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“Her name is Mae Wilson. I want a complete file about her. From primary school pictures to medical records.” I pause. “Everything.”
His eyes narrow, but he soon masks it. “The guest you brought earlier.”
Only she’s not a guest. Neither a target. Which should make her off the estate’s ground.
I edge closer. “Needless to say, no one but you knows about this or else, I won’t be funding your revenge anymore.”
“Noted.” Muscles flex in his bulky posture. “Are you... going to hurt her, Sir?”
“No.” At least not now. But Kane doesn’t need to know that. He can be sentimental as hell.
He turns to leave but, before he reaches the door, faces me again. “My team isn’t the only one monitoring your activities. Tristan and Dylan aren’t stupid.”
“Neither am I.” I point at him. “Or you for that matter. You better not screw this up, Kane.”
“I won’t, Sir.”
One thing’s settled.
When I return to my quarters, instead of ascending the stairs back to Knight, my feet lead me through the narrow sub-terrain corridors to my captive.
My mind wraps around the new concept. I don’t take captives. Unless abducting, torturing, then killing my targets counts.
Inviting a dilemma who can jeopardise my agreement with Tristan is a huge mishap.
The thing is, I didn’t plan to take Mae. I only meant to observe her up close. But that led to an uproar of the voices residing in my head.
‘Take her.’
‘Do it.’
‘Now.’
Monsters kept chanting every second of the minute, pounding on my resolve as if dragging nails over a chalkboard. Then there was the thing with Celeste. My mind was busy analysing perspectives when Mae slipped and fell unconscious at my feet. As if offering herself on a golden platter. All conditions set out too perfectly for me not to indulge.
One minute she was there, dancing and drinking with her friends. And the next, poof. Gone. Just like that. No one saw a thing. No one heard her desperate calls for help. No one could’ve saved her from my clutches.
Mae wouldn’t have fallen in my grasp if she hadn’t been in that dark alley the night I first met her. Another victim of the cliché of being in the wrong place at the very wrong time. I’d feel sorry for her if I knew how to pity people.
She’s asleep now, unaware of what has befallen upon her. I cleaned and bandaged her forehead wound when I carried her into the dungeons. A cube-like room with faint yellow light, controlled by a remote switch.
Her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, drawing my attention to her delicate form. She’s so pale, it’s almost inhuman. I would probably bruise her if I touch her the wrong way
.
To my surprise, and utter confusion, that’s not what I want right now.
Do I even know what I want?
‘Sure you do. Kill the damn girl, Aaron.’
‘Her blood would look exotic against that skin.’
‘You still didn’t give us blood in case you have forgotten.’
‘Do it, Aaron. Snatch the life out of her. Cut the arteries of her neck, then—’
A soft moan interrupts the demons’ schemes. I sink back into the shadows of the dusty corner, thankful for the distraction.
