AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s a glorious summer day in a countryside village near Lyon, France. That’s where we fled to start our new lives after I paid for Tamara to be smuggled out of the hospital. Except her name is now Celeste, and mine is Darcy.
With plastic surgery and colored contact lenses and fake ID, we slipped into our new roles easily. We both speak French fluently now, with no trace of an accent.
We live in a beautiful chateau that was once a medieval fortress. We’re surrounded by hundreds of acres of lavender fields, vineyards, and apple orchards.
My brother remains behind bars. I still have an entire team working undercover who are dedicated to watching him at all times. He’ll never be free again. I managed to recover the money he stole from me, after several years of effort.
We are still in touch with Carter and Astrid. Once they fell in love, Carter lost the urge to kill. His passion for vengeance was pushed aside by his passion for Astrid. They’re married, and the happy parents of a three-year-old girl and a two-year-old boy. Late-life parenting seems to agree with them. He owns a private security company that I funded. They all fly out to visit us during holidays.
I’m paying for Astrid’s daughters to go to college, and I have a team of men assigned to them too. That was at Astrid’s request. She still worries about her children. She should worry more about what would happen to any man who even looked at them the wrong way. His death would be long and painful.
Paul and Fletcher will be going off to college soon enough. I built an aviary for Paul so he could study birds up close. Fletcher’s a black belt in Tae Kwan Do.
My wife, my slave, my lover, was not able to go to law school, so I created a charitable foundation for her to run here in Lyon. It provides free legal services to battered women, and education and homes for them as they rebuild their lives.
My wife also helps me to plan out my hunts. She loves to do it.
My hunts span the continent of Europe. I have noticed that I am no longer drawn just to men who look like my father. One could say this is a sign that I’m less crazy than I used to be, but then again, I slowly torture and kill half a dozen men a year, so that’s probably giving myself too much credit.
I still have nightmares sometimes. We have a protocol in place for when that happens. She leaves the bedroom immediately, not trying to speak to me or interact with me in any way. She contacts my security team and they tranquilize me and then strap me down until I wake up. It happens every couple of months.
It’s a crazy, fucked-up way to live.
But then,we’recrazy. Both of us, in our own special ways. That’s why we work. We’re two puzzle pieces who fit together perfectly and make a whole. Separated, we’re broken, empty vessels. Together we’re a unit, strong, unbreakable.
Celeste/Tamara and I have three blue-eyed children—Emilie, Francois, and Bastien—who are sweet and happy and deeply loved. I watch them all the time, secretly, searching for signs of madness. I know my wife does too. We have many animals here, and we watch the children play with their pet rabbits and puppies and kittens. They never try to hurt them.
Bastien is intense, fierce and focused like I am, but that is all. He has never shown the slightest inclination toward cruelty. He doesn’t even like it when we scold the animals for misbehaving. He gets right up in our faces and shakes his little finger, chastising us, fearless, if we raise our voices to his puppy. And Emilie and Francois are so kind and gentle, like their mother, that if they didn’t look just like me, I’d wonder who their father was.
It makes me wonder if what my wife believes is true—if I was made into the monster I am, rather than being cursed with it from birth.
But either way, I am still a cruel, cruel man.
That’s why I’m smiling to myself as I walk into the bedroom where my wife has been strapped down to a chair for the last hour. The children are with their beloved nanny, Marie, and I’ve got my wife all to myself until tomorrow morning.
The room is glorious, with flagstone floors, antique silk wallpaper and hand-painted wooden timbers running overhead. Our furniture is Louis XIV style – much of it modified so that I can restrain my wife in whatever position I want her to be in.
She looks up when I come in the bedroom. She’s naked, legs spread open and squirming with need. I have a vibrator inserted inside her, and I set it to go for thirty seconds at a time. Then it stops for a minute. Then it starts up again. Enough to get her desperately aroused. Not enough to let her come.
Very slowly, I unbutton my shirt as she glares at me.
“This isn’t fair, Sir,” she pants, speaking in English because we are alone.
“Oh, how sad.” I mock her with my tone and my eyes.
I carefully fold my shirt and lay it on top of the dresser. Just then the vibrator starts up again, and she cries out, eyes rolling back in her head. “Oh God, please, Sir… Please let me c-c-come… Uh… Oh God…”
I watch with interest as she writhes against the chains that hold her. Then I step out of my pants, fold them up neatly, and set them next to my shirt. Next I remove my socks and shoes. Finally, I walk over and unchain her. “You don’t move until I say so.”
“Yes, Sir,” she gasps. “Oh, oh, oh…” The vibrator starts up again.
With my toe, I nudge the silver bangle on her ankle—the one shaped like a collar. Our little secret.
“What did you do wrong?”
“I got dirt on my collar… But Sir…you asked me to pick herbs from the garden. There was no way for me to keep it clean— Oh, oh, oh, oh…”
I take pity on my beautiful wife, and I grab her hand and pull her to her feet. Then I slide the vibrator out of her and put it on the dresser on a tray next to my clothing. “Hands behind your back.”
