She snorts, although amusement doesn’t touch her blue eyes, staying cold and… something else that she knows how to hide. “No. I mean girls always stay glued to me. After all, I’m the part of the dark four.” She taps on the rim of her mug. “So I don’t lack company. The only downside is that they dream about marrying or fucking them. I’m just a means to an end.” I’m not sure how to comment on this, because although what she says sucks, she displays no emotions about it.
“I never had friends or lived outside the cult.” I don’t beat around the bush with her; I’m sure she knows my backstory, because her brother was back in the club. Didn’t Arson say they shared a connection with Santiago? “So I’m not sure I’m such a great choice either.”
She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter. We shared our secrets with each other and kept our mouths shut about it. I consider we sealed the deal.”
Jimena is very strange, and I wonder if it only seems like it to me, or whether people generally view her like that. “Anyhow, you will love Chicago. It’s such an amazing town, and my love for it is infinite.” My brows furrow, but she doesn’t notice, continuing to talk. “I’m surprised you waited this long to tell him the truth.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused to no end.
Chicago? Why would I want to go there?
Now it’s her turn to frown. “You are flying today with me; that’s why the trip is postponed. You can even stay in my penthouse while you hash out your family thing. No one will bother us there.”
“My family thing?” The more she explains, the more confused I become, but before she can elaborate, the doors burst open, bringing with them the cold wind that swooshes over my bare feet, and I see Arson and some unknown man enter.
“Florian,” Jimena whispers, and my brows rise. So this tall blond with the unreadable expression is her Florian?
Without any words, Arson grabs me by the elbow and drags me toward the stairs, leaving our guests behind. “What’s going on?” I ask, trying to get free from his hold, but he doesn’t let me, dragging me toward my room all while I demand answers. “And why are you behaving like this with me?” I might have stayed and agreed to be with him, but not for this fucked-up treatment!
He has another think coming if he believes I’ll tolerate this!
Finally, he closes the door behind us inside the room and orders, “Pack your stuff.” I blink at this, shaking my head in disbelief, and open my mouth to ask what he means, when Jimena’s words hit me.
“So it’s true. You’re sending me to Chicago.” He says nothing, instead going to the closet, taking out a small suitcase, and throwing it open on the bed. “I’m not going there, Arson.” I’m surprised my tone stays even, considering my heart breaks into tiny little pieces with this rejection.
“Oh, you are.” With this, he grabs a few of my new dresses, pants, and shoes, dumping them inside with no care and snapping it closed. “Right fucking now.” By the tone he uses, I know it’s an order, and he reminds me nothing of the man who left this bed earlier.
And this treatment?
Like I’m still his captive who he decides what to do with? He can go and fuck himself with it! “What the hell is the matter with you?” I scream, my body shaking in anger, and that’s when he snaps.
“Me? I didn’t hide my real name from you, did I, Callista?”
I freeze, my heart speeding up in my chest along with a mixed emotion.
Anger for Jimena spilling my secret for all her talk about friendship. If she acts like this, no wonder she doesn’t have any.
Fear for what it might mean to me, to us. I've hidden my real name for so long from everyone, too afraid to spill to Pastor the truth about my family name, that I don't know what to do with this exposure.
And the worst of them all?
Guilt that I lied to the one man on this earth who showed me kindness, even if it was in his own dark and twisted way.
However, despite all these emotions rushing through my system, I ask him, meeting his stare head on. “What does it matter?”
“Why did you lie to me?” He fires his own question, and this time I can’t stop the bitter laughter slipping past my lips, rocking off the walls of the room where I gave my body to him for the first time, only to regret it now.
“You kidnapped me!” I scream, and he stills, his jaw ticking the only indication of his fury. “Was I supposed to give you my life history? My name?” I gulp for breath before continuing, albeit quieter, because I don’t want the couple downstairs knowing about this. This experience is humiliating enough as it is. “You have no right to throw a fit over this.”
“You became mine,” he says, his gaze trained on me yet his face giving nothing away. “You became mine. You should have told me.”
“And what would it have changed? Would you have let me go?” Another bitter laugh of mine echoes between us. “Who knew this would be enough for you to give me my freedom.” Splaying my hands wide, I bow to him while fury shakes me so much it’s a wonder I can keep talking without throwing something at him. “Well, then, Arson, my name is Callista Castillo.”
“Stop the games,” he barks and then pulls at his hair, breathing heavily while the veins on his muscles pop up, showcasing his inner turmoil over it. “You have a family in Chicago.” I frown, but he doesn’t let me dwell on it much, as he adds, “A grandmother who made you quite an heiress.”
Grandmother? “And my dad?” I ask, momentarily forgetting about my anger at him.
He takes out a folder from the inside of his coat pocket and throws it on the bed. With no dignity left, too curious and hungry for any kind of update on my father, I sit on the bed and pick it up, flipping through it.
With each page, my heart sinks further inside me, opening me up to the ugly truth of my family and the stupid fool I’ve been.
My father never changed. How could he…? He was probably always this weak man addicted to his life, and Mom was a novelty he always regretted.
She just covered her eyes on all his flaws with the epic word love that destroyed her life.
Not to mention the rest of the Castillo family that made me almost wish I wasn’t part of them, because all this… ruined the solace I had during the darkest of hours in Pastor’s “heaven.”
A person can withstand a lot of challenges, pain, and suffering as long as he or she believes there is someone who cares about them. Someone who would have protected them. Someone who would have stood by them no matter what, if only they knew what was going on with them.
But the bitter reality of the matter?
Most people, even your closest family… don’t even think enough of you to display any kind of positive or longing emotions.
Love is the only emotion that could be freely given; you can’t convince someone of it or order them to show it.
“So you’re sending me to my family?” I finally break the silence stretching around us like a cloud during a rainy day, ready to erupt at any moment and turn into something hideous. “I’m no longer an interesting captive, because I’m a Castillo?” I’m probably not attractive enough for him now. Monsters prefer hopeless creatures who won’t make someone come knocking on his door.
My grandma might not give two shits about me, but she sure wants her legacy, and in such, she will guard me like no one else.
“Well then I guess there is nothing else to say.” I get up from the bed, clutching the folder in my hands. “I don’t need your new clothes in Chicago. It was nice knowing you, and thank you for saving me from Pastor’s hell.”
With that, I dart toward the door, ready to go downstairs to Florian and Jimena, who will take me to my hometown far away from this man who ironically hurt me the most.
By how easily he gave up on me even after all his declarations.
Stupid, stupid girl.
Instead of being happy with my freedom, I mourn over something I never had in the first place.
His heart.
But I don’t manage to take even three steps before he grabs my elbow, pushes me against the wall, and then traps me in his hold, pressing his chest into mine. “Let’s get something straight, belosnejka. You are mine, and nothing changes that.” He tilts my chin with his index finger even though I still refuse to look at him, too afraid I’m going to spit in his lying face if I do. “You have to go to Chicago so he won’t get you. But don’t for a second think you are free of me. I don’t give a fuck who your family is. You. Are. Mine.” He puts his mouth on mine, ignoring my struggling, and when I raise my hands to push him away, he laces his fingers with mine, gluing them on either side of my head with his.
His tongue slips past my lips when I gasp for breath and brushes against mine for a few strokes, and even though it sends pleasure through me… his earlier words still ring in my ears.
I relax in his hold, tipping my head back, and in this, allow him deeper access. His mouth should be considered a dangerous weapon for how sinful it can be and how desire spreads through me, awakening every hair on my body.
But it’s not strong enough to create a fog around my mind.
So when he loosens his hands around mine, diving for yet another kiss, I bite his tongue and knee him hard.
He groans above me, swaying back while a drop of blood appears on his lips, and I pull my mouth away. I half expect him to punish me for it, but then it’s Arson, right?
Who can kidnap me and trap me, but never forcibly take me.
I’m not sure I’ll ever be immune to his nearness, my betraying body be damned.
Straightening my back and tugging my shirt down, I tell him with my heart still beating wildly in my chest, “Don’t bother coming for me. You think I’ll be waiting for you my whole life while you decide what’s best for me?” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Find another captive. Because that’s clearly who and what you want. Even with my fucked-up upbringing, this is not a relationship.” I pick up the folder from the floor where it dropped earlier and wave it in my hand. “I have all the resources to keep you away now, right?” With this, I march downstairs, knowing by the thumping of Arson’s boots on the marble that he’s following me, and we find two people arguing loudly near the door.
“How do you even know about her real name?”
I blink and then sigh in relief, some knots inside me loosening at the idea of her not breeching my trust.
At least someone in this world can keep their freaking promises!
“Since when do I have to explain myself to you?” he asks, his voice so cold it sends chills down my spine, and Jimena opens her mouth—to argue some more, I assume—when Arson snaps from behind me.
“She’s ready.”
Both their heads swing in our direction. Florian nods and then looks around me, his brow lifting. “I thought you went to pack a bag.”
“I don’t need anything.” I slip into my new sneakers by the door, which I’d planned to wear today to stroll around the property, and then I grab the jacket hanging on the wall. “After all, I’m apparently worth billions now.” Waving my hand at Ares, who to no one’s surprise snores loudly on his bed, I mutter, “Good luck, Ares. You’ll need it,” and then without even glancing back at the man who ironically hurt me the most, I stroll outside, walking toward the running car with Jimena rushing after me.
“I’m sorry about all this shit,” she says and then gulps for breath when the hard wind hits us, making it impossible to breathe for a second. “I hate when they do that.” I half listen to her, concentrating only on getting inside the car before I allow tears to form in my eyes.
He won’t see me crying over him. Fuck him and all the men in my life who decide my fate for me.
We hop inside the car with Jimena jumping in the front seat, and shortly Florian joins us, shouting, “I’ll see you next month, Arson.” I know by the sound of it he is probably standing on my side, but I refuse to gaze anywhere but ahead of me.
Finally, the car starts moving, rapidly driving to the gates while warmth hits us from every corner, the heater blasting on my skin.
Yet try as it might, it has no power to warm my freezing heart that Arson broke.
“You’ll love Chicago, Callista,” Florian tells me, flying through the gates and getting on the road while Jimena rests her head again the window, the slow tap of her foot sounding throughout the car. “We’ll take care of you.”
“Don’t bother,” I say, closing my eyes and wiping away a single tear that’s escaped.
Florian though acts like he doesn’t hear me and continues to talk. “Life is dangerous for the likes of us. Sometimes we have to make choices that are hard, but they bring protection to those we love.”
What a beautiful lie.
We don’t try to protect those we love.
We try to protect ourselves from the inevitable pain that comes with losing someone we love.
But it's not about Arson and me anyway.
Because that man’s one true love is fire, and no one can compete with that.
Even his precious captive.
Chapter Seventeen
“Sometimes we meet the greatest people under the most despicable circumstances.
But ironically, these despicable circumstances make it impossible to keep the relationship.
Because each other’s presence always reminds you of the hell you’ve been put through.”
Arson
Arson, 10 years old
The car stops abruptly, sending Santiago and me forward, but thankfully we don’t hit our heads against the van walls.
“This asshole doesn’t know how to drive,” Santiago mutters but then shrugs. “Good thing these driving around days are over.”
I don’t react to these words, used to Santiago’s weird behavior in captivity, but inwardly I wonder how in the fuck what we are about to face now is better than the previous three years?
“Well, at least you are happy,” I tell him, and he winks, slapping me on the back but making sure not to touch any of the bruises inflicted by Philip’s clients.
“That’s the spirit.”
The van’s door opens, blinding us for a moment, and we try to block the sunlight with our arms, but they don’t let us. “Get the fuck out.” A man barks the order; he’s middle-aged with a beard and heavy key chain dangling on the belt wrapped around his belly. “I don’t have all day for you.” He’s pointing a gun at us, while several guards stand behind him.
We do as he says. We’ve learned the hard way that resisting the gun might result in them firing one at us just for the fucking fun of it. We stand on the ground with our bare feet, right in front of a huge house or whatever this building is called.
I’ve never seen anything like this before.
It’s a spacious, horizontal brick building that is so huge I wonder why one might need so much room for such business. There are at least twenty windows!
All Philip had was some dumb warehouse where he sold our asses twice a week for a high price, and the rest of the week we cleaned up after them or tolerated their drunk slurring.
Once a week, they beat us so hard we bled and barfed all over the floor, only for them to press our faces in it and order us to wash it up quickly. They liked to remind us that boys like us are nothing but dirt under their nails, and as such we have no fucking rights.
As Philip preached, this should have taught us to respect and fear him.
We fucking hated the guy and wished him death in the cruelest way possible, and finally the wish was granted when one of his big bosses found out he’d stolen from him.
They killed Philip right in front of our eyes, making him drink gasoline while stabbing him like a hundred times. His men followed shortly, their throats cut near arteries where the endless blood poured, soaking them in the color red and forever taking their life away.
Never had a view been this satisfying to me.
And unlike with Parker three years ago, I welcomed those dark emotions and didn’t question them
. Because if I get the chance to kill them all?
I so fucking will, and I'll enjoy every second of it, watching them choke on their blood.
“What a boring Victorian-style mansion,” Santiago says next to me, sighing dramatically. He makes me chuckle, but at least I know what it's called now. I should have counted on Santiago to know that, considering his parents are rich as fuck. Last he told me, his mom is a famous artist and his dad is a businessman. “To think I expected a palace.” I thought someone would show up with a ransom for him, but surprisingly no one did.
Even if—according to Santiago—his parents loved him to pieces.
“Stop talking and move.” The old man kicks us hard, and we do as he says, since the tip of his gun is digging into my shoulder blades.
We go inside to face countless statues and paintings of weird portraits, like people suffering in blood, all while the walls reek of luxury painted in red.
“Straight ahead to the door on the wall.”
We obey, our bare feet padding soundlessly on the cold marble, and I rub my skin a little where it itches from all the dirt I’m covered in.
Philip didn’t believe in showers, just hosing us with cold water once a month when he had to examine our skin. Clients didn't like festering wounds or, God forbid, blood they weren't the cause of.
We must seem out of place in this house with all our filth. The man presses some code, ordering, “Inside.” We walk down the stairs into a small, rotten basement.
The AC is humming loudly, the sound echoing off the walls while the chilly air breaks goose bumps on my bare skin.
There is a single dirty mattress on the floor surrounded by heavy long chains that probably allow you to roam around the room but wouldn’t let you go very far, like reaching the stairs.
There is a sink in the left corner, dripping water bit by bit, and the sound I can imagine might drive a person crazy in time. There are also two dirty bowls with leftovers in them.
Disgusting smells fill the air, disturbing my nostrils while something akin to blood is smeared on the floor.
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