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“He walked into his bedroom and found her with him,” she says.
“Him?” I ask.
“Yes. His servant. The man he killed. Sources say his ex and his servant were quite spirited. So spirited in fact, they didn’t even hear him enter the room,” she says.
I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. “She cheated on him?”
“Yes. Turns out she wasn’t as pure and perfect as he once believed. It’s believed she might have even been carrying on with that same servant behind his back for quite some time,” she whispers.
Invested in the tale, I can imagine his heartbreak, and my own breaks in return, for the man then, not for the man now. “That must have been horrible. Did he kill them together?”
“No, he let her go. His old servants remember seeing her running out of the house, naked, screaming on the top of her lungs that he’s a beast. That’s where he got his nickname. By the time the servants discovered he’d killed the man, he was long gone. Although, I’m sure if he’d stayed, he would’ve been able to pay off the authorities. But it was the shame, knowing he’d lost his authority over all his servants. He couldn’t bear the fact they bore witness to such embarrassment and would always remember it. Which meant he could never forget it. Although, I still don’t think he has. The sucker became brutal because of it and since then, he’s kept his heart enclosed in a metal box. He lost all his softness. None is reserved for friends, servants, and especially not women; he trusts no one.” She releases a deep breath.
I sit there in silence for a while, sorting through my feelings before speaking again. “That’s pretty sad,” I agree. “But I’m sorry. That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard for someone becoming as brutish as he has. So, what? He got his heart broken? He lost something and someone he wanted? Join most of the country who weren’t born with gold spoons in their mouths. We’ve all lost someone. I’m sure you have. I know I have. I lost my mother. Even if I didn’t know much of her, I felt her absence every day growing up. I’ve lost friends, having to move from town to town, on the run because my father lost his fortunes and the rest of his family members. We’ve all loved and lost, whether romantically or not, and it doesn’t give us the right to torment others with our sorrows, does it? Destroying others because we’ve lost?”
She looks at me wide eyed. “I haven’t thought about it that way,” she admits. “I suppose we all handle loss differently.” She shrugs.
And I nod, because I’ve said too much, and I still don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know how much of that she’d take back to her boss and how he’d react to hearing it. As much as I might think it, I know if I’d like to keep my tongue in my head and my father alive, I can never say it.
But at least when he’s touching me, I can think of how pathetic he is. Thank goodness for this talk. I don’t think my body will ever be conflicted over what to feel when he’s in the room again. There’s only one logical feeling. Disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter.
She reaches up and presses a tender palm to my knee. “It’s all right, my dear.” She pats. “It’s perfectly normal that you hate the man after what he did to your poor father and locking you in a dirty old cellar with who knows what running amuck.”
Sighing, I smile, and she smiles back at me. I hope this is genuine because I could do with a friend during the next twenty-nine days. How unfortunate that my first friend within the last couple of months is someone working for a demon. It’s too soon to call her a friend. No matter how desperate I am.
“So, how did you win his trust?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” she asks, pulling her hand back.
“Well, I’m assuming since the last situation with his servant, he wouldn’t have people working with him who he didn’t trust. And going by his whole… thing… I gather that he doesn’t give trust away so easily,” I say.
“Oh, you’re right about that.” She nods.
“So, what is it? If you don’t mind me asking. It’s not like you have to worry about your secret going anywhere.” I shrug.
“No, no. I don’t mind you asking. It’s just something I don’t like remembering, that’s all,” she says.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did he…?” I ask, gulping.
“No. No! Goodness, no. He never touched me. Besides, Lucian would kill him if he did. He’s a lot tougher than he pretends to be.” She smiles. “But well, Mr. Molotov is his friend, so he’s loyal to him.” She rocks her head from side to side.
“When I met Mr. Molotov, I was working in a brothel I didn’t want to work in. I was traded, in a sense. My family needed food and money. The people willing to give it to them wanted me in return. So, I was taken. I was just sixteen, so about ten years ago,” she says, looking up at the ceiling in question. “It was the first night I was working there, and I had a client who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course not, right? He was in a whorehouse, looking for a whore, and I was supposed to be working.” She shrugs.
I’m thinking this man is going to do something outrageous to me when suddenly, his body leaves mine, and he’s tossed to the floor, with a man I’d never seen before, holding a knife at his neck. I have no clue why this man I don’t know would come to my rescue. But he did. This is before he becomes what he’s known for today. The mysterious beast. He still has a bit of softness in him left then. And thank goodness.
“He held the man who ran the house at gunpoint as he walked me to the door. When I told him my story, he offered to give my family the food and money they needed, despite their wretched act. He got some bad people to keep watch on my house, so the brothel owners would be dealt with if they retaliated, and he told me that in return for his kindness, and to earn the money and goods he was giving to my family, I could work as a housekeeper for him when he bought his house.” She smiles.
“Been with him ever since. I might not agree with everything he’s done but well, he rescued me. And if I turn on him, as he is now, there’s no telling what the repercussions will be. If he doesn’t kill me, I’ll rot in jail. It’s not like I didn’t know he was a criminal when I started working for him. I don’t have money to pay off the authorities.” She frowns.
“Well, that’s kind of him, I guess. The part where he saved you, I mean. It’s also ironic,” I respond, considering the way he handled me tonight. Caring about a woman’s wellbeing doesn’t seem to be the highest thing on his list of priorities. But I’m happy Gloria got out of that.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “That was insensitive of me.” I lower my head. She just bared herself to me, and all I can say is, ‘it’s ironic.’
“Trust me. I understand.” She smiles before jumping up. “On a lighter note.” She grins. “There’s a ball coming up in the next two weeks. In town. Reserved for special families.” She wiggles her brows.
“Okay?” I say. “Well, how delightful for them.”
