Page 76 of Shifted

Because Eros Onasis was no longer my client, he was my enemy. One that I wouldn't go kindly on in death. But for now, instead of charging into the room and firing a bullet into his head to get myself killed. I managed my way around it during the distraction that held present.

The walls were covered with Victorian oil paintings—ones I'd never seen in my life, but they held such beauty—landscapes of the early mornings of the country and the gardens in the summers. For a crazy murderer, he had good taste in art.

Near the wing I was meant to enter stood three guards preoccupied in conversation. They guarded the entrance to the West Wing, where I needed to go. They were fully armed, but that wasn't the challenge. The challenge was killing them discreetly. A room full of raging maniacs with guns just steps away.

"Excuse me," they quickly looked at me. I acted frantic as I stepped closer. "Marcus asked me to deliver this to you." Marcus was the name of the guy on my badge, the dead man down the hall.

As I approached them, I dropped a pin on the floor. As the three of them went down to grab it, I stabbed them each in the neck, swiftly injecting the same poison as before. I dragged the bodies to the side as quietly as I could, leaving the sight clear. Stealing the stole a key from one of their belts, I swipe it through the lock. The steel door opened with a small beep of clearance.

I enter the coldness of the maze ahead. Behind the steel door was darkness. In the distance, a hall with eight doors laced down the line. But these doors weren't just any doors; they were cages chained up. People were held within them. As I looked to my left, I could see a staircase. I investigate further, slowly climbing up the steps to find myself choosing between two options.

One, I could enter a room that seemed to be used for torture and interrogation, or two, head up the balcony that looked ahead. I spring for two as I hear a noise, the sound of chains being dragged. I sink behind a seat on the loft, looking over to see its next victim. The sound of Eros's voice could be heard.

"Move him." I hear the chains drag up the stairs, and slight groans can be heard. Then I listened to the sound of a body thrown to the ground, "Always a disappointment, as usual, my son." His son, this man was Eros's son?

I lifted my head to see him, Amartolós, tied to a chair. His mask remained on, but it seemed to be used to suffocate him in a way. It was tightened around his neck. Gashes and cuts could be shown across his chest. He'd been here for a while, and it was demonstrated through his chest.

"Are you ready to speak?" Eros walked around him in a circle, his hair was a dark gray, and a scar was slit across his face. He didn't look like a warm and fuzzy kind of guy. Amartolós groans in response to the pain inflicted on him. I could tell that Eros was growing impatient and running thin on his torture.

"So weak, pathetic." Without even a second to spare, a knife glides across his arm, cutting him again. He doesn't groan; he doesn't even make a sound. He takes the pain. "You just need to tell me where your mother and sister are, and you'll be free to go. It was a smart move to make them change our last name. I always did find you clever; you are my son, after all," As he speaks, the knife lightly trains against his skin but not deep enough to crack the skin.

“I am not—” Amartolós struggles with the words.

“Always so protective, did a pretty good job with your mother running from me and convincing everyone else that I had died? Your sister still believes it, too,” He laughs, “Maybe I’ve gone about this wrong. I think it’s time we speak face to face, son?" Amartolós shakes his head as if he knew I was here. It was as if he knew that his identity was on the line, and I was a mere bystander watching.

"Oh, don’t worry, she's not coming. She's too preoccupied with her personal life and drowned in paperwork, which I've sorted out for her. Your guardian Angel is nowhere to be found." I, Eros, knew who I was, yet Amartolós was in the dark. "Oh, she's a pretty peach son. Too bad you won't get to meet her." I watch as the pocket knife sinks straight into his shoulder, causing him to groan in pain. “Now, are you ready to talk?"

"Yes." His voice sounded overworn, as if he'd been yelling for an eternity. He bobbed his head relentlessly towards Eros like he was giving up in some sort of way. But it was his father. After all this time, his father held him captive, chipping away at his pain.

"Good, I think it's time we finally meet again." My heart races as the zip tie released from Amartolós’s mask. He struggles at first as Eros attempts to remove it.

"I want to do it." He struggled as he spoke again.

"That's not how this works. If I release those chains, we both know how this goes."

"Yeah, you in a body bag," Amartolós mumbles.

"No, son, the other way around."

I watched as Eros wrapped his hands around the mask, and as he slowly lifted it.... my world stopped. I didn't know many things, but one thing I did know. Was that every time he entered my life, it shifted.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Theo Jones

As the mask was lifted off my face, I felt naked. For the first time in days, my skin could breathe after being concealed from my protection turned against me. Eros Onasis ruined my life too many times to count. So, when it began to ruin my mothers to protect her, the Jones last name was born. Telling Bella it was my mother’s and, for legal reasons, it needed to be done. But when it was time to make a name for myself, the Onasis name followed me—the one I chose to build myself into in the world of business.

I never thought he'd live after that night. I killed my father, the one who existed in my life as a child. He assaulted my mother and abused my sister. I was protecting them. I was always protecting them; it was like I couldn't breathe. There were only two times I’d ever been able to breathe, and one of them was with Angel. She was a total stranger who seemed to challenge me and even through loathe, I felt guilty falling for her.

"Amartolós, there you are, my boy." his hand gripped my chin as a wicked smile grew on his face, "Shocked to find me undead?" The pride on his face made me feel disgusted. I’ve failed in my life, but this one was up there with my greatest mistakes. I should’ve finished the job, but I left the body.

“I’ll have to do a better cleanup this time. You act so tough, but you could waterboard or burn me for as long as I live. I’d rather suffer and die than tell you where Mom and Arabella are." my voice was ragged as I spoke in half exhaustion and half adrenaline. The sound of a crack could be heard, and as the pain shot up my arm, I noticed it was one of my ten fingers.

He could break every finger or bone on me. I would never tell him where they were because where they were was where my life was, where she was. Chicago was my way into a new world, but with my old one, I left my life and happiness behind. I regret it most days, the success and a name for myself. It didn’t get me her; it didn’t get me what I wanted. Instead, it left me miserable and desperate to find it again.

But now the thoughts of his death ate me up, how I failed. When Bella came to me one-night years ago, she was convinced that Dad was alive. He didn't die in an ‘accident,' she argued after digging deeper into it. But I knew one day I couldn't be around for when she found the truth and when Hope would discover the truth. Because she wouldn't be safe, and so she couldn't be mine. I thought I was protecting her. But now, as I could die, I live with regret of how my life should’ve been.

A dripping sensation distracted me as I looked over at my arm, and I watched as the crimson liquid dripped down. I wish Eros would kill me now rather than later. I wasn't a martyr, and I wouldn't be a martyr, but I wasn't allowing this man to touch my family. One that no longer belonged to him.

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