Page 28 of Lilies from Hell

I feel that tug in my stomach again as I visualize the lake where we last spoke. My knuckles now white from the force with which I am clenching my fists.

I run the piercing across my teeth as I think about which one I should destroy next until she realizes she’s mine. The idiots who think they have the right to send her messages don’t help me keep my cool either. I’m still thinking about going back to the hospital where I sent them with broken bones and breaking their necks.

The thought that while I was dying inside, she was thinking about rebuilding her life with someone else drives me crazy. It’s not her fault, but it makes it easier for me to fake my apathy towards her. I know I may be taking it too far, which is why I’ve tried to apologize, but she never responds.

“I’m sick of her ignoring me.” Denis lets out a long, mocking snort.

“And what do you expect her to do? Forget how much of an asshole you’ve been just because of a few bouquets of roses? Plus, they’re dead and black. Instead of trying to make peace, it looks like you’re wishing her dead.”

“She can do whatever the hell she wants. I will not go after her,” I mutter under my breath.

“Maybe if you put a name on it, she won’t ignore you.” He gives me a quick glance, probably guessing what I’m going to say in response. “I don’t think people are that nosy and have that much free time to notice.” I shake my head. I’ve already screwed up enough by letting her get close to me at the birthday party of my father.

Besides, the only one who enjoys hearing about other people’s lives from the employees before paying them for the information is Denis. If I had more employees like him, they might not be capable of either task. Seems, after all these years, I’ve grown fond of him. Enough to let him get away with certain things.

“Tell all these people to get the fuck out of here. And change the name of that thing,” I hiss, glancing sideways at the man who now has his nose buried in the grass, as if he were searching for something in it.

Then I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, thinking about the flowers I find in the trash every night I sneak into her room. I know those are the flowers she likes best, so why on earth does she throw them away?

A boy enters the kitchen, breathing heavily, as I bring the glass to my lips.

“We caught a couple of thieves trying to climb over the wall, sir.” I put the glass down on the counter and press two fingers against the bridge of my nose. Lately, it’s been damn hard to get five minutes of fucking peace.

“They’re in the living room,” he murmurs, anticipating my question. I follow him to the main room.

There, a brown-haired man lies on the floor with his hands and mouth tied, while another of my men places his shoe on top of his head.

“Where the fuck is the other one?” I ask, glancing sideways at the guy next to me. “He got away.”

“Well, shit. He better be here in a fucking hour if you don’t want to end up with your brains scattered all over the damn carpet,” I reply, raising an eyebrow. He nods quickly before leaving, bowing his head in a kind of ridiculous and unnecessary bow.

“Don’t waste your time, I won’t tell you a damn thing about my colleagues,” the brown-haired man spits out with difficulty when I approach him and remove the tape covering his mouth.

I like that he has the guts to talk to me like that, but I like even more the way his eyes challenge me. To find someone, apart from those close to me, willing to meet my gaze is rare, and sometimes I miss that when talking to people. Not that I enjoy it much. Denis drains my social battery for the rest of the month after just one little chat.

“You are in luck today. You’ll have a better fate than your friends. You’ll work for me,” I murmur with a smile before dragging him by the collar of his shirt to the basement.

He doesn’t resist as his body hits the stairs to the underground rooms. It’s not as if he has any other options. He has just entered hell, and my demons are all around him.

A couple of hours later, I put the tool down on the metal tray and take a curious look at the wounds I made on his torso. I’m careful not to tear off any of his limbs or damage any internal organs. And not because I don’t want to.

“You’re holding up pretty well. What’s your name?” The only response I get is a spit on the ground with the blood accumulated in his mouth and a pained grimace. A groan escapes his lips as he throws his head back. “Fine, never mind,” I mutter before cutting the ropes that tie him to the ceiling.

His body falls to the floor with an almost deafening thud. I have to turn him over so he’s lying on his back before pressing the hot iron against his left side. The room fills with the smell of burnt flesh and his painful gasps as he writhes on the floor to ease his pain.

“Welcome.”

12

I let the coffee fall into the cup while I search for a plate to put a couple of rice crackers on. Jas got the tall genes, so in my case I have to stand on tiptoes. The sound of some shoes hitting the floor catches my attention, and I forget about the plate, which falls at my feet and shatters into pieces. I curse as I bend down to pick up the larger pieces of glass with my hands.

“Don’t.”

A harsh voice echoes throughout the kitchen. I raise my head, not noticing that one shard has grazed my fingertips. Far from focusing on the little red dot that appears, I notice a pair of military boots in my field of vision. Hell, no. Not again.

“You’ve cut yourself,” he murmurs when I get up, fixing his eyes on the drop of blood on my finger.

“And?” I spit out rudely. One, two, three, and a quarter seconds pass in which he hasn’t taken his eyes off my face, their blue accentuated by a gleam.