13

Rae

November 2nd, 2019

I hadn’t heard from him since the night of the masquerade.

It wasn’t like I truly expected to. A strange, masked man fucks you twice in two nights, leaving you exhausted and used up, you don’t really expect there to be any callback, especially if you don’t know his name.

But here I was, sitting at my dining room table, staring at the untouched bottle of water he had left on my nightstand, questioning every decision I had ever made in my entire life. Had he poisoned it?

Not only was I questioning my sanity and whether or not those two nights were a fever dream, but I was also wondering about what was happening down at Lowell Bay. That Russian man had said it was happening tonight. All I wanted to do was go and see what was going on. Not to get involved or anything, just to watch. Everyone was right. True Crime Documentaries were mostly fictional. Maybe the Detectives and police they interviewed retained some truth, but mostly it was just fiction presented in a way that made it feel real.

I wanted real.

That man’s father promised my death, but the man in the mask had plenty of opportunities to kill me over the last month, did he not? Was my time not already ticking away?

I chewed on the inside of my lip, staring out the sliding glass doors of my balcony while an obscure indie horror film played on my television.

I knew that a lot of them were shitty, but there were some diamonds in the rough, and anyway, having them play was entertaining, even if they were shitty, I was never truly paying attention. Sometimes I got a good jump scare out of them.

Would he give me a jump scare? Was that why he was waiting? So he could scare me into fucking him again?

I pressed my thighs together at the thought, my stomach buzzing in anticipation as the fear trickled down my spine.

“Shit,” I muttered and refocused back on the papers. This was stupid, I was being an idiot. I needed to focus on this so I could solve it and shove it up Captain Bard’s ass.

I pulled over my phone and dialed a number that I had found written in the margin of one of the papers sent over by the police station with the name ‘Oliver Abernath’ written just under it.

Nobody at the police station would confirm or deny whether they had followed any leads or not, so it was up to me, and I would do a better job than any one of them. Because fuck them for trying to get me to fuck them for answers.

The number was international, the United Kingdom, and after triple checking the time difference, I finally hit call. They were only seven hours ahead of us, which would make it just about 4 there. Perfect.

I leaned back in my chair, pulling a knee up to my chest only to wince and drop it. I was still a little sore from the night of the masquerade. Maybe another warm bath today would help. Some salts and candles. One of my waterproof t—

“Scotland Yard, Baily speaking.”

I shook the thoughts away and felt my face twist almost immediately. I turned back to the number I had typed into the search engine on my laptop. I hit my screen a few times, irritated. Why hadn’t Google told me that? Fucking internet. Useless. “I was looking for an Oliver Abernath.”

Why in the actual fuck would a number from Scotland Yard be written in the margins of some old paperwork dealing with my mother’s case? She was an art dealer, she traveled all over the world, but if she was murdered here, why did they have anything to do with this?

The man was quiet a moment. “And what is this in regards too?”

“I’m calling on behalf of Marla Bennett.”

“Who?”

I released a breath. “Marla Violet Bennett. She was an art dealer. Your number is written on this piece of paper with Mr. Abernath’s name underneath it.”

He paused again, shuffling sounding in the background. “We don’t know of any Bennetts,” he replied. “Only Marla Violet Alascer.”

My brows furrowed. “Alascer? No, it’s Bennett, her last name is Bennett.”

“Then you’ve got the wrong number.”

“Wait!” I called before he could hang up. “Wait, just…” I looked over the papers, my mind working quickly. “What does she look like?” It was the first thing I could think of to verify. A social security number would have worked, I guess, her age, but no, this was where my tired mind shifted too.

Baily sighed. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered more to himself than to me.

I frowned, getting annoyed at his irritation. “I didn’t have time for my mother to be murdered in cold blood,” I countered coldly. “I’m not going to apologize if this inconveniences you, I’m just searching for answers.”

He was quiet a moment before he spoke again, the irritation in his voice nearly gone. “She had amber eyes and dark blonde hair, that’s all I have for you.”

A coincidence?

With the exact same first and middle name? I chewed on my cheek. What the Hell was going on? Why would she have a different last name? My instinct thought was ‘secret agent’, but this wasn’t some sort of crime thriller, that stuff didn’t happen in real life, so what was a rational reason she would use a different last name?

Separate family? She did have Max and his last name was Justice. There could be others.

Did I have other half-siblings out there I didn’t know about? How many families did she have while I was sitting here with Donna, praying to God that she would just come home for Christmas?

“You said you were this Marla Bennett’s daughter?” he asked when I didn’t respond. “What’s your name? Full name now, I don’t need any nonsense.”

“Rae Charlie Bennett,” I answered, leaning over the table.

He paused again, this time the silence was weighted. “She told me you’d call. We assumed it’d be sooner.”

I straightened. “She what?”

“Let me put you through.”

One ring sounded. “Abernath.”

My heart skipped a beat. I forced a smile across my lips and rolled my shoulders. “Good day, Mr. Abernath. My name is Rae Charlie Bennett, and I am calling in regard to this number and your name written in the margin of a paper I found in Marla Bennett’s case file.”

“And?” he asked impatiently.

Just keep calm, confident. “And…I was wondering why. What were you and my mother involved in?”

There were soft voices in the background and then a grumbled ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ from Abernath before he sighed. “Alright, tell me this then. Are you as good at lying as your mother?”

My smile faltered, my brows furrowing. “Lying? Lying about what?”

“Everything.”

He didn’t elaborate further than that.

Something was going on. I knew my mother would have her secrets. She was gone most of my life, of course she would have secrets, but this? She didn’t just have a separate family, she had a separate life. “Yes,” I replied evenly. “Why was your name on this paper?”

“What paper is it? You’re asking me all these questions, giving me nothing in return.”

Right. I pulled the paper closer. “It’s a letter from a man named Gregory VanHouten. He was telling her about some art deal happening in central London.”

“Art deal, eh?” He chuckled. “And here I thought you were taking up reins.”

“Reins?”

“Look, I’ve got things I gotta get done, so expect a guest this afternoon. They’ll walk you through it.”

“Wait, through what? What guest? What’s going on?”

Click.

I looked at my phone screen in disbelief. What the fuck?

I frowned and looked at that name again, the man who wrote the letter. What great help Scotland Yard was.

Marla Alascer? She did have another family, didn’t she? Aside from Max, aside from me. There was someone else.

I chewed on my cheek and pulled my laptop forward, googling Gregory’s name, wanting to do something to keep me from thinking about the fact that my mom might have had yet another family she loved and cared for.

Clicking on the first link I saw, I read through it studiously. He had been sentenced to prison for raping and murdering seven girls.

Why was mom doing business with a guy like that? Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she truly was just selling art to him and found out about that later.

But then why work with Scotland Yard? Was it just this case she had helped them on or was she on the payroll?

With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair and looked across my apartment. It wasn’t the cleanest it could be.

I guess today I was cleaning. I groaned inwardly. Had to prepare for my guest.

How he knew where I lived did concern me, but after these last few weeks, I didn’t have the energy to concern myself with the worry. At this point, I should just move. Move to the middle of the woods where nobody could reach me ever again. I’d become a creepy old witch with a caldron in Louis Vuitton heels.

I’d make a hot forest witch.

Okay, first things first, I put away all of the case files neatly into boxes, sliding them into the pantry for safe keeping. I didn’t need any prying eyes, even if they had worked with my mom.

I couldn’t help but wonder what her secret life entailed. Maybe she been an art dealer with this family. Maybe she had been a detective, a secret agent of some sort. A CI.

Maybe I had been the secret family, the cover. What if I was a result of going into witness protection?

All I could do was wait and catalog all of the questions I had to ask whoever it was Mr. Abernath was sending over. Hopefully not one of the cops I was already having issues with, which was most of them, and I swear to God if he sends the captain my way, I would make a scene.

I wouldn’t, but I would think about it the entire time he sat on my couch.

Hours later and I realized in the middle of cleaning that I hadn’t eaten a thing today. I needed to order something, but I had no idea when this person would arrive. My stomach was lecturing me about forgetting and I was inclined to apologize. I was feeling lightheaded and dizzy and not in the best state of mind to be talking to anyone.

Just as the thought of ordering something drifted across my thoughts, my door opened, causing my heart to skip a beat.

My head whipped up from where I was sitting in front of the bookcase, my panic growing, half expecting to see the masked man walking in, only to find Max.

He shut the door behind him, looking around the house for me, I assumed.

I felt the panic slam into me. “What the fuck, Max?” I breathed, shoving myself to a stand. “You have a key?” My head spun, my stomach twisting. Fuck, I should have eaten. How had he gotten a key? I never gave him a goddamn key!

His eyes shifted to mine, cold and irritated. “You never answer your phone, what else was I supposed to do?”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “Take the hint like a normal fucking person!” I hissed. Part of me had hoped the masked man had taken care of this the night of the masquerade, but it was an irrational thought. He wasn’t some white knight here to fix my problems, he showed up when he wanted to fuck me into a short coma and then he left, that was all.

That was everything.

But God, I had hoped. I had prayed that he had taken care of Max. He seemed like a psychotic person, killing Max felt like the obvious next step. But of course, it was just my active imagination. My high expectations.

Now what? He had a key. What was I supposed to do now? Move?

That forest witch idea was looking pretty damn good right now.

“We’re siblings,” he replied, making his way over to my fridge. “I deserve to get to know my sister and not to be treated like shit when I do.”

I shuddered at the word, feeling the bile rise in my throat. I was going to throw up. “I don’t want to get to know you,” I said carefully. “I made that clear the other night.” And at this point, I wish I could have gone back in time and slapped the girl at the funeral who hugged him and was grateful that he showed up in her life because this was becoming absolutely terrifying.

He froze with the fridge door open, his shoulders tightening at my words.

I watched him carefully, my heart racing. Why was I more terrified of Max then of the masked man? It wasn’t rational.

Because it wasn’t ominous with the man, I decided. I mean, it was, but not in an innately evil way. Max was…the air around him was cold. Everything about him caused my stomach to twist and turn, he caused my skin to crawl and the masked man? I felt safe around him. I don’t know what that said about me, probably that I should go see a therapist, but it was true. I felt safer with him than I did on my own.

Maybe I was just that fucked up, I didn’t know, but something was missing in his eyes that was present in the masked man’s and it scared the shit out of me.

Max slammed the fridge shut and turned on me, a flash of white on his arm catching my eye. “I’m your brother,” he bit.

I nodded, taking a step back out of instinct, despite the fact that the room separated us. He had a cast. His arm was broken. “You have a paper stating as such, but I don’t know you. We are strangers, and all you’ve done since coming into my life is try and control everything I do. That is not how siblings act, not good ones, anyway.”

I remembered him clutching it the night of the party. Had the man done that? Had he broken in his arm in some sort of warning?

Max started making his way towards me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “How would you know that, Rae? You’re alone. You have always been alone. and you will always be alone. It doesn’t matter how many slut-ish pictures you throw out on the internet for all to see, to jerk off too, it doesn’t matter that you crave the attention of lesser men. No matter how hard you try, and you do try,” he said, looking me over, “you will never be anything other than alone.”

I swallowed, the fear trickling across my skin as my eyes filled and my thighs clenched. I could feel the wetness between them growing. Fuck, sometimes I truly hated my body, I really did. I didn’t want that right now. Not with him. Never with him. “I have friends,” I said, my mouth dry. “You are the one who seems so obsessed with me.”

“That’s because I’m making an effort to get to know you,” he stated coldly. “I’m the only one making any effort.”

“So, you think that gives you the right to tell me where I can go?” I asked breathlessly. “You made a key to my apartment. You’re not trying to get to know your sister, you’re…”

He slowed to a stop in front of me, my words dying at the look in his eyes. “I’m what, Rae?” he asked, enunciating every word.

I swallowed, my hands tightening around the rag I had been using. “You’re obsessed with me—”

His hand whipped out, wrapping tightly around my throat so fast, I was unable to stop the whimper that shuddered out. He jerked me forward, my hands wrapping around his wrist, tears springing to my eyes. “I thought girls liked it when men showed this kind of initiative.”

I gasped for breath, my mouth opening and closing, no air, no sound, escaping. It was different. My brain was fogging, so I couldn’t come up with a rational reason why this was so much different than what the man had done, but it was. Something about it was different. It had to be different. It had to be or what did that make me? A hypocrite? A psychopath? Pathological?

Tears slipped down my cheeks as spots danced in front of my eyes. Was I going to die? Was I going to die in my apartment while the captain was on his way here? By the hands of a man I didn’t even know eight months ago.

I didn’t want to die. “Please,” I begged, my nails digging into his arm.

He sneered, looking from my eyes to my lips and back. “Such a slut for everyone else in this city, and you’re blind to what’s right in front of you.”

My limbs were losing strength, my knees weak. I couldn’t think. The world was going fuzzy, and I couldn’t think. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.

He jerked me forward again and pressed his mouth against mine, forcing his tongue through my parted lips.

He tasted like radishes.

Why did he taste like radishes?

I had always been partial to radishes, but now? Now I think I would hate them forever. I didn’t think I would ever eat one again, not for as long as I lived.

He shoved me against the bookcases, knocking down some of my knickknacks and picture frames as he forced his leg between mine.

I was losing consciousness. I couldn’t fight.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this.

I pulled my head away, pain shooting down my spine. “St…0p,” I gasped. “Please.” I tried to kick my legs, but everything felt too heavy.

He shoved his hand down my pants, between my legs, finding my secret.

He pushed me into the bookshelf again, finding my eyes, his fingers teasing my cunt. “Fuck, this gets you wet? You’re a real fucking slut, you know that?”

The weakness spread throughout my body, my hands falling to my sides. He was going to rape me and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing at all.

I hated this. I hated myself for reacting this way. I hated the masked man for giving me everything I wanted, leaving me wanting more. I hated mom for dying. For having a secret life. I hated the captain for being fucking late, although Oliver never said when he’d be here. I hated God. I never even truly believed in him, and I hated him so goddamn much. I hated him more than anything else in the world.

He said something that sounded garbled and far away before kissing me again, sliding his fingers inside of me, loosening his grip just enough to force me to remain conscious.

He worked his fingers inside of me, finding that spot I wish never existed, flicking it and rubbing it quickly.

My body shuddered, feeling the orgasm grow as he finger-fucked me, his tongue sliding across mine.

“Don’t, please,” I begged myself, but my mind and body had disconnected. I was already worked up, already on the verge of—

My cunt clamped down around his fingers as I came on him, a wave of shame and horror washing over me.

He pulled his fingers out and leaned back, looking at me with an egotistical smile, as if he had done something special. As if he had won.

My body was a slut for this and now I was sure that anyone who took away my air and forced themselves on me would get the same reaction and I fucking hated myself for it. He fucking raped me, and I came. So what? So if the captain forces himself on me in an hour, would I cum again? Was that all it took? A little force?

Fuck!

What the fuck was wrong with me? What the actual fuck was wrong with me!?

“See you around, sis. Don’t ignore my call again or you’ll force my hand.” He shoved me away, causing me to tumble back, falling to the floor, my back hitting the edge of the bookcase, scraping up my spine as I fell to my knees.

I coughed, gasping for air, tears springing to my eyes as I instinctively reached back to touch my spine, only to hiss at the tenderness. It hurt so goddamn bad. It hurt so bad I had to swallow back the grunts threatening to escape my lips, but it didn’t hurt worse than the absolute shame that coated my skin.

I watched after him until the door shut behind him before a sob cracked through me.

I reached back again, touching my spine gently, hissing at the pain. Another sob broke through me, followed quickly by a gag.

I slammed my hand over my mouth and scrambled up, my entire body screaming at the sudden movement.

I barely made it to the sink before my stomach emptied, causing the new pain in my back to flare. I heaved and I heaved until I was coughing up nothing but air. Minutes passed before the heaving slowed.

I felt numb, feeling only the pain in my back, around my throat, in my pussy, and nothing else. Nothing at all. Just that.

Just him.

I wiped a shaking hand across my throat and gripped the counter as the water rinsed everything down the drain. I needed a shower. I was covered in sweat, and I felt so fucking dirty, like I was covered in tar. I just wanted to wash all of it away before—

A knock sounded at my door.

I looked over, wiping a hand across my brow, pushing away the damp strands of hair that stuck to my forehead. Of course. Of course.

I was an effort to hold back the sob that threatened to break through me.

I turned back to the sink, my heart pounding, my body shaking. I couldn’t do this. Not yet. I just needed an hour. An hour to pull myself together, and then I would be fine. Everything would be fine if I just had one hour.

I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. I couldn’t avoid this, but what I could do was be the worst host in the world and take a shower while I had guests. I was sure the captain wouldn’t mind me being fresh for his onslaught of advances. In fact, I’m sure he would love it.

I rinsed my mouth out, splashed cold water on my face, and forced myself to straighten, although my spine refused to straighten all the way. It throbbed in pain, but I would be fine. I had to be fine.

What a fucking day this was turning out to be.

I walked over to the door, my steps stiff, adjusting my cleaning shirt only to frown. Feel like trash, look like trash.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Let’s just get this first greeting over with so I could bathe.

I opened the door and froze as the two men from the masquerade stared back at me.

My lips parted in absolute shock as the boss, his father, smiled at me, his blue eyes shining.

“Rae,” he greeted, taking off his hat. “I thought your name sounded familiar.”

My hand fell from the doorknob, every ounce of energy I had left, draining from me. I couldn’t even pretend to be the woman I was at that event. I was too exhausted. Too exhausted to smile. Too exhausted to move. Too exhausted to look at the man standing behind him.

The boss’s eyes furrowed. “You’ve been crying.”

I swallowed, staring at him for a second longer before I turned away from them, on the verge of a breakdown. “I was cutting onions,” I replied weakly, walking towards my dining room table. I sniffed, wiping under my cheeks, the tears starting again. Shit. “I’m sure you already have at this point, but make yourselves at home,” I told them without looking back, my voice wavering. “I need to take a shower.”

“You’d trust complete strangers in your home while you’re at your most vulnerable?”

I headed for my room. “Well, your grunt’s been in my house before and you’ve given me at least a week to live, and you can’t make me feel any worse, so yeah. I suppose the compliance could be construed as trust.”

“Did the onions cause the bruise around your neck?” the son asked just as I reached the door.

“Yup,” I popped. It was all I could say without him noticing the thickness in my voice. I shut the door behind me and placed my hand over my mouth trying to muffle the sobs that crept up my throat.

Fuck.

Fuck!

I inhaled sharply and shoved away from the door. I couldn’t collapse now, I had guests. I had to collect myself.

Get ahold of yourself. You’re better than this. Straighten up and swallow the tears. You’ve got work to do.