Chapter 35
The Prey
N ow that it’s just me and Marco, it’s time to set my plan into motion. I send Michael a text, telling him I’m going to our house to pack some things, and that I never want to see him again. My husband is nothing if not predictable. I know this will ensure he shows up, probably within the next couple of hours.
“Do you want anything to drink?” I ask Marco as I head toward the kitchen, where I quickly locate a bottle of my favorite red wine.
“No thank you, I don’t drink on the job.”
I shrug. “More for me.” I take a deep breath, inhaling the rich, velvety aroma of the red wine as it fills my glass to the brim. The crimson liquid shimmers in the dim light, almost looking like blood.
The first glass goes down quickly, so I refill the glass before walking back into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, I mentally go through what I want to happen and how I want things to unfold. Even though Marco’s here and could easily overpower Michael, I want it to be me—all me—that takes care of things.
“Sergei will be here with the poison in half an hour,” Marco says, looking down at his phone. “Are you sure you want the poison to actually kill Michael? If not, Sergei made some sugges tions—”
I tilt my head to the side, intrigued. “Suggestions? Like what?”
Marco shrugs one shoulder. “He says he has everything from instant death to paralyzation. Pick your poison… literally.”
I snigger. “Okay. Hmm, I think I’ll go with paralyzation. But a slow working one. It needs to take me at least thirty minutes.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Any particular reason?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Would you like to elaborate?”
Taking my time, I take a large swig of the wine. “I would not,” I reply. “But since I assume you’re not going to agree to wait anywhere you can’t watch over me, you’ll be able to see for yourself.”
“Understood,” he smoothly agrees. “Is there anything we need to do before Michael gets here?”
“Like what?” I ask.
Marco chuckles. “I don’t know… like, do you need to organize anything? Get anything ready?”
That’s a good question. I was just going to doll myself up a bit, wear something Michael likes seeing me in. But maybe I should do more than that. “Yeah,” I say as I get to my feet. “I think I should have a look through his office.”
Marco follows me as we head to Michael’s study, a room I’ve only ever been in when my husband has summoned me. Though I spend a lot of time alone in our house, I’ve never dared go in there since he beat me up for cleaning the room when he hadn’t asked me to. Since nothing matters after tonight, I don’t hesitate.
The door is locked, but thanks to Marco’s skills, he pulls the door off its hinges. “Are we looking for anything specific?” he asks as I rifle through some papers before turning on the desktop.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
When the computer starts without asking for a password, I can’t hold back a frustrated huff. That’s how much of a docile doormat I was; a password isn’t even needed to keep me out. I don’t know why that infuriates me more.
I open Michael’s email, also not password protected, and go through the most recent emails. There isn’t anything interesting until… wait, what’s that? I double click on a correspondence that has my name in the subject line.
My eyes widen and my hands clench into fists as I read the attached contract. With each word I read, my heart feels like it’s being shattered… no, not shattered. Obliterated. Tears distort my vision, making me blink rapidly to make sure I miss nothing.
“What the hell?” I whisper. My throat burns with the emotions I’m trying to keep down, but it’s a no go. My hand shakes as I scroll down.
Michael didn’t just want me dead, he made sure I’d die at the hands of the most ruthless killer for hire; the Hunter. Valentine. But that means… he lied to me. Valentine fucking lied when he said it was a job in the past.
I quickly glance at Marco, and luckily, his back is to me, so he’s oblivious to my turmoil.
Unable to keep myself upright, I sag into the chair behind me as I process the enormity of this. As if on cue, my brain reminds me of the presence I felt following me around during the days between Christmas and New Year’s, and again earlier today.
Holy shit. I don’t need confirmation to know it was Valentine. This means he’s also the reason Michael wanted me enrolled at Holloway University.
Christ, I was literally placed in his way in every way imaginable. Offered up as a sacrificial lamb for slaughter. So… why am I still breathing? We’re days into February, and I’m still alive. Valentine could easily have killed me at the cabin, but he didn’t.
He could have even made sure I killed myself with his barbaric Russian Roulette. I didn’t die, obviously. I survived, and now, the more I think about it, I wonder if there was even a bullet in the damn chamber.
I can’t really explain it, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, because if there’s one thing I know both about Valentine and the Hunter, it’s that if either really wanted me dead, I’d be worm food by now. But again, I’m not. So that has to mean he doesn’t want me dead, right?
Closing my eyes, I lean further into the chair as I try to make sense of my thoughts, but how can I when I only have half the puzzle? The only two people who really know what’s going on aren’t here with me.
One is on his way, I hope—the other, well; I drugged him and left him alone.
Since I got texts from him and felt his presence earlier today, I know he’s awake, and could be anywhere. Yet, I don’t fear him. How can I when there isn’t a reason to believe he’ll actually hurt me?
The harder I think about all of it, the fiercer the pain lances through my insides. My breaths are shuddered puffs as I attempt to act as normal as possible so I don’t alert Marco. Shit… Marco. I can’t let him find out what’s going on. There’s no way he’ll keep it from Nick if he sees the contract.
While I’m pondering what the hell to do, Marco’s phone chimes. As he slowly turns around, I pull up a website and type the name of a fashion designer into the search bar.
“Really?” Marco asks, disdain coating his words. I look up in time to see him eyeing the monitor. “I thought we were looking for something serious. But I guess not.”
I bristle at his tone, but still manage to smile sweetly. “You know what they say about retail therapy.” I’m relieved my voice doesn’t crack.
“Whatever. Sergei’s here, so I’ll go take care of business. Don’t leave this room.” He doesn’t wait for my answer, which is perfect.
As soon as he’s gone, I jump into action. I print the contract out, and then, just for good measure, I also print a few other inconsequential things. A recipe, a few luxury handbags, and a picture of the apartment below Jack’s, which is apparently for sale.
I leave the printouts I don’t need on the desk, they’re only in case Marco hears the printer and asks about it. Then I fold the contract up and hide it in my armpit, which isn’t great, as I’m now moving awkwardly so it doesn’t escape my hold.
With Marco still not back, I head to the bedroom, immediately striding toward my massive closet and pulling out the dress I need. Then I disappear into my bathroom.
During the shower, I do my best to shut my mind off. I don’t have time to fall to pieces, or allow the heartbreak that’s sending spikes of anguish through me. Not tonight.
I guess the one good thing that’s come from my marriage is my abilit y to compartmentalize so great that unbidden thoughts don’t filter through if I don’t let them.
Yep, I’m the epitome of a well-trained… pet.
Oh, the irony.
As soon as I’m done, I dry off and redo my makeup, making it more dramatic with thicker eyeliner, darker shades of eyeshadow, and a lipstick that’s teetering between red and black. Once I’m satisfied, I remove the emerald green silk dress from the hanger and shrug it on.
The dress was sewn specifically for me, and the fabric clings to me like a second skin. The neckline is so plunging you can see my belly button, and it’s only held together by a small silver chain just beneath my tits. There’s a slit on the side that goes all the way up to my crotch, revealing my tattooed thigh.
I hate this dress almost as much as the man that gave it to me on our first wedding anniversary. At first, I thought it might have been some kind of peace offering, but, of course, that wasn’t its purpose.
It was for me to wear while Michael paraded me around in front of his sick brother, who didn’t waste any opportunity to grope me. My husband once told me I was like a walking wet dream in this piece of garment, which makes it perfect for tonight.
“Live fast, die young, and become a beautiful corpse,” I whisper to my reflection. Leaning forward, I press my lips to the mirror, leaving behind a lipstick stain.
Though I haven’t lived fast, I’m definitely dying young. Twenty-eight is nothing. In any other life, I might have just been at the beginning of my career. Or maybe I would already be settled into a life with a husband who’d love me, and kids to spoil.
That’s not me, though. My life ends tonight, and I’m glad I have a lot of things left to do. It keeps me busy, keeps me from falling to pieces. Instead of looking for loopholes where there are none, I’m making sure I do what I can for those who will wake up tomorrow morning.
Bending down, I place the contract in one of the soles, then I squeeze my feet into the black pumps. As I leave the bathroom, I’m not even surprised when I find Marco waiting right outside the door.
“I told you to wait for me,” he grumbles. I just shrug, not slowing down .
“Did you get it?” I ask expectantly.
He doesn’t answer me until we’re back in the living room. I notice all the curtains are drawn, so there’s no way to look inside. “Yeah, I did.” I watch as he pulls a vial from the inner pocket of his jacket. “Sergei swears it won’t kill, only paralyze.”
Taking the bottle, I hold the bottle up against the light, fascinated that something that cruel can look so unassuming. “How fast does it work?”
“He guaranteed me it would work in around thirty minutes time from first ingestion,” Marco confirms solemnly.
I nod to myself as I move over to the bar, reaching for the whiskey. “How much do I need?” I ask as I mentally calculate how to best do this.
“He said even a few drops were enough to paralyze someone like Michael.”
Those words are like music to my ears. With a cold and cruel smile grazing my lips, I pour a little into the three whiskey bottles, Michael’s favored drink, and shake the bottles. While I get ice from the freezer, Marco’s phone rings.
“Yeah?” he snaps.
Even as I move closer with the now filled ice bucket in my hand, I can’t hear what’s being said on the other end.
“She’s here. Yep, we got it and I’ve explained everything.”
Pause.
“Right.”
Pause.
“Got it. I’ll tell her.”
Pause.
He hangs up and turns toward me.
“Who was that?” I ask as I pour some of the poison over the ice, making sure to hit every single cube.
“The boss. Michael landed only a few minutes ago, and he’s on his way here.” He delivers the message in a monotone voice and his face is completely expressionless. “Where do you want me to hide?”
Umm… that’s a good damn question. “In the bedroom,” I reply, slowly .
With a sharp nod, Marco leaves me, and as he retreats, I hear him talking again. Probably to someone on the phone.
Suddenly, a sliver of awareness trickles down my spine. I spin around quickly, but I don’t see anything that isn’t how it should be. What am I reacting to? A sound? Or… I shake my head when I glance at the coffee table, noticing my phone lying there. Huh, I don’t remember moving it there. Did Marco do it?
When I pick it up, there’s a slew of texts, the newest barely two minutes old.
Valentine: You’re in so much trouble, Pet!
As if I can feel his eyes on me, I look around again, but there’s still nothing to see.
Me: I need you to come to my house. Do you need the address?
Valentine: I’m already here.
A gasp escapes me as I realize what I was reacting to; him, Valentine—his presence. I don’t understand how he can be in this house when both of my brothers checked it over. Unless he snuck in after they left… yeah, that has to be it.
Me: Where?
I’m annoyed at myself for feeling excited he’s here, but there’s no stopping the feeling as it grows inside me. Yes, I’m still angry and hurt, but the betrayal I felt pales in comparison to the fact that he’s here. That he came for me.
Valentine: I’m looking at your bodyguard right now. He doesn’t like you very much, and he’s callin g you names he has no right to use.
I shake my head. Before I can reply, another text comes through.
Valentine: Are you opposed to me killing him?
Biting down on my lip, I consider my options. I can’t allow Marco to be hurt, not when he’s watching over me. Okay, that’s not the real reason, I’m not that good a person. I just can’t do that to Nick, who would be devastated.
But I also can’t let Marco find out Valentine is here.
Me: Do not kill him!! I mean it.
Although I know it’s impossible, I swear I can hear Valentine’s laughter. Hell, I can even see his amused smile in my mind’s eye.
“Ruby?” Marco calls suddenly, making me jump.
“Yeah?”
“Michael’s almost here. Are you ready?”
While I get myself some more wine, I confirm I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Just to be on the safe side, I add the last of the poison to the remainder in the bottle after pouring myself a large glass. Then I go to sit down in Michael’s favorite chair, crossing one leg over the other so the fabric parts, perfectly showing off my tattoo.
It’s showtime.
When I hear the front door open, my body tenses like a coiled spring. I take a deep breath and steel myself for the confrontation that’s about to unfold. Michael’s footsteps echo in the hallway, and I can feel his presence looming over me like a dark cloud.
He enters the room, and I can see the surprise in his eyes when he sees me. “Ruby,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “You look… different.”
My eyes drop to his hand that’s covered up by bandages. I raise an eyebrow, my lips curling into a cold, mocking smile. “So do you,” I say, my voice dripping with malice. “What happened to your hand?”
He scoffs. “Like I would tell you.”
I shrug one shoulder, swinging my foot back and forth. “As long as it hurt, I don’t really care.”
At my words, he comes to a stop and quickly spins toward me. “Is that so?”
“It is,” I say, tapping one finger against my bare thigh. “Why don’t you get a drink? We have a lot to talk about.”
Something is wrong with him. He keeps looking around like he expects someone to jump out from a corner and… I don’t even know.
“A drink,” he says, looking perplexed. Then his usual haughty expression snaps into place. “Get one for me. I’m tired.”
Even though I’m eager to serve him his drink of death, I remain seated. “Are you saying you need a hand?” I smirk, pointing at his injured limb. “If that’s what you mean, I didn’t hear a please.”
“What the fuck has gotten into you?” he roars, stalking toward me. “You think you get to make the rules just because you’ve fucked your professor?”
And there it is, finally one of us said something real.
His eyes scrutinize me for a reaction, and when I don’t give him one, he adds, “Do you even know who you’ve let fuck you? Your professor is also the Hunter. I recognized his voice when…” Trailing off, he looks away, clearly not going to finish that sentence.
“You’ve never cared before about who has had their dick in me.” I don’t know why I feel the need to say that, only that I don’t want to roll over and maybe, just maybe, I want to call him out for pretending to care when we both know he doesn’t. “Just get your damn drink and sit down.”
When his good hand darts out, reaching for me, I force myself to sit completely still. As he grabs my hair and forces my neck backward, I let out a hiss of pain. “What did you say to me?” he growls.
His eyes narrow, and he purses his lips as though he’s deep in thought. Shit, did I overplay it?
“Why are you so insistent I get a drink, anyway?” he asks, suspicion coating every word.
My mouth opens, but no words come out. The wine sloshes with how much my hand trembles. Michael grunts and lets go of my hair, but before I can breathe a sigh of relief, he grabs my throat.
“You’re a useless fucking cunt. Your only worth was obeying me, and now you can’t even do that right anymore.” Despite knowing a bigger monster has a contract for my life, the years of living with Michael’s cruelty runs so deep I let out a pitiful whimper. “Not so brave now, are you? Fucking bitch.”
The second he lets go of my throat, I cough and splutter for air. “You bastard,” I croak between heaving in as much air as possible. “I’m done being your fucking whipping post. If you want something, go get it yourself.”
Straightening my spine, I run a hand through my hair, carefully patting the stitches to make sure they haven’t come loose.
I barely manage to keep the surprise I feel from showing when he huffs angrily and turns toward the bar. He studies the different bottles, even goes as far as sniffing a few after removing the lids. Feeling like I need to do something, I sigh audibly.
Ignoring me, he goes for the vodka in the fancy gold bottle. “Like I’d choose a whiskey when they’re all open,” he mutters softly. A triumphant smile spreads across my face as he adds ice to his drink.
“Whatever you say,” I quip when he sits down on the couch. I mockingly raise my glass. “To our marriage.” I take a large swig of the wine, but to my disappointment, Michael just puts his glass down on the table. He watches me like a freaking hawk, barely blinking.
“To being rid of you soon,” he spits. Then he picks the glass back up, emptying its contents in one go. “You don’t know how good you’ve had it with me, Ruby. But you’ll find out soon enough.”
“I imagine I will,” I reply, careful to keep my feigned indifference. “Tell me something. Why haven’t you killed me when you hate me so much?”
Michael throws his head back and laughs loudly. To an outsider, he looks completely at ease, but I notice the way he pulls his injured hand closer to his body. “Oh, I’ve wanted to many times,” he replies. “But I’m not stupid enough to bring the wrath of your family to my doorstep.”
I nod like that makes sense, which it doesn’t with the way he’s treated me. “Sure,” I agree, sarcastically. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the words that’ve been building inside me for years. But Michael suddenly starts coughing.
He reaches for his glass, but it’s empty apart from the ice cubes. Unsure what to do, I lean closer and pour all my wine into his glass. It’s a testament to how violently he’s coughing that he doesn’t berate me. But he doesn’t even roll his eyes as he greedily drinks most of the wine I just poured him.
“You ruined everything,” I say, my voice shaking. “I’ll never get to have a normal life because of you.”
Clearing his throat, he runs his uninjured hand down his face. His eyes are bloodshot like some of the vessels have combusted. “So what?” he says between coughs. “So fucking what? I bought you, so you’re mine to do with as I please.”
I watch him for several minutes as he continues to cough, even doubling over a few times. His color changes from healthy to sickly pale, almost green, and then to red. It’s fascinating to watch this poison at work.
“Not anymore,” I say as there’s a pause in the coughing.
“What do you mean?” he splutters. “You’re mine for life, Ruby. You seem to be forgetting—” He’s interrupted by more coughing.
Knowing that this is the time, I toe my shoe off and bend down so I can reach the paper. I take my time unfolding it before I hold it up to show him. “This says my life belongs to the Hunter, and that you’re not allowed to lay a finger on me.” I barely recognize my own tone as I speak the words. I sound completely hollow, like it’s not affecting me at all.
That isn’t the truth, though. I’m very much affected, I just refuse to show him.
Michael’s eyes widen. “W-where did you g-get t-that?” His words grow more and more strained, and he claws at his shirt, tearing the top buttons off while gasping for air.
“That’s my business,” I say coldly. God, I hope Valentine has found a non-lethal way to deal with Marco already. Because if the latter heard what I just said, he’s already on the phone to Nick. “And apparently, I’m yours. Literally. First you bought me, then you paid to get rid of me. It’s almost symbolic.”
A t hought strikes me, inspired by what I said before. I look down at Michael’s hand, wondering if that’s… did Valentine do that? I wish I knew.
Michael tries to laugh, but it turns into a choking cough. I watch him with a cold, detached indifference, my heart pounding in my chest. I take great satisfaction in knowing he’s so scared of me that he hired the Hunter to kill me instead of doing it himself.
“What date is it today?” I ask my husband. He doesn’t answer me, too busy trying to breathe. Good, I’m glad he knows what it feels like when someone else robs you of something as simple and essential as air. “We’re days into February, and I’m still alive. But you…” I pause for dramatic effect. “Won’t be alive to—”
The scream coming from me as Michael lunges for me is more instinct—trauma—than anything else. With a sickening gurgle he falls off the couch, rolling to his front. One of his arms is reaching toward me as though he’s begging for my help.
The sound of pounding footsteps reaches me, and I don’t need to turn around to know Valentine is here, in the room with us. I hear him move closer, but don’t tear my gaze away from my husband as he lies there, immobile, and, hopefully, scared.
God, I hope he’s scared, fearing for his life like he’s made me to feel too many times to count. I let a cold smile pull the corners of my lips upward. “Do you honestly think I’m going to save you?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
My body hums as Valentine wraps an arm around me, pulling my back flush against his chest. “Having fun, Pet?”