Page 22 of Marked

Son choix. Dad said. It needs to be his choice. You, Edouard, need to be his choice.

I want it so much, that I don’t care about that detail anymore, nor about my promise to give him space. The knife searches for freedom, scratching its tip against the wall. In my wake, it leaves a hollow, scratchy sound and possibly sliced wallpaper.

I could use a cigarette.

But I don’t have any, nor can I find my man Jeff who’s out there somewhere, hunting Romain down, dressed up identically to me.

Speaking of… where the fuck is everybody?

Reaching for the double spiral staircase I wait at the top and look outside through the massive, diamond-shaped windows. There’s movement outside. Is that the teacher they were talking off before? And is that…

A whiff of air passes behind me and I whirl around, taken by surprise, right in time to see the black cloak passing from one corridor to the other in a hurry. I don’t hesitate, but give chase.

It’s him, I think. It’s him!

My knife reaches out in an attempt to slice through the black hood, but the disguised stranger disappears right in time around the corner. He doesn’t look around, but keeps on running. He’s fast, the fucker, I can tell him that. We reach the next corner, this one leading toward the reception hall on the first floor.

It can’t be Romain, logically I know that. He’s not wearing a cloak. But my pent-up adrenaline needs an outlet and… ha! I can beat him here. My hand jerks out again, but movement in the corner of my eye steals my concentration. There’s someone else. I miss, and also fail to see whoever disturbed me once more. Until the other stranger grabs both hands around my shoulder and pulls me in, making me nearly stumble over my own feet. Very dangerous, considering I’m still carrying the knife. Holding me up, he moves around me until he’s in front of me. His mask is put up and I catch the cold stare of that weird cutie Robin.

“What’s up, baby boy? Was your man too tired to play with you?” I smirk. “Need me to help you out?”

He scoffs, but ignores my questions. “We’ve come out to give him some support,” he says. When he sees the knife in my hand he gives me a snarl of his upper lip and a shake of his head. “You’re crazy, Edouard.”

He pushes me away and I land with a twack against the wall, groaning like a caged animal, the tip of my knife pressed against wood.

“He’s going to pay you back for this, you know that,” I growl.

“Oh, I know. It was his idea. He told us we could play with the both of you a little tonight.” He giggles at his own words, and I swear, I’m going to have a word with Arsène if Robin is right. They’re all the same, these preppy rich kids. Horny for sensation. Oh, I’ll give them plenty of sensation.

But before I can give Robin a taste of his own medicine, he has darted away, following his anonymous friend as they run toward the party on an obnoxious, lingering chortle. Shaking my head, my own lip ticks up in amusement. They’re right, we all love the game. As long as we win.

“I set him free.” Those were the exact words Dad used, a little over two years ago. And then Romain was just gone, poof…disappeared from my room as if he hadn’t spent the last two and a half years under my control. The golden leash was gone, like it had never been there in the first place. But his scent remained, the fresh smell of lavender wash we used combined with his own, woodsy scent. It wasn’t perfume, because I knew he didn’t own any. No, it was all unique. All Romain.

The toys were still there. Golden cuffs with plush sewed insides, plugs of different sizes, the cat ears and tail, the body harness that made the dips and valleys of his lean body come out so perfectly, the mouth gag, and of course, the silken, golden strings.

But he was fucking gone and I lost it.

I spent the next months boxing even harder, playing nasty, wearing myself out. Cuts and bruises, I didn’t give a damn, until Dad told me to lay off Seb and Karim. When that didn’t work, he gave me less time for physical training in my tight schedule. Said he needed me in the field. The first few times we went together. I remember feeling so confused. Here I sat, together with the man I loved so much, the man who’d been my example for as long as I lived, yet I felt empty inside.

“Learn the tricks first,” he said. I didn’t understand their meaning, but I was a fast learner. And though I hated to admit it at first, I loved working with Dad. Loved the interrogations, the torturing, the beating. I discovered that our family worked for the ultra rich, solving quarrels the old-fashioned way. I also discovered the drugs. There was so much more than just coke. So. Much. More.

“You tell him that I’ve come to collect what’s mine!” I growl after Robin. The words linger in the quiet hall. Rolling my tongue over smooth gold, I scan the other side of the hall. “I’ve fucking had enough.”

In the distance, I pick up on the vague sounds of the piano and the gong. Someone cries out. Over there, they are continuing the party. But over here, I can feel the air densing with anticipation. Something’s here.

Someone.

He walks by himself, a lost, dark frame with navy-blue pants and a shirt that was white before the night started. Black silk blankets the upper part of his face. It’s the knife that gives him away though. That small, silver pocket knife that he still has clutched in his palm.

Is he afraid? I wonder. Is he as captivated as I am by this gothic, dark evening? By the capabilities of this group of privileged students and their peers to organize these powerful, sensual nights filled with carnal pleasure?

Romain hasn’t seen me. He’s walking through a narrow hall, approaching me, having left the North Wing and the dorms. I wonder if he hid in his room, under the warm blankets of his bed. The thought is strangely endearing.

Then, right as he’s about to access the open space from where I’m watching him, he halts. His face tips to the side and he purses his lips. “Hello?”

Footsteps. They’re approaching fast. My own heart rate picks up, only to create that delicious buzzing deep in my stomach when I see who it is. Jeff, right on fucking time.

“Edouard,” Romain whispers to my man as he changes his rapid steps to a slow, calculating approach. He’s been caught, my pet, like a deer in headlights. Lifting his hands to shield himself, Romain takes a step back. His back bumps against the wall. “I—I want to explain,” he stammers. Jeff cocks his head and I fist my hands as I peer at Romain, eyes turned to slits. I’m curious too, for fuck’s sake. And a little apprehensive.

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