Page 4 of Vicious Games

Soon, I would no longer be caught in his twisted web. My first attempt to escape him had been half-assed and poorly planned. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

In secret, I had been planning a second attempt for weeks. I had finally heard from the director of classical instrumental disciplines at the Conservatoire de Bourgogne-Franche-Comte. He had been thrilled at my interest in his school. Before Roman had forced his way into my life, I had only been looking at Parisian universities. This time, I searched further into the French countryside. I hoped it would be harder to find me that way. The Conservatoire was in Dijon, as far away from Roman as I could manage while still pursuing my music career in France, which had always been my dream.

Everything was all set. Mr. Rochefort, the director, had offered me a full scholarship as well as room and board. When I responded that I also needed assistance with a train ticket, he immediately obliged and even offered me a small stipend from his personal finances. At first, I objected, stating that I would find a job, but he insisted. He wanted me focused purely on my music.

I left in a fortnight.

Fourteen days.

Just fourteen days to go before I disappeared from Roman’s life.

I should be elated.

I wasn’t.

I ached at the thought of never seeing him again. It was insane, of course. I was probably suffering from a strange form of Stockholm syndrome. He was a sadistic crush, that was all. The very embodiment of the trauma I had been through since my mother’s murder and the upheaval of my entire life. All I needed was space and time away from him. Yes, space would heal my wounded soul from all the proverbial cuts and blows it had sustained at his hand.

And in time, I would forget him.

My heart physically hurt at the thought. It was foolish, even for an unspoken thought.

I would never forget Roman. Never.

A sick, twisted part of me almost wished he would find out about my plans and stop me.

Since the man was part demon and always seemed to know what I was thinking, I returned my focus to the piano, not wanting him to guess at my thoughts. In a show of cheeky defiance, I played ’Where I Stood’ by Missy Higgins, another song that reminded me of Roman.

Before I had finished the first few chords, a sheet of paper floated down on top of the slick black surface of the piano.

Then another.

And another.

I frowned.

One of the papers slipped over the edge and covered my fingers. It was a color printout of a real estate listing for a massive luxury house.

The air froze in my lungs.

No. No. No. No.

In horror, I scanned the paper until I saw the address.

The house was in Dijon, France.

I swallowed, grimacing at the bitter bile that rose in my throat.

Roman’s large hands settled over my shoulders from behind. The stubble on his jaw scraped my cheek as he leaned over to growl in my ear, “If you wanted to move to France, you only had to say so, baby girl. Pick a house and I will buy it for us.”

No. No. No. No.

He knows. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He knows.

I clasped my trembling hands and placed them in my lap. “What makes you think I want to move to Dijon?”

Roman caged me in with his arms as he placed his hands on the keys. I had recently discovered I wasn’t the only one who had musical talent. He was actually an extremely gifted musician, although he preferred playing the violin. He told me once it was so he could control the music better. His fingers danced over the ivory keys. At first, I was confused. I was listening for the early strains of a familiar classical piece, but didn’t recognize what he was playing. Then it hit me. He was playing the creepy opening strains from Eminem’s ’Love the Way You Lie.’

He knows.

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