Page 24 of Captured

Suddenly, a weird sense of grief and rage swept together in my system, sticking in my throat. When the hell had I felt grief the last time? Months? Years? Long enough a headache immediately formed behind my eyes given the strange sense of remembrance.

I backed away, heading toward the musicians’ door leading to the back corridor, taking long strides down the crowded hallway. My feet echoed on the cheap marble as I headed for the main salon. I’d need to curtail my urges until the event was over.

After that, I’d act on my plan.

It had been easy to mingle with those handling setup and issues behind the scenes. That had allowed me to get close while remaining in the shadows. I’d been able to bask in her beauty, noticing how nervous she was. Plus, I’d been able to take some time studying Gideon from afar. He was more interested in the cocktail party prior to the concert, mingling with people he probably assumed he could con into investing in whatever scheme he had up his sleeve.

But there was something even odder about his behavior, the bastard constantly scanning the crowd, but I couldn’t decipher any concern. It was more like he’d been expecting someone.

As the ding sounded through the red carpeted halls of the Berklee auditorium, an indication the concert was set to begin, I was provided with an answer.

Gideon had established the auditorium as a neutral meeting ground, the man arriving through the all glass doors with security detail in tow something of royalty. While I didn’t recognize the visitor outright, it was obvious he was of Arabian descent, his burnished complexion a dead giveaway.

Now, why would a man like Gideon Martin be meeting with Arabian royalty? I had more questions than answers, but I was certain part of the reason a hit had been placed on his daughter had to do with this covert yet public meeting. I was at a perfect vantage point, which allowed me to snap a photo of the two on my phone completely undetected.

I watched as they talked, unable to get close enough to hear what they were saying but the animation and animosity were clear.

Something evil was going on.

It was Gideon who ended the meeting, storming through the main doors to the auditorium. The guest stood where he was for a few seconds before leaving, which surprised me.

Whatever was going on was volatile, which added further motivation for what I intended.

Now, onto the concert.

I needed a moment of grounding, to allow the demons to find comfort in being chained for a little while longer.

I grabbed a drink at the bar, trying not to show my disdain for the venue’s poor choice of cheap liquor. At least they were allowing alcoholic beverages for the evening. The bitter taste of the rotgut scotch would help curtail the cravings for a little while longer.

At least I’d been smart enough to request a double.

As I stood in the shadows as I always did, the wait for Emily to perform her solo interminable, I thought about all the things I wanted to do to her. My sadistic needs were a disease to most, a moment where a fine line would be crossed time and time again. I would go to hell for my thoughts alone, but I’d accepted my fate a long time ago. Everything in life was considered a mortal sin to someone, myself included.

I’d simply finally been able to choose the dark side of life versus having it thrown on me as had occurred as a small child. I was embracing the heinous man my father had told his children they were with gusto.

And I planned on continuing to exploit my love of violence and bloodshed until the day I died.

I took a sip, wincing from the taste, closing my eyes as the festive yet boring as fuck concert ensued. I knew my wait would be long but by the time an hour had passed, I’d been forced to purchase another drink for fear of killing someone out of boredom.

I’d kept my eye on the lecherous pig who’d touched her before, the man sitting in the front row like a proud papa, watching the conductor in his dramatic yet useless role of directing the orchestra.

When it finally came time for her performance, the hush of the crowd was interrupted by a few shrill whistles when Emily walked out onto the stage.

How dare they interrupt the glorious moment.

I could crush their skulls for doing so.

Exhaling, I fisted my fingers around the plastic glass, hearing it crack the moment the applause died down.

As she moved to the ebony grand piano, I held my breath. I wanted her to do well, to outperform everyone else who’d been on the stage.

Not that I’d been paying any goddamn attention to them. I couldn’t give a fuck about anyone else, including the same two pipsqueaks she’d been practicing with the first night I’d seen her.

The orchestra took their positions, the opening chords dark and dramatic.

And as she placed her hands on the ivory keys, I could feel her tension rippling through my veins as much as the desire was tingling my senses. The longing was intense enough my cock was thick and painful, my balls tight as they’d ever been. I found myself walking closer, heading toward the stage so I could bask in her beauty from a perfect location.

She remained tense at first, her shoulders tight and her face pinched. But as the seconds wore on, she fell into the rhythm of the darkness she was emulating. It was the same Rachmaninoff Prelude from the first night I’d seen her in person, only hearing it in this venue was much more powerful. I was drawn into the reverence of death, the same reason the composer had created the piece. It was from his terrible nightmare, where a funeral was being held, with a coffin taking center stage in the dream.

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