Chapter 6

6

Aubree

“Mrs. Culling, your husband asked that I remind you of the hospital Masquerade Ball this evening.” Carmen, the twenty-something maid, opened the drapes of my room to sunlight, blinding me as I turned over in bed. “I understand he’s chosen something formal for you.”

“I suppose he has.” It was impossible to hide my lack of enthusiasm.

“Michael is a man that takes care of everything. You’re a lucky lady!”

Carmen truly couldn’t be blamed for her ignorance. She was present at the mansion for about two hours in the morning, mostly after Michael left for work, and knew nothing of my husband. Yet, it surprised me that the same woman I’d often heard bitching to the other maids, about how she’d never let a man rule her life, suddenly thought having one pick out clothes was a gesture of chivalry.

Of course, maybe she was just being nice. All the staff walked on eggshells around me. I knew what they said behind my back, though. The way they looked at me—the same pitiful way a gathering crowd might look upon a rat inside a snake’s cage, anxious for the moment it’d finally strike and kill its prey.

“Yeah, lucky.” I turned to the side, wincing at the low cramping inside my stomach, and pulled my knees into my chest, frightened that something might rupture. A quiet whimper escaped me.

The large phallus pushes deeper, burning at my entrance while he jostles the dildo around inside of me, as I hang from the hook to which I’d been tied. “You love this, don’t you? How about you pretend its Achilleus fucking you, huh? I’m sure he’s hung like a horse.”

I flinched at the memory. After hours of torment, he’d finally abandoned his play, forcing me to damn near crawl back to my room without dropping a single bit of blood, lest he’d take a renewed interest in my pain.

“You okay, Mrs. Culling?” Carmen approached the bed, eyes wide. “Ay dios mio! Is that blood?”

“I’m okay, Carmen. Please, I’ll be fine.” Though enough splotches marred the sheets to rule out a paper cut, the worst of it was probably inside of me. He’d done it before, much more violently than the night before, so I knew I’d recover within a couple of hours. “Please, I’m okay. I … just started my menstrual cycle.” A lie, and as Carmen cleaned my personal bathroom, I was certain she had a pretty good memory that only less than a week ago, I’d finished my usual cycle.

“Should I call the hospital? Tell them you can’t come in?”

“No!” I didn’t mean for the word to come out quite as forcefully as it did, but I refused to miss the opportunity to leave the shithole for a few hours. The only thing that kept me sane happened to be hanging out with a bunch of broken and battered students—my reward. “No, I’ll be okay. I just … had some residual bleeding.”

“That’s a lot of blood for residual.” Her Hispanic accent almost made the comment laughable, if not for the air of concern behind it, but her gaze remained glued to the patch of blood on the sheet where my ass sat. “I’ll start you a bath … or, I mean a warm shower, how’s that?”

I’d once told Carmen I didn’t particularly care for baths. In truth, I was downright terrified of them.

“And I’ll get these sheets cleaned up for you, quickly.”

“That sounds wonderful, Carmen. Thank you.”

She headed toward the bathroom but paused, midstride. “Miss. You know, I have a friend who was in a really bad situation once.” She’d lowered her tone, putting my oh,shit sensors on high alert, and didn’t bother to turn and look at me. “She hired this guy …”

“Carmen—” I interrupted her for her own safety. “I said, I’m fine.”

She nodded and continued on toward the bathroom.

I once took a psych class in college and struggled with the difference between psychopath and sociopath. To me, any ‘path’ was a path that I avoided in life, but truly, I should’ve paid more attention.

While the rush of water echoed from the bathroom, I glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room.

* * *

Renata, a cousin of Carmen’s, who worked for the same family-owned cleaning agency, fixed the back of my dress, looking over my shoulder as we both stared in the mirror. A single strap of black satin crossed over my breasts to my right shoulder, and clung to my curves in a long, elegant gown, with a band of beads that clipped my small waist. A long slit exposed my thigh, and the strappy heels beneath added a delicate touch. While black gloves hid the scar on my wrist, a cluster of layered pearls at my neck concealed the mark where Michael had gotten carried away with his belt at my throat.

In truth, I hated the fancy dresses and expensive jewelry he made me wear, like his own personal Barbie doll. Having grown up with nothing, it went against my blood to flaunt something so flashy.

“Such a beauty!” Renata turned to a much smaller, meeker woman, who gathered the clothes I’d discarded for the dress. She never spoke. Couldn’t. She had no tongue. “Isn’t she pretty, Elise?” At her question, the woman gave a slight smile and nodded, but quickly returned to gathering up whatever mess she could scrounge in my otherwise meticulous bedroom. Renata smoothed her fingertips over my long, brunette locks that’d been curled at the ends. “What are you, Mrs. Culling? You got some European in your blood, yeah?”

“My father was French, and his mother was also Sicilian.”

“And your mother?”

Instinctively, I rubbed the scar on my forearm and looked down at the tattoo of black cursive over my wrist. A quote by Charlotte Bronte:

I’ve lived the parting hour to see

Of one I would have died to save.

God, the thought of her still stabbed me in the heart. I’d lost her at a time in my life when I probably needed her most. A time when my father had become so stricken with sadness, the mere mention of her name had him hiding away in his garage, his sanctuary, for hours. It’d only been later, in the letter he wrote to me the day I eloped with Michael, that I realized how much pain her death had brought him.

I’d never known anyone like my mother, so full on life, vibrant and free-spirited, it felt warm and right just to be near her. We could hardly survive on my father’s meager income, and yet, I had everything I needed while she was alive.

“Beautiful,” I said. “My mother was beautiful.”

“Well, then, that’s why you’re so gorgeous. Mr. Culling’s jaw is going to drop, when he sees you. Just hope he returns in time!”

“Michael left?” I shot my gaze to hers in the mirror’s reflection. We were due to leave in twenty minutes, for the hospital charity he’d made a point to remind me of that morning. “How do you know, Renata? I thought he was working in his office?”

She shook her head. “Strangest thing. He normally keeps his office locked, but it was wide open when I arrived this afternoon.”

The words were almost blasphemous. Michael never left his office door open. “This afternoon? It’s been unlocked all afternoon?”

“I knocked, like I normally do before going in, and there was no answer.” She slapped a hand to her face. “Oh, my! I hope he isn’t …”

Dead?I tightened my face to keep my eyebrows from winging up into a happy little smile. “Did you go inside?”

“Oh, no. I would never go in unless he gave me the permission. He’s very particular about that.”

“Perhaps …” I cleared my throat and smoothed my hand down the front of my dress. “I should check it out. Make sure he didn’t keel over on me!” I hoped my laughter didn’t come off as fake as it sounded to my own ears.

“That would make me feel a whole lot better. I didn’t even think that something could’ve happened to him!”

We can only hope. As much as I knew I’d be disappointed, the prospect of finding him lying on the floor, some vacant, lifeless expression amidst the blue of his skin that would surely pronounce his death, was exciting? Jesus, had I become just as psycho as the bastard?

“Thank you, Renata, that’ll be all. I’ll check on Michael. I’m certain he’s only stepped away.”

She nodded and smiled. “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Culling. Again, you look stunning.”

“Gracias,” I added, a little too jubilant for the morbid conversation we’d had two minutes ago.

Once she’d disappeared from the room, I made a beeline for Michael’s office.

Please be dead. Please be dead.

“Shut up!” I whispered, chastising myself.

Why, it’s not like he can hear your thoughts!

“He’d certainly try if he could,” I muttered to myself.

Down the stairs, past the foyer and down another hall, I finally reached Michael’s office. What if he’s in there? I’d think of an excuse. Even snooping around the door of his office was enough to land myself in punishment, and after limping all afternoon, it was a wonder I’d even attempt something so dangerous.

I knocked on the door. Once, twice. At the third knock, I peeked my head inside. Damn, my heart felt like it might beat right the hell out of my chest!

“Michael?” I cringed at the normalcy in my voice, almost a plea, as if I needed him for something all of a sudden. When he didn’t answer, I slipped inside.

The sight of his office spurred an urge to throw up, but I tucked it back. Keep it in check. The shit was monumental and I didn’t intend to screw up the opportunity with a battle of nerves.

As expected, Michael was nowhere to be found. I rounded his desk and opened drawers. For months, I’d been anxious to find something on him—a photograph, a document, a goddamn severed head that might act as indisputable evidence in court. Though, knowing Michael, his connections would probably fabricate some outrageous story, like the headless victim fell on a guillotine, and Michael would be set free.

His desk was something out of a mental health magazine for OCD. Everything neatly spaced, stacked. Nothing appeared to be suspicious.

I lifted a document, knocking a flash drive to the floor, and ducked under his desk to retrieve it, setting the papers back in the drawer along the way. Chip in hand, I quickly backed out from under his desk and rose to a stand, gasping at the shadow in the doorway. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. My stomach could’ve fallen in a heap of bloody organs onto the floor at that very moment, while a blanket of ice slithered through my veins, crushing my chest with panic.

“What are you doing in here?” His voice carried the daunting calm that’d always acted as a red flag.

“Checking on you.” The words tumbled from my mouth in all my stomach churning alarm. “Your door was open.”

“My door is never open.”

It would be futile to argue the point, and I wasn’t interested in getting Renata killed—there’d be no convincing him that it was, in fact, unlocked. My stomach tightened as I dragged my finger across his desk, slipping into a necessary skin, but one I loathed, and came to a stand in front of it. “The truth is, Michael. I can’t stop thinking about last night.” The approach was tricky. I’d made it a point not to express any measure of enjoyment when it came to sex with him. “There’s … something about fucking on your desk. Ruining your perfect papers, with your cum dripping down my back. I like to destroy your important things that way.” I had to stifle the urge to throw up in my mouth. Jesus Christ, the thought of his cum dripping off of me made my skin itch.

The short span of eternity that followed had goose bumps forming on my skin. He’s not buying it. He’s not buying it.

“Perhaps we’ll revisit this conversation later this evening.” I could almost feel his eyes scanning me for any degree of deviation from the truth. “We’ll be late for the charity ball.”

* * *

Detroit Riverside Hospital came into view. A cylindrical structure made of glass, sliced at an angle, extending from the brick building and stood lit with a soft, orangey glow.

“Darling, you look delectable.” With his hand resting on my thigh, Michael sat beside me in the back of the limo.

I didn’t bother to turn and face him. Fighting off the tremors in my hands had consumed me most of the ride, since, less than a half-hour earlier, he’d caught me inside his office. His office. In five years, I’d never ventured inside his office without invitation from him. Michael’s office was off limits and, under normal circumstances, locked down during the day.

The night before was the first time we’d ever fucked in his office, which allowed me the perfect opportunity to cover up the true reason I’d risked my life to venture where I’d been warned never to go. In his hasty and disheveled state, he’d forgotten to lock the door before finishing me off in my bed.

And with what I guessed was important information on that chip, I’d lied to his face, to my very soul, and told him I couldn’t think of anything else but fucking him against his desk again.

It seemed he bought it, but I’d come to know a frightening realization about Michael—what seemed to be rarely ever was.

“Thank you, Michael,” I said in the most robotic voice I could muster. My shoulder flinched at the wisp of breath against my neck, the desperation to push him away drumming at my muscles.

“I look forward to ripping this dress off of you later. Perhaps I’ll make you come all over the executive summary I’ve been working on.”

At that sickening thought, an urgency tugged at me—the same urgency I got on the rare occasions he took me out of the mansion to accompany him to some event.

Escape.

If I were to succeed, I’d be hunted.

If I failed, I’d be killed.

I knew, because it wasn’t the first time I’d given thought to running. I’d actually acted on it, and each time I’d been caught, Michael had upped the punishment. I was confined to my bed for a week the last time, not as punishment, but as a medical recommendation for the wounds I’d suffered. Stupid move. That’s what you get when you don’t have a game plan. Didn’t matter, though. The tight stretch of my dress confining my legs served as a reminder that I wouldn’t get far. The dresses he chose for me were, themselves, a form of shackles.

Michael knew people and would pay a ridiculous amount of money to find me, so that he could kill me properly. He controlled the police department through his self-appointed, bastardly corrupt police chief. Between them, they could cover up my death with such finesse, it’d be like I never existed to begin.

Still, instincts had my stomach clenching, and my hand balled into a fist. If he found out I’d taken the chip, he’d know I rifled through his desk. No one ventured inside of Michael’s office, aside from Renata.

Going back to the mansion meant punishment , the likes of which I’d probably never seen in my life. The charity was my one and only chance—that single moment I’d surely regret not taking advantage of. Who knew when he’d take me out of the mansion’s confines again? He’d probably bury me alive in the cellar for taking that chip. I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. I would try to escape Michael, no matter how dangerous it might be.

The limo arrived to a stop at the front entrance, where valet approached. I tugged down the hem of my dress, and noticed the frantic bouncing of my knee, the dead cold stiffness of my fingers inside the gloves.

“Relax, it’s just party. I’m right here.” His clammy hand covered mine.

I’d once told him that such affairs made me a nervous wreck, that I hated having to dress up and leave the mansion—a confession that’d secured my ability to accompany him on more occasions.

I mustered a fake smile, every bit of the exchange with him lending no insight into the thoughts running through his head. Did he suspect that I’d betrayed him? Would he take the opportunity later in the evening to investigate what I’d done? If he’d found the chip missing, I couldn’t even say what fate would hold for me, because I’d never so blatantly defied Michael, aside from a few escape attempts. No doubt, it would all end in some grotesque death that would make The Black Dahlia look like a mercy kill. “I’ll be fine.”

I couldn’t go back with him later. I had to find a way out, a means of escape. I didn’t regret stealing the chip—after all, it had to end —but returning to the mansion with him could be the end of me. I’d seen him murder a man as casually as if he’d read the morning paper and tossed it afterward. No conscience. No remorse. I couldn’t live a lifetime fearing that I’d be killed and discarded, though.

“That’s my brave girl.” He gave my thigh a squeeze and trailed his hand up my body, over my breasts, to the back of my neck. “In my sights at all times, is that clear?”

Gaze glued to my folded hands, trembling in my lap, I gave a sharp nod. Fuck you.