4. Aries
Aries
Night of the Graduation Party
I f my father taught me one thing, it’s to always be the most manipulative person in the room, even if all you’re doing is biding your time, watching and waiting.
Especially if you’re doing any of those things.
That would be easy enough if there were something or someone to watch. Unfortunately, no one is here. Just me and the numbing silence. Terrible things happen in the silence. When it’s quiet, you have time to think, and thinking leads to despair and questioning.
It’s a way for your brain to distract you from the impending doom that’s about to take place. I don’t need to distract myself. I was born for doom.
I glare at my surroundings, trying to piece together fragments of my memory.
Where the hell am I?
It’s a strange mock-up version of a doctor’s office, minus the padded shackles. There’s one connected to each of my ankles with a chain hooked to the wall. I give the shackles a tug with both hands. Nothing. Reinforced, then.
Well, shit. This gets more fucked up by the second.
The length of the chain is barely long enough to reach the small cot and toilet in the corner. This isn’t a room. It’s a fucking cell.
Very few people would be stupid enough to do this…which only leads me to believe it’s a prank. Of the people I can think of, off the top of my head, my three friends are idiotic enough.
“Okay, assholes, the joke’s over. You win,” I yell, scanning the room for anything that looks like a camera or speaker.
My neck feels cold, and I reach up and freeze. “DID YOU ASSHOLES CUT MY HAIR OFF? WHAT THE FUCK?”
I rub my hand up over my messily cut hair and shake my head. I might kill whoever did this. Sure, I’d have had to cut my hair eventually, but shit, it’s my choice.
From my vantage point, nothing stands out, but I know Lee can finagle a camera into anything. My best friend is a genius at computer shit. I wait for a moment, and then another, my anxiety festering with each passing second. There’s no laughter, no asshole friends jumping out of the dark to yell surprise!
Either they really want me to suffer or this is something else.
“Stop being assholes. The joke was fun while it lasted, but I don’t have a kink involving chains, so one of you fuckers better unlock these.”
My voice echoes through the space. Empty. Hmm... I sit on the edge of the cot and immediately thrust my arms out to balance myself so the rickety thing doesn’t tip over.
Shit. What is the last thing I remember?
I filter my scattered memories. Graduation. Laughing with my friends. My stepmother gave me flowers and bourbon. Lilian?
I close my eyes and consider. The stupid overly formal mask I wear in front of my father, the brute I play with my friends...the way Lilan is the only one who looks at me and sees me . All in a couple of hours. Good thing I have practice at this bullshit.
I press a hand to my head as if that will conjure up more . Anything. I took the flowers from my stepmother, said thank you, and then… Empty. Everything is blank after that. I don’t recall eating or drinking anything. Did I get drugged by a flower arrangement?
Unlikely but maybe?
It’s not like me to panic, but there’s no escaping the unease swirling through me. With no answer or options, I shift and rest my back against the cot. It’s barely wide enough for my six-foot-three body and hulking frame. My feet hang off the edge, so it’s not completely comfortable, but it’s still better than lying on cold concrete.
What now? If it’s not my idiotic friends doing this, then who else? I briefly consider my father and his associates. This cell…it looks like there was thought put into it. And they are lazy old fucks.
There’s always my father…
The thought is interrupted by an alarm slicing through the silence, a piercing wail rattling the air around me. I freeze but not out of fear. This is deliberate. A warning. A signal. Maybe even a distraction.
I wait, nerves prickling under my skin, while I scan the blindingly white room. The lone window. No movement. The sound drills on, unrelenting. Minutes tick by, and nothing follows it, no footsteps, no voice. I force my eyes back to the ceiling, but I stay ready for the breath of movement.
After a while, I tune out the sound, and eventually, it stops, leaving my ears ringing in the silence. No. This isn’t the doing of my friends. They wouldn’t be able to pull it off without giving themselves away. Besides, Drew and Seb are both occupied with their women.
They aren’t exactly present lately.
Who else? Father? Occasionally, he might poke his head out of his political machinations, but I doubt he’d stoop to this level. He’s more likely to hire a few thugs to give me a beatdown in an alley, as our past clashes have shown.
Father is a blunt instrument; my stepmother, on the other hand, is the weapon. It’s hard to believe, but there isn’t a doubt in my mind that she could conjure up something this fucked up, and my father, well…he’d move heaven and earth to make it happen.
Not out of love but loyalty. Maybe their marriage started with love, but somewhere along the way, it became a business transaction. There’s still the chance this could be my father’s doing. We’ve been in a standoff about my joining his company for most of my senior year...
I, in turn, gave him the middle finger while fucking the bimbo who used to be his secretary on his desk, just to show him how little I gave a fuck about the family business. I consider my options of who could have done this, and play out different scenarios in my head.
Shit, what if…?
I don’t know why my thoughts drift to my twin brother, Arson. Probably because this seems like something he would do. Lock someone in a cage and torture them to death. Logic tells me it’s not possible. It can’t be him. In everyone else’s mind, he’s dead. I mean we had a fucking funeral for him, but I know the truth. He’ll be locked in that hospital for the rest of his life. His chance of freedom is nonexistent.
Father seems to be the only option. He wants something, and I refused to give it to him. Now, he’s trying to persuade me in his own fucked-up way.
I consider what I know. To drug me and kidnap me after graduation took planning and strategy. Is this a team of people? No. Memories filter in. Only one man threw me into the back of that van.
But why am I here?
I can’t imagine this being a ploy for someone to get me out of the way—not if they’ve gone to the obvious trouble of containing me like this. In that scenario, they could just kill me. Way easier. Make it look like a suicide or an overdose. Easy.
Only two people hate me enough to go through this level of trouble. One of them is dead, and the other is in a maximum security mental institution.
I try not to think about the girl who died and her family. It’s a memory laced in bitter anger and pain. I had heard through the masses that the girl’s father committed suicide after my father decimated him in the media, and the mother died soon after from a heart ailment or something.
Part of me always wondered if my father had them killed to get our family name out of the news. That’s what Richard and Patricia are good at: making problems disappear. It’s what they did with Arson and what they will do with Lilian and me if we step out of line.
There’s a click at the door, and I jackknife up, adrenaline pouring through my veins, my muscles burning, my fists clenched at my sides.
I’m ready.
A couple of bangs, clicks, and locks sound on the other side of the door.
Let’s go, fucker.
The door creaks open, swinging out into the dark hallway. A large man stands in the doorframe, his body dwarfing it. I catalog his entire profile. He’s wearing head-to-toe black from the combat boots on his feet to the ski mask covering his face… he’s even wearing a pair of sunglasses beneath it to hide his eyes.
Keeping his identity a secret is clearly important to him. When he doesn’t move closer, I realize he has no intention of getting within arm’s reach of me. He’s not built like my father, who is taller and leaner.
I’m the first to break the silence. “What do you want?”
The man tilts his head to the side like he’s studying me. All I can do is stare back at him, waiting for him to lose his cool.
Let him play his creepy mind games. I’m well-versed in them, too. After a minute, he finally speaks. His voice is low, deep, almost a growl—but even I know it’s merely to disguise his voice. “Who is Aries?”
That’s not even a question. I study him further, trying to find a clue on who this guy could be. He’s too wide in the shoulders, too tall and powerfully built to be one of my crew, and I don’t recognize the set of him from the football field. I’d remember a man bigger than me, especially when I’m used to being the biggest asshole on the field.
Maybe this is my father’s setup. Shit.
We stay this way, staring at each other for a bit until my impatience gets the best of me.
“What the fuck do you want? Is it money? Whatever my father is paying you, I can pay you more.”
He finally steps into the cell, and I shove off the bed, standing to meet him. I could reach out and grab him if I wanted to, but I stop myself and stare straight into the dark, blank eye holes. We’re almost precisely the same height, but his shoulders are wider, more defined, his biceps bigger…all of him is a little bit bigger than me. I’m not entirely sure I can take him.
The man’s head tilts again in a slow, deliberate movement. “ Aries. Who is Aries?” he repeats, voice still a low rumble.
I scoff. “What, no ‘good morning sunshine, how’d you sleep’? Not going to lie, you’re really nailing this whole kidnapping hospitality thing. Five stars, all the way.”
There’s no reaction to my sarcastic response, or at least none that I can see. He remains standing like a statue, staring at me through those dark lenses. It’s unnerving as hell, but I refuse to show it.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, all right? You went through the trouble of kidnapping me, so you know who I am. What do you want with me?”
“Aries.” The weird way he says my name makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. There’s an intensity there, a weight to that single word. Like it means everything.
I throw my hands up in frustration. “What do you want?”
The man takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the faint scent of sweat and gunpowder.
“Who is Aries?” he growls, voice dripping with menace. “What is Aries?”
A chill runs down my spine at his words. What is Aries? What the hell does that mean?
This psycho is spouting nonsense. Maybe this room was built for him.
“Again, not sure what you’re talking about,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “If you’re going to torture me, just get on with it already. I’m not in the mood for twenty fucking questions. FATHER!” I stare around the room, waiting. Then try again. “FATHER! This isn’t the way to get what you want.”
He laughs, and it’s a harsh, grating sound. “Your father isn’t coming. No one is coming to rescue you.”
“Then get on with it already. Torture me. Hurt me. Do your worst.”
“Torture? Oh, we’re well past that stage, Aries.”
He pounces, moving in a blur of speed and power and eliminating any opportunity to respond to his insanity. With hands wrapped around my throat, he lifts me and slams me against the wall. Stars explode behind my eyes as my head cracks against the concrete.
I claw at his arm, trying to break his grip, but it’s like an iron shackle around my throat. He leans into my face, his masked face inches from mine. I can see my own panicked reflection in his dark lenses.
“You think you know pain?” he hisses. “Not yet, but you will very soon.”
My lungs burn with the desperate need for air. This fucker’s going to choke me to death. Black spots dance across my vision, my grip on his hand goes slack, and my arm falls back down to my side. My eyes flutter closed, and I can feel darkness bleeding into my senses.
I’m about to pass out. I’m not afraid. There’s no point in being afraid. But before the darkness pulls me under, he releases me.
I crumple to the floor, gasping and choking. Who the fuck is this guy? His form looms above me, a towering shadow.
“This is only the beginning,” he promises darkly. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to end your pathetic life.”
Turning, he walks out of the cell.
“Wait…” I gasp, my voice cracking.
He doesn’t acknowledge me, and the heavy metal door slams shut with an ominous clang, the locks clicking into place. I remain on the cold concrete, my throat aching, and my mind reeling. I gingerly touch my neck, wincing at the tenderness.
That’s going to leave one hell of a bruise. The raw strength in his grip, the speed of his movements—this guy is no amateur. Former military, maybe. Special Forces. Someone with training and a serious axe to grind. Doesn’t explain shit, though.
After a short time, I stand, ignoring the dizziness making me sway on my feet. I can’t just sit here and wait for that psycho to come back. I need to find a way out, or at least some way to defend myself. I scour the cell, examining every inch for a tool or an item that can be used as a weapon. The cot isn’t bolted to the floor. But I might be able to get one good hit with it before it collapses. The toilet is a stainless steel monstrosity, seamless and impossible to dismantle. Even the fucking shackles are reinforced to the point of absurdity.
Whoever set this up knew exactly what they were doing. They left nothing to chance, no potential weapons or tools. I’m well and truly trapped, at the mercy of a madman with an agenda I can’t begin to fathom.
Frustration and fear rage against one another, and I shove them both to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to lose my head, not now. I need to stay sharp, focused, and ready for any opportunity to escape.
I lie back on the cot and go back over the day. Lilian. Lilian . Her warm smile and bright blue eyes. Fuck. I never meant to hurt her. Never meant to fuck everything up. Even thinking of her and what happened between us makes me sick. She didn’t deserve that.
If she were here now, I’d apologize. No, that’s a lie. It was for her own good. Still is. Then again, if she were here, we’d have already escaped. She’s always been good at riddles, puzzles, finding the flaw in any plan, and the weakness in any opponent. Not that her mother would let her even breathe heavily toward an opponent with her heart condition.
Lilian. I shake out my shoulders, trying to slough off some of the dread churning in my gut. I close my eyes. Might as well sleep. Who knows what fresh hell this psycho has in store for our next meeting.