Chapter 11

Ipace around the house.

Aimlessly.

Like a lunatic.

Minnie is at her post, scrubbing the floors away and ignoring my presence.

She’s been doing this for the past week.

One week.

One fucking week in which she has barely said a word to me.

And now I’ll go mad if I listen to the jarring sound of my own goddamn breathing one more fucking time.

I stop at the top of the stairs.

It’s almost ten o’clock.

My curfew is approaching, though this would not be the first time I’d miss it.

Ever since Minnie came into my life, my routine has greatly suffered, one way or another. My sleep, most of all.

I no longer go to sleep at my designated time, nor do I sleep as much as my body needs to.

My dreams are always plagued by her scornful expression every time I try to talk to her, to the point that I’m now wary to close my eyes for fear of another nightmare.

I scoff at myself.

Hear that. Me, having nightmares about a slip of a girl because she’s ignoring me.

I suppose you could say I don’t like being ignored, but that would presume that I interact with people enough to warrant that ignoring.

I don’t.

At most, I delegate tasks and communicate my business needs online, or if need be, through Giles.

As such, I can’t say I’ve ever experienced being ignored.

Perhaps this is why it’s so striking. It’s simply the novelty of it.

I nod to myself. Yes, that must be it.

Straightening my back, I start down the stairs.

Minnie is in the hallway, on her knees. She doesn’t react to the sound of my footsteps. She simply pretends I’m not there.

Goddamn it.

It appears I do not like this business of being ignored. It must be remedied immediately.

“It’s late,” I comment, hoping it would draw her into conversation.

She doesn’t reply.

“How late will you work?” I rephrase my question, since now she’ll have to answer it.

A small sound erupts through the empty hall, something between a scoff and a grunt. She raises her eyes to look at me, her gaze murderous.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead and buried. Perhaps even tortured before said death.

I clear my throat.

“You don’t have to work so late.”

She glares at me then huffs aloud and turns her back to me. Correction, since she’s on her knees, she turns with her ass to me.

I gulp down.

Her dark stockings hug her shapely legs. Her uniform has bunched up her body, the hem barely covering her ass.

Goddamn.

I find myself rooted to the spot as I cannot wrench my gaze away from her. It’s almost as if I’ve been bewitched. There’s no other explanation.

There’s no other time in my life that I can remember where I’ve reacted to a female like this.

She continues scrubbing the floor, seemingly oblivious to my struggles.

I take a deep breath.

I should look away. Perhaps leave.

I continue staring.

She moves forward, and the dress bunches farther up her ass, so much so that I get a hint of the color of her panties.

For fuck’s sake! I’ve seen her naked. It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like. But as I keep watching her, I find myself wishing for another small peek.

Mumbling a string of curses to myself, I pivot and stride out of the house. The only way I can deal with my growing obsession with this little heathen is to put some distance between us. Otherwise, I’ll keep pacing around the house and turn into a pathetic bastard who begs for a modicum of attention. Well, unfortunately, I think I’ve already crossed that bridge.

I scowl.

Pathetic? Me?

How the hell did I get here?

It’s all her fault.

In my mental battle with myself, I don’t even realize as I slide behind the wheel of my car, or the fact that I steer it out of the garage.

I only gain some awareness of the situation when I’m on the highway, aimlessly heading somewhere.

It seems my body knows me better, since it leads me away from her, knowing how weak and pathetic I’m about to become, even more than I already am.

More curses slip past my lips, together with a few punches into the car’s dashboard.

The days when I used to be calm and collected are long gone. Chaos has slithered its way into my life, turning it upside down and making me feel like a damn stranger in my own skin.

I drive without a destination for what seems like forever. The need to turn the car around and go back to demand an explanation from Minnie is overwhelming. But I fight against it. It wouldn’t yield any results.

As I drive by a small town, I find myself stopping in the parking lot of a pub. Not my scene, but for the first time, a glass of something to numb my thoughts sounds mighty fine.

I get out of my car and walk into the pub, where I take a seat at the bar.

“Give me your strongest stuff,” I say in a gruff voice to the bartender.

I’m not much of a drink connoisseur. My father was the expert in the family.

Compared to most teenagers, I never had a phase of experimentation.

I stayed at home, kept to myself, and studied.

Boring, I know.

I must have only tried a sip or two of wine when Mother left her glasses unattended, but that was it. I never developed the taste for it.

So for me to be sitting here, asking for alcohol of my own volition is…unheard of. But I suppose this is what my father must have felt like when he couldn’t withstand his own thoughts anymore and he needed to numb them. Or, perhaps, the drink amplified the thoughts? Can’t really say since I tried to keep my distance from the old man—it was the only way to keep your bones intact.

The bartender slides a glass of amber liquid in front of me.

I stare at it.

Even as I realize what a bad idea this is, I cannot escape this unnatural urge to escape my own feelings.

It’s too much, and all at once.

I’m sleep-deprived, annoyed, but too invested to stop. That would describe my current condition. And it’s all her fault.

Minnie.

That little heathen who thinks to control me with her attention—or lack thereof. That slip of a girl can hold a fucking mean grudge. In turn, that only calls to my obsessive side more, making me want to get to her, find out what goes on inside her head—what makes her tick.

And I will do that.

Once she decides to start talking to me again.

Fucking hell. I’m the most pathetic bastard in existence.

I groan aloud as I pull the glass toward me.

I’m a sad excuse for a man, much less for one who considers himself to be at least of above-average intelligence.

Nowadays, though? A dog might beat me on an IQ test. It’s that dire.

“Damn you,” I mutter as I bring the glass to my lips to take a sip. “Damn you, Minnie!”

The liquid barely touches my tongue when a man in his forties slides into the seat next to me. His hair is gelled and combed back in a slick style meant to make him appear younger—it fails. He’s wearing a dark navy two-piece suit that has seen better days, which is surprising considering the fact he’s wearing a genuine Rolex on his wrist.

“Women trouble?” he inquires in a lazy voice.

I put my glass down and narrow my eyes at him.

Did I allow him to talk to me?

Do I seem like I need his advice? He’d more likely benefit from someone pointing out that hair gel doesn’t replace old-school shampoo and clean hair.

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. I don’t suppose he’s that well acquainted with shampoo and soap, and the obnoxious perfume he’s wearing does little to mask that.

“I can relate, man.” The man releases a long sigh as he continues. With a hand gesture, he asks for a glass of the same I’m having. “Women are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Again, why is he talking to me?

Do I look fucking approachable? I doubt it. I spent years training my facial muscles to exemplify the male equivalent of a resting bitch face, which I have come to call resting brooding face—see, even the acronym is the same.

The concept is simple. One glare and people scramble from my vicinity.

Not this man, apparently.

“That’s why I always say, get them while you can.”

I raise a brow. I still have not made one sound of acknowledgment and this man goes on as if we’re long-lost friends.

Does he have a death wish?

“They think they’re too good for us. They send us signals and then they complain when we respond to them…”

I flatten my lips as I turn to stare at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“What’s the name of your girl?” he asks.

I glare at him.

Instead of scrambling away, he reaches inside his coat and takes out a business card, which he slides in front of me.

Alpha Academy.

Lead Instructor, Paul Barnes.

“I can recognize heartbreak from a mile away. I can help.” He winks.

He fucking winks.

“Is that so?” I drawl.

Great. Just what I needed. A fucking pick-up artist trying to teach me how to woo women. Granted, I might need some lessons on that front. But the last person I’d consider learning from is fucking mister gelled hair over here.

I bet that hairstyle alone acts as a repellent to all women.

“Tell me what the problem is,” he continues, giving me that slimy salesman smile.

“You’re rather confident it’s about a woman,” I note.

“There are only two things that bring a man here at this hour. Women and money. And I don’t think it’s money you’re trying to forget.” He winks, again.

I suppose that’s not a hard assumption to make. That it happens to be correct is pure luck.

When I don’t speak again, he continues.

“You don’t have much experience with women, do you?”

I don’t reply, merely look at him.

Fuck. Do I have the word inexperienced tattooed on my forehead?

I hate people.

“You’d be surprised just how many good-looking and successful men have trouble getting the woman they want. Especially them, I would say, since they have no way of knowing if a woman is with them for their money or themselves.” He keeps going as he takes a swig of his drink.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have that problem,” I mumble under my breath.

I look at my glass. It’s barely touched. Alas, I don’t think drinking is for me. I’m about to get up and leave this lunatic when he speaks again.

“Ah, I see.” He chuckles. “Is she not willing then?”

I freeze. Something about his tone rubs me the wrong way.

“What if she’s not?” I ask, slowly turning to him.

His lips curl up. Leaning in, he whispers, “I can fix that, too.”

“And how would you do that?”

He carefully assesses his surroundings before he speaks.

“A few drops in her drink when she’s not looking and she’ll be putty in your hands,” he whispers. “I have a new product that’s even more effective than the old stuff on the market.”

My blood grows cold.

He’s talking about date rape drugs, out in the open. We’ve barely exchanged a few words and he’s already trying to sell me this shit. If that’s the case, he must have done this countless times before. His delivery is smooth, his speech rehearsed.

Fuck.

“Color me intrigued,” I answer slowly.

“Two hundred a mil,” he mentions. “That’s enough to use on ten girls, or, if you’d like, ten times on one girl.” He laughs.

I force a smile on my lips, though inside I’m seething.

This fucking asshole.

“How do I know it works as you say? Have you tried it yourself?” I ask, probing further to see just how much of an asshole he is.

“Of course.” He scoffs. “See that girl over there—” He points to a young girl at a table, who’s doing her best to keep her eyes open. She sways sideways, grinning when her head hits the table. “She’s my ride for tonight.”

That wink again.

“I see it works,” I reply, measuring my words.

“Of course it does!” he sputters, offended.

I smile.

That seems to put him more at ease.

“I don’t have that much cash with me here. Come to my car and I’ll give it to you.”

He beams.

“Say no more.” He chuckles. “We’ll head out too.”

I pay the bartender for my drink and wait for Paul of the Alpha Academy to do the same. On our way out of the pub, he grabs the girl he drugged and more or less carries her out of the building.

To my surprise, no one bats an eye.

They turn and look, but they don’t question whether she’s willing or not. They simply shrug and move on—it’s a regular occurrence after all.

Anger simmers inside of me.

Today, of all days, when my temper is threatening to get the best of me, I happen to stumble over this bastard.

An insidious smile spreads on my face.

Alas, maybe this was fate—and now I’m starting to sound like Minnie and her magic talk. But it could prove a nice distraction and an opportunity for me to blow some steam.

Paul leads the girl to his car and dumps her on the back seat before following me to my car.

“You won’t regret it, I promise. All of my customers come back for more,” he mentions when he sees me open the front drawer of my car. “You have my card. You can always call…”

He says something more that I tune out. It’s unnecessary details of his deeds that I don’t want to listen to.

Instead, as I open the glove compartment, I take the time to scout the area.

There aren’t people outside. Good.

There’s one camera at the front of the pub and one by the side. I do a quick calculation.

I always park my car in the outside radius of the camera, but he’s standing by the car, so any sudden movement could get him back into the camera’s coverage.

I click my tongue against my teeth in annoyance. The only way to do this is to ensure he doesn’t struggle.

“Here,” I say in a bright voice, lulling him into a sense of security. Just as I turn to give him what he thinks is cash, I strike.

Using the back of my palm, I hit him against the chin with enough force to rattle him. He barely makes a sound.

As he sways on his feet, I grab him, pulling him toward me and wrapping my arms around his neck. I apply just enough force to knock him out before I quietly deposit him in my car.

That was rather easy.

There’s one issue, though. The girl in his car.

I debate what to do for a few moments before I cave in and call Giles.

“There’s a drugged girl at…” I pause to look at the name of the pub and the address on the GPS. “The car is a black SUV with the plate numbers ending in seven-three-nine. Make sure she gets home safe.”

A pause.

“Do I want to know how she ended up there?” he asks in his usual bored voice.

“No. But I’m taking care of the owner of that car.”

He chuckles.

“Fair enough. I’m on my way.”

Hanging up, I stick around until Giles is a few minutes away and leave. I can’t have my new prisoner wake up before he ends up in his prison, now, can I?

As I drive back home, I access the camera feed from the house to see where Minnie is. Luckily, she took my advice and stopped working. She’s now lounging around in her room.

Did I install another camera in her room? Yes, I did. And I’m not sorry about it.

After the incident with the faulty footage, I’ve been more wary of her. And what’s the best way to get a read on her if not by seeing what she does in the intimacy of her room?

Creepy? Maybe. But at least I’m not as creepy as mister gelled hair in the back, who’s no doubt stinking my upholstery with his cheap perfume.

I shake my head in disgust. I suppose tomorrow I’ll need to take the car out for a wash.

Minnie struts up and down her room as she tries on the clothes we bought for her last week.

It takes me a few moments to realize she’s pretending to be on a catwalk, walking like a model.

I chuckle.

She’s cute. Too cute. Disturbingly cute.

Fuck. Maybe mister gelled hair was right. I do have a problem. And it’s one I have yet to find a solution for.

Instead of paying attention to the road like a responsible driver, my eyes are on Minnie and her antics.

It’s even worse when she takes some clothes off to put on the others because though she’s not fully naked, she’s naked enough for me to feel my clothes becoming too constricting.

Goddamn. I’ve become a pervert.

If she only knew what I’ve been doing lately instead of sleeping…

Gelly Paul moans in the back. I sigh. Ten more minutes until I get home.

Pulling over, I lean back and give him another blow to the head to ensure he stays put—and quiet—until we reach my basement.

After he goes back to sleep, I continue driving until I get home.

I park the car as usual, and holding my phone with the camera feed in one hand and dragging Paul with the other, I use my hidden entrance to go to the basement.

The first room is the decoy—of sorts. There’s a functional fireplace—cough, furnace, cough—and a wine cellar.

Behind the cellar, however, is my playroom.

I drag Paul into the playroom and dump him on the floor while I go about setting up everything for his comfort.

He’ll find my playroom very welcoming. As welcoming as the girls he’s raped in the past were.

Although I made sure to cover my tracks, my actions were still reckless because I can be put in the same location as Gelly Paul over here.

If I hadn’t been so high-strung recently, I would have let him go—sans the girl, of course—and stalked him for a week, all the while planning the perfect kidnapping and punishment.

As it stands, I might not be as creative as he deserves since I don’t have enough time to think of a fitting punishment for him.

“I promise you, Paul, that I’ll give you a night you won’t forget,” I murmur as I put on my suit and gloves.

Setting up the screen on the wall to show me Minnie’s room, I start undressing Paul until he’s stark naked, and then I drag his body to my favorite chair—that can convert into a bed, too!

It feels almost profane to have Minnie’s exuberant beauty in the background while I have to stare at nasty Paul’s genitals, but I suppose this is a good reminder of what lies beyond the walls of my house.

Minnie could have very well encountered a slimy Paul, too, and she would have been hurt.

My anger spikes.

She’s not safe, anywhere but here, with me.

The outside world will hurt her. Men will hurt her.

Men like fucking Paul.

The thought drives me insane.

Instead of seeing the unknown girl he’d drugged, I see Minnie.

She’s such a gentle soul that every fucking depraved bastard is drawn to her like a fucking moth to a flame.

But that will not happen.

I found her first.

She belongs to me now, which means no one else can harm her—me included.

To think that only a week ago I entertained the idea of killing her.

Unacceptable.

How could I have ever thought of something so disgraceful is beyond me.

I purse my lips, mentally berating myself for it.

But then another thought arises.

Mister gelled hair did get one thing right. I have no idea how to behave with women.

Murder is all I know.

Maybe my first thought was to kill her because I had no idea how else to translate my interest in her. After all, for more than a decade, my only interest—besides trashy TV—has been killing.

From the start, she didn’t fit the profile. She was an innocent—someone who needed saving, not damning.

Clarity explodes in my mind.

My eyes widen and I stop.

My lips slowly curve up into a smile.

Minnie, Minnie. Minnie mine…

Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I grab a sharp knife and get to work as I hum my new favorite melody, which might or might not be Carried Away from a certain cartoon character that shares her name.