“Why?”
“Because you came here for me, remember?” I say, approaching, stopping just within reach. My legs are wobbly, not wanting to be this close to him, but I don’t have a choice, not really. He’s not walking out of here alone. One way or another, he’s taking someone home, so if it’s not me, it’s going to be Melody, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him hurt her. “Look, I’m right here.”
He looks at me when I say that.
And I know what he’s thinking.
He’s thinking he can just take us both.
He’s thinking there’s nobody here to stop him.
He’s thinking how he knows I’m not going to let her go alone, that I won’t throw her to the wolves, because so many times he’s watched me take the brunt of his violence to spare other girls.
He’s thinking too much... way too much... and that’s too damn dangerous. I need him to just react.
I take a deep breath, blurting out words on an exhale. “He doesn’t fuck me in front of other people. You know why that is, Kassian? Because he doesn’t need to in order to feel like a man. Unlike you, he’s strong enough to handle me all by himself.”
I regret it... oh, holy fuck, do I regret it... but I can’t take it back. I won’t take it back. The anger takes over just like it did that night, the night he tried to kill me, the night I damn near died. He shoves Melody away from him, pushing her hard. She stumbles, tripping, crying out when she hits the floor. I can’t help her, though. No, she’s on her own.
Kassian grabs me by my neck, yanking me toward him. My vision blurs right away. He doesn’t cut off my airflow. No, he’s not playing games, not trying to make me uncomfortable. Instead, his fingers press just the perfect spot to block the blood flowing to my brain. I go lightheaded instantly, grabbing his wrists. From the corner of my eye, I see Melody get up and run, but I can’t much dwell on what’s going to happen now. I’ve got thirty seconds at most before it all goes black.
Kassian draws me closer, his lips a breath away from my lips, the world around me fading as he whispers, “Stupid little suka, you will always be mine.”
Almost a year ago, on a warm summer night, Kassian Aristov took my life.
I had gone unconscious within seconds, as he gripped my throat, hitting my head when I slammed into the floor. The doctors, they couldn’t be certain, but they suspected he’d held on for minutes, letting go just in the nick of time. In the literal sense, I managed to survive, but that doesn’t change the facts.
That night, Kassian took my life. And now, months later, he almost did it a second time.
When I come to, consciousness rushing through me, rousing me from the darkness, I’m surprised... surprised I’m still alive. It’s cold, and I’m shivering, shaking, my teeth chattering as goose bumps pebble my skin. The rigid floor beneath where I lay feels like it’s covered in frost. The air smells stale as I breathe it in.
Every inch of me feels heavy—too heavy. I sit up, my muscles protesting, and fuck, my throat is sore, my mouth so dry that my voice feels hoarse.
I sense right away that it has been longer than a few minutes. Hours, maybe.
Every blink is exaggerated, my head foggy, like something flows through my bloodstream, weighing me down.
Drugged.
Must’ve known, when I came to, I wouldn’t have come quietly.
My head rattles, swimming, as the faintest thumping noise echoes from above. Even in my groggy state, I recognize where I am.
The basement.
I’ve been here before, under the ground, beneath Limerence, in this filthy concrete dungeon.
Been here way too many times.
I try to shift around, metal clanging as heaviness presses against my chest. Reaching up, feeling around in the darkness, my fingers graze over the cold metal wrapped around my neck, secured with a padlock.
He has me chained here, like an animal.
“Wakey, wakey, pretty girl.”
My breath catches as I turn toward the sound of the voice, the chain clattering against the concrete, echoing around us. It’s hard to make out much of anything down here, but I can sense his gaze on me as something in the shadows shifts.
My voice cracks as I ask, “Why am I here?”
He laughs.
Stepping closer, close enough for my eyes to adjust and make out the shape of him, he says, “Still so much that stupid girl.”
“I thought you were taking me home,” I whisper. “Not here.”
Kassian crouches down in front of me, eye-level, looking me in the face. He says nothing for a moment. It’s unnerving.
I swallow thickly, forcing back a swell of emotion.
“Aw, my sweet pussycat,” he says, reaching toward me, nudging my chin before his thumb sweeps across my trembling bottom lip. “Did you think you would just awaken in my bed, all tucked in, snuggling with our precious little kitten? That everything would just be forgiven? Forgotten? Maybe you are stupider than I thought.”
Tears burn my eyes. I know what this room signifies. It’s sink or swim down here. This is where he breaks people, his own little twisted version of boot camp. He locks you in and puts you through hell. The girls at the club, they always called it training. You act up, you go back through training, as if this is just some regular job, like we were being taught to run cash registers instead of being forced into submission so he could sell us off.
I’m not talking about some BDSM shit. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing even remotely cathartic about what he does. He wants you to go numb. He wants you to give up. He wants you compliant, a pretty little Play-Doh body that he can shape and form however he wants. A few he keeps for his business, but most aren’t seen around again. Some he just sells off like property, while others never even make it out of this basement.
‘She could not be trained.’
He said that about me, too.
Some girls break within hours.
Most take a few days.
After a week, he usually grows tired and discards them, but he’s been trying to break me for years.
“So pretty when you cry,” he says quietly when that first silent tear streams down my cheek. He brushes it away, his touch too gentle. It fucks with my brain. “She got that from you, our sweet kitten. Every time she cried, it reminded me of you. Those soft, shaky breaths. The way you always quivered. She did that, too. Some days, I could not even look at her without reliving what you put me through.”
“I’ve done nothing to you.”
“You ran from me,” he says. “I gave you everything. I even gave you a part of me. Yet you ran.”
“You were hurting me.”
He raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely curious as he asks, “Was I?”
I nod.
“Well,” he says, staring at me for a moment before continuing. “I suppose, then, it makes you happy to know that you have hurt me back.”
“I never wanted to—”
He grabs a hold of the chain around my neck before I can finish, his hand slipping beneath it, twisting it in his fist, tightening it to where it cuts off my words. I can’t breathe. I grab his arm, clawing at it, trying to get him to let go.
My chest feels like it bursts into flames. Oh god.
“You have not felt my hurt yet, but you will,” he says, his voice low. “By the time I am through with you, there will be nothing left for anyone else.”
He lets go, and I inhale sharply, vision blurring. I’m hyperventilating, trying to calm down, but he’s still right in front of me.
It’s overwhelming.
“Not that anyone else wants you,” he adds. “Especially not that freak. Even he does not want you now. He used you up and now he is done. You are not worth it to him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper. “Lorenzo isn’t like you.”
Something flashes in Kassian’s face.
He laughs again.
He’s laughing at me.
?
??Oh, pussycat, you were not falling for him, were you? Did you think he would want to keep you? Oh, this is cute, suka. You gave him my pussy, and you thought you could give him my heart, too? You belong with me. Even he sees that now.”
“You’re wrong.”
“How do you think I found you? How do you think I knew where he lived? He told me, pretty girl... your scarred little plaything gave you up today.”
“You’re lying.”
He stares at me, unwavering, as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. After a moment, his eyes flicker toward it, and he reads out a phone number. Lorenzo’s phone number.
“Do you recognize it?” he asks.
I glare at him. “That proves nothing.”
He presses a button before holding the phone up. The harsh glow in the darkness makes me squint, and I blink a few times, realizing he’s showing me a text message.
14682 Liden Blvd, Queens
You want her, take her.
Leave everyone else alone.
“No.” I shake my head, the chain clanging. “No way, that’s... no.”
“It is right here in front of your eyes.” He shoves the phone into my face, smacking me with it. “Is that not his number? Did I not find you there?”
“Yes, but...” My heart is battering my rib cage. I feel sick. “He wouldn’t.”
“Threatening everyone he cares for must have done the trick,” he says, an edge to his voice. “Because you, suka, do not fall into that category. He would not sacrifice his family, his friends, for a piece of used-up pussy that half of this city has fucked!”
I snap, as he spits those words in my face, his anger slamming into me, fueling my own. I smack the phone out of his hand and send it flying across the room, hitting the concrete face-down, the glow extinguishing, the text message gone. “I hate you.”
Kassian raises up when I say that, towering over me. I glare at him in the darkness, refusing to back down, refusing to look away.
“Hate me all you want,” he says. “I do not mind. But until you love me again, suka, until you finally learn your place, you will stay right where you are. So it is in your best interest, I think, to just give in... especially since being with your kitten requires getting out of here.”
He walks away, snatching up his phone as he goes. I hear his shoes on the creaky wooden stairs leading out of the basement, into his office, light basting through as the door opens, music assaulting my ears.
I squeeze my eyes shut, to block it out, before everything around me grows dark again.
There are at least a dozen locks on the basement door, all of which only he has the keys to open. The odds are slim of getting out of here without his blessing, which brings me to a crippling realization.
“And she never saw her daughter again,” I whisper to myself. “The end.”
Chapter Twelve
Remember back at the beginning of this all when I told you to listen to your intuition? Your thoughts can’t be trusted and your heart will fucking betray you, but your gut is one tough son of a bitch. It always senses when something is happening.
You just have to pay attention.
“The gate’s open.”
Seven puts my car in park and cuts the engine, pulling the keys from the ignition before turning to me, his brow furrowed. “What did you say, boss?”
I motion out the passenger side window, toward the unlatched gate on the picket fence, before repeating myself. “The gate’s open.”
“I see that,” he says, his voice hesitant. “Does that mean something?”
“It means someone came or went in a hurry.”
Getting out of the car, I head toward the house, walking right through the open gate on my way to the small porch. All seems quiet and still. The front door is unlocked, but fuck, isn’t it always?
I certainly never lock it.
Seven follows me, latching the gate as he comes, right on my heels as I step into the house. I glance around, that bad feeling stirring inside of me, rising up like my gut is pulling a fucking mutiny. There, on the floor in the hallway, is a pair of familiar red high heels, toppled over, like someone kicked them off while running.
Deja vu.
“Scarlet?” I call out, my voice so loud it echoes through the house. “You here?”
No answer.
I know she gave those shoes to my brother’s girlfriend, but last time I saw them hastily discarded, Scarlet was in trouble. Yeah, whatever, the trouble back then was me, but that little fact does nothing to pacify my bad feeling.
“Check upstairs,” I tell Seven as I reach beneath my shirt, grabbing my gun. “See if anyone’s here.”
He hits the stairs, no question, no argument, heading off to search the house.
I walk down the hall, stepping over the shoes along the way. The living room and my library are both empty, nothing out of place. Reaching the kitchen, I pause, seeing the back door standing wide open.
Someone ran out of here in a hurry.
I hear Seven approach after a moment, stalling beside me, his eyes fixed on the open back door as he says, “The house is clear, nobody home.”
Shit.
Is it too much to ask for her to have just been asleep?
Shoving my gun away, I search through my pockets for my phone.
“Here,” Seven says, retrieving it, handing it over, knowing exactly what I’m looking for.
I hit a few buttons, calling my brother’s number, listening as it rings and rings and rings. No answer. I call his work next, being greeted warmly by the hostess.
“Can you tell me if Leo Accardi is there?”
“Uh, yes, sir,” she says. “He’s actually just leaving. Would you like to speak to him?”
“No, but can you pass a message to him for me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell him his brother said to hurry home.”
I hang up, glancing at Seven, who looks anxious. Not good. I scan through my phone for Melody’s number. I’ve never called it... never cared to call it... but I saved it for a rainy day.
Guess it’s raining on me, huh?
I hit the button, dialing it, instantly hearing the faintest ringtone of some old rap song coming from upstairs.
I hang up. The music stops.
“You sure she’s not up there?” I ask, knowing the answer before Seven even confirms it.
“Positive.”
My gaze scans the backyard briefly before I close the door, not sure what to do about this. Some bullshit equations are spinning around my head, putting two and two together again.
I don’t like what it’s adding up to.
Errrnnnttt, wrong fucking answer.
I go to walk out when my phone rings. Leo.
“Yeah?” I answer. “You on your way home?”
“Jesus, yes, what the hell is going on?” he asks. “I’ve got like forty missed calls from one of the neighbors, saying Mel showed up there freaking out about some man being at the house? Do you know anything about this? Lady tried to call the cops, but Mel made her call me.”
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Which neighbor?”
“The blue house, like three doors down,” he says. “Mrs. McKinnon. You know, the elderly lady whose groceries I sometimes get?”
No, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of the woman. He’s practically Mother Theresa, isn’t he? The patron saint of fucking friendliness. Next thing you know, he’ll be organizing neighborhood watches, painting people’s fences like we’re all Tom Sawyer and he’s the little twit getting tricked, like doing someone else’s dirty work is an honor.
“I’ll see you when you get home, Pretty Boy.”
“But wait, what’s hap—?”
I hang up, not letting him finish that question, because I don’t have an answer for it. I shove the phone into my pocket, motioning toward Seven. “Firecracker’s hiding out down the street. Blue house, old woman, Leo feeds her... I don’t know.”
“Mrs. McKi
nnon?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He walks out, his steps determined, and I shake my head, running my hands down my face. “Fuck.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I head to my library. My nerves are fucking shot. Rolling a sloppy joint, I light it up, smoking in silence as I stand there, in front of the table, waiting for them to return.
Melody bursts in a few minutes later, shrieking like a banshee, talking so damn fast I can’t keep up, yammering about a guy with some hands and something, something, something...
Just as it seems she’s about to finish, Leo rushes into the house, and the girl starts all over again from the beginning, somehow even more frantic now. Leo manages to calm her down, and I get the gist of it, hearing all I need to know—the Russian bastard showed up at my house and now Scarlet is gone.
I’m trying to get my thoughts in order, but my head is starting to throb. These people are in my library. There’s crying and panic and blah, blah, blah... and maybe it makes me an asshole, but I really wish they’d all shut the fuck up. I just need a moment of silence so I can figure things out.
Absently, I reach over onto the table, picking up a puzzle piece and trying it in a few spots.
“Is he seriously working on a puzzle right now?” Melody asks. “Seriously?”
“It helps him think,” Seven says.
Usually, we should add, because it’s not much helping at the moment. Sure, Aristov might’ve had enough time to do his research. He might’ve just happened upon this address. But chances are someone told him where to find the house, spilling their guts faster than the Tauntaun on Hoth when Han Solo sliced it open with the lightsaber.
If that reference didn’t make sense to you, go watch Empire Strikes Back.
Point here being, someone tattled like a little bitch.
“Call Three,” I say, giving up on that puzzle piece and instead trying another. “Tell him to come pay me a visit.”