I unlock the door and push it open, stepping within the grand entranceway where the expensive marble floors gleam under the crystal chandelier's light, every reflection stretched and warped with rainbow prisms. The walls are lined with portraits of people who don't smile, and places I've never seen, mounted in thick, ornate frames. Cross’s, and my stepfather's, ancestors stare back at me with unflinching eyes, their similar features now glaringly obvious. All of them are wearing that same composed expression, their eyes empty of compassion and warmth, and the mantle of power clearly discerned, even through the painted brush strokes. Inside the mansion, the air feels oppressively still and unnaturally perfect, like the space was never meant to be lived in, but only used as a distraction and showpiece for the violent inhabitants, heightening my sense of unease.
I lean against the wall, breathing in the scent of polished wood, fresh flowers, and something faintly metallic beneath it. My body aches from all the violence since I arrived here, andthe stress that constantly has me on edge. My thoughts are a rollercoaster of fear, apprehension, and dismay, as I realize I'm failing at all my tasks. My hair prickles at the back of my neck with warning, and I keep searching all the shadows, thinking someone’s here with me, just out of sight, watching and waiting to see what I'll do.
"Joffrey?" I call out, hoping that the quirky housekeeper is here somewhere, but only silence responds, and I’m instantly disappointed. I move further within the space, heading for the kitchen area, my eyes firmly peeled for an attack. Every creak of the floorboards makes me jumpy, while every shadow looks like it’s about to move, and a monster will climb out of its depths. I swear I can feel eyes on the back of my neck, but I try to shake off my uneasiness as I whisper to myself, "It’s just a house, Olly",but it doesn’t feel like a house; it feels alive.
The events of the past two days blur together like a movie: arriving in Soule, my mother instantly disappearing with her new husband, and being left here in an unknown town with people I've never met. The various interactions with Cross and his cronies, followed by seeing Rawdon again for the first time in years, were both significant and overwhelming, in such a short period. Rawdon's charming smile was something right out of my nightmares, with that easy laugh that never reaches his eyes, and a professional facade to make you feel at ease. The way he looked at me without recollection, as if I were a naive girl who doesn't know better than to trust him, and doesn't see the villain within him.
Then there’s Sim.A stranger who immediately sided with me, and was willing to put himself in harm's way to protect me. A charming little deviant who purred, and made promises he readily fulfilled. I let myself drop my defenses momentarily with him. I allowed him to see me vulnerable, something I haven'tbeen able to do around anyone, since that horrible night years ago that destroyed everything I had once believed in.
I don’t know what transpired last night between my mind, heart, and resolve. I want to believe there was something real between us, something pure in a place like this, that's filled with lies and deceptions. It was lust at first sight. The way he touched me, careful and uncertain, like he didn’t trust himself. How his eyes looked when he said my name, as he brought me so much pleasure. Then morning came, and the walls of reality caved in, and I panicked and ran, like the frightened teenage girl who still hides deep inside of me. I can’t stop replaying the way he looked as I left, hurt and confused, like I’d just ripped something out of him.Fuck, I'm a mess.
I step cautiously into the empty kitchen, and see a piece of pink paper with yellow ducks, gracing the top of the granite island. The writing is neat and flowy, and it forces the first smile in hours to cross my lips.
I walk away after checking what Joffrey has left me to eat, and sink onto the deep, indigo velvet couch in the sitting room. The air feels heavy, as I try to release the stress I'm holding within my body. The scent of lilies fills my nose from the glass vase on the round, wood coffee table. Their pretty yellow and orange petals are already wilting, as if even they're tainted by the disquiet in this place. Outside, the wind rattles the windows, demanding entry, and warning of the storm yet to come. The chandelier trembles overhead, scattering light across the walls in fractured patterns, and distracting me from my despondent thoughts.
I catch a reflection of movement in the corner of my eye, and I turn, seeking it out as my heart slams in my chest, but there’s no one there. Just the long hallway stretching toward the staircase, empty and silent. “Get it together, nothing is there,” I whisper, but it doesn't reassure me.
I no longer feel comfortable in the wide open space. The thought keeps scratching at my mind that I can't defend myself here. I wander back into the kitchen, and once again pilfer Joffrey's large kitchen knife, before making my way back to my room with irritation that I’ve lost my bag, thanks to Damon. Once inside, I lock all the doors and check the windows, using my body to push my dresser against the door again, as an extra precaution.Fuck you, Cross.
A nasty scent catches my nose, and I quickly search for where it's coming from, my eyes sliding over my belongings, and cataloging whether they've been messed with again. Was Cross once again in my room, with his unhinged friends, earlier today while I was at school? I'll break his pretty-boy nose if he's touched my stuff. I follow the scent to the ensuite bathroom, and what greets me in the toilet has me gagging, and my eyes watering. Motherfuckers. I use the toe of my sneaker to push down the lid and flush the toilet. Who the fuck leaves a giant shit in the toilet like that?Fucking heathens.I really have to get out of here. Being in this house, in this town, is starting to do a number on my sanity.
I grab a bottle of water from my mini fridge and guzzle it down, as I think about my next move. I came to Soule for one reason: to take Rawdon down, and serve him the punishment he's so far managed to escape, for what he did to Cheyanne and me. The lines keep blurring since I arrived here, intertwined with anger, fear, purpose, and obsession. Something is growing and softening inside of me when I allow myself to think of Sim, and the opposite when I think of Cross, Damon, and the angel-looking one. I need to fight against all of these emotions; they'll get me taken advantage of, or worse, raped or killed, if my stepbrother has his way.
My mind feels like it's splitting open under the weight of it all, and I'm suddenly so bone tired. My eyelids begin to flutter, but I force them to reopen, even as my body starts to feel heavy and languid. My hand reaches out for the water bottle on my nightstand, but instead of grasping the plastic shell, it slips from my fingers and lands on the floor with a thick thud, before rolling away. I try to lean forward, a groan escaping me as the room suddenly spins, and nausea races up the back of my throat. "Noooo... what... happening?" I croak, as my body slumps against the side of the bed, and I try to force myself to stand, but my limbs refuse to cooperate.
The house groans, and rain lashes against the windows, and I swear I hear footsteps outside my door. I try to focus, but it's as if my mind can't hold on to a single coherent thought. I feel a tear sliding down the side of my eye, and racing across my cheek, as it presses against my expensive linens. I try to force my lips to move to call for help, but nothing escapes me but a muffled mewling sound. The muted light flickers, reflecting off the plastic bottle, and the air seems to cool, as my blood pumps in my ears. Something about the bottle catches my attention, but it's fleeting, and before I can grasp the thought, it's gone, as panic rages against exhaustion.
I close my eyes, promising myself that I'll just rest for a moment, and then I'll get back to work on my plan. My last thought before darkness takes me blares through my mind.Stay focused, Olly. You came here to destroy monsters. Don’t let them make you one of them.
CHAPTER 27
OLLY
"What pretty skin you have, so soft and pale. Fuck, I love the way you feel under my fingertips. Two dirty whores for me to play with, and use any way I want," a male voice whispers to me with a deep rasp. The sound shouldn't be as menacing as it is, but somehow I know that evil lurks underneath that tone.
The murkiness seems to breathe, an oppressive living entity that makes my skin crawl, and my heart want to tear out of my chest. It’s too close and heavy, as if it's attempting to crush and suffocate me. I can’t see or move, as if my limbs are weighed down, but I know this place, even if I can't comprehend how. Sirens are ringing inside my head, demanding that I escape from the monster that has me trapped against my will.
"You know you wanted this when you came here. Stupid, fucking dirty cunts, trying to entice men with your looks. Cheap trailer trash whores. How does my cock feel inside of you, huh? I bet it feels so good to a nasty slut like you," the voice moans, and I feel a sharp pain rolling through my abdomen, followed by the sensation of someone gripping my throat tightly, and cutting off my airway. I sputter and choke, gasping for air thatcan't make it inside my lungs. "No one would miss you if you died. No one cares about girls like you."
The air hums, deep and low, like a subwoofer pressed against my ribs, its vibrations daunting and terrifying. My heart tries to match it, thrumming faster and faster, until it’s a fist pounding from the inside. RUN! GET OUT! My brain and heart demand, but my limbs refuse to obey me.
The sound of music reaches my ears, muffled through the walls, and fighting against the echo of my blood rushing within my veins, followed immediately by distorted laughter, and the sound of glass breaking somewhere far away. A party, my mind supplies. The party.
My stomach immediately plummets with panic. No. Not here. Not again. The surface I'm lying on seems to tilt and shift under me, as heat pulses against my skin, too close, too familiar. The scent of alcohol, sweat, urine, and cum fills my nostrils, overwhelming me and adding to my panic. Shadows gather at the edges of my vision, causing further confusion on whether they're really there, or a figment of my imagination. They seem to grow taller, shifting and morphing into something frightening with sharp teeth. They move like smoke, but there’s weight to them, shapes that whisper my name, and promise torture and pain in their wake.
"Tight fucking pussy, so good. You know you want it, slut. That's right, take my big cock," the shadow moans next to my ear, causing rancid bile to rise up the back of my throat. My body moves, my breasts swaying, and my head lolling to the side, but not in my own control. "Going to take your ass next, bitch, then I'll take your bestie’s. I'll fill both you needy whores with my cum tonight. Give you what you came here for."
I try to speak, but my throat is thick, clogged with the taste of alcohol, something sour and dreadful. Movement shifts, I can hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin,combined with throaty moans and pain-filled cries. The room swims, light strobing and melting together, and faces flash and disappear, further disorienting my mind. I see a man's silhouette, with broad shoulders and a rotten smile, through a ray of muted light that doesn't reach his eyes, before he's gone, and I'm meeting the vacant, mocha-colored eyes of my best friend next to me. She stares right through me, her face so pale and still that she might as well be translucent, and I fear that she's already dead. Her lips are wide in a scream, but no sound exits them. The shadow man leaves my body after a deep, guttural grunt, where I feel wetness between my legs, and I'm mercifully still. I watch as he grabs a violent fistful of Cheyanne's light blonde hair, yanking her head backward, and forcing the engorged mushroom tip of his wet cock past her lips. Her eyes never blink, even as crystal tears slide down from the corners, and disappear into her hair. "NO! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!" I scream, but no sound registers, only the noise of harsh, accelerated breathing.
"Don't worry, pretty cunt, I'll come back and fill you up again soon, or maybe I'll let all my fraternity brothers have a turn with your holes. I wonder if you'll still be tight, if we all run a train on you bitches."
If I was frightened before, his words make it so much worse. I watch with hatred as the shadowed monster wraps his large hand around Cheyanne's slender throat, and tightens his fingers until her pale skin turns a dark shade of red, and still she makes no move to save herself as he fucks her mouth savagely. The small glimmer of light breaks through the shadows, highlighting an intricate golden ring, with a dark stone on his middle finger. I force my gaze to keep rising, needing to see who the monster is, until I glimpse dark hair, high cheekbones, and soulless eyes, the color of burnt coffee, bitter and impossible to read. There's not a speck of warmth inthem, only the quiet patience of a predator who had already decided how this would end, how we will end, as if we have no value other than to be abused for his amusement.
Professor Rawdon.
The minute the name appears in my mind, his face morphs and changes, and now I see Cross's distinct features staring at me, while continuing to squeeze the life out of my best friend. The two men blur together, until I'm not sure if what I'm looking at is human and real after all, or a product of my own deranged mind. The ghosts of years ago mix with last night's monsters, circling and overwhelming me. Their voices overlap, harsh and cruel, coming from everywhere all at once.
"See, violent little psycho, you were always meant to be mine. Neither of us will let a whore like you beat us. You're nothing, worthless, you have no power."
