Page 7 of Heartless Legacy

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

The words cut in and out from the static in the speaker, making them more ominous.

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock.”

I close my eyes, trying to block out the sound, listening for footsteps in the hall. My eyes pop open at the sound of the door hinges squeaking open. The man enters the room, his voice blends in with the recording. “Tick, tock. Tick, tock.” He stares at me, then repeats, “Tick, tock. Tick, tock. What time is it on the clock?” He asks, as if I know the answer.

He steps closer, answering his own question. “There is no clock. Time does not exist in hell.” Now that the door is open, I can hear people screaming in the halls. That means this room is soundproof. That can’t be good. The blaring alarms and loud panicked yells certainly give the impression that this place is a level of hell for the residents here.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks. Pulling my attention back to him.

“Should I?”

“I guess not. Why would you? It’s not like they want you rich bitches to know about me.”

I don’t bother correcting him on my monetary worth, since he seems to be in a talkative mood. “They’ve been playing with our lives for over a century. Making us do what they want. Forcing us to play their games and work the jobs they choose. We have to live where they want. Be who they want. It’s all for their amusement.” He strokes his thumb along his chin. “Malcolm thinks I’m still under his thumb, but the truth is Ihaven’t been for a very, very, long time.” He drags an appraising eye over my body. “He says you’re useless.”

“Malcolm doesn’t know me. I can be plenty useful. My scores show it.”

“Scores?” He cackles. “You mean that pathetic league marker? You think they care about something as trivial as scores? It’s a game which does nothing to advance your status in their world. Money, and the power it grants, is the only thing they really care about. The new initiative allowing women into their club was designed to fail.”

“I haven’t failed any of the tests.”

He’s staring at me again. I sit completely still, refusing to show how antsy his attention makes me. He asks, “Do you have any idea why they’re so interested in you?”

“Sure. It’s a way to punish my family for breaking a deal.”

“Correct.” He smiles like he’s happy I knew the answer. “They want you married off to one of their sons and producing heirs, since the women who should have done it twenty years ago shirked their responsibilities. They didn’t know they couldn’t force you into an arranged marriage, but once the news came to light, someone came up with the idea to let you earn a place in The League, expecting you to fail those challenges, and you would have ended up ranked with the other useless twits. At the bottom of the barrel.”

Bottom of the barrel. I know all about that. “Where I’d be poorly matched.”

“And desperate.”

“Right. Because desperate makes you stupid. And stupid makes you accept propositions and deals you shouldn’t. Like spreading my legs for dirty old men for money.”

He stiffens. Guess he’s the dirty old man in this scenario. “Did you think you were spreading your legs for free forthe Trium?” He sneers the word. “Because whatever gifts andtrinkets you got; the food, the drinks, the mattress you laid on, and the dorm room you lived in, all of that was paid for with their father's money.” He laughs. “Malcolm thought he was so slick, calling me to do his dirty work. I was happy to pretend to be his enforcer, while it benefitted me. But Malcolm is predictable, and the only thing I can trust is that he’ll make a play to cut me out of our deal.”

He’s staring at me again. “They blame me for what happened. For years, they’ve said, if I hadn’t been so interested in your mother, she wouldn’t have run. But it wasthem. They were the idiots talking about it all the time. Someone overheard our plans, and that made her run.”

He moves closer. “They’ve been shoving me away like a dirty little secret for years, only bringing me out when it’s time to find creative ways to break little toys, like you. So when Malcolm grabbed you and ordered you to be sent to Rockridge Psychiatric Hospital, I pretended to follow our usual protocols.” He laughs, giddily. “I’m sure by now, they’re probably running around trying to figure out where the hell you are, but they won’t find you. The League may own Rockridge, but I own the staff they use to discipline the patients. I’ve been putting my people in place for years and they never even knew it.”

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “You look just like her, you know? With those purplish blue eyes, and that mouth made for cock. Losing her cost me tons of money, but I think my clients will be happy with the replacement.”

Replacement for Moira? I catalogue the face of the pig who wanted an underage girl. He says he was working with Malcolm and someone else. “I understand your anger with Malcolm, but you’re just gonna cut out your other friend?”

“Friend? Would a friend cut me out of property deals because they don’t want their names associated with mine? They both chose their preciousleagueoverme.”

His eyes gloss over, his face flushes, his hands clench. He’s more than mad about what happened. He’s down right livid. This anger has been festering for twenty years, and the way he’s staring down at me… I’m clearly the proxy for Moira and mom.

There’s so much going on, I’m not sure which issue to address first, to diffuse this situation. His anger morphs into something worse. The color bleeds from his eyes, a twisted smirk dons his lips. With that smile comes the realization that being handcuffed to this bed is the least of my concerns.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this level of revulsion for a person. I’ve done a lot. Experienced a lot. Saw all manners of dark depravity growing up in Nags Creek, but this…the way he’s looking at me, has always been the shit that’s given my nightmares, nightmares.

Panic creeps along my spine. I force my mind to stay here in the present, instead of flashing back to the night that changed my life. He glares at me. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“I’m not laughing.” Am I? Shit. Maybe I am. “Maybe the drugs in my system or the blows to my head from Malcolm’s minions gave me brain damage.”

That could be partially true, because looking into the eyes of the devil suddenly has me calmer than when I came to. I know how this goes. There’s only three options here. Sell me to the highest bidder, force me to turn tricks, or kill me. The third option happens either way. It’s just a matter of how soon.

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