The scars of you (The scars series Book 1) Read online

  “You go get what you need and leave me to speak with Isabelle, alone,” he instructs. Jazz drops her hand and nods her head a little before skulking out of the room.

  “This is a test,” he whispers. “Nothing that happens here should ever be repeated. You got that?” His eyes are narrowed in on me, his eyebrows drawn together.

  “Of course,” I say in agreement.

  “Good. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  “This is a beautiful dress. May I ask what the special occasion is?”

  “I will allow that. I have a business meeting. After the meeting, I will introduce you as my new lover. You will play the part. We met at a bar called Nero’s where you were a waitress. We have been dating for a few weeks before we made it official and you moved in. Understand?”

  “I do,” I say, clasping my hands in front of me.

  “I expect you to act like my beloved at all times. If at any point you let me down or blow the whistle on how you really came to be here that will mean certain death. No second chances, my Bella.”

  “I understand.” I say with a smile that hides my deep-rooted pain. Not only am I being forced to be with this man, but my life hangs in the balance, unless I make this whole shitty situation look real.

  “Good,” he leans in, cupping the back of my neck. “Tonight, you are the showcase. My star attraction. Shine bright, my Bella.” I freeze on the spot as he leans in and presses his lips against mine. I close my eyes, trying to block out the man in front of me. The man I have to pretend I’m in a relationship with. The smell of cigars mixed with aftershave makes me want to shudder.

  “Good,” he says as he steps back, his eyes raking over my body. “I will send Jazz back in. She will work her magic and make you look just perfect for tonight.” He turns on his heel and heads out of the door, locking it behind him. I slowly walk over to the windows, looking out before discreetly checking the handles. Still locked.

  Shit.

  But I know it’s no use. I glance up to the cameras that follow me around the room, resting my back against the wall beside the window.

  I jump at the sound of the lock turning and race back over to the bed. I sit, staring at the door, waiting for someone to enter.

  “It’s just me,” the redhead sings as she walks through the door and I hear someone lock it behind her. She sways over to me, dropping the two metal cases on the floor. I look up at the woman smiling widely, standing in front of me.

  “So…” she tilts her head to the side, her lips pursed as she looks pointedly at me. “We are going to have so much fun,” she claps her hands together and for some reason, I can’t even force out a smile.

  “Everything I’ve brought for you today is yours to keep. I’m also going to show you how to apply the makeup so you can do this yourself. Right?”

  “Gotcha,” I say with a fleeting smile. The best I can muster right now.

  Jazz pulls out a chair placing it at the end of the bed. “Here, sit here,” she instructs, patting the chair with the palm of her hand repeatedly. I slide down from the bed and take the few steps toward the chair. I do as she says and sit rigidly in the chair while I watch her emptying the abundance of cosmetics out onto the floor. She starts to pile them up, explaining which kind is in each pile. I try to keep up, but cosmetics are new to me. I’ve never had any, my father didn’t allow it.

  “This is a lot to take in,” I say, holding my hand against my chest.

  “We’ll go through it all and I will explain. It might take you a little practicing if you have the time.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll have time,” I retort. “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur and I know she heard. She shoots me a sad smile, but she must know I’m not here by choice. The cameras, the door that is locked to prevent me leaving. For as much as she smiles at me, she’s no better than the monster who keeps me here. I will play the game, but I must keep my wits about me. My eyes will be fixed on the smiling assassin.

  I don’t trust her.

  I don’t trust anyone here.

  “What do you think?” She asks, holding up the mirror in front of my face. My jaw slackens and my eyes widen at the face staring back at me.

  “Wow,” I gasp, “is that really me?” I touch my cheeks, running my finger gently over my bright-red lips.

  “Careful,” she warns, “you don’t want to smudge your lipstick.”

  “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  “Beauty school,” she replies, removing the mirror and placing it back in her case. “Oh, wow,” she says looking at the watch on her wrist. “I should make a move before the guests arrive. You must be so excited. You are going to have such a wonderful evening.” She stands, grabbing the cases and I glare at her as she makes her way over to the door. I don’t know whether she’s truly naïve or trying to rub salt in the wounds.

  “I might see you some other time, Isabelle,” she smirks, her eyes now focused on the camera. “I’m done, can someone let me out.”

  I watch as the door opens and slams shut behind her. How could she? She must know what is happening here. I let out an almost silent growl of frustration, falling back onto the bed.

  Tears sting my eyes as they threaten to break through. I clamp them shut, forcing the tears away. I can’t ruin this makeup. There’s no way I can ever recreate this look. My body aches as I lay on the bed, the silence almost too much to take. It’s like the ultimate torture as I wait for his next move. If this was a game of chess, he’d be the king and I’d be the pawn.

  I’ve survived once; I have to believe I can again. Play the game. Be the pawn he wants, Isabelle.

  The sound of the lock turning puts me on high alert. I rush to my feet, making my way over to the bathroom, checking I haven’t ruined the makeup Jazz worked so hard to perfect. I smooth my hand over my hair, straightening the few stray pieces.

  “Isabelle,” his gruff voice calls out.

  “In here,” I reply sweetly, not wanting to spoil any chance of getting out of this room. Yes, it’s beautiful and luxurious and screams money, but I’m sick of seeing the same four walls. This room holds nothing but the worst possible nightmares for me.

  A hand suddenly caressing my neck causes me to jump. “You look beautiful,” he says with a sharp intake of breath. “So beautiful in fact, that it’s the one and only reason why I’m not tearing you out of this dress and fucking you until you’re screaming my name.”

  I close my eyes as his lips replace his hand. He places kisses against my neck and I can’t help the weird feeling that stirs inside me. I’m disgusted.

  I’m so repulsed by this man, yet my body is craving his touch.

  “You want me, don’t you, Isabelle?”

  My name lingers on his tongue as if he’s savoring it. I want to scream, NO! But I know I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut and remember their faces. I take my mind to the happy place. One the three of us shared. A feeling of warmth rushes through me as I think back to the first time I met Brax and Trav. Brax was larger than life: cocky, arrogant, but so delicious. His smile was the kind that made his lip curl at the corner. He always had mischief lurking in his eyes and lips. But Travis, he was the complete opposite. He was timid, sweet and a just a little geeky. He had this nervous habit of pushing up his metal-rimmed glasses, even when they weren’t falling down his nose.

  “I want to show you around my home, Isabelle. Tell me I can trust you,” he whispers, his hot, foul breath against my skin.

  “Of course,” I turn on the spot to face him. “We are a couple now, right? So that means I get to see the house we share together.”

  “Couple?” He narrows his eyes on me, his gaze burning into me like he wants to destroy me. I hate the look he is giving me. “Why would you say that?” He thrusts his hand forward, grabbing a huge chuck of my hair and winding it around his fist. I yelp as my head is yanked to the side. His face is close to mine, his white teeth on show as he growls at me. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe that you s
uddenly want to be here with me? You don’t play games with me, lady. Save the show for later.”

  I reach up, covering my hand over his as the pain of him pulling so tightly on my hair stings my scalp.

  “You’re right… I’m sorry.”

  “Your body may want me Isabelle, and believe me, so will your mind. But not yet,” he exhales loudly. “But it will. I will own every part of you. Your body, your mind and your motherfucking soul.”

  Boy, this guy is deluded. He will never own me. My body might betray me when he pleasures me. But that’s all. My mind and soul will never be his. I nod a little, but my movement is restricted.

  “Of course,” I choke out. “Just give me time.” I plead to him with my eyes. Time is exactly what I need. Not to fall for this crazy son of a bitch, but to work out how to get out of here, and that starts with getting out of this room. Trying to tell him what he wants to hear keeps backfiring, but given time, I will work out his personality. I will get the upper hand because I refuse to be captive yet again. I’m not that young, naïve girl anymore.

  “I’m going to give you one last chance. Do you still want me to give you a tour?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I answer, trying to speak with some enthusiasm. I’m excited, yet nervous. I have no idea what lies outside of these four walls, what is waiting for me on the other side.

  He glares at me and it seeps with an unspoken warning. I know I have to toe the line. Obey his messed up rules and fulfill his sick fantasies. It’s the only way I stand any chance of making it out of here alive. He drops the hold he has on my hair, and I relax back into a natural position.

  “Fix your hair. It’s a mess.” He barks his orders at me, and I dip my head accepting them. I turn quickly, ruffling my fingers through my hair and straightening the strands that are out of place. I stretch my wavering hand forward, reaching for the hairbrush just at the side of the sink. I try to steady the shake, taking in a huge, calming breath as I desperately try to fight back the fear and find my composure. I rake the brush through my hair, attempting to get it back to how it was. As soon as I’m satisfied, I reappear in the bedroom where he is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me.

  “Ready?” he asks, with his hand held out to me. I force a smile, close the small distance and link my fingers through his. “I’m taking a huge chance with you, Isabelle. I want to believe I can trust you, but you must earn my trust.”

  “I understand. I won’t let you down. Promise.” I say with the biggest smile I can force. He walks me over to the door, opening a small wooden box situated just beside the door. I watch as he rests his finger against the small screen located inside. I fight the urge to let my face show just how surprised I am. I hadn’t realized the entry system was controlled by fingerprint recognition.

  Shit.

  He holds open the door and I follow behind him, the thick door slamming behind me. I flinch a little but he squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to him. I glance up at him through my thick, ultra-long eyelash extensions. I study his profile for a second. His leather-like, pitted skin shows his age, but his features are strong. His wide jaw; his small, yet straight nose; and his full, plush lips; all make me think he was probably a good-looking, young man in his day. Yet, the years have taken their toll, that much is obvious.

  “You are on the top floor. This floor is completely out of bounds to the rest of my staff. They are only allowed access when I say so.”

  I stand in the hall; the stark white walls do nothing to help the dark corridor. There are no windows, not a shred of light streaming through and only a few small lamps on the wall. My eyes scan the area and I’m instantly drawn to the two doors on the other side of the hall. Unlike the thick wooden door, these are different. As I inspect them, I can only assume they are metal covered doors, one bright red the other black.

  “These two doors here,” he points over and my eyes land on the doors I’d just been inspecting. “These lead into my favorite rooms in this entire house.” His words have become quite animated, his hand moving in the air as he excitedly continues to talk. I listen intently, my eyes fixed on him.

  “The red door… well, we call that one the pleasure room. The black room is the complete opposite. It’s the pain room.”

  I gulp down the sourness rising in my throat at the thought of what could possibly be inside.

  “I can see you want to know more…” his eyes widen as he darts out his tongue, wetting his lips. The look of excitement is etched on his face; the lines around his eyes deepen as his smile widens revealing his teeth, like a wolf snarling at its prey.

  “I’m intrigued,” I say, drawing in a tiny part of my lip and holding it there between my teeth.

  “Your time will come, Isabelle. But not now. No,” he shakes his head, “Now isn’t the right time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Come now. We shall continue our tour.” He tugs on my hand, leading me to the right, making our way down the hall, guiding me down a set of spiral steps.

  He takes me down a level, showing me the door to the several bedrooms and bathrooms located on this floor, before taking me downstairs to the main floor. There are doors locked all over the place. Doors that require his fingerprint to allow access. I swallow down the sinking feeling that I’m totally out of my depth, that hatching some escape plan considering the security in this place is practically impossible. My mind wanders to why a guy like this would need such stringent security, anyway. Could it be that I’m not the first? Will I become disposable and replaced by another poor, unsuspecting victim?

  “I have two permanent members of staff,” he informs me as we walk into the huge kitchen. It isn’t the main kitchen; it’s more like a catering kitchen, stainless steel units and worktops everywhere, the sound of pans rattling in the distance.

  “Helena,” he yells as we stand at the entrance of the kitchen and I can’t help the shudder that works through me.

  “Yes, Sir,” she replies, scurrying toward us and stopping just in front. Her head is down and her blonde bob falls forward, covering her face.

  “I want to introduce you to Isabelle. She is staying with us, so I want you to make her feel at home, but also ensure she adheres to the rules of this residence,” he says, his eyes wide and his brows lifted.

  “Of course, Sir,” she replies, finally lifting her head, meeting his eyes. Fighting back a gasp, I’m horrified when I see her face. I feel like someone is sucking the air from my lungs as I try to stop my face showing the horror I feel deep inside. The woman standing before me is completely disfigured, deep jagged lines across her face. Her skin is mottled as though she has been badly burned, the skin so tight around her eyes that it’s dragging down her bottom eyelid like wax dripping from a candle.

  “Nice to meet you, Isabelle,” she looks at me with a blank stare, as though there is nothing behind those pain-filled eyes.

  I can’t help but wonder how this heavily disfigured woman came to work here. Is she another victim bound to this man and this house?

  “Nice to meet you.” I smile genuinely, part of me feeling sorry for her as I try hiding the shock of seeing her horrifically scarred face.

  “Relax,” he says, shaking my hand that he still holds tightly. “She doesn’t bite.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think that for a second,” I quickly respond, a little more panic in my tone than I’d wished for.

  “This way,” he says, pulling me unexpectedly out of the kitchen. I glance back over my shoulder as I try to remain balanced on my feet but unable to shake the uneasy feeling I get about Helena.

  I glance up at him as he charges forward, pulling my small frame behind him. We walk through room after room until we stop in a huge room with a table in the center. The dark wooden table isn’t like a typical dining table, it’s bigger. Much bigger. Like one you might expect in a large company meeting room. Only more regal, more expensive.

  “Sit,” he instructs, pulling out one of the chairs and lead
ing me until I’m seated. “Meet Harlan. He’s my live-in assistant.” I hear footsteps to my right and slowly turn my head as I wait for him to enter. He strolls in, standing beside Sir. I inhale, my nostrils widening as my eyes glance at the huge figure of a man standing beside my captor. He’s over six feet tall, with blond, messy hair and behind that suit, he holds an impressive physique. I focus my eyes on his chiseled face, and there is something quite attractive about him.

  I dart my eyes away, nervous that I’m staring and terrified of enraging Sir.

  “Harlan is my right-hand man. He works for me and only me. He is at my beck and call at all times and works purely from my instruction. If he gives you an order, I need you to understand that it’s as good as coming from me, you understand?”

  “Yes,” I reply nervously, but I’m interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing. Sir reaches into his pants, retrieving the phone.

  “I have to take this. Harlan, why don’t you show my guest to the west quarter.”

  “Sure,” he replies casually. Stepping up from the chair, I stand waiting for my next instruction. Sir storms out of the room and I anxiously look at Harlan.

  “Follow me,” he instructs with a wave of his hand.

  “What’s in the west quarter?” I say, a little breathlessly as I struggle to keep up with his super-fast pace.

  “We’ll be there in less than a minute,” he says with a smirk.

  “Sorry,” I say, dropping my gaze to the tiled floor.

  “Don’t apologize, I was just teasing.” He whispers, slowing his walking speed a little until I’m by his side.

  I study him for a second. I can’t help but think the monster’s right-hand man is being a little playful with me, and I’m not sure how to react. Is this a test?

  “I shouldn’t have asked,” I murmur.

  “This here is the west quarter.” He holds out his arms as we enter yet another hallway full of doors. “Here we have a gym, this here is the indoor swimming pool.”