Dark Betrayal Ebook Reading

DARK BETRAYAL

Rebecca and Victoria Heap
Copyright © 2020
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or
transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of
the authors, nor be otherwise circulated in any other binding or cover other than
that in which it is published.
Find the Heap twins online at: http://beccabentley.wix.com/heaptwins
“Love is what moves the world, I've always thought...it is the only thing which
allows men and women to stand in a world where gravity always seems to want
to pull them down... bring them low...and make them crawl.”

Stephen King

Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER ONE
Brenna Monaghan emitted a small moan of bliss as she sank into the warm
embrace of the hot tub. The water bubbled up to greet her, matching the fizzing
excitement of her heart, that hadn’t quite recovered from recent events. She was
still sure they’d chosen the wrong person and, any minute now, someone would
come in to brand her as an imposter and force her off the premises. She glanced
towards the door. No sign yet of being disturbed. Grinning she sank back under
the water. Better get on with enjoying herself. Gazing up at the stars above her,
she thanked her lucky star, whichever one that was, for guiding her here.
It was certainly good luck that she’d had an argument with her mother, one
in an endless round lately, which had resulted in her decision to bunk off college
and go into town. Not that her mother really cared what she was doing. All she
cared about was herself and her current boyfriend - the one that apparently loved
her too much to ever try it on with her own daughter. How dare she even suggest
such a thing? Why would he want her anyway? She was nothing. She was an
ugly, skinny, carrot-top and always would be.
How she hated her! She’d longed to get out from under her but her brother
had insisted she get her qualifications first. It was easy for him to say, not so
easy to live it when her mother was such a bitch and her live-in lover was little
short of a paedophile. Not that she’d mentioned the last part to Sean. She didn’t
want him getting himself all in a tizzy.
Why was she dwelling on this now? What had happened since proved she
was beautiful, at least in someone’s eyes. ‘Exceptional’ they’d called her. She
didn’t need college anymore and she definitely didn’t need her mother. As her
body began to relax and her heart finally slowed, she took her mind back over
the past few hours to see if reflection would make it any more believable. She’d
never even considered modelling before; she’d never thought herself photogenic.
But that man had obviously seen something in her and he’d been right! Because
here she was.
At first she’d thought he was just making a play for her. Smiling, she
remembered how flattered she’d been. He’d been gorgeous after all. Ebony hair,
olive skin, with such a sexy angel tattoo on his right, incredibly toned, bicep.
She’d been sitting by herself, cradling a cup of coffee, when he’d taken the chair
opposite. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew she looked vulnerable and had
instantly dismissed the idea he was truly interested in her. She’d even steeled
herself to get rid of him.
But then he’d surprised her by slipping out a card and saying, “Don’t take
this the wrong way but I think you’re exactly what we’ve been looking for.
There isn’t much time, but you could still make the interview.”
She’d frowned.
He’d continued. “There’s my business card. We’re a legitimate agency.
I’ve written the time and place on the back. We don’t normally operate this way,
so forgive my intrusion. But please give it some thought. There’ll be other girls
but I think you have a real chance. No harm in giving it a go, right?” He’d
smiled - and what a killer smile! Squeezed her arm and left.
It was only when he’d gone and she’d picked up the card that she’d even
realised what he was on about. “Sebastian Sethos,” it had declared. “Business
Agent. Faces of the Future Modelling Agency.” She’d flipped it over. The
address on the back was somewhere she could vaguely place. One of the new
shiny office blocks on Queen Street, she thought, and the interview time was
only an hour away. She’d been cautious of course. This could just be a trick of
some kind. Then she’d shaken her head. She’d read too many thrillers lately.
This was real life. But nothing like this ever happened to her in real life! In the
end, the safest thing to do, she’d decided, was to take her friend Stacey with her
as back-up.
She’d turned up with a giggling Stacey in tow, who’d had to miss her last
class but had been more than willing to share the adventure. The man at the front
desk had directed them to the fifth floor. There they had found other girls sitting
on a line of chairs in the corridor. This had both reassured and frightened
Brenna. So much competition! She had no chance. They’d all looked
immaculately made-up and had what looked like portfolios on their laps. She’d
nearly turned away.
But then an efficient looking, matronly woman with a clipboard had
addressed her, asking for her name. Brenna hadn’t given it. Instead, blushing
with embarrassment, she’d said, “I think there’s been some mistake. You won’t
have my name. I don’t think I should be here.”
Raising her eyebrows, the woman had retorted, “I’ll be the judge of that.
Now why are you here? Did someone invite you?”
Brenna had stuttered something like, “I think I’ll just go. I’m sorry to have
troubled you…” as she’d backed towards the lift.
It was then the woman had spotted the card clutched in her hand. She’d
prised it from her and nodded. “This is your invitation. Good.” Taking her arm
and taking control, she’d admonished, “Don’t be shy. Come with me,” giving
Brenna no choice but to acquiesce.
Stacey had made to accompany her but had been stopped. “No, no. Not
you. You must leave.”
Stacey had looked disgruntled but Brenna had mouthed, “Don’t worry. It
all looks legit. Speak later.” She had been led swiftly past the other girls, who’d
fired daggers at her because of her special, jump-the-queue treatment.
At the end of the corridor there’d been some double-doors. She’d been
ushered through into an open, well-lit room before a long desk with three
extremely serious-looking, suited people behind it. A large man sat in the middle
with two very attractive, well-groomed women on either side of him, one
blonde, the other dark-haired. All of them had immediately focused on her, eyes
all different in colour but no different in intensity. Feeling like a contestant on
one of those wannabe pop star shows, she’d made an attempt to flatten her awry
hair and had looked pleadingly at her chaperon for rescue.
Smiling, her escort had said to the waiting audience, “This is…” and,
leaning down, had quietly asked Brenna her name before finishing off her
introduction.
Then the man on the panel had said, “Welcome Brenna.” He’d stood and
held out his hand. His smile had looked odd as though not suited to his face,
which was rather pug-like, but it had seemed genuine enough. “I’m Harry, and
this is Hilary and Margot.” He’d gestured first to his right then his left,
introducing the two chicly dressed women.
“Hi,” replied Brenna nervously as she’d instinctively moved forwards and
taken his hand. His grip had been firm, his large hand completely engulfing her
small one. He’d held on to her, turning her fingers over in his and studying the
nails and skin. He’d then looked up and scrutinised her face. Brenna had
swallowed, uncomfortable. His dark eyes had felt like ants scurrying over her
skin. She shivered at the memory.
She’d been relieved when he’d released her hand but he’d not released his
gaze. Examining a lock of her hair he’d asked abruptly, “Is this your true
colour?”
Brenna had simply nodded, her mouth too dry to form words. Apparently
satisfied, he’d then dismissed her with a flick of his hand, instructing her to
return to the middle of the room. He’d sat back down and perused some papers
on his desk for a minute, a minute that felt like forever to Brenna as she’d stood
there feeling like an insect under a microscope.
Then the questions had begun. Strangely this had put her more at ease. She
had expected questions.
“We don’t have much detail on you, I’m afraid. May I ask you your age?”
“Sixteen,” she’d responded truthfully.
He’d seemed troubled by this, his face creasing a little. “Not still in school
are you?” She’d vigorously shaken her head. He’d nodded in satisfaction. Then,
after a brief conversation with his two colleagues, he’d asked. “Could you turn
around for us? Slowly please.”
As she’d revolved, feeling very self-conscious, Brenna had become
convinced this was a candid camera show and any minute someone would jump
out and surprise her.
Then Hilary, the blonde, had risen from her seat and walked towards her,
carrying out a quick but concentrated appraisal of her. She’d wished she was
wearing something a lot more flattering than her skinny jeans and favourite wellworn
top. If this wasn’t a wind up, then it must be some kind of weird dream.
Hilary returned to her seat and all three of them debated intensely between
themselves.
What came next had come completely out of the blue. “We’re prepared to
make you an offer,” Harry had said. “Subject, of course, to age verification and
parental approval.”
Despair had quickly followed on the heels of elation. “Parental approval?”
she’d queried. Her mother would positively revel in denying her such an
opportunity. “My mother will never approve of this.”
“Father?”
She’d shaken her head.
“Do you have an appropriate adult who might stand in for them?”
She’d thought of her brother but quickly dismissed the idea of asking him.
He’d definitely want her to finish college first.
“This isn’t going to happen, is it? I don’t even have a portfolio.” She was
sure this would be the nail in the coffin.
“Oh, don’t worry about that, honey,” Margot had piped up. “We don’t put
much store in pre-produced portfolios. Once you’re with us, we like to design
our own around our concept of your unique selling points.”
Harry interjected. “Look, we like you. We think you have potential. But we
need you to sign a contract with us so we can act as your agent and promote you.
Because you’re under 18, in the absence of parental consent, there’ll have to be a
disclaimer as well, confirming you understand the agreement and have waived
the right to parental consultation. Are you alright with that?”
“Absolutely!” she’d confirmed without hesitation, her hopes reignited.
“Great.”
Margot had then shuffled some papers and produced a two-page document
that she’d handed to Brenna with a pen, offering up her chair and saying, “Please
sit down while you read through it.”
At least it wasn’t some mammoth agreement with lots of small print. This
comforted her but she’d taken her time examining it. Her brother had always
counselled her to read any legal document carefully. It had looked OK to her. It
talked about promoting and marketing with something about a 15% share in her
income and a finder’s fee once a contract was secured. She appreciated they
needed their cut. Still she hadn’t been sure, though. Maybe she should speak to
her brother or get some legal advice first?
“Is there a problem?” Margot had asked when she’d deliberated over it for
a while.
“Do I need to sign this right now?”
“Not at all. Take it away if you like.” She’d shrugged but then continued,
“Although there’s no guarantee we’ll still want you if you wait. We have a lot
more interviews to get through.”
At these words, she’d thought what the hell? What was the worst that
could happen? She had nothing to lose.
With the agreement signed and stowed away, the other two had then risen
from their chairs. Brenna naturally followed suit but was left rather flummoxed.
“That’s it?”
“Yes. We’re absolutely delighted to have you with us.”
Brenna shook her head. “But what does that mean?”
“It means you’re officially ours now, dependent on medical checks. Don’t
look so surprised. You don’t have any hidden scars or birthmarks we should
know about do you?” Amusement had permeated her voice.
Brenna had shaken her head, numb with astonishment. “So, what happens
now?”
“Go home. Pack.”
“Pack?”
“Yes. We like our model prospects to live on site, as stipulated in the
agreement. Oh, and make sure to include some swimwear.” Brenna half recalled
seeing some note about location but hadn’t fully appreciated what it meant.
“Gives us the opportunity to polish you, refine you and create your
portfolio,” she’d expanded. A car will pick you up in say,” she consulted her
watch, “an hour. That give you time enough to pack and say your goodbyes?”
“No kidding?” Brenna had asked, her whole body buzzing with nervous
excitement.
“No kidding.”
That had been the start of this amazing adventure. She put a hand to her
mouth remembering with glee just how much satisfaction she’d got in telling her
Mum where she could stick it and just what she thought of her. Happily letting
the resulting tirade wash over her, the words no longer having the power to hurt,
she’d quickly packed, dashing out of the house as soon as she’d heard the car
pull up. Her mother had had it coming for a long time. Wrenching her at 6 years
old away from her brother – the only proper family she’d ever known - just
because she could.
That moment of loss came back to her suddenly, vividly. She remembered
screaming as her mother dragged her away and her brother attempted to stop her,
her mother lashing him with the words, “She’s mine. You’re only her brother.
You have absolutely no parental rights. Now get away from her.” She’d had no
regard for Brenna’s well-being only for the power thrill it gave her to take
something precious from someone else. This is what drove her. After all, how
many marriages had she destroyed, not including her own?
Brenna bit her lip hard in an attempt to brook the tears that began to form.
Silly girl! Why was she thinking of the past? She shook her head. No tears now,
she swore to herself. Never again over her mother. It was time to concentrate on
the future. She was free. Finally, and unexpectedly, free of her mother and her
old predictable, painful life. It was crazy! Crazy but true! She pummelled the
water with her fists in excitement and then she heard an exclamation of reproach
and her head slipped under the water in surprise. She had a visitor.
She came back up spluttering, her face reddening even more when she saw
that she had soaked him. She’d been so busy in her own head, she had failed to
notice his appearance. He stood at the entrance to the patio, brushing at the water
she’d showered him with, an amused smile on his face.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself but I think it’s time you got out before
you wrinkle up like a prune,” he remarked.
It was the man who’d left his card with her at the café. Sebastian.
Goggling him and struggling to compose herself, she was at a loss for words.
She almost sank back under the water she was so mortified, not helped by how
unnervingly attractive she found him. He must surely be a model himself?
He jerked an eyebrow and asked, “Well, do you intend to get out of there
or should I join you?” He eyed her speculatively and she felt her colour rise once
again. Boy, she wished she had more sophistication!
Trying desperately to be cool, or at least give that impression, she rose and
held out her hand. “Help me out then, won’t you?”
It crossed Sebastian’s mind that he’d much rather help her out of that
costume, as his eyes raked her. She reminded him of the actress Emma Stone. A
very delectable package. But, as that thought crossed his mind, on its heels
thundered Harry’s warning: “Hands off the merchandise. I mean it!” But surely
there was no harm in a little nibble? Just to test the quality?
Taking her hand, he stood back as she stepped out of the tub but, as soon
as she found her feet, he yanked her towards him. She yelped but more in
astonishment than objection. “You got me wet already,” he rumbled, “you may
as well finish the job.”
As his mouth seized hers and his hands grabbed her bottom, Brenna was at
first flattered but then disconcerted as the kiss and his hold became a little too
ruthless for comfort. Laying her hands against his chest, she pushed but this had
absolutely zero effect. Panicking a little, unable to breathe, she felt herself on the
verge of screaming when he finally released her. The smug satisfaction she saw
in his face left her cold. It flashed through her head that she may have
completely misjudged him… and the situation. Who was there to call on if he
took advantage of her?
However, he must have recognised the alarm in her face and he
apologised. “I’m sorry. You’re just so pretty and I found you too hard to resist. I
hope I didn’t scare you?” He stroked a conciliatory finger down her cheek.
She had probably overreacted, she thought. After all, she’d only ever
experienced a bit of tame snogging. He was very much a man and was treating
her like a grown woman, that was all. He’d think her a baby if she made a fuss.
Taking a deep breath and a step back, she said, “You just took me by surprise.”
“I was meant to give you this, not a kiss,” he confessed, handing her a
piece of paper. “You took me by surprise too. I didn’t expect you to be
so…...delectable.” He eyed her attire and smirked. He looked like a naughty
little boy caught out by the teacher. She couldn’t help but take the paper and
return his smile.
“It’s your itinerary for tomorrow,” he explained, “plus some general
housekeeping information.” She thanked him and, noticing she was starting to
shiver, he passed her the terry-cloth robe from the hook beside the tub. This
considerate gesture helped to reassure her. “You’d better get some rest. It’s a
busy day tomorrow.”
He was making his way out when she called after him.
Turning, he queried, “Yes?”
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not likely, sweet thing. Harry doesn’t encourage it.
He likes his girls to be completely focused on their work.”
When the door had closed behind him, Sebastian clenched his fists in
exasperation. Everyone wanted them young and untouched lately. Couldn’t
blame them really. But this girl could be his so easily! Putty in his hands. It was
a shame the operation was so snobbish. Breaking them in would have been much
more fun. After all, it came down to the same thing, didn’t it? Power and control.
Ah well, he shrugged. Things could be worse. He was making money in a job he
thoroughly enjoyed – there was a lot to be said for the thrill of the con and there
was little risk attached to this game.
And, at least outside the operation, he could have any girl he wanted. One
encouraging glance and they were practically wetting themselves. As he said this
to himself, the image of the boss’s daughter popped into his head to mock him.
He scowled. Not exactly “any”. But he was biding his time where that one was
concerned. An opportunity might yet come.
Brenna sighed as Sebastian left the room. He was so handsome! And he’d
kissed her like no-one ever had before. Yes, he’d been a little over enthusiastic
but, now the moment had passed, she remembered it with fondness. He’d been
so keen to make up for it afterwards. What a gentleman! Well, no point mooning
over him. He’d said they were unlikely to meet again. Better concentrate on
what she was really here for.
After securing her wet hair in a towel, she indulged herself with a
cappuccino from the luxury coffee-maker installed in her room and then made
herself comfortable on the sofa. Reading over her itinerary for the next day,
excitement washed over her again. Looked to her like she was in for a day of
utter pampering, followed by some photo shoots. She sipped her coffee
contentedly. Could life get any better?
CHAPTER TWO
Brenna was becoming bored. She smiled as she twisted and turned for the
camera but she’d been through this process before. She was getting tired of the
posing. How many photos and outfits would it take before her portfolio hit the
right note? She’d even agreed to some collagen lip enhancement. Maybe her
brother had been right. Brains were more important than beauty and she was
lucky enough to be blessed with both – at least that’s what he’d always said.
She’d always agreed with the brains part and maybe she really didn’t have what
it took in the looks department, despite their initial confidence in her. Other girls
she’d met whilst here had got lucky and been offered work. She’d heard about it.
She’d been here for nearly 3 months now and had even started missing her
studies and her most annoying college friends!
She was actually relieved when they were unexpectedly interrupted by the
entrance of the boss – Harry Pearson, the man who’d chaired her initial
interview. Uh, oh. It was unusual for him to pay a visit. Was she going to be
ditched? Now this prospect raised its head, her stomach turned over in dismay.
She wasn’t prepared to let go of her dreams - especially the dream of living with
her brother in his classy apartment in New York or even finding her own place
near him. Money for the flight to America would be chump change once she was
a model. She’d been hoping to just show up and surprise him. She’d been
emailing him but had kept her new situation a secret from him.
Harry addressed the photographer. “Enough now, Marcel. Brenna, come
with me.” His tone brooked no argument.
Feeling apprehensive, Brenna followed him from the room. He led her
away from the photography studio and into a room she’d never really noticed
before marked “Conference Suite.” Were her dreams going to end here and now?
Closing the door as she entered, he smiled at her and invited her to sit in one of
the chairs surrounding a long, glass-topped table. The place was clean and welllit
but eerily bleak and empty without the presence of anyone else. It made her
feel on edge and suddenly inconsequential but she belied her nerves with an
answering smile.
Taking a seat next to her, Harry put a folder on the table between them,
tapping his fingers up and down on it. Brenna glanced at it, noticing the front
held her name in bold type. She looked up from it pensively.
“Have you enjoyed your time here, Brenna?” Oh no, this was definitely
it. This was the “we’re letting you go” speech. She nodded.
“Good, good. We’ve been having a little problem placing you though,
haven’t we?”
Brenna was about to defend herself when he patted her knee, continuing
with, “Not your fault, not your fault at all. Fashion is a fickle business. There’ve
been new designers making a big noise and they’ve odd ideas about the kind of
look they’re after.”
He shrugged. “Anyway, whilst the market can shift again just as
dramatically, at any time, we just can’t afford to hold you on our books any
longer.”
Brenna blinked away the sudden prickling of tears. Hadn’t she known this
was coming? So why wasn’t she ready for it?
“So,” his hand now delved into the folder, emerging with a piece of paper.
He passed this across to her. “Time to settle up, I’m afraid, my dear.”
Frowning in confusion, she picked up the piece of paper. It was an invoice.
Made out to her. For several thousands of pounds. “What’s this?”
“Your bill.” His tone had transmogrified from kindly grandfather to stern
businessman.
“I don’t understand?”
“Your contract.” He pulled another piece of paper from the folder, that was
fast becoming a nest of hidden monsters, and placed it in front of her.
“Unfortunately, your time is up. As agreed, the contract allows for a
maximum placement period of 3 months. Once that period expires, as it now has,
it becomes terminable and the fees for all services rendered become payable.”
Brenna stood to her feet in shock. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
He brushed a hand over the contract. “It’s all in there, if you need
confirmation.”
She glanced at it but didn’t need to read it. She had no doubt he knew what
he was talking about. And she’d been stupid enough to sign it. Carried away by
the prospect of it all.
“But what about your side of the deal? You promised me a modelling
career?”
“I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong. We promised to do our best as your
agent to get you signed. And we have. You’re worth much more to us as a
successful model, believe me. We’re as disappointed as you are.”
Brenna sat down dejectedly and picked up the invoice again.
“I wish it were different, I really do Brenna. We have to invoke the 3
month clause extremely rarely.”
He placed a hand on hers in a gesture of mollification but she withdrew
hers angrily. “You don’t really expect me to be able to pay this, do you?”
“Well, is there someone who can pay it for you? Your mother, perhaps?”
Brenna’s eyes widened in horror at this suggestion. Her Mum would just
love that, her coming back to her, not only with her tail between her legs but cap
in hand. No, even the thought of it and the inevitable “told you so, told you you
were no good” rant, was too much to contemplate.
She closed her eyes. What was she to do? Fleetingly her brother’s image
came to her. He would pay this in an instant. But he’d be mad she hadn’t
involved him from the beginning. And she’d so wanted to make him proud of
her and to show him what a success she could be, all on her own. How could she
face him now? The shame of it was just too great.
The sound of the door opening roused her from her dismal thoughts. It was
Sebastian who entered. He didn’t acknowledge her but went straight to Harry
and, leaning down, whispered into his ear.
Harry immediately rose to his feet. “Wait here,” he said to her and, letting
Sebastian take his arm, they strode purposefully to the opposite end of the room
and began to converse in hushed but urgent tones.
Once their mini confabulation was over, Sebastian walked back up the
room and, on passing her, gave her a huge wink and then left. Brenna puzzled
over this. Was she going to be given more time? Had Sebastian intervened on her
behalf? Her spirits began to reassert themselves a little. Harry remained in
thought at the end of the room. Abruptly, he seemed to make up his mind about
something and then quickly re-joined her.
“There’s been a development,” he explained, as he regained his seat.
Brenna waited tensely for him to expound on this with a mixture of both hope
and fear, fear that the hope would prove false.
Harry smiled slyly. Something about that smile made Brenna feel a bit
queasy. “It seems you have an admirer.” Did he mean Sebastian? This was
repudiated by the words that followed. “A wealthy tycoon has seen your
publicity photos and he likes them.”
“He’s going to offer me a contract?” Brenna jumped in eagerly.
“No, no.” Harry waved a hand at her, dismissing this idea. “He’s not in the
fashion or advertising industry.”
“Oh.” Brenna was confused.
But then Harry leaned forward and grasped her hand excitedly. “He wants
to sponsor you!”
“Sponsor? What does that mean?”
“He’s going to fund your continued promotion. He believes you have huge
potential and that we’ve not to give up on you. He’s convinced you’ll make it
and he’d love to be credited with some part in your eventual success.”
Brenna was stunned but also a little wary. Wasn’t this all a little too
convenient? “What’s the catch? He must want something in return?”
“Well, of course! He wants a cut of any earnings you make, but only a very
small percentage. Oh,” he tagged on, almost as if he’d forgotten, “and he’d like
to meet you. Immediately.”
Brenna turned her head, thinking this was a cue and expecting her
“sponsor” to walk into the room.
Harry laughed. “No. Not here. He’s invited you to his home. For dinner.”
Brenna’s harsh intake of breath was audible.
“Remember,” Harry rationalised, “he’s only ever seen you in photographs.
He wants to meet and get to know the person behind the image.”
Rising, Harry grasped her arm, pulling her to her feet, ignoring the shock
clearly delineated on her features. “Now, go and get yourself ready. You’ll find
Melanie already in your room, ready to make you look perfect!”
“Wait! Wait!” Raising her arms, she dislodged Harry’s grip. “I’m still
trying to get my head around this!”
“Don’t try and do that, my darling. Just go. You’ve been granted a welldeserved
reprieve. Hurry now,” he said waving her on her way, “we don’t want
to keep him waiting and risk him changing his mind.”
CHAPTER THREE
In her room, Brenna submitted to the familiar routine of being buffed and
beautified but her mind was whirling. As Mel, her attendant, helped her into a
slinky jade dress and a pair of silver heels, Brenna asked her, “Do you know
anything about this man I’m going to meet?”
Mel shook her head, as she fixed the tiny buckles on her shoes. “No, but I
do know you’re one lucky girl!”
“Don’t you think it’s strange that he came forward when he did?”
“I wouldn’t be one to question good fortune, love. It can just as quickly
‘poof’!” Widening her arms, she then clapped her hands together by way of
demonstration.
She finished zipping her up and turned her to face the full-length mirror.
“You look fabulous! You’ll knock him dead!”
Brenna looked at herself in the glass and, flipping her hair, couldn’t
disagree. She loved the rich green against the vibrant red of her hair. She began
to feel better. Maybe this man would even be worth it? He might be loaded and
good-looking.
However, Brenna’s misgivings began to resurface as she began the journey
to her sponsor saviour. Now ensconced in a sleek black Mercedes, having made
a speedy transfer from helicopter to car, she fretted over what lay ahead. How
long was she supposed to stay with him? What if he expected more than just
dinner with her? After all, she owed him quite a debt for coming to her rescue
like he had. Her stomach trembled uneasily and it suddenly seemed all too likely
that she was placing herself in a very risky situation.
“Can we go back? I think I’ve changed my mind,” she addressed the
driver.
Sebastian Sethos looked up and into the mirror at her but didn’t slow his
speed. “We’re nearly there now. Don’t fret, sweetie. Here,” he leaned over his
shoulder and passed her a small black device with a button at its centre. “That’s a
pager. Put it in your purse. Anytime you want to leave, press it and I’ll come get
you.”
Her insides untwisted themselves a little as she accepted the pager
gratefully. “Any time?” she echoed.
“I’ll be right there. Promise. Now here we are.”
She realised that they had indeed reached their destination as he smoothly
turned the car up a long gravel driveway. Her attention was drawn to the lights at
its crest, which illuminated the mullioned windows and Greek portico of a
magnificent red-stoned edifice of a house. She gasped in awe. Reaching the top,
Sebastian manoeuvred the car around an ornate stone fountain, the cascading
water sparkling in the lights from the house, and drew to a stop outside the
formidable front doors.
Brenna’s stomach now clenched in nervous knots again. Sebastian scooted
out of his seat and opened the car door for her. She gingerly stepped out on her
spindly heels and he offered her his arm, which she took with gratitude,
escorting her safely to the doorstep. She anxiously gripped that arm as the doors
opened before they’d even knocked, the owner clearly already alert to their
arrival.
Sebastian whispered in her ear, “Make a good impression.” He gave her a
peck on the cheek and was gone.
It was really no surprise, she told herself, when the doors opened to reveal
a well-dressed but distinctly overweight florid-faced gentleman, but still she
quailed. Who had she been kidding? Had she really been hoping for someone
blessed with looks as well as wealth? She just wasn’t that lucky. Never mind.
She had the pager if she needed it. The fifty-something walrus of a man smiled a
welcome and took her arm.
“Come in, come in. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Brenna, for
such a long time. My name is Williamson. Dominic Williamson. But please just
call me Dom.”
Some time later, Dom stood up from the table they had shared saying, “I’d
now like to show you something, Brenna. Follow me, if you would?”
Brenna was happy to oblige. She’d been plied with spectacular food, very
expensive wine and humorous tales of Dom’s college experiences in an obvious
effort by him to find some commonality with her. He’d not once patronised her
and had listened with interest to her description of her life at home. It was
flattering to be shown such respect by a man as intelligent and successful as he
clearly was, in spite of the difference in their age and experience. Whilst initially
disappointed, she was now feeling rather pleased. Surely Dom was living proof
of that old adage ‘appearances can be deceptive’. He’d proved to be a very
convivial host and had shown that his interest went far deeper than appreciation
of her physical appearance. Perhaps this is what it would have been like to have
a father? He’d referred to himself as her patron, not liking the term sponsor
when they’d touched on his future role in her career. She liked that.
Having knocked back more alcohol than was probably good for her, along
with a generous slug of pleasant conversation, she jounced out to meet him in
the main reception area feeling buoyant. He beckoned her to join him at the top
of some stairs that led off the back of the main hallway.
“Where are we going?” she asked, curious and peering down the dark
stairwell.
“A very secret, very special place,” he told her in almost reverent tones. He
turned to her. “One I’ve prepared just for you.”
Brenna froze and her stomach roiled in confusion. She looked into his once
benevolent eyes. What she saw there left no room for doubt. He meant to do
unspeakable things to her. They glimmered with a deep, dark maniacal glee.
Frantic, she dug into her purse, frenziedly pressing the pager Sebastian had given
to her.
Dominic grabbed her hand and easily pried it from her fingers. Then,
rather than throwing it aside as she’d anticipated, he studied it with growing
amusement. “Do you know what this is, Brenna?” He giggled. “It’s a garage
door remote control. I’m afraid we don’t have any garage doors here that will
open for you.”
Any hope of assistance gone, her only remaining choice was to make a
desperate run for it. But she was too slow, made sluggish by the wine. He seized
her by the arm as she turned, his grip bruising. “Don’t try and run. You’re mine.
You always have been. Duly bought and paid for.”
She screamed with the horror of capture and betrayal, twisting in his grasp,
but it was no use. He had the strength of the brute he truly was. He struck her
forcibly in the face and, after the pain exploded, it was something of a relief
when she swiftly fell into the numbing blackness of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER FOUR
Charles Hughes sat in front of his computer station glaring at the screen in
front of him. His spreadsheets were refusing to print. They appeared in the
printer queue but then just seemed to freeze there. He sighed, ran a hand through
his tawny blond hair, destroying its usually neat appearance, and walked over to
the office printer for the fifth time just to check that his print out hadn’t suddenly
materialised. He had asked and no-one else in the office seemed to be having the
same problem so it couldn’t be a server error. He went back to his desk and
decided to do a search for another printer on the network that he could try to
connect to.
He found another HP laserjet and set it as his default printer instead. He
tried printing the spreadsheets again and the screen seemed to indicate that it was
successful. He then checked the location of the alternative printer he had used
and was surprised to realise that it wasn’t on his floor and therefore belonged to
another company in the building. He traced the printer he had used to the next
floor. He would have to get the technical guys to sort things out as he was
obviously linked up to the wrong network. Nevertheless, at least his work should
have printed this time.
He walked out of the office and up the stairs to the floor above. “Bespoke
Cars – Accounts Section” stated a simple metal plaque next to the double doors
where the printer lived. He smiled. Finally he might gain entry into this
prestigious company, even if it was just the Accounts Department! He had
applied for a job with Bespoke Cars because of his love of top of the range
convertibles but hadn’t even been offered an interview.
He pressed an intercom and explained what he wanted to the person that
answered. He was buzzed in and a slickly dressed, morose-looking man
examined his id tag and looked him up and down disapprovingly.
“I can’t see your stuff being here,” he grumbled. “You guys aren’t even on
the same server as us.”
“I did seem to manage to connect to your printer though,” Charlie insisted.
“Can I just check and retrieve my documents?”
The man frowned at him. “If they have printed out here, I won’t print to it
again,” Charlie assured him. “I’ll get our technical people to sort it out, I
promise.”
The employee grunted and invited Charlie to follow him to a printer in the
corner of the office. He shuffled through the documents in the printer tray,
muttering to himself.
His expression changed to one of reluctant astonishment and he thrust
some paperwork at Charlie. “Here you are. This must be yours.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, taking it and turning to leave.
“Hey!”
Charlie pivoted back. “Don’t think you can come up here again,” the
fellow warned, his thin lips pursed into non-existence in his saturnine face.
“Make sure you get it sorted OK? If anything else prints out that isn’t ours, it’s
going in the shredder!”
Charlie raised his hands in a gesture of acquiescence and then left, shaking
his head.
When he got back to his desk, he looked through the documents to check
that he had everything. At the back of the pile was a sheet of information he
didn’t recognise. After all that griping, the stupid man had given him one of their
documents! He glanced down at it and was interested to see that it was an
invoice for an expensive sports car. He read through the specifications, resting
his hand on his cheek in dreamy contemplation. What he wouldn’t do to own
such an incredible vehicle!
As he looked down the list, something jarred but he couldn’t quite grasp
what it was at first. He read through the details again. When he realised what he
had seen, he suddenly sat back in his chair, a puzzled look on his boyish face. A
Porsche Cayman S did not have a folding roof and yet this invoice clearly stated
“convertible.”
He assumed it was some kind of mistake. No matter how good these
people were at personalizing cars, surely they couldn’t change a structural part of
the car like that? In any event, if the buyer wanted a convertible car, all he had to
do was buy a Porsche Boxster or similar instead? Charlie knew it was none of
his business but it niggled at him. He decided it must be an administrative error
of some sort. He had no wish to return to their office to point this out to them in
person and doubted he would be permitted entry a second time anyway.
Nevertheless, he had no qualms about ratting on the prick he had dealt with in
their office. He therefore decided to drop them a quick email explaining how he
had obtained the invoice and pointing out the error.
Charlie checked his inbox before shutting down his computer for the day
at 4pm. He shrugged. Bespoke Cars hadn’t replied to his email. He got the
invoice out again to have a look at it. His eyes fell on the delivery date stated at
the bottom. It was yesterday! His gaze moved to the delivery address. The house
had a name rather than a number, which suggested that it was an upmarket
property, but the area postcode indicated that it was local.
He rubbed a hand across his mouth thoughtfully. It wouldn’t be too far out
of his way to make a detour on his way home. The car could be parked on a
driveway and, as it had been a clear day and the clocks hadn’t gone back yet, it
should still be light enough to see. If the car was out of sight and he felt
audacious enough, perhaps he could even impose on the homeowner to let him
view it? He might be more than happy to show off his new purchase? Decision
made, he stuffed the invoice in his back pocket and left the office, his step a little
bouncy and his skin prickling with anticipatory nerves.
“You have reached your destination”, Charlie’s SatNav declared as he
pulled up opposite some rather imposing wrought iron gates. All he could see
was a glimpse of a driveway through the gates and then his view was obscured
by a high stone wall that must extend around the house and grounds. He could
see some kind of intercom set into one of the pillars that supported the gates.
This was going to be more difficult than he had envisaged. If the owner was as
security conscious as it first appeared, he wasn’t going to let some complete
stranger come and nosy around his new car.
He dug the invoice out of his bag and looked at it again. Should he pose as
a representative of Bespoke Cars? He wrestled briefly with his conscience and
then decided to go for it. He had come this far now and what harm would it do?
The man could always just turn him away.
He got out of his car and walked confidently over to the intercom; he
wanted to look purposeful in case there was also a camera on the gate. He
hesitated briefly but then pressed the buzzer. He was committed now. Nothing
happened at first and he peered between the bars on the gate, finally catching
sight of a large, mansion style house at the end of the long, stony driveway.
There was a sudden gust of wind that shook the trees on either side of the
approach, the branches rattling together like loose bones. Red autumn leaves
rushed down to lie like dark drops of blood on the wet ground. Charlie shivered
and turned up the collar of his jacket. He was about to head back to his car and
he jumped in surprise when a loud voice suddenly emanated from the speaker.
“What do you want?” it demanded belligerently.
He started to respond, his voice at first deserting him and forcing him to
cough. He then began again in a more assertive tone.
“Hello, Mr Williamson,” he said in greeting, having noted the name from
the invoice. “I understand that you have taken delivery of a luxury vehicle
recently and I am just following up as part of Bespoke Cars’ customer care
service.”
There was a long pause and then the man queried suspiciously, “I don’t
remember this being mentioned when the sale was finalised. What is it that you
want exactly?”
“I’m just checking that everything is to your satisfaction, Sir. I won’t take
up much of your time,” Charlie replied.
“Can’t this kind of thing be done over the phone?” Mr Williamson asked.
“Yes, Sir,” Charlie accepted, “but we prefer to offer a more personal
service. I’m sorry if it is unexpected. I was in the area and was asked to drop
by.”
“I’m not sure about this. I was promised that this sale would remain very
private. You turning up on my doorstep is not exactly what I would call
discreet.”
“I assure you, Sir, that client confidentiality has been in no way
compromised,” Charlie declared, now starting to regret his decision to
investigate the car. This joker seemed to be very uptight and he hadn’t thought it
would be quite so difficult to gain access. He’d now embroiled himself in a
pretence that could prove hard to maintain. What if this guy ended up calling the
police?
However, Charlie had never run away from a challenge in his life and,
though all his instincts were screaming at him to get out of there, his curiosity
was highly aroused. If he didn’t follow this through he would be left forever
wondering about the car and castigating himself for being such a coward.
“I am not happy about this. Not happy about this at all,” Mr Williamson
said, profound annoyance seething behind his words. There was a very long
pause. Charlie almost turned away, deciding that he wasn’t going to be granted
admission anyway.
“I suppose you’d better come up to the house,” he heard the man finally
concede. A high-pitched beep sounded and the gates gradually began to open.
Charlie expected them to creak but they glided open with an almost eerie
smoothness.
“I still need to know what you want. This is highly irregular and I am sure
there is something else you’re not telling me.”
Charlie returned to his car and drove through the open gates, shrugging off
the chill that shuddered briefly through him as he watched them shut behind him.
As he approached the house, even in the dimming light, he could see how
beautifully well-built and ornate it was. His optimism returned. A man with taste
like this surely couldn’t be that horrible? He spotted the sizeable garage over to
one side and his mood lifted even more.
He parked near the entrance and walked up the steps to the porch, even
more amazed by the sheer wealth that exuded from this house as his gaze took in
all the elaborate details of the external design. An unconcealed camera swung
towards him as he approached the front door and his nervousness returned, its
glowing red eye pinning him with its malevolent glare. He couldn't prevent
himself from starting a little when the heavy front door opened noiselessly and a
large, fleshy man stood there, eyeing him with obvious displeasure.
“I can't say you are welcome,” he grumbled. “As you can see,” he said,
tightening the belt on the maroon velvet dressing gown he wore, “I wasn't
expecting visitors.”
He opened the door wider and grunted, “Follow me.”
Charlie obeyed, a little disconcerted, especially as the guy didn't appear to
be wearing anything underneath his robe. The man's backside wobbled
revoltingly even beneath the thick garment and flabby legs, riddled with ugly
raised purple veins, both drew and repelled his gaze. They entered a large living
area and Charlie's expression changed from one of disgust to one of wonder.
This single room was bigger than his entire house and was tastefully decorated
with myriads of sparkling lights that beautifully highlighted the fascinating
sculptures and large paintings positioned around the room.
Mr. Williamson gestured for him to sit on a large black sofa that was set in
front of an exquisitely carved dark oak table. Charlie remained standing, sharply
aware of his intrusion in this house and now anxious to just see the car and get
out of there. “I am sorry to impose on you like this. I won't sit down as I don't
want to take up any more of your time than is necessary. May I see the car?”
The man appeared to frown, but it was hard to tell as his face had been
surgically altered, the skin unnaturally taut as though a skin-coloured balloon
had been stretched unwillingly over the frame beneath. “Why do you need to see
the car?” he answered irritably. “I thought you were simply here to check on my
satisfaction with her?”
Charlie hesitated, now wondering whether to come clean and admit to his
deception in the hope that the man would take pity on him. However, one look
into Mr. Williamson's muddy blood-shot eyes, forced him to quickly discard that
idea; he'd seen wild dogs with more empathy in their gaze.
“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “I am here to make sure you are completely
satisfied. I am also here to check that the car is exactly as you ordered and all the
specifications are correct.”
Mr. Williamson was definitely not reassured by Charlie's words. He
scowled, putting a hand to his mouth, his eyes scouring Charlie's face as if he
could gauge the true meaning behind his words by the intensity of his gaze
alone.
“Why do you need to check her? That kind of thing should have been done
before she was passed over to me.”
Charlie felt flayed by the man's scrutiny and he dropped his eyes and
began to discreetly move backwards. “I can see this is a bad time,” he mumbled
apologetically. “I'm so sorry to have bothered you. I'll go.”
However, the big man didn't allow Charlie to retreat, striding over to him
and gripping his shoulders painfully with his huge hands. His eyes narrowed into
pig-like slits as he glared into Charlie's face. “Why are you really here?” he
demanded harshly, almost spitting at him, eyes glinting with anger and
suspicion. “There's something wrong with her isn't there?”
“No, of course not!” Charlie refuted, now reckless in his desperation to
appease this madman and get out of there. “I just wanted to see the car! I wanted
to see if she was really a convertible!” If Mr. Williamson had been enraged
before, Charlie's outburst was the flame that lit the touch paper.
Colour flared on the man's cheeks and his face now favoured a red balloon
that was about to burst. “What are you saying?” he screeched. “She's not really a
virgin?!” His grip on Charlie tightened excruciatingly and he bellowed like a
wounded baboon. “I knew it was all too fucking good to be true!” Charlie didn't
understand Mr. Williamson's words but he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his
face away, certain that he was going to be struck.
However, a few seconds passed and nothing happened. Charlie ventured
opening his eyes and found that his antagonist's face had changed from one of
acrimony to one of sorrowful resignation. He abruptly released Charlie, swearing
and muttering under his breath. He ignored Charlie's attempts to question him
and commanded, “Wait here!” before turning and leaving the room.
Charlie gazed after the man in bewilderment, absently rubbing one of his
throbbing shoulders. What did the man mean? What the hell had he got himself
into? He decided that his curiosity had already got him into enough trouble and
he wasn't going to hang around to find out. This whole idea had patently been a
disastrous mistake. He hurried to the front door and was about to step outside
when his already frazzled nerves were torn apart by a heartrending scream.
He jolted in shock and his primal instincts took over. He was in his car and
turning the key in the ignition before his conscious mind could even react. He
was about to tramp the accelerator and get out of there when his thoughts
interrupted. Who had screamed? What was going on in there? Could he just up
and leave? He bowed his head, his whole body shaking and his hands gripping
the steering wheel so hard it shook a little along with him. What if someone was
hurt or needed help?
He returned cautiously to the house, his senses at full acuity from the
adrenaline coursing through his system but feeling disconnected from himself.
As he re-entered the house it felt like he was stepping back into some awful
waking dream. He found himself back in the room he had fled. The room was
empty, nothing was disturbed and all was quiet. He scanned the room again, his
ears straining for any noise. Could he have imagined the scream?
He was torn between venturing further into the house and leaving for good
this time, when he heard some strange sounds that seemed to be coming from the
hallway just outside the room. The grunts and scufflings became louder. He
watched in rigid fascination as Mr Williamson entered, panting with exertion as
he dragged someone behind him. Charlie’s gaze changed to one of utter dismay
as he got a proper look at who it was. It was a slight young woman. He couldn't
tell how old she was. She was fully developed but there was something about her
that shrieked of youth.
She was naked and her long coppery hair hung in streams over her face.
His mind registered that there was something wrong with her skin but he could
not initially comprehend what it was. Was she covered in birthmarks? Most of
her skin was a normal pale pink but scattered here and there were darker marks,
some reddish, some a livid purple. There was a long streak of red tracking her
passage across the floor. He couldn't suppress a small sob of distress as the
realisation hit him like a physical pain; the red trail was blood and the mottled
stains on her body were bruises. If it was she he had heard cry out, she wasn't
making any noise now.
Mr. Williamson came to a halt in front of Charlie and let go of the girl's
arm. As soon as he released her, she curled up into a foetal ball, clearly an
instinctive defence mechanism. Mr. Williamson spotted Charlie's appalled
countenance and exclaimed bitterly, “You surely can't expect to get her back in
the same condition she arrived in? You have breached the terms of our contract.
You admitted yourself that she is not as described. Take her away. You think I
would keep second hand goods?!”
He turned to the girl and kicked her viciously. Her reaction earlier showed
that she had already become accustomed to this kind of brutality. “Get up, you
worthless bitch!” he spat at her, his ugly face almost rendered inhuman with
venom and disgust.
She slowly uncurled herself and began to falteringly get to her feet. Charlie
was unable to stop himself rushing over to her to offer some support. His horror
deepened when she flinched at his touch, turning big green eyes upon him, full
of despair.
He turned to Mr. Williamson, his shock now making him angry. He now
had no illusions as to what kind of business he had stumbled upon. “Car” had
obviously all along been a euphemism for “girl”. He realised that he had to try
and stay in character and just meekly leaving with the girl would probably
register as odd.
“What the fuck have you done to her? You've barely had her five minutes
and she looks like you've used her for boxing practice! At least get her
something to cover herself with!”
Williamson glared resentfully at him but did as requested and returned
with a large blanket. Charlie wrapped it around the shivering girl, noticing that
blood was now dripping on to her feet. He looked for any open wounds on her
body but couldn't see any. Where was the blood coming from? He spotted scarlet
streaks on her inner thighs.
“Is she on her period?” he asked Williamson.
At this query, the man merely smiled, the malevolently sly look in his
piggy eyes sending a shiver of revulsion through Charlie.
“No,” he answered. “Thought I’d get the pleasure of seeing her bleed like a
virgin, even if she isn’t one.”
“What?” Charlie gasped but the man merely sneered at him and, balling
his hands into fists, hissed menacingly, “You’d better get the fuck out of here
before I decide to get my money’s worth out of you too.”
The girl was in no state to move fast so Charlie lifted her into his arms.
Charlie felt his heart wrench as she burrowed herself into him. She still made no
sound but he couldn’t help whispering to her, “You’re alright. You’re safe with
me, I promise.” He walked out of the room with her, unable to prevent himself
looking back over his shoulder to give the bastard a last blisteringly disparaging
look.
He got back to his car and laid the girl down gently in the back seat, trying
to bunch the blanket up between her legs to help stop the bleeding. He glanced at
her face and his heart turned to ice in his chest. She was so pale and still he
thought she was dead. He was about to check her vital signs when she moved
slightly. She remained unconscious but her face twisted and she moaned weakly,
whether due to current or remembered pain he couldn’t tell. The sounds she
made sent a shudder of dread through him. He closed the door and tried to gather
his shattered wits. He would drive to the hospital and get some help and then
everything would be alright…he could unload her and this whole awful mess on
to someone else.
His car started up alright but, in his haste to leave, he didn’t depress the
clutch properly and the gears crunched loudly. He glanced anxiously back at the
house but no-one appeared. He sped down the long driveway, his stomach
clenching when he remembered the gates. There must have been some sort of
sensor as they opened automatically. He almost sobbed in relief but his nerves
were so fraught that he felt like any release of pressure would set him off,
flailing and out of control like a wind-up toy. He skidded back out on to the road.
The wind howled like an abandoned hound, pushing fretfully at the swollen
clouds and flinging wet leaves and debris at Charlie’s little car as though in an
effort to hinder or chastise him.
He travelled for about a mile and then, finding a small layby, he pulled
over. He dug in his pocket for his mobile phone and accessed the SatNav
application so agitated that his hands shook in sync with his frenetically beating
heart. Locating the nearest hospital, he programmed directions to it, swearing
under his breath when his trembling hands failed to lodge the phone in its holder
securely and it fell to the floor.
As he turned and bent to pick up the phone, his gaze met that of his injured
passenger and he flinched back in shock, both at the fact that she was conscious
and at the depth of desperate supplication in her eyes. “Phone?” he thought he
heard her whisper.
“Don’t be afraid,” he assured her. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No,” she now said quite plainly, her eyes ablaze in her damaged face.
“Yes,” Charlie contradicted her firmly. “You are losing a lot of blood. If I
don’t get you to hospital you might die!”
She weakly began to attempt to move herself into a more upright position.
“Hey, stop!” Charlie burst out in panic, “Stay still! You shouldn’t move!”
“Phone. Please,” she mouthed, trying with difficulty to raise her hand.
“OK, OK!” he conceded, worried she might continue to exert herself.
“Look, I'll give you the phone and you press the numbers. Then you need to give
it back to me and lie down. I'll do the talking.”
He watched her as she touched the screen of the phone, her fingers
trembling and her face frighteningly pale but her mouth fixed in a rigidly
determined line. He couldn't help feeling a flare of admiration but it was
tempered by another cold wave of dread. He expected that it was a product of his
flayed emotions and his worry that the effort by this girl would achieve nothing
but a worsening of her already fragile condition.
She handed the phone back to him and he looked at the screen. She’d
entered what looked like a valid number. He couldn't believe that it was possible
for her face to lose any more colour, but it had.
“What’s your name?” he asked her, instinctively whispering as though
even using too loud a voice might do her an injury.
Her gaze was feverish, her skin shiny with sweat.
She licked her lips effortfully. “Brenna,” she rasped, her voice brittle but
clear.
He then watched in horror as her eyes rolled in her head and she slid back
down on the seat, all semblance of life draining out of her like air from a
balloon.
“Shit!” Charlie swore, the phone almost slipping out of his grasp again. He
ignored the phone number on the screen and hastily brought his navigation page
back up.
He should never have allowed his sympathy for her plea to affect his
judgment. He could not afford to waste any more time. He had to get her to the
hospital before it was too late...if it wasn't already
CHAPTER FIVE
Charlie screeched into the ambulance bay at the hospital and sprang out of
the car. “Hey! You can't park there!” someone yelled but Charlie didn't even hear
them. His heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. He lifted the lifeless girl from
the back seat, her body flopping like a rag doll in his arms. The sheet covering
her was black with blood. A sob erupted from him and his knees almost
collapsed from under him, her negligible weight not a factor, just the weight of
the despair that overpowered him.
“Somebody help me!” he screamed, staggering towards the nearest
entrance. He heard raised voices and a flurry of activity around him. The girl
was lifted out of his arms. He heard somebody yell, “Get me a crash trolley here
now!”
Someone put a hand on his shoulder and guided him over to a chair. It was
a woman in a blue hospital smock. She started talking to him and he watched her
mouth as it moved but his brain just didn't register the words. She may as well
have been talking in an alien language. She frowned, smacked her hands on her
knees in a gesture of frustration and moved away.
Charlie sat there for a little while longer, just gazing in to space, too shellshocked
to unscramble what was left of his overloaded brain and senses.
Someone came again and sat next to him but he did not acknowledge them. A
warm hand was placed on the one he had clenched in his lap. He looked numbly
down at it.
“I know you're in shock, mate but you need to talk to us. We don't even
know who the girl you brought in is.” The girl had not made it and the hospital
had already called the police. But the young doctor speaking thought it prudent
not to mention either of these facts to the man beside him.
Charlie eventually looked across at the medic. He had short dark hair, a
smooth rosy face and a smiling mouth. He looked about the same age as he was
but Charlie felt about a million years older. The doctor hadn't said as much but
Charlie could read it in the way his smile failed to dispel the sorrow in his brown
eyes: Brenna hadn't survived.
Charlie was about to speak when someone shouted, “Where's the idiot who
parked their car in the middle of the ambulance bay?”
Charlie glanced up. He didn't care about where he had left the car but
regret over Brenna pierced him like an already overused knife.
The tall, angry orderly must have seen this guilt in his face and descended
upon him. “Is it yours?”
Charlie stood up but the man didn't wait for his reply. “Can you kindly
move it out of the effing way?” he asked belligerently. “Don't you realise that
your stupidity could mean the difference between life and death?” Charlie mouth
twitched at this unknowingly shrewd observation.
Before the man could continue his tirade, he held up his hands and said,
“I'm moving it. I'm moving it!” and ran outside.
He heard the doctor shout something after him but he ignored it. The man
was probably worried about him doing a runner but he had no intention of doing
that. He knew he'd been in a bit of a state in there but he hadn't gone through
everything and let that young girl die for nothing. He would go back in to the
hospital and speak to the police about what he had stumbled across.
He eventually found a legitimate parking space some distance from the
A&E entrance. He bought a parking ticket, the thought of having his usual rant
about paying for parking at a hospital flitting through his brain but barely
registering. Instead he felt a brief and bitter nostalgia for the time when he
thought such irritations were worth getting stressed over.
As he bent to stick the ticket on his car window, his eyes fell on his phone
still sitting in its holder. His thoughts returned to Brenna and her dreadful
desperation to get in touch with someone before she died.
He picked up the phone and looked at it. The number might still be logged.
He exited the SatNav function and saw the number on his screen, still there
waiting to be dialled. He would forever debate the wisdom of giving that poor
girl the phone in the first place but perhaps he owed it to her to ring that number.
Entering the car, he sat down in the driver's seat to make the phone call. He
pressed the green dial key and listened tensely to the line ring out. It connected
and he immediately began to speak, babbling in his nervousness, until he heard a
loud tone and realised that he had been transferred to voicemail. He took some
deep breaths to compose himself and began to leave a more coherent message,
introducing himself and giving the girl’s name. He knew he must sound like a
crank as he didn’t even know who he was talking to. Because of this, he was
reluctant to go into any detail about how he had come to have Brenna in his
possession. Nevertheless, he mentioned that Bespoke Cars were to blame and
gave the name of the hospital. He couldn't bring himself to say that the girl was
dead. Nobody wanted to hear that kind of news as a recorded message.
He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed that he hadn't
managed to speak to someone. He sighed and pushed the phone into his back
pocket. He remained sitting for a few minutes, resting his head on the steering
wheel. A persuasive part of him wanted to just start the engine and get the hell
away. He'd done the best he could and he wasn't sure he had the courage or the
strength to relive what had happened and attempt to explain his actions.
However, the police would no doubt track him down using the hospital cameras
and his car registration. Driving away would just make his story even harder for
them to swallow.
The slam of the passenger side door brought him back to his senses. His
head snapped up and he found a stranger sitting next to him. Charlie lurched
back in surprise but the man placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“Please don't be alarmed, Charlie,” he urged in a pleasantly soothing voice.
“I'm here to look after you.”
He was well-built, dark haired and had the kind of dazzling good looks
that could easily have given him a successful modelling career. Charlie allowed
himself to relax, not pausing to question why this man knew his name, the light
of this man's beauty blinding him as it had many others. In a society obsessed
with appearance, we don't like to believe that a beautiful face does anything
other than reflect inherent goodness.
He felt pressure at his side and looked down to see the barrel of a gun
pressed against him. He gasped in surprise and stared with horrified dismay into
the dark eyes of his accoster. When the man's gaze locked on to him, his
composure shattered instantly like a blown bulb. The eyes were an unusual
purple-black colour but lacked any warmth or depth; they were as soulless as the
eyes of a carnivorous insect.
Charlie opened his mouth to scream but the scream was reduced to a
choked cry of pain as the breath was jolted from him. The gun had been used to
administer a well-aimed jab to his abdomen.
“Do as I say or I will kill you.” The man's soft tones had now taken on the
sibilant menace of a snake.
Charlie closed his eyes. The world seemed to tilt for a moment. Would he
ever awaken from this nightmare? When Charlie reopened them, the man was
still there smiling at him. There was something innately creepy about it, like the
false human smiles they put on dogs in a famous television advert.
“Drive,” he commanded.
“Where to?” Charlie asked, trying not quite successfully to keep the fear
out of his voice.
“To your house, of course,” the man replied as though it was the most
obvious thing in the world. He prodded Charlie again with the gun and his eerie
smile widened as Charlie grunted in protest. Charlie nodded in mute
acquiescence and started the car engine.
As they drove onto the main road, he watched in his rear view mirror as
the lights of the hospital building diminished, his hard won resolve fading with
them.
He drove home, the gun in his side a constant irritation along with his
companion's maddening grin. It did cross his mind to try and cause an accident
but he never attempted anything. Perhaps this was because, in some strange way,
after all the agonising decisions he’d had to make, it was almost a relief to hand
responsibility over to someone else. He also clung to the belief that this man was
not a killer and, if he did as he was told, he would get out of this alive.
He parked the car up in his garage and killed the engine. He somehow
managed to will his legs to move and he staggered out of the car. The gun was
now swiftly relocated to his back and he was marched up to his back door. His
shredded nerves had now yielded their tenuous hold on his body and he stabbed
at the lock with his key like a drunken man. Once inside, the man gestured for
him to sit down on the sofa.
“Now then, Charlie,” said the handsome man, his eyes crawling over his
face. “My name is Sebastian.”
Charlie looked at him warily. Why was this man introducing himself?
Sebastian continued, his voice light and conversational. “I have no
grievance with you. I have no feelings regarding you whatsoever.”
He crouched in front of Charlie and slowly ran the cold barrel of the gun
down his face, cocking his head, his dark eyes dancing with devilish mirth. “I'd
just as happily fuck you as kill you.” Charlie smothered a whimper. Did this man
know his sexual orientation? Was he threatening to rape him?
“However,” Sebastian continued in the same chillingly affable way, “I am
not here in my own right. I am acting on behalf of another.”
He now sat down next to Charlie and put his arm around him in an overtly
friendly gesture. Charlie flinched a little but knew better than to try to move
away.
“My employer is not a bad person. He has never lied. He has never stolen
another person’s property.”
Sebastian fixed his reptilian gaze on Charlie. Why had he ever thought this
man handsome? He was like a male Medusa. Beautiful but grotesque at the same
time. He should have known he was a dead man as soon as Sebastian first turned
those heartless eyes upon him.
“You, on the other hand, are nothing but a common criminal. You have
lied. You have stolen,” his words were accusatory but his tone was still one of
friendly banter.
Charlie shivered, feeling tears burning behind his eyes but he willed them
away and gritted his teeth. If he was going to die, he’d be damned if he’d give
this bastard the satisfaction of seeing him break down and beg.
“You have also threatened something most precious…my employer’s
reputation. And why? Who knows? Because you felt like it? Because you just
couldn’t help yourself?”
Sebastian now smiled, that wide, loose grin, exposing gleaming teeth.
Charlie quailed.
He tightened his arm around Charlie. “You are lucky, Charlie. I wish I
could do this my way….I could always say that I just couldn’t help myself?”
Charlie glared defiantly at Sebastian. “That girl isn’t a piece of property! I
haven’t done anything wrong! If your employer is behind what happened to her,
he is the criminal.”
Sebastian leapt up at this and laughed out loud. “Aha!” he declared. “It
speaks at last! Oh and what wise words too!”
He spun back to Charlie and yanked him to his feet, his voice now devoid
of any humanity, “You are mistaken. That girl was legitimately bought, sold and
paid for. You should not have interfered. And now you must take the
consequences.”
Charlie felt a tear escape and slip down his face. He whispered fiercely,
“You won’t get away with this!”
“I’m afraid this isn’t the movies Charlie, my boy. No-one is going to save
you.”
Sebastian eyed him up like a predator circling its helpless prey. “Take off
your coat and empty all your pockets,” he commanded.
Charlie had no choice but to do as instructed, knowing that the invoice he
had kept with him would seal his fate as surely as a death warrant. Sebastian
pounced on the paper and opened it out, his face indecently beatific with delight
as he read the information on it.
“This never existed,” he stated bluntly. He took out a lighter and set fire to
it. Charlie watched numbly as it turned to ashes and crumbled to the carpet, the
Christian mantra “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” tramping stupidly through his
brain.
He was shoved through to the kitchen, forced into a chair at the table and
given a pen and paper. Sebastian dictated a note, which declared his misery and
resulting desire to kill himself. He performed all this in a kind of daze, doing
exactly as he was told, his psyche now far removed as though already severed
from his body. By contrast, his senses were queerly heightened and everything
seemed sharper and more vivid, from the metallic ticking of the kitchen clock to
the whorls and striations in the stained oak of the table.
Sebastian had set up another chair with a thin noose hanging above it.
Charlie recognised his own green washing line. How helpful of him, he thought
detachedly, to have rafters in his kitchen just right for the job.
He looked back down at the suicide note he was writing as he came to sign
his name. He hesitated for a moment but a none too gentle prod from Sebastian’s
gun and a curtly ordered “Finish it!” prompted him to add his signature.
Something about the finality of this re-animated him and the thought burst into
his mind that accepting the inevitability of his death was not the same as
accepting the way this psycho wanted to portray it; fighting him now could
screw up his perfect little suicide tableau.
Charlie clenched the pen in his hand and tensed, adrenaline sluicing
through his system. He began to get to his feet, intending to suddenly swing his
arm up and round aiming for his tormentor’s eyes.
Sebastian was way ahead of him. Before he’d even stood, he was pushed
brutally forward onto the table, his head held down viciously against the
unyielding wood. The pen was prised from his fingers and Sebastian’s now
familiar voice breathed with merciless humour in his ear, “I am a professional,
Charlie. There's nothing you can do that I haven't already anticipated.”
Things now happened very quickly. Before he could form another coherent
thought, he was standing on the chair with the noose being tautened around his
neck. He struggled reflexively, his body now on autopilot, concerned only with
survival. However, this only served to tighten the ligature and he began to gasp
and cough, trying in vain to twist away, panic now turning his guts to acid and
causing a caustic bile to rise and burn in his throat. The chair was kicked away
from beneath him and his body dropped, the pressure on his oesophagus now an
unremitting vice.
Charlie swung and kicked out, clawing frantically but ineffectively at the
home-made garrotte, designed to drag out his dying throes as long as possible.
The pitiless laughter of his murderer boomed and then faded in his ears, in time
with the pounding of his blood, like a percussion orchestra gone mad. Bright
stars burst in his vision and then a creeping blackness began to seep around the
edges, a remorseless tide that had come to drown him.
As his life seeped away, his grandmother's face slowly formed out of the
swirling dark and, even in his agony, he smiled. She was the only family who
had ever loved and accepted him. Sebastian noticed this and stopped laughing.
Why is he smiling? He shouldn't be fucking smiling! He almost moved towards
his dying victim but managed to rein in his anger as a voice screamed in his
head, “Don't mark him! You don't want to fuck it all up now!”
His high spirits deserted him and he watched with a scowl as Charlie’s
body stopped spasming and finally went still.
If you would like to find out what happens after the events in this book,
please check out our full-length novel, Dark Secrets, available on Amazon and
soon to be available elsewhere.
To view and purchase on Amazon, just click here.
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Thank you for reading! Warmest regards, Victoria and Rebecca x