some complicated functions, the most awesome one for me is the option to browse whatever I want, including herb names and… everything really.
Answers just pop up!
Ares runs toward me, lying down next to me, and nuzzles his head under my arm.
Even though my heart beats a little loudly—after all, he is still an unpredictable beast—I don’t react to it as much. I give him a light pat on the head before continuing to scroll various university requirements in this state.
When Arson mentioned that I could do whatever I want to do with this life as long as he is in it, it healed a part of myself I thought would be forever broken.
My life might be okay as long as I remember never to want another man but Arson… and accept the darkness that is attached to him like a second skin.
Which shouldn’t be so hard, considering I’ve never desired anyone and can’t imagine wanting someone else. No one at the club, for example, appealed to me.
But prices are high along with the admissions. I don’t even have a high school diploma, and I doubt what I studied will be enough.
A sigh slips past my lips while I scroll through various options, but none appeal to me. Not to mention my age. Studying in med school takes around eight years, and that’s without residency and all this stuff. Combined with me probably needing to use a few years to catch up first before even considering college… I might be in my midthirties before I even touch a patient.
Isn't a dream of a lifetime worth it though?
“Your dreams are starting to look ridiculous,” I say out loud, fed up with all these searches that end up only making me miserable.
A thought pops in my mind, and before I can stop myself, I quickly type my real name, and my thumb hovers over the Search button.
All these years in the cult, I always wondered what happened to my father and if he ever looked for us.
Maybe he declared us missing.
These questions haunted me, or maybe just the child in me who preferred to live with the illusion that if Mom had stayed with him, he’d have changed, and life would have been different.
Before I feed my curiosity though, a loud ring comes from the front door, and I frown as Ares growls and quickly darts toward it, sniffing the air.
Then he starts barking loudly again, and it mixes with ringing that doesn’t stop.
“God!” I can’t stand these sounds, and I quickly place my phone and tea aside and go to the door, glad I put on jeans and a green sweater earlier. I open the door wide and blink in surprise when I see the guest.
Jimena.
She storms inside without waiting for an invitation, and her high-heel boots click on the marble while I study her long, wool dress that finishes just below her knee. “Hey, girl,” she greets me and then quickly goes to the kitchen, pouring herself tea. “It’s cold outside.”
Sometimes when I’m dealing with all these people, I think I woke up in a different dimension all together for how bizarre they are.
But this girl takes the freaking cake, I’ll give her that.
Or maybe that's normal behavior for most out in the real world, and it's only odd for me?
“What are you doing here?” Since Arson told me this house belongs to me now, I have the right to ask such questions.
“Truth be told, I have no clue. I was supposed to fly to Chicago on our private plane two hours ago until Florian called about a change of plans.” She pops a few grapes in her mouth while sitting on the chair, placing the cup in front of her, and sighing in relief. “So I came here. To my new best friend.”
Best friend.
I’m not sure what this title entails, never had one of those in my life, but shouldn’t it include a bit more than just one encounter that ended in disaster?
Picking up my mug from the floor, I join her at the table, watching with interest how she continues to munch on the grapes, and ask, “Do you have a lot of those?”
Arson’s Captive Page 27