Chapter 17
seventeen
-Brynn-
I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t know what the fuck he did to me, but I don’t like it.
Not because my body didn’t thrive on every second of it.
It’s because it felt like fucking magic, like he was trying to alter my thoughts, get inside my head, and turn me back into the useless mush I dread too much to become again.
It might’ve been the best night of my life, but I can’t let it repeat ever again. Not when, in the end, there’s a chance he’s the one I need to kill.
I haven’t closed an eye; afraid I might wake up in a nightmare.
Not that there was much of the night left anyway, since it was already light when we settled in for sleep.
But whenever I’m having an episode, it tends to follow me into the days after.
And I don’t want Ares to ask questions, especially after I know he’d noticed something was wrong with me.
I can’t let him into that part of my life. I’ve already allowed him to go too far.
His phone buzzes a couple of times, but I pretend to be sleeping, even after he gets out of bed and leaves the room. I have no idea what time it is, but a couple of minutes later, he comes back, messing with something on the nightstand.
I decide to wait, maybe I’ll get a chance to look around the place. So, I don’t open my eyes, just stay curled deep between the sheets, waiting for him to go into the shower or, hopefully, the kitchen.
That gives me plenty of time to think about my sins, especially the part where we didn’t use a fucking condom and all the shit that could lead to.
I’ve never had sex without protection, but looking back on my life, thinking of last night, I realize I might’ve never had sex at all. Everything else just seems nonexistent compared to this.
I try not to dwell on it, but the aching in my body makes me all too aware of what happened. I can’t even describe what happened; each thrust was a full-on body event, meant to embed itself somewhere deep within me.
And I refuse to think about it again because that would only transform him into something supernatural. While he’s just a regular human—with a not-so-regular cock.
Who am I kidding? The damn thing’s majestic, perfectly adorned with the seven piercings, like a deadly weapon of destruction.
And I wouldn’t mind it wrecking me for days.
There hasn’t been any kind of movement for at least twenty minutes, so I finally risk lifting my head from the pillow.
No sign of Ares, but as I look around, I notice a yellow Post-it on the nightstand.
I’ve never been dumped through a Post-it before, but I know it happens—like some half-assed I had a great night, hope to see you around... in another lifetime.
That would work for me, as long as I get what I’m here for. Or at least, that’s what I force myself to think.
I pick it up, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Because that’s how my life works.
“Don’t leave. I’ll be back shortly.”
Well, at least he bothered to leave me a note. It’s not signed my love or eternally grateful, but Ares doesn’t strike me as the type to leave notes for anyone, so at least he did that much for me.
I get out of bed, but the instant my feet hit the floor and I try to stand, I realize he was right. “Holy shit, I’ll never walk again,” I mutter, realizing I might really need assistance just to move.
I learn to walk all over again on my way to the bathroom. And I can still feel him inside of me. I’m not sure that's even normal. But then again, neither is his cock.
I want to take a shower since I look like a damn mess. I’m still wearing that damn garter belt along with the tights, and there’s a faint bruise in the center of my chest, right where the suspenders bit into my flesh.
I should go back into the bedroom and pick up my dress, but I find a robe instead and throw it on, even if it’s so big I must look like a snowman swallowed me whole.
Then I slowly make my way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. I didn’t get much of where everything is around here, but I’ll just pretend I’m looking for Ares—if I run into him or anyone else during my little field trip.
I start with the first room on the right since his bedroom is all the way at the end of the hall.
It’s just a storage room. So, I try my luck with the next, which is a guestroom, from what I can see, or at least an unused bedroom.
I close it and move on. The next opens into a small lounge with a view of the garden, but it’s not what I’m after.
Another door opens to another storage space, or maybe it’s a laundry room, I can’t tell. Then another bedroom. And another.
I’m almost out of doors here, but I remember spotting a smaller lobby when we came in.
I head that way, passing the kitchen. The place is beautifully styled, every decoration, every light fits perfectly in place. Either he hired a designer, or he’s got great taste in interior design. Judging by the way he dresses; I’d bet on the second.
I take a look around me to make sure no one’s around, and I spot a door I suspect leads to the basement. I need to get down there eventually to investigate, but first, I have to finish here and make sure I’ve checked every room.
I move to the next door, press the handle, and I get the feeling this might be my jackpot.
For once, I catch a lucky break. It’s his home office. But I wouldn’t exactly call it a lucky break because the first thing I notice as I enter the room is a curved sword on the wall.
I suddenly feel like I’m hyperventilating, my limbs start shaking, pure hate replacing whatever I felt for this man.
I want to do something, to move away, but all I can do is stare at it for long minutes.
Is this the sword that killed Elias?
Did Ares kill Elias himself?
I knew he probably had something to do with it indirectly, but the thought that he killed him himself makes my skin burn. I want to remove it completely from the places he touched me. And that would pretty much mean all of it.
I want to dig my fingernails into his mark and rip it out. Rip him out. And before I know it, I’m clutching the robe tighter, hoping I’ll just disintegrate.
I have to get myself together. I don’t have fucking time to stare at the sword.
And as my gaze slips away from the weapon, another detail catches my eye—the walls are covered with photos of buildings where the previous Kharon editions took place, along with plenty of other buildings I don’t even recognize.
I know, because I found the same photos in Elias’s files. And there’s no doubt in my mind now that Ares is directly involved with this.
I start going through Ares’ study, searching his documents for any clue that could give me answers. I search through his drawers, files on acquisitions, files on politicians, and different contracts I have no interest in.
I only stop when I find a file with my name on it.
I open it, terrified of what he might know.
But it’s empty.
Just the info I wanted everyone else to know. My life only traces back to three years ago. Before that, it’s as if I didn’t exist at all. Probably because I didn’t. I was dead. Not that I’m more alive now. Now, I just feel dead.
The fact that he’s got nothing on me doesn’t ease my concern. He’s probably suspicious of my past and what happened before I became the person he thinks he knows. All the more reason to get as far away from him as I can.
I try to hack into his computer, but I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
It’s password-protected, and I pretty much can’t get past that wall.
So, I go back to digging through files and find a bill for a hundred custom cargo pants and a hundred imprinted T-shirts in different sizes and colors.
The numbers don’t match what I know, but it’s maybe just extra stock.
I want to snap a picture with my phone, just in case I need the address, but the damn thing dies on me right before I hit the camera button.
I always forget to charge it—not that my mind was on plugging in the phone last night, more like plugging in myself.
I try to remember the address—25 Newmark Road—and the company’s name—Extreme Fashion.
Then I start searching again, drawer after drawer, knowing that I’m missing something.
Maybe Ares doesn’t keep information about the games here, but I know someone who has information about it—404. I just don’t know how to get to him.
So now my focus is to find something on him. I keep searching through the papers, and just as I’m about to give up, I find a copy of a plane ticket dated a week ago, and a photo of 404 at the airport.
Poor bastard never got on that plane. But where did they take him?
Ares has so many warehouses and side operations that 404 could be anywhere in the city.
I need to narrow that down somehow, but I also need to get the fuck out of here as fast as I can. Ares is already suspicious of me, and after the episode I had last night freaking out, he’ll only dig harder for information about me.
I might be good at hiding my past, but I also know that mistakes always find their way of biting you in the ass eventually. So, I’m going to go with better safe than sorry.
Maybe I could’ve stayed. Maybe in another life. Maybe if he hadn’t killed the most precious thing in the world to me.
I study the pictures, trying to make sense of the buildings.
What’s the connection? Could they tell me where the next game will be?
But there’s nothing linking them except for the fact that they look old and abandoned. And I don’t have time to check every abandoned building in Seattle and the nearby towns.
Just as I turn to leave, the door opens and my whole body freezes. It takes a second for the damn thing to swing open, and the blonde from last night steps in.
What the fuck is she doing here?
“Can I help you?” she asks, arching an eyebrow as if she owns the place, and I’m the intruder.
“I was looking for something to write on,” I say, trying to keep my calm, though I don’t know what I’m supposed to do first—lie to her or punch her in the face.
And judging by her attitude, it will be punch her in the face. “Oh... what?” She asks, crossing her arms and waiting for me to answer. Like I owe her one. She looks so entitled to be here that I’m starting to think I’ve missed seeing the wedding ring on his finger.
“A message to Ares,” I mutter, snatching a Post-it from the desk—probably the same pad he used to write me the note—and waving it in her face.
“Don’t you have a phone?” She presses, and I can’t believe I actually have to explain myself to this bitch.
I take my phone out of my pocket. “It’s dead,” I say, clipped, unwilling to answer any more questions.
I could stay and ask her who the fuck she thinks she is. But I take another glimpse at the sword, and I feel tears prick at my eyes. Fucking shit.
“Now that you’re here, I don’t need the damn Post-it. Just tell him I left.”
The nerve of this fucker, telling me to stay when he has his other bimbo over.
Fuck, he deserves to die. He deserves for me to be the one who kills him.
I storm out of his office and walk straight into the bedroom to pull my dress on. It’s slightly ripped, but you can’t tell if I keep a tight grip on the straps so it doesn’t fall off me.
I don’t know where the fuck my shoes are, but at this point, I’ll take any pair I can find, even if I risk looking like a clown.
Still, I get a better idea.
That bitch’s shoes are at the door, so I take them. Ares can just give her mine. Fuck if I care. All I care about is whether my phone has enough life left for me to call an Uber.
I get that a lot. My phone dies on me, claiming low battery, but when I restart it, I can squeeze out a few more minutes. And that’s exactly what I do as I walk out the door, down the alley, and through the gate.
Damn, these shoes are even more uncomfortable than mine.
My phone died just as a driver accepted the ride. I just hope he doesn’t change his mind.
Luckily, I make it home in less than half an hour. I hop straight into the shower since I didn’t have time to clean up last night. I was too busy snooping around in Ares’s office.
I need to get him off me—his scent, his touch, his fucking cum.
I need to rid myself of him. It already broke my ego to sleep with him, even after he paraded that bitch at the club, and now into his home.
My body was never sacred—that’s because I sometimes feel like I’m living in a shell—but being with Ares, having him next to me, inside me, has a high chance of ruining my mind.
I mean, if someone can do whatever he wants with your body, it stops being yours, right?
Still, since I’m here, I have the right to use it to my advantage. And because I didn’t find anything on 404, I decide to go to the club and try to get under the skin of the man I heard talking about capturing him.
I’m not going to get information from Ares that easily—that much I know. And I don’t need him asking questions either. So, I just have to re-orient myself.
I take the extra time in the shower, the water running over me as I try to clear my head. Too much has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Things I’ll never recover from—like this damn thing in my chest I want to rip open and throw away.
How the fuck can he be such a jerk and then play Prince Charming?
Maybe that’s just the way I see him, out of some fucked-up complex of being alone—that need to believe someone has your back.
I go to my closet, searching for something to wear. I’m thinking something sexy since I need information, and showing off legs, along with tits, is the most convenient way to get it. Let’s just say men open up easier.
I choose a black shirt unbuttoned just enough to see the outline of my bra, a plaid skirt, short enough to get anyone’s attention, stockings with a garter belt that peaks from beneath every time I make any wrong move, and a pair of lace-up boots.
Men eat this shit up—the good girl gone bad.
They think you’re more gullible, and therefore, they have easy access to your panties.
That’s exactly what I want them to believe. That I could trade anything for information… for the right words.
I’ve just finished reapplying my mascara when I hear a knock on the door.
Who the fuck could it be?
I’m considering grabbing a knife on my way to the door, but I decide to check through the peephole first.
Ares.
The bastard has the nerve to show his face here.
I unlock the door and step back, letting him in. I know better than to leave him standing in the hallway—no matter what shit he just put me through.
Now, I regret not grabbing that knife. Maybe I could’ve taken him by surprise and just killed him right then.
But I’m psychotic enough to want to do it differently. In his own game. The way Elias died.