Page 5 of The Price Of Possession

He scoffs. “You are a fuckin’ mess.”

“Fuck you,” I retort.

I lift the bottle to my lips. The tart flavor lingers on my tongue.

“You gonna come back?” he asks. Being a third wheel isn’t my style, but I can't stay here. I’ll go fucking insane. My hand grips the bottle head. I pause. “Eventually. Nyla has some shit for me. Might head over to Val’s parents.”

He chuffs. “You realize you don’t have to drug the bitch to fuck her,” he relays. I let out a cynical laugh, polish off the wine, and chuck the bottle at the wall. The glass splinters, shattering in a million damn pieces. I've made peace with the way I am. I don't need constant reminders from Zain of all people.

“Yeah, man, whatever,” I mutter before hanging up on him.

Kieran age 13

”It's time to be a man, Kieran.” My father's voice echoes through the large antechamber of Void. A long crimson rug stretches through the lithic hallway leading to a set of heavy, steel double doors. My father turns to me with a calculated look. The guy is deciphering if I am capable. I remain quiet at his side.

A few other Elites filter in beside us. No one makes a move. Everyone's dressed in their finest wool and vicuna. My tie feels suffocating against my neck. A choking reminder of what I am, where I came from, and where I belong. I roll up the sleeves of my black dress shirt and ready myself for whatever shit is behind this door. Usually I'm kept in the basement. Either here, or back at the estate. This'll be the first time in the throes of his empire.

The silence stretches. Not a single one of these motherfuckers acknowledges one another. The door clicks open and scrapes along the jagged stone floor. Everyone files in a line along the crimson rug, still utterly silent. It feels like a systemic death march. I have no fucking idea what lies beyond these walls. All I know is I've been trained, conditioned and beaten into submission for this moment.

I pass through the threshold. The plume of cigar smoke leaves a white airy haze in the sepulchral space. Moans, cries, and screams meet my ears. Tufted black loungers line the walls. Half naked women are draped over the arms and legs of elder Elites. A gothic candlelit chandelier is centered in the large room bathing the space in a flickering glow. Whips, paddles and other pleasure devices line shelves on every wall. I take in the sight before me. My father falls in step beside me.

“Do you have what it takes, Kieran?” His sharp voice meets my ears, suffocating the piercing screams. My head snaps to him. Before I can ask what the fuck he means, he tilts his head to the corner of the room. A group of Elites crowd around in a circle. Some strange ritualistic sacrifice comes into mind, but the moment I push through the crowd, my face goes slack. A bruised, vitiated blonde is slumped forward completely naked. She's secured to a wheeled restraint system attached to the wall. Her limbs dangle from ankle and wrist cuffs. I know what it's like to be held prisoner, too. Her muted blue eyes meet mine. Fury fills my veins. Tears streak her pale face. She's destitute of all hope. They've broken her the same way Mortensen has broken me.

“Please,” her soft gaspy voice cuts through the demented laughter surrounding me. She looks to me like I'm her savior. I know better, though. This is the type of place you sell your soul. Escape is not an option. The Elites crowd around her, leaving her no space to escape their torment. Touching her. Defiling her. She sobs silently. Her blonde strands fall over her face hiding her tear-streaked mascara.

My head snaps to my father. “Get her down,” my father commands with a twisted smirk. Two older Elites undo her cuffs, and she falls to the cool, hard stone. She lays limp at my feet, unmoved. She whimpers. A cruel smirk of delight builds over my father’s features. I search his face for answers, then it dawns on me.

My thoughts seize.“You are my son. My heir. We are Elites. We take.” His eyes burn with a monomaniacal fire. My vision blurs. The Elites start shouting around me, urging me on, but I don't hear it over the pounding in my chest. Her eyes stay trained on me, testing my resolve. I have to. If I don't, he will lock me inside the abysmal darkness until I descend into madness. I'll slowly go insane.

“Do it. You will obey. To possess the marrow, one must first enter the Void.” His voice becomes volcanic and forceful. My hands shake at my sides. Slowly, they reach for the button of my slacks. Her muted eyes follow my movements. She erupts in a painful sob, knowing my choice has been made.

“I enter the Void to claim the marrow,” I say in a shaky breath.

I jolt awake, sweat beads on my forehead. I rub my eye sockets with the heel of my palm. Another Goddamn nightmare. The same fucking one. Over and over that shit replays in my psyche like a haunting memory. I never did find out who she was, or what happened to her after that night. I shouldn't give a shit. I never went back to the Void much after that, unless forced. That was the night that eroded me away into nothing.

It was like a Goddamn epiphany washed over me. All the training and conditioning was to prepare me for that. All his depraved, sadistic subjugation. It altered me. Mortensen chipped away at me, layer by layer, until I turned into a walking nightmare he can no longer tame. Guess he didn't expect that. If he wanted submission he went about it the wrong way. I still remember her cavernous stare. It reached a deep part inside of me like a vise and never fully let go.

The sharp stabbing in my insides refuses to relent. I spring forward from the king-sized bed and stagger into the bathroom. I feel like shit. Even after all these years this house is still a Goddamn prison. My hands grip along the edge of the toilet. I lose the contents of my stomach until I'm dry heaving. I brace myself against the wall and stagger toward the onyx countertop. I dissect the reflection staring back at me, trembling.

My breath comes in waves. My brown curls shoot out in all directions. Chaotic, just like me. My callous eyes hold all my liabilities like a lacerating confession that cuts deep. My eyes scan over my heavily tattooed, scarred stomach. They help hide the visceral mistake I am. My face. My arms. My hands. Everywhere.

I slam my hand against the faucet. Cool water hits my face, awakening me. I have no idea how long I stand there just reflecting on my fucked-up life. Too long probably. Classes start soon. As if I give a fuck about any of that shit. My grades are guaranteed. Nah, I gotta keep an eye on her. I'm running out of time to devise a plan. The fact she wants nothing to do with me isn't helping shit. The Goddamn woman is insufferable and addicting. I knew it the moment I marked her.

I drag myself back into the stale bedroom and throw on the same jeans and T-shirt from yesterday. I rummage through the bed, through the bedsheet that swallowed my phone. Text after text of numerous bitches looking for dick. A few from Nyla and one from Zain.

I should have never agreed to handle that brat, but I can't stay the fuck away. She's like a disease. She couldn't give a damn about me, rightfully so. Guess I need to try harder. I smirk to myself.

I'll need a heavy drink after this shit.

There's an itch embedded under my skin. Crawling to escape. Ripping at my insides. It's my own fault. I have held it together for years. My carefully crafted stitching is suddenly coming apart at the seams. I knew my limits. Keeping my indulgence to a minimum so I didn't sink under the crushing weight of my past. Now, it feels like everything is coming to a head. All because of him. Change is something I don't handle well, either. I got used to a routine. When it's disrupted, I spiral out of control until I hit a manic episode.

I've come so far. Securing my scholarship on my own. Getting myself out of those fucked up situations Mom put me in. I wanted to think she loved me. I tried so hard to earn her approval, even at the expense of my body. She tried hard to be a good mother in her own way, but somewhere along the way she lost herself. She lost her love for me and her will to live. I wasn't enough.

“Clara!” A voice shrills from across the classroom. I snap back to reality. Vesper is wearing a bright smile on her face. She rushes across the aisleway, settling into a seat next to me. She slams her JanSport down between us.

“I miss you so much. I'm sorry I haven't been around much. With my Dad . . . and Zain . . . and . . . just everything.” She chews her bottom lip. As if she needs to apologize to me. She has enough going on. I never told her about what Kieran did to me. I lean forward and take her hands in mine for a brief moment. “Oh, no Vesp. Don't you dare be sorry! You've had a rough few weeks. I'm so incredibly sorry about your father. I wanted to be there for you, but you seemed like you needed time to process things.”

She nods, blowing out a heavy breath. “I did. It was a lot.” My finger catches along her ring finger. A huge ruby rock sits pretty on her hand. My eyes skate over the ring, then back up to her face. A contrite look falls over her. “Clara, don't. Not here. We have a lot to talk about. I just can't yet. Please trust me,” she rushes out. I'm stunned. Too stunned to speak. That's definitely a wedding ring. What the fuck is going on?!