Page 67 of Gamble with Me
Desperation, fright, and agony mixed in me, creating a tornado that I was unable to handle. It paralyzed me, and eventually, it turned me off. I became oblivious to the outside world. All I could think about was George's mutilated body hanging before my window.
It was all my fault.
-32-
Valeria
The fog clouding my brain slowly lifted, and my heavy eyelids opened. I stared into the shade, exhaling heavily.
I’d never seen the ceiling above me. The metal bars created a rectangular picture that engaged my tired mind into focusing on the maze. My eyes connected the dots, imagining different patterns as if I were watching the night sky.
"You're awake."
A deep baritone that sounded like a strange mixture of angelic melody complemented with demonic vocals disturbed me from picturing the bouquet of tulips. Unhurriedly, I turned my head to the side, zooming on the dark figure standing at the end of the bed. My heart missed a beat, and everything returned with crushing force.
Abruptly sitting up, I looked around, seeing nothing but an empty space. The last time I was in this warehouse, I was tied to the chair. This time, I lay on a comfortable four-poster bed with black silky sheets that felt cool against my skin.
"You kidnapped me again," I hissed, trying to remember how I got here, but the only thing that popped up was the conversation in my car.
"You fainted. I brought you here to relax," Zefarin objected calmly, walking to my side of the bed. I quickly moved away from his reach, locating the metal door on the other side.
"Thank you," I said, scanning my surroundings for the quickest way out of here. "Now, I would like to leave. I need to go to work."
"I texted your boss that you don't feel well," Zefarin announced nonchalantly, sitting on the bed. His white eyes never left my face. In the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand, he looked like a devilish mannequin from a circus show.
"You texted my boss," I repeated, staring at him blankly. "What about my daughter? I need to pick her up from school."
"Your mother-in-law picked her up two hours ago," he replied, trying to touch my hand, but I yanked it away.
My heart was frantically beating inside my chest, but I couldn't tell with absolute certainty if it was out of fear because he trapped me in his den again. It could easily be because I found his methods highly exciting.
Whatever the reason, I felt like I might collapse at any second. My hands trembled, and my mind wasn't able to devise a plan of action. I wanted to run, but my body wished to stay. I was exhausted, and his dominance and demanding behavior provided me with strange comfort that I desperately sought despite knowing it was wrong.
“Stay in bed, mon cœur.” Zefarin's soft voice cut through my thinking, soothing me. "I'll keep my distance if that's what you want, but you need some peaceful time."
"Peaceful time?" I repeated in disbelief, my temper rising. "You murdered a man and hung him before my window," I spat, barely containing my anger. "You're the reason I'm a mess right now!"
"It was a gift," he whispered apologetically, making me groan in irritation.
"I have a seven-year-old daughter at home!" I yelled, letting the gathered frustration out of my system. Crawling to him, I punched his shoulder hard. "What if she saw him!" I shouted, feeling tears burning in my eyes. "She already has trouble sleeping. Did you know she pees herself every other night!?" I slapped him again, my palm hurting from attacking him. "Do you have any idea what your little gift would cause if she saw it?"
"I'm sorry," he whispered, lowering his head, but it wasn't enough for me. He scared me to death. He endangered my daughter's mental state. He destroyed my fantasy of him. He deserved every fucking piece of my anger.
"I don't care that you're sorry," I hissed through gritted teeth. "I'm done with you. I don't ever want to see you again."
"You don't mean it," he opposed, taking my hand, but I slapped him again, moving as far as possible from him so he couldn't put his filthy hands on me.
"Oh, I mean it." My voice jumped an octave higher as I hopped from the bed. My bare feet collided with the stone-cold floor, but I refused to think about the shoes. I just had to get away from him.
"Valeria, be careful." He stood up, following my every move with his white eyes. "You're weak. You might faint again."
"I want to leave," I stated, ignoring his concerns. His attention was my biggest weakness. He knew how to get under my skin. I couldn't let him manipulate me again. He was a murderer, a psychopath. I couldn't have him in my life even when a huge part of me craved to forget about his sins and hide in his massive arms.
"I promise to let you go after you calm down and let me explain myself," he negotiated, and I hesitated.
Did I want him to defend himself against my accusations?
Of course, I did. But he couldn't change the fact he killed George. No matter the noble reasons behind his actions, he took someone's life.
