Read Roman: Book 1 Online

Authors: Kimber S. Dawn

Roman: Book 1 (7 page)

My eyes never leave his as his grasp around my neck tightens and his nails bite into my skin.

I push the words lodged in my throat out right before my world goes black, “It’s true, all of it, all twelve… It’s true. You have been Satan in an angels cloak all along, they were always right. I just didn’t want to believe…”

That’s it. That’s all she wrote ladies and gents. I’m done. If not on this day, in the end, whenever he chooses, I will die at his hands knowing it was me who delivered myself to him on his front doorstep, eagerly, hopefully, and dressed to the nines complete with my favorite fuck me pumps.

Chapter 7

Her words keep looping through my mind,
“It’s true, all of it, all twelve… It’s true. You have been Satan in an angels cloak all along, they were always right. I just didn’t want to believe…”

After I’ve cleaned the damage my nails did to the skin of her neck I bandage it, which goes against my very own nature.  I slide a needle in her arm and inject a few cc’s of epinephrine to wake her up but she must be in shock because after more than the suggested dose she’s still unconscious.

Her words are like a quickly spinning spider web, sticking to any and all previous questions or assumptions I’ve had about what the hell it is Heather Mackenzie wants with me.

In the beginning I excused her presence as nothing more than a young smitten girl. A girl who was fresh into her second year of pediatric residency according to the family PI my father keeps on retainer. However
,
after her continued efforts even with my blatant rudeness and mocked annoyance towards her, I thought her to be seriously unstable and toyed with the idea of her being infatuated with me to the point of possible insanity.

The notion should have, and would have raised flags and spurred me to shut her out. If she wasn’t such a damn enigma for me on every level.

I want her addiction more than I want to see her eyes bulge and the vessels burst, bleeding red
into
white. I desire both, but how can I yearn to see her bleed from the nicks I cause as well as have the urge to protect her from all evil?

And for fucks sake, what the HELL did her words
“It’s true, all of it, all twelve… It’s true. You have been Satan in an angels cloak all along, they were always right. I just didn’t want to believe…”
mean!?

Before I realize what’s happened a crack splits the air between us, my palm stings and my handprint reddens the alabaster skin of her cheek as the words rip from my throat, “What do you want from me, goddamn you?!”

Anger boils inside me sending my self-control over the edge.  Part of me watches in amusement as Satan takes over. I wrench her limp body from the stone floor and drag her across the sitting room, through the long hallway towards the back of the house until finally descending the old cellar stairwell to my demonic playground. This is my lair where I revel in cutting the skin away from muscle and adipose tissue.

After I grasp the last remaining straws of control and feel my being merge with Satan I take over our actions and string her body from the ceiling using all of my favorite insidious manacles.

I do this for her own good.

I realize she’ll not agree with me initially and I understand she will need to learn her actions have consequences. She gave herself over to me as a gift, wrapped in clothing fit for an expensive escort and in doing so she handed me her life and her freedom.

I wonder if she realized her little rant, ‘I’ll plow down these gates with my car!’ is what caused me to open the gate not only of my home but also the gates of hell.

I so hope Ms. Heather Mackenzie has the ability to hold my interests longer than Julia or the other twelve.

She has been unconscious for three days. Three fucking days from a chokehold? Are you kidding me? I swear to God, it’s a damn miracle I haven’t started carving her up for sheer entertainment! GODDAMMIT!

If her last words were not ricocheting through my brain like shrapnel, I would have began carving within the first six hours of her being imprisoned in my home.

She can thank her last conscious seconds for the life of hers I am allowing to continue.

I am beyond livid when I am left without any options and I angrily insert a second IV into the opposing arm with the IV I have titrated to keep her hydrated. After I shake the bag of lipids and…well in all honesty an ensure milkshake suitable for the bloodstream, I begin the IV pump with TPN to be administered intravenously at the suggested rate.

Sighing, I step back running my eyes over her and take in the sight of her lying on the bed which is situated in the center of the elaborate guest bedroom I specifically designed for Heather on her second day at Payne manor.

If she were awake she would see the utter resentment and
disdain
on my face. Twelve hours after I dragged her down the cellar stairs the overwhelming need to unstring her from the shackles took precedence. 

I am not in the mood to humor your envisaged illusions or any romantic notions you believe I am beginning to feel. You see, I know what your pathetic mind is entertaining even after all I’ve told you. You would like to ask me why I chose to unchain Ms. Mackenzie.  Why would I choose to remove her from a torture chamber and insert her into a boudoir? Well allow me to enlighten you, the only reason I had my decorator set up this room is because it became increasing clear with every passing hour Ms. Mackenzie’s risk of infection increased
,
and as a physician, I knew in only a few short hours any pressure points could evolve into pressure ulcers, which in turn could lead to gangrene.

And who on this green earth wants to ram their cock inside a body riddled with gangrene? No, I’m asking you. Who? Because I’d like to meet the sick fucker and take him to lunch, let him know he won. 

My neurotic need to hear her explanation as I look into her dark brown eyes spurs me into action.  I draw up 2 cc’s of epinephrine, plug the needless hub into her Ringer’s IV line and slam the syringe plunger which floods her veins immediately.

Seven minutes and twenty eight seconds later, I repeat the dose.

My chest tightens when two seconds later my efforts are rewarded with Heather Mackenzie fluttering her eyelids open to reveal her dark brown eyes as they collide with my blue ones.

She smiles… Yes,
SMILES
at me then snuggles into the down comforter I may or may not have tucked around her. I honestly don’t remember how the sheets and comforter went from tangled around her ankles to tightly tucked around her frame.

I am definitely thrown off my game as she smiles and her eyelashes flutter closed before she purrs the words, “Mmmm…I always knew you were not the bad guy, I told them, but they didn’t want to believe me.”

She sighs as she slips back into her laudable oblivion missing the wicked chuckle which drifts across the moonlit room before I am able to taunt her, “You silly, naïve little mouse.”

Chapter 8

I feel sleep caressing me like a welcome lover when his words register and reverberate through every molecule of my being
“You silly, naïve little mouse.”

In a sudden rush every moment from me checking out of the Holiday Inn to going unconscious rolls over me in waves and I’m not certain if it was my years of training in the academy, my survival instincts or both that allowed me to keep my breathing and my heart rate at a calm and steady rate.

Focus.

The key is to focus by diverting your attention. Focus not on the things you fear might happen and instead focus on the here and the now. 

Don’t pity me, don’t disregard my silly notions, and you damn well better not mock me. I know how it may seem to an outsider how ridiculous and naïve I’m being. And yes, my arrival at his front gates, demanding entrance may have been both the proverbial and literal nail in my coffin, but I couldn’t live with being torn in two different directions any longer.

As my eyes focus, I blink up at a ceiling and it takes my addled brain a moment to focus on the canopy above resembling images I’ve seen of the Sistine chapel. After I study the images I realize I am looking down on a tornado from the top.  Clouds swirl from white to grey so charcoal interspersed with beautiful angels who are unaware of the storm raging around them.

I’m thankful when I realize I’m no longer tethered by the shackles hanging
from a ceiling much different than the one I’m staring at now. The first time I felt the sting of the needle sliding into my vein I was able to mask the surge of adrenaline that I calmly and passively endured and ignored.

As my senses return and I become aware of my surroundings I realize I’ve been draped in a sheet which would make the most luxurious hotel envious and I’m lying on a mattress made from clouds pulled from the sky.

The sensuous sensation of soft
,
feather light fingertips brush across the tender flesh of my ankles before suddenly morphing into clenching steel vices wrenching me from the bed and tossing my body, slamming me against the cold stone floor. Roman’s voice booms through the room and bounces off bare walls, “What the fuck do you know about the twelve? Tell me goddammit!”

Oh my God! Oh my shit. I’m dead already.

How does he know I know about the missing twelve— and then, I remember…

“It’s true, all of it, all twelve… It’s true. You have been Satan in an angel’s cloak all along, they were always right. I just didn’t want to believe…”

As soon as my last words reverberate through my mind, my first coherent words spill forth…
“I always knew you were not the bad guy, I told them, but they didn’t want to believe me.”

Dear God… Please tell me those crazy bullshit words weren’t the first words my insanity allowed to fall from my lips upon gaining lucidity. Please.

I hear Roman chuckling before his deep baritone shakes my skull. “Those were your first words little mouse, and I assure you praying will do you no good.” It’s within this moment I realize when my consciousness slipped, my sanity fell along side her.

I remain as still as possible lying on the floor in an attempt to regulate my breathing and calm my heart rate when he barks out, “Stand the fuck up!” and stalks towards me; my fight or flight instinct surges through my veins as he rears back his foot and kicks me so hard in my side it sends me flying into the wall. As soon as my body slides down the wall I roll onto my non-injured side and curl around myself in an effort to relieve the pain
,
but the trembling of my body only makes the pain worse
,
and I’m unable to slow down the anxiety attack barreling its way through me.

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