Arson's Captive Page 4

  I scream so loud it tears my throat from the inside and my voice ricochets off the walls of this cage, sending vibration through my body.

  Sudden female screams have the tendency to stop men in their tracks during torture, and they change the weapon or their attitude, and that’s exactly what I need.

  I don’t know who this man is or what I’m doing here.

  But I won’t let him use the damn lighter on me and bring up flashbacks from the past.

  He can hurt me, abuse me, kill me.

  But he won’t do it with fire.

  That’s a vow I intend to keep no matter the cost.

  Chapter Five

  “Most people fear monsters that come in the night, seeking flesh to feed on.

  Most people don’t know that true monsters hide behind the angels, hunting their prey with their holy masks that cover their rotten nature.”

  Callista

  Callista, 6 years old

  “Sweetie, get up. We’re here,” Mommy whispers above me, and I quickly lift my head from her lap, sitting up straight in the car when it stops abruptly near a huge iron gate with three men standing in front of it, looking funny in their black suits.

  Is that their uniform?

  And then behind them is a priest, based on his clerical clothing, who holds a book to his heart as he rushes toward us.

  “Twenty dollars, miss,” the cab driver says, turning toward my mom, and then ducks his head, studying the gates from the open window. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  Mom nods even though he can’t see it and gives him the money, grinning at him. “Yes, just like in the brochure.” The man gives her an odd look, opens his mouth to say something, but then shrugs as if he doesn’t want to bother. “Say bye, sweetie,” Mommy reminds me, and I wave at him.

  “Bye, mister.”

  “Bye, kiddo.”

  The car door swings open, and the priest extends his hand to me, smiling brightly as the sun shines behind the back of his head, blocking it from blinding me. I squeeze his palm and get out, my pink school shoes stepping on the sand.

  “Hello, little miss.” His gaze shifts to Mom who emerges right after me, and he nods at her. “Welcome to your new home, child.”

  “They told me we could stay here,” she says, coming closer to me and then placing her hand on my shoulder. “We can’t go back,” she adds as if trying to plead with the man.

  He sighs, adjusting the glasses on his nose. “Of course not, child. You deserve better. No one will hurt you here.” Then he points at the gate, waving his other palm at us. “Come on in.” We follow his request and move forward. I blow on a lock of hair falling from my forehead, and my throat feels really dry, because the weather here is so hot. Hotter than in Chicago, where I’m from.

  We pass by the men in uniform who give me a wink, and I smile at them, thinking that it must be a hard job to just stand under the sun, but all thoughts about them fly from my mind when we walk through the gates.

  Gasping, I look around and drink in the beauty surrounding me while pressing the teddy bear in my hand tighter to my chest, my mouth hanging open.

  Several houses are lined up in different colors of the rainbow from yellow to blue to green. They are the same square shape and form, standing so close to each other that neighbors can probably see what’s going on inside from the windows.

  Concrete roads spread through the space lead to different green gardens with fountains and blooming flowers that my hands itch to touch.

  Slightly farther, I see an endless field of grass with dandelions peeking out. Several kids run around it, screaming. A dark-haired woman stands next to them and picks dandelions on the way, patting their heads, and they wrap their hands around her legs.

  She has so many kids or is she a teacher?

  The priest pats my head, running his palm over my hair, and then points at the picture in front of us. “This is heaven on earth, child.” There is so much joy in his voice that I smile at him, even though I’m not sure how people know the difference between heaven and hell.

  Probably no one ever hurts anyone in heaven.

  “What’s your name?” he asks me.

  I reply shyly, hugging Mom’s knee and peeking from there up at him, “Callista.”

  Distaste crosses his face for a second, and I freeze, remembering such an expression on Daddy's face, but it’s so quickly gone I think I must have imagined it.

  “The name is not appropriate for her,” he states. My brows furrow and I raise my head to glance at Mommy, who hugs me closer but stays silent. “It’s one of the rules.”

  “I like my name!” I exclaim and then hide behind my mom’s knee again, afraid of his reaction, since Daddy never liked my outbursts either.

  The priest laughs although it sends coldness through me, and anger flashes in his eyes. “Rules are rules, child. But we will hash it out later.” He waves his hand. “First, you need to get settled and then rest before you can fully adjust to your new life.”

  He continues to walk, talking about different activities here, but I tug on Mom’s jeans, so she’ll look at me. “I don’t want to change my name.”

  She grabs my hand, follows the man, and quietly, but with steel in her voice that means I need to keep my mouth shut, says, “It’s a small price to pay, honey. Isn’t this place beautiful?”

  Everything inside me rebels at her words, and I open my mouth to protest some more when I see bushes of red roses a few feet away from us and squeal loudly at the sheer beauty.

  Their petals are splayed open, basking in the sunlight while their color is straight from a cartoon. I’ve never seen a red rose in real life, but it’s present in the old tale called Beauty and the Beast Marcy has in her library. It’s my favorite story in the whole world, because in the original French tale, the beauty has blonde hair just like me.

  I take a step toward it, wanting to touch it and breathe in its scent, but the priest holds me by the hood of my sweat jacket and pulls me back to stand next to him. “We don’t run around here without permission, Chloe.”

  “My name is Callista,” I remind him, meeting his stare and lifting my chin, which only makes him chuckle as if he finds it funny.

  “I think Chloe will suit you just fine. With your eyes and hair, you are perfect.” He gives this strange comment and then pushes me to my mom.

  I stumble a little but lean on Mom’s knees who catches me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Be careful, baby,” she says and then addresses the priest. “I apologize if she is rude. It’s just a new environment.”

  He clacks his tongue. “That shouldn’t be an excuse for this.” What is he talking about? I don’t understand half the words coming from his mouth! “Don’t worry, Carmen. We will teach her how to behave.” Under his stare and almost a snarl, I want to run behind Mommy and hide away from his prying eyes, as if he can’t wait to punish me.

  I recognize this kind of stare from Daddy, but he always had them only for Mommy.

  What is this place?

  “Nevertheless, welcome home, my children. Life as you know it will never be the same.” He hugs my mouther closer to him, and she exhales loudly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You did good by coming here.”

  “I want a better future for Callista.”

  “Chloe,” he corrects her and then glances at me as if ready for me to object, but I stay silent only because Mommy is crying. If she loves this place so much, I won’t say anything else now, so the man won’t kick us out.

  I learned a long time ago to do a lot of things for Mommy’s sake, because I can’t stand her getting hurt.

  And for the next fifteen years, I did the best thing I knew how in this world.

  Protected my mother no matter the cost in this hell she brought us to with her one rash decision.

  Because a monster disguised as an angel ruled this kingdom.

  Callista

  I’m not sure what I expected him to do once I started screaming like a bansh
ee, but for him to grab the nearby chair, straddle it while kicking the tip of his shoes around the legs is not it.

  And somehow, this scares me even more.

  Despite the pain rocking my entire system from bruising my throat like that, I continue to scream while he cocks his head to the side, as if studying me under a microscope.

  Our gazes clash, mine terrified and his absolutely void, and my lungs hurt so much inside my chest that I gulp for breath, momentarily stopping the scream.

  My chest rises and falls while my heart beats so wildly against my ribcage I’m surprised it hasn’t jumped out of me. I feel the pulse in my throat all while my mind hectically searches for an explanation.

  Who is this man and what does he want from me? I’ve never seen him before, which means Pastor had to hire him recently.

  Or is he a new buyer who came to check out the products, and they’ve decided to allow him to play with me?

  It wouldn’t be the first time they fed the needs of those sadistic bastards as long as it was not sexual.

  After all, no one can touch the woman whose virginity Pastor guards so well.

  He promised it to Marcello.

  Marcello who someday will be his heir and continue their disgusting legacy.

  Shivers rush through me at the thought of that man, and I lick my lips to continue screaming again when his deep yet rugged voice washes over me like the silkiest of ropes. The kind that have the power to wrap around your neck and deprive you of your next breath.

  All while you don’t see it coming.

  “I don’t appreciate when people tarnish what belongs to me.”

  My mouth drops open at this, but then I close it quickly, my brows furrowing at his words that make no sense to me.

  Tarnish what belongs to him? What is he talking about?

  My silence doesn’t bother him though, since he flips the damn lighter between his fingers again, although he doesn’t light it up, while focusing his whole attention on me before speaking. “I don’t like when someone screams. Remember that for the future, because I never repeat myself.”

  Despite my fear, a humorless chuckle slips past my lips followed by hollow laughter booming between the walls of this glass cage. “Am I supposed to be happy with this?” I swirl my finger, anger slowly rising inside me and replacing the fear, allowing me to push back all the scary scenarios in my head and meet my opponent head on. “Men like you are a disgrace to this world.” I spit at him, wincing and then coughing through the sting in my throat.

  I place my hand on my collarbone, slightly rubbing it while inwardly tensing, preparing for the inevitable retaliation from the man who probably doesn’t appreciate my outburst either.

  Because in “heaven,” I got an additional ten beatings for speaking up instead of bowing my head and accepting their sadistic deeds with a smile on my face.

  But once again, my eyes widen in surprise when the guy tsks at me, flipping the lighter to his other hand, and only says, “I don’t like hysterics either.” His tone stays even, while the dominance and darkness surrounding him tells me that even though he stays breezy, he is anything but. “What’s your name?” he asks, and I blink in surprise at the abrupt change of subject.

  “What? They didn’t tell you my name before they gifted me to you?”

  He scratches his cheek, and I notice a light scruff on it that gives him an even wilder look but oddly enough goes well with his blue hair.

  I quickly shake my head from the weird thoughts, shifting a little while the chain drags around me, reminding me of my position in here. Since when do I pay attention to the looks of those men anyway? They are despicable human beings who deserve nothing from me, even the emotion of pain.

  Shutting myself off completely during their abuse is my only source of pleasure, because I know I don’t give them what they so seek.

  Surrender in where their victims beg for their next breath.

  He clicks his fingers, and my attention snaps back to him while annoyance quickly flashes across his gaze. But once again, his voice stays low, barely scratching the surface, yet the invisible silky ropes tighten around me, the air sticking in my lungs. “Answer me.” It doesn’t escape my notice how he doesn’t repeat the question, staying true to his word.

  Will you look at that? Some of them actually can hold themselves accountable for what they say. I won’t be surprised if an earthquake starts soon from my discovery.

  Lifting my chin toward him, I inform him, “You haven’t answered mine either.” For a second, I think I’ve managed to surprise him, because there is an odd expression on his face, but I’m quickly proven wrong in my assumption when a smile pulls at his lips, sinister in its nature.

  But it silently holds so many bad promises for me I mentally prepare myself for the inevitable doom that always, always follows me no matter where I go, because I can never keep my mouth shut.

  He stands up, kicking the chair to the side where it lands with a loud thud, and I jump up, pressing my back firmer to the wall while he reaches me in three short strides.

  I’m ready to scream again, uncaring if it tears my throat until it bleeds again, when he fists my head and presses me to the wall, his palm covering my mouth, not allowing even a squeak to come out.

  Instantly, his masculine scent envelops me, whooshing over me along with his energy that swirls around him like he’s ready to pounce on me at any moment. I try to push him away, only to face his hard-as-granite muscled body that doesn’t even budge under my assault.

  He is nothing like the usual men in this hell who need to restrain me in order to be able to execute their punishment, oh no.

  He is dark and strong. Probably no one can get away from his clutches if he doesn’t allow it.

  My pulse speeds up while my breathing becomes labored, my heart beating so wildly I believe it could break my ribs. He angles my head, pulling at my hair so I have no choice but to look into his eyes.

  And for the first time since meeting him, they are not void.

  They are blazing with fury and another emotion I can’t place, yet it still manages to break goose bumps on my skin.

  Unfamiliar sensations assault my senses; a zap of electricity rocks between us, and even though I know I should resist his hold, all I can do is stare at him and await his next move with my breath hitched.

  What in the hell is this?

  Removing his hand from my mouth, he slides it to my neck while his fingers grace my throat, his thumb rubbing over my pulse. “My stubborn captive,” he whispers, leaning closer, so our lips are a breath away from each other.

  But despite his closeness fogging my mind and confusing me with my body’s reaction to it, his words ring in my ears.

  My stubborn captive.

  Why does he call me that?

  None of them ever….

  And then my mind finally clears, playing back the memories from earlier when I was running for my life from Marcello and the other men through the field toward the gates, hoping to somehow escape from hell.

  When I saw a blue-haired man spreading gun powder, preparing to burn everything around him.

  Oh my God.

  If I’m not back at heaven, in Pastor’s basement for yet another lesson in obedience…

  Where am I?

  Arson

  She has the beauty of an angel and a voice of the sirens; the sound of it has the ability to lull even the greatest of men to their sleep or make them succumb to their death.

  The fire shining in her emerald-green eyes is mesmerizing, as if she is daring me to do something about it.

  Ah, little angel.

  You’ll soon learn that no one challenges the devil and lives.

  She’ll burn in the fire of my creation as the anger within her grows and grows, because I’m too fascinated watching her orbs fill with fury to stop bringing her pain.

  An angel the devil found in the dark and decided to keep.

  An angel who will be a perfect decoy to lure him, ending it o
nce and for all.

  Because there is one simple universal truth no one can deny.

  True angels are a temptation impossible to resist for the likes of me and him.

  This angel will be his downfall.

  And I’ll enjoy every fucking second of it, even if I have to sacrifice my beautiful captive for it.

  Chapter Six

  “In the darkness, it’s impossible to find true love.

  In the darkness, it’s impossible to find hope.

  In the darkness, it’s impossible to find freedom.

  Yet the darkness will never betray you like those three, which give you a will to live only to take it away from you with one single event.

  Darkness has no morals.

  But darkness never rejects you no matter your sins.”

  Arson

  Chloe, 6 years old

  “Stand still, sweetie,” Mommy says, brushing my hair one last time before putting the comb on the table and picking up a sparkling pink barrette, clipping it on the top of my hair, allowing a few golden locks to fall down my back. “Look how pretty you are.” Her mouth widens in a smile as she steps back so I can twirl in front of the huge mirror.

  My new white dress that reaches my knees and matches my white sandals is so beautiful, especially when I turn around and allow the sun streaming through the window to reflect in my skirt from the small crystals attached to it.

  Gently rubbing the chiffon—at least that’s what the lady who brought it called it—I raise the skirt of the dress and exclaim, “I’m like a princess, Mommy!” Giggling, I spin around again, and Mom laughs along with me, checking herself one last time in the mirror before clasping my hand with hers, ushering us outside.

  She’s wearing a beautiful yellow dress the nice lady brought to her along with mine; she said it’s Pastor’s favorite color.

  I’m not sure who he is, but he must be very important based on how people act here. Whenever someone says he prefers or orders something, it has to be obeyed immediately.