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Coming to stand before Shepp, I note the worry hanging in his eyes as he inspects my indifferent expression. I crane my neck, staring up at the large mass I’ve come to call my brother. He may not be blood related, but he’s had my back far more times than anyone with my blood running through their veins. I only wish he’d lighten up in his old age. One day, he’ll keel over from a stress-related death. Instead of something predictable, like a shot to the chest or head.
"Shall we?" I gesture for him to lead the way.
He huffs at me, eyeing me up and down. Every worrying thought Shepp has displays on his expressive face, letting me know exactly how he feels about this situation.
‘Fine,’ he signs, turning on his heel and storms away with me casually on his tail.
Our footsteps echo through the vast hallway leading toward the backdoor. Marble floors, grand staircases, high-class chandeliers. Over twenty years ago, my father built only the best for my mother; when he was so in love he could barely breathe. Then, she no longer existed, taking every ounce of love he had to give with her. Such a pity, too. Losing Grace Viotto made my father a shell of who he once was. Changing him for the absolute worse. Her disappearance sent my father into madness, leaving me to pick up the pieces and take the brunt of his pain. It also left me with this monstrosity of a home, fit with a zoo and multiple rooms I have no use for.
If only I could turn back time and face the ghosts of my past head on. Find my mother. Speak with her. But I can’t. They’re all gone, buried under a mound of secrets I’ve yet to dig up.
When the cool spring air smacks me in the face, I focus on the present danger lurking on the back half of our large property. Shepp frowns, urging me into the passenger's seat of our ridiculous golf cart.
For miles, shrubbery, flowers, and large trees decorate our land. Our mansion sits conveniently on a hill, overlooking the town of Briar Cove. Although my father built everything for my mother, he also built it as a status symbol, taking over two-hundred acres of land. He also built her a zoo on the back half of our property. Fit with proper enclosures for all the animals she adored and saved. At one point, he had even hired a zookeeper to keep my mother's prized animals safe.
Then, she disappeared, destroying everything. My father. His sanity. Her zoo.
"Toughen up. You're the heir to this, Jericho Michelangelo Viotto. This is your kingdom. This will teach you to cry over ice cream."
I was five when my father threw me into the dark basement closet for the first time, leaving me there to rot until he saw fit. Rage lived in his eyes, blackening them into oblivion. He etched his cruel words into my skin with every volatile thing he spewed into the darkness, until I was a crying child, begging his father to stop. He didn’t, of course. Why would he? That was the day he introduced me to the demon that lived in his soul, loving the emotional and mental torture he rained dow on me.
It wasn't the first or last time he punished me for simply being a child. The first time was because I cried over my ice cream spilling off the cone. Another was when I pouted because I didn’t get the toy I begged for on Christmas. Every indiscretion on my part had the same outcome—the basement closet, which only started after my mom’s disappearance when I was four.
Did he mold me into the perfect, unfeeling monster he wanted? Halfway. I’m still me. I’ve clung to my humanity for all these years, begging my moral compass to guide me when I was stumbling through the dark.
But I’m still a monster.
There’s no denying that.
Shepp maneuvers the golf cart down the concrete path through the remnants of my mother’s old zoo and finally parks it in front of the lit up lion’s enclosure. Giving us the first peek at what toy Arrow decided to bring home to play with.
Wonderful.
‘Here,’ Shepp signs, gesturing toward the spectacle.
"Here indeed," I remark, unhurriedly jumping out of the golf cart.
Shoving my hands into my slack pockets, I leisurely make my way toward the enclosure with Shepp at my side. I cock my head at the spectacle before me.
‘What the hell is he doing?’ Shepp signs, furrowing his brows after clicking his rings to get my attention.
“Whatever he pleases,” I mutter, turning back and watching Arrow’s pacing form with sick fascination.
A demented look twists his face as he waves around his favorite hunting knife, perfect for piercing through flesh. His tattoos ripple on his shirtless back with every manic step he takes, muttering words to the poor unconscious man tied to a small wooden chair who has no idea what’s in store for him when his eyes pop open. Not twenty feet away, rests Arrow’s precious cats, watching his every move with interest. They’re lazily lying on their bellies with cocked heads and ears alert. Not yet a threat, but hunger bleeds in their eyes.
Max and Nova are simply biding their time until they’re the stars of the show, catching their unsuspecting prey until he screams. Or maybe that’s Arrow’s intention. Either way, the man tied to the chair doesn’t stand a chance.
Now, I need to figure out if the punishment fits the crime.
"Care to explain why you're pacing in the middle of Max and Nova's domain?" I ask, raising a brow.
Arrow stops suddenly, darting his gaze to me. Nothing lies behind his glossy eyes, his soul long gone and retreated into a black box. Leaving behind the blood thirsty man staring back at me with a lifeless expression.
“Arrow!” I shout into the void, attempting to grab his arm when the man on the ground stops moving. His chest heaves. Blood smears all across his face. I jolt Arrow around, forcing his tall frame to face me. The blank look in his eyes is something I’ve witnessed before with my father. He’s lost himself in the darkness of murder and debauchery. “I want you to listen to me,” I say in a stern voice, keeping my hands wrapped around his biceps. “Do you hear me?” I ask again, gently squeezing his arms.
He blinks several times. There it is. There’s the focus I’ve been waiting for. His brows furrow until he sees the carnage of his darkness.
“You let your darkness eat away at you again,” I simply state, stepping back from his shivering frame. “What was his crime?”
