The Master
Page 28
I backed away from the gruesome scene. As I ran from the room, he bellowed, “Prison’s too good for you!”
I stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs. Still clutching the pistol, I bolted to my Mercedes. I laid the gun on the floorboard like it was a live bomb.
As I reversed past Julia’s Jaguar, my headlights caught Edward’s face. A nightmare. His crazed green eyes were stark against his own mask of blood. Trickles of it ran in the rain.
He raised a gun! Shit! I couldn’t back down the winding drive. Three-point turn. Shit, shit!
He shot at me! Missed. My scream was loud in the confines of the car. He bellowed, “I will BUTCHER you! I will cut you into pieces while you live!” He aimed again, missed.
Forward, forward! My tires spit up the pea gravel, spinning in place. Before I could speed off, I heard him yelling, “Go to the police, and you go to jail! COMING FOR YOU, WIFE—”
Lightning forked out over the ocean; I blinked repeatedly.
I wasn’t back there. My sweating palms weren’t white-knuckling a steering wheel. I was safe up here in this tower, with a powerful lover and bodyguards. In time, I caught my breath, and my pulse leveled out.
When Edward had vowed to butcher me, I’d seen the madness in his eyes. I’d seen my future if he ever got to me.
That night, once I’d calmed down enough to think, I’d weighed scenarios. Best case: He turned me over to the cops to fry for two murders. Worst case: He made good on his vow.
The only path open to me? Living to fight another day. So I’d disappeared.
Vanishing from the grid was easy—all you had to do was cast aside any possession you ever valued, expect nothing to replace it, shed your identity, and sacrifice any connection you’d ever made.
By the time I’d gotten to Texas, I’d started to wonder if I should fight for my life back. Though I’d always considered myself brave, I was letting my mother’s murderer live in her goddamned house?
I should at least know what my options were. So I’d pawned my watch and my simple gold wedding ring to get a decent lawyer. The lady had been perplexed by my story. There was no warrant out for my arrest. No missing persons report on me. No death of a woman named Julia. Edward had covered it all up.
He truly was coming for me.
My prospects had been grim. To try to reclaim my inheritance, the attorney required a fat retainer. To divorce Edward, I’d be forced to create links. I wouldn’t be hidden from him—the well-respected closet serial killer who was bent on revenge.
Plus, there was the safety-deposit box. He couldn’t access it without me; I couldn’t without my ID and the key. I imagined it as a land mine we both circled.
My risk/reward analysis said: You’re fucked. You’d better come up with some rules to try to stay alive. Good luck with that.
I shook my head hard to dislodge the memory of that night, just for a little while. Just until the next storm.
It happened. It hurt. Better things awaited me. One day. Hey, maybe I’d outlive Edward.
I took a deep breath, then returned inside, grabbing my phone out of my cash-filled purse. After unlocking the code, I checked my messages. Ivanna never texted—her long red nails made it impossible—but she had left a voice mail: “Call me! I’m dying!”
Anthony had left several: “Hi, Cat, it’s Uncle Anthony! Welcome to the agency, sweetie. Call me about tonight.” “Phone Uncle Anthony, girl.” “Still waiting on a call. . . .”
I’d have to deal with that later.
There was also a threatening message from Mrs. Abernathy. “Cat, you need to confirm for cleaning on the thirty-first. I’m having a party, and I’ll need you. None of this nonsense about quitting, or I will make that call.”
INS. Bésame el culo, puta. Kiss my ass, bitch.
When I passed the coffee table in the sitting area, I frowned at the sight of Sevastyan’s briefcase. Hadn’t he and I sat on that couch, looking at papers, sometime late last night? My eyes went wide. He’d shown me test results that said he was all clean. My own all-clean results had been right beside his. Fucking e-mailed to him.
Ivanna had insisted I go to the “agency physician” for my exam. I’d thought it was cheaper or something. But why should I expect privacy when I was a paid-for thing? I’d never felt more commoditized.
Sevastyan had said, “This is what I wanted to discuss with you. I want us to be able to do anything to each other, whenever we want, with no barriers between us. I’m dying to taste you. Will you let me?”
“I don’t know,” I’d said, drunk and annoyed. “I’ll need to think about this.” But my annoyance had disappeared when I’d realized I could give him head without a condom—and utilize all the tricks I’d picked up in high school or read about or learned from Ivanna.
BBBJNQNS? Gracias, yes.
Now my face flushed. I think I’d told him, “I really want to taste you too. If there was ever a cock that deserves to be tongue-worshipped . . .” Then he’d pulled me in for a kiss, and my thoughts had gone on hiatus.
I tried to recall more, but all I managed was the start of a headache. So I used a guest bathroom to wash off, brushing my teeth with a complimentary toothbrush. I was tempted to sneak away and not deal with the aftermath of last night. But when I crept back to his bedroom, I found Máxim had turned on his side, arm outstretched—as if reaching for me.
I crawled back under the covers with him. In sleep, he wrapped an arm under me, covering both of my breasts as he pulled me close. When he held me like this, my will dissolved, my worries, my blood-coated memories. . . .
I stumbled, nearly falling down the stairs. Still clutching the pistol, I bolted to my Mercedes. I laid the gun on the floorboard like it was a live bomb.
As I reversed past Julia’s Jaguar, my headlights caught Edward’s face. A nightmare. His crazed green eyes were stark against his own mask of blood. Trickles of it ran in the rain.
He raised a gun! Shit! I couldn’t back down the winding drive. Three-point turn. Shit, shit!
He shot at me! Missed. My scream was loud in the confines of the car. He bellowed, “I will BUTCHER you! I will cut you into pieces while you live!” He aimed again, missed.
Forward, forward! My tires spit up the pea gravel, spinning in place. Before I could speed off, I heard him yelling, “Go to the police, and you go to jail! COMING FOR YOU, WIFE—”
Lightning forked out over the ocean; I blinked repeatedly.
I wasn’t back there. My sweating palms weren’t white-knuckling a steering wheel. I was safe up here in this tower, with a powerful lover and bodyguards. In time, I caught my breath, and my pulse leveled out.
When Edward had vowed to butcher me, I’d seen the madness in his eyes. I’d seen my future if he ever got to me.
That night, once I’d calmed down enough to think, I’d weighed scenarios. Best case: He turned me over to the cops to fry for two murders. Worst case: He made good on his vow.
The only path open to me? Living to fight another day. So I’d disappeared.
Vanishing from the grid was easy—all you had to do was cast aside any possession you ever valued, expect nothing to replace it, shed your identity, and sacrifice any connection you’d ever made.
By the time I’d gotten to Texas, I’d started to wonder if I should fight for my life back. Though I’d always considered myself brave, I was letting my mother’s murderer live in her goddamned house?
I should at least know what my options were. So I’d pawned my watch and my simple gold wedding ring to get a decent lawyer. The lady had been perplexed by my story. There was no warrant out for my arrest. No missing persons report on me. No death of a woman named Julia. Edward had covered it all up.
He truly was coming for me.
My prospects had been grim. To try to reclaim my inheritance, the attorney required a fat retainer. To divorce Edward, I’d be forced to create links. I wouldn’t be hidden from him—the well-respected closet serial killer who was bent on revenge.
Plus, there was the safety-deposit box. He couldn’t access it without me; I couldn’t without my ID and the key. I imagined it as a land mine we both circled.
My risk/reward analysis said: You’re fucked. You’d better come up with some rules to try to stay alive. Good luck with that.
I shook my head hard to dislodge the memory of that night, just for a little while. Just until the next storm.
It happened. It hurt. Better things awaited me. One day. Hey, maybe I’d outlive Edward.
I took a deep breath, then returned inside, grabbing my phone out of my cash-filled purse. After unlocking the code, I checked my messages. Ivanna never texted—her long red nails made it impossible—but she had left a voice mail: “Call me! I’m dying!”
Anthony had left several: “Hi, Cat, it’s Uncle Anthony! Welcome to the agency, sweetie. Call me about tonight.” “Phone Uncle Anthony, girl.” “Still waiting on a call. . . .”
I’d have to deal with that later.
There was also a threatening message from Mrs. Abernathy. “Cat, you need to confirm for cleaning on the thirty-first. I’m having a party, and I’ll need you. None of this nonsense about quitting, or I will make that call.”
INS. Bésame el culo, puta. Kiss my ass, bitch.
When I passed the coffee table in the sitting area, I frowned at the sight of Sevastyan’s briefcase. Hadn’t he and I sat on that couch, looking at papers, sometime late last night? My eyes went wide. He’d shown me test results that said he was all clean. My own all-clean results had been right beside his. Fucking e-mailed to him.
Ivanna had insisted I go to the “agency physician” for my exam. I’d thought it was cheaper or something. But why should I expect privacy when I was a paid-for thing? I’d never felt more commoditized.
Sevastyan had said, “This is what I wanted to discuss with you. I want us to be able to do anything to each other, whenever we want, with no barriers between us. I’m dying to taste you. Will you let me?”
“I don’t know,” I’d said, drunk and annoyed. “I’ll need to think about this.” But my annoyance had disappeared when I’d realized I could give him head without a condom—and utilize all the tricks I’d picked up in high school or read about or learned from Ivanna.
BBBJNQNS? Gracias, yes.
Now my face flushed. I think I’d told him, “I really want to taste you too. If there was ever a cock that deserves to be tongue-worshipped . . .” Then he’d pulled me in for a kiss, and my thoughts had gone on hiatus.
I tried to recall more, but all I managed was the start of a headache. So I used a guest bathroom to wash off, brushing my teeth with a complimentary toothbrush. I was tempted to sneak away and not deal with the aftermath of last night. But when I crept back to his bedroom, I found Máxim had turned on his side, arm outstretched—as if reaching for me.
I crawled back under the covers with him. In sleep, he wrapped an arm under me, covering both of my breasts as he pulled me close. When he held me like this, my will dissolved, my worries, my blood-coated memories. . . .
