Chapter 48
Gatsby
One Year Ago
“Where am I?” Her panicked voice echoed from across the room. A grin spread across my face as my blood raced. I’d been leaning in the dark for hours, waiting for her. I flicked the light switch.
"Hello, Donna."
She hissed from the harshness of the light and fought her restraints. "Who's there?"
"You don't remember me?" I kicked off the wall and sauntered forward. I stood tall, flexing my muscles. Her vision adjusted, and she turned her head toward me. Her eyes went up and down my naked chest. I watched the slow, jerky movements as she took in every muscle, tattoo, and scar I'd given myself.
Because of her and the others.
"Emile?" She paled. "I thought you were in prison." In her shock, she'd stopped moving completely. Her eyes scanned me again, and then when they journeyed back down, her eyes froze on the knife in my hand.
"So, you do remember?" I smirked. "For a moment, I was a little offended. Had all those times you forced yourself on me not memorable enough for you?"
"I never forced myself on you." Her fear turned to anger quickly. Her blue eyes hardened, the wrinkles around her eyes made worse by the scowl. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing?"
I blinked. "You think what you did to me was consensual?" As I said the words, my hands flexed around the knife. She seemed deeply offended that I'd accuse her of such a thing.
"Of course it was. Never once did you tell me no or push me away. You wanted me. You loved the attention from us, Emile. Don't try to pretend it was something it wasn't."
Tears stung my eyes, and I had to turn my back on her.
"Fuck you."
I sat for almost a decade with my guilt over what had been done to me. She was right. I'd never said the word no to any of the women my mother sent to me.
“Is this where the others went? I’ve heard about them. Erica was the only one they found.”
I looked up from the floor and smirked.
“She’s the only one I let be found.”
Donna’s face paled, and then grew red with rage.
"I remember the first time we did it. I took your virginity; I'm pretty sure. You came so fast." She cackled loudly from behind me. "One, two, three, little pumps and you came everywhere. We all laughed about it at lunch the next day."
My vision turned crimson, my mind blank, as I lifted the knife and swung around. It arced over my head, then plunged into her thigh. She screamed, then sobbed.
"I'm sorry! Please, don't kill me, Emile. We were just lonely, and it was fun. You had fun, didn't you?"
"You're sick. Is this how you justify what you did to me? By telling yourself I wanted it? That I enjoyed it?" I pulled the knife out and the gaping hole bled profusely.
"How did they let you out? You're the sick one," she spat. Sweat poured from her head. She fought the rope tied around her in my tattoo chair. The chair rattled with the exertion. I stepped back to stare at the scene in front of me. In prison, I'd crafted a plan for each and every one of them, but now that I was out, and had the first one in my chair, none of it felt right. I had to pivot.
I had to keep her alive.
I dropped the knife, stormed to the door, and turned off the light as I left. I hurried to grab towels, then stopped in the kitchen.
"Jules!" I shouted. "New plan!"
He popped up from somewhere, his eyebrows raised.
"Yes, sir?"
"She's going to be alive."
"Alive?" His mouth fell open and his eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I replied curtly, hurrying back to my room. I paused at a window, staring at the green light on my dock, and the one on hers. I was still so far away from my Daisy. I continued back to my tattoo room to bandage Donna Verger.
All in good time, I reminded myself. I couldn't go get my Daisy until I'd shed all of Emile. And I'd just started. Donna was just one of what would be many. I turned the light back on and she began to scream again.
"You won't get away with this. My husband will find you. You're just a kid. He's twice your size and will kill you faster than you can breathe. He's a sniper."
"Sure, sure. Whatever you say," I muttered as I made a rough tourniquet around her thigh. “All of your friends said the same thing.” I added with a cackle.
"What was the point of this?" She squirmed. I picked the knife off the floor and brought it to her arm. I pushed gently until a single bead of blood popped up. She winced, and I began to drag it down.
"I did this to myself every time one of you would leave. I had to be careful, picking places that no one would see right away. My thighs, my upper arms. I hoped one day I'd be so scarred up and ugly you guys wouldn't want me anymore. But none of you seemed to care. I was just a pretty face and hard cock to take. I didn't say no because you never asked for yes. You didn't care then, and I don't care now."
I'd prepared a hundred different speeches for this very moment. Not just for her, but for all of them. I needed them to know why they were in my chair. I needed them to fully grasp that their crimes had consequences.
That just because I was small, that I didn't speak out, that I was a man, didn't make me any less of a victim.
My knife went deeper, and when it reached her elbow, it hit bone. She was openly sobbing now, blubbering and pleading for mercy. It fell on deaf ears. I was long gone from this world. The only thing on my mind was the green light shining brightly on the dock across the lake.
I'm coming, Daisy. I just have some things to finish up.
"You raped me," I said, pulling the knife from her. "Say it."
"Say what?" She twisted her body and head around. "Are you trying to get me to confess for a camera or something? I'm not going to jail. I have a life. I have kids, a husband. Please stop this! "
"You never cared about what you were taking from me. Why should I care about taking things from you?"
It was fascinating how when I demanded she face what she did, she seemed to forget her wounds and entrapment altogether. Instead, she focused on denying any part in my trauma. I was who I was because of my mother, her, and the others.
"You are such a child," she snapped. "Spoiled, entitled, uneducated little shit. The only reason anyone ever gave you any attention was because of your pretty face. You bring nothing of value to this world other than your cock. They should have given you the fucking chair the day they found you eating that woman. You're a monster, not me."
"If I'm a monster, it's because you made me this way," I said, standing straighter. I looked down at myself—just jeans and shoes. I wanted her to see me, recognize my body. In that moment, I realized she might be right. I'd thought it myself more than once. It made sense others felt the same.
The only reason people liked me was my face. I was cursed to be nothing more than... pretty. If I weren’t trying to get back to Daisy, I would have carved my face right off in that moment. I closed my eyes and imagined tracing a deep circle around my skull and peeling the skin clean off…
"What are we doing here, Emile? You know the right thing to do is to let me go."
I came to and stared at her for a long moment before bursting out in laughter.
"I'll cut my face off and nail it to the wall before letting you go, you stupid bitch."
There was a knock, interrupting us. Pissed off, I plunged the knife into her shoulder and let go of it. I turned to the door.
"Yes?" I called .
Jules entered slowly, his eyes going right to her. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Have plans changed again, sir?"
"Maybe." I brushed a bead of sweat from my forehead. "What were they again?" I blew out a breath, and as my hand came down, I saw I'd gotten blood on me. I stared at it in disgust and wiped it on my jeans.
Jules cleared his throat and looked at the woman sobbing, pleading for him to save her.
"You wanted to have her for dinner, sir."
"Oh my god." She wailed. "It's true. Please, Emile, don't do this. If you let me go, I'll do anything. I won't tell anyone. Please, I didn't do anything wrong."
"Say it," I demanded.
"Say what?"
"Say what you fucking did!" I roared back. "Say the words."
"I raped you!" she screamed. "Are you happy?"
"No," I replied dryly.
She clamped her mouth shut, and I leaned over, yanking the knife from her shoulder. I looked at Jules.
"Change of plans." Keeping the knife, I went to the door, pausing next to Jules. I turned my head and spoke loud enough for her to hear me. "She doesn't deserve to be served on a fucking plate. Keep her alive for as long as possible and then feed her to the fucking dogs."