Page 114 of Voracious

32

KADE

Each day has been like an episode of a horror movie, and I’m the main character.

Unnecessary deaths. Receiving and giving excruciating pain. Unwanted and forced sex. Drugs that could kill injected into my veins. Being in a damn coma for two weeks after they found me near dead next to my mangled car.

I have scars on my ribs, the back of my head, a permanent dent on my forearm, and just to add to the mix of bullshit, no one knows where I am. My family thinks I’m working on a project for my studies – a message Bernadette sent to my mother before she had my phone destroyed.

Nearly a year – but it feels like a fucking lifetime of having my freedom stripped from me. I’ve been tethered to Bernadette since I was nineteen, but at least then I was given days, sometimes weeks of a break – now that’s gone.

Staring into the mirror of the hotel bathroom, I fist my hands, wanting nothing more than to smash the glass and slice into an artery or toss myself off the top of a building. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically.

I wet my lips, eyes dropping to the brand I wear – a deep scar from the corner of my mouth, down my chin and throat, stopping right where my heart is. It’s becoming less purple every day, though it’s still a bit itchy. I can still feel the sharp knife cutting my skin, the scream trapped in my lungs that I couldn’t let out.

Another one of Bernadette’s stupid games. I had to choose between hurting Base or doing that to myself, so obviously I chose the latter. It’s ugly – annoyingly noticeable. I keep my hood up and my eyes down so people don’t stare at me when I walk past them. I started doing that after a Russian lady asked me to cover up so I’d stop scaring her child.

She’s dead now.

My rage got the better of me and I snuck out of my hotel, hunted her down, slit her throat and tossed her in a river. Her remains were found, and it hit the news before Bernadette could fix it. I found out she was abusive to her five-year-old son, so I guess I did him a favour.

To try to stay in the real world, I’ve snuck a few clients’ phones while they slept. Checked social media – mainly. Luciella is back home and waiting for her final semester to begin. Safe. Constantly posting quotes – now and again trying to reach out to Base by posting stuff about him.

I have no idea what Stacey is doing, since she deleted all of her accounts and disappeared. She’s probably, hopefully, partying and living her life as she should have been before meeting me. I hope she’s happy, dancing, full of life and love and music.

Fuck, I miss her.

Bernadette kept me to herself for a month, but when people started offering her more money, she gave in and sold me to her clients again. The delusional cunt stopped me from offing myself a few months ago, saying with me gone, there would be nothing standing between her and my family. So, yeah. I’m still here. Breathing. But not fucking willingly.

A knock on the door has my shoulders tensing. “You fly out in an hour,” the high-pitched voice says. “Come back to bed for a bit.”

I close my eyes.

A contract came in earlier for us to take out a family – husband, wife, little ten-month-old girl and their live-in babysitter, and I’ve been trying everything to avoid it. I even manipulated and seduced Bernie this morning to try to get her to drop the mission, but she caught on and sent me to her daughter’s room instead.

The daughter I’m being forced to marry.

If I could cut my dick off, I would. But Bernadette would still find a way to fuck with me.

I hunt for my shorts in the dark, sneaking around as quietly as possible when I see Cassie’s fallen back to sleep. If I wake her, I might strangle her to death.

So. Fucking. Tempting.

After I get dressed and make my way to the door, she sits up and holds the blanket to her chest. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, almost robotically.

“I’m going to get them to stop using you for work. If we’re going to get married, then I don’t want you in other people’s beds.” She’s said this before, but so far Bernadette refuses to agree. Not that it matters.

“I’m not fucking marrying you.”

“You are. Mother will see to it that you do.” She juts out her bottom lip, letting the duvet slide down over her tits. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Images of me slitting her throat infiltrate my mind. The sounds of her choking on her own blood would be so sweet. Before I can make it happen, I grab my bag and slam the door behind me on the way out.

On the plane, Base sits beside me, his pupils fully blown as his leg bounces beside me. “You good?” I ask, my voice quiet enough that only he can hear me.

“Great,” he replies, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back. “Just fucking great.”

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