Deliverance for Amelia (4 page)

Chapter Seven: Gabe

“
A
H, MR. JACKSON. YOU’RE RATHER QUIET TONIGHT.” I murmur as I examine this poor soul. His limbs have been rendered useless from The Rack. His right eye is non-existent from the hot tar I’ve regularly dripped into it. The rest of his body is covered in blisters from the Lead Sprinkler. I’ll need to dispose of him soon, but I figured sweet Amelia would want to meet my other houseguest eventually. She’s only been stuck with me for the week that she’s been here.

Speaking of, my phone buzzes and to my surprise – it is dear old dad. I can only assume that he’s checking up on his beautiful daughter. Perhaps I’ll even get his blessing, though I imagine that’s unlikely.

“Tony! It’s a pleasure to hear from you once more!” I say enthusiastically.

I hear heavy breathing on the other end, “Gabe, you sick son-of-a-bitch, you let her go! She has nothing to do with this!”

I smile as I adjust Mr. Jackson’s bow-tie around his neck. I’ve managed to dress him in a lime green shirt and a polka dot bow-tie - no pants though, only his undies. Now he looks like the clown that he is. I pretend to “honk” his nose playfully before responding, “Now, now Tony. I can’t do that. We’re having a small get together tonight.” I wave my hand dramatically, “I would have invited you, but I know you’ve been so busy with the campaigns that I figured it would be best not to bother you.”

“I-I will find you, Gabe. I’m a powerful man.”

I smirk, “Ah yes, a powerful – bankrupt man. You’ll never find me or
her
until I have the money that’s owed.”

I hear his breathing calm, “How long do I have?”

I chuckle, “I’ll let you know when I grow tired of her. For now - we’re having loads of fun.”

“YOU SON-OF-A-”

I snap the phone shut and my gaze finds Mr. Jackson’s single working eye, “It’s a good thing Mrs. Jackson paid up, otherwise she’d be in the same hot seat as greedy Mr. Mayor.”

“Amelia, you look stunning as usual.” I whisper as I approach her. She’s standing in front of the mirror, her hair pulled up elegantly. The diamond teardrop earrings that I gave her capture the light perfectly. She’s wearing the form fitting silk gown that I bought her, though I like her better with no clothing at all.

I stand behind her, our gaze locking onto each other’s in the mirror, she sighs when I plant a soft kiss on her bare shoulder.

She’s training wonderfully and she continues to respond to my touch, which is fantastic. I can’t wait to bury myself deep inside of her, but I want her to see my true self first. I want her to know why and how I’m such a successful man. A man she should bow down to.

“We’re having a small dinner party, I do hope that you do not mind entertaining a guest, darling.”

Her eyes grow wide and fill with hope, it takes everything in me not to smile in amusement.

I lead her to the formal dining room, she’s taken aback by its beauty. The sleek, black table seats twelve, but I have set it for three; me at the head of the table – of course, Amelia to my right and my guest directly across from her. I show her to her seat and she looks surprised when I swiftly secure the chain around her ankle under the table. I have a feeling that she will want to run after my surprise guest shows.

I walk to the kitchen and place the steaks cooked to rare perfection, along with the fingerling potatoes and asparagus that I’ve prepared onto a tray before walking back to the dining room. I serve equal helpings to the three plates and she grimaces as she watches the blood seep from the meat. Annoyed, I grab her chin and yank her face towards mine, “Do not be rude, Amelia.” She swallows audibly as her gaze drops back to her plate.

“Now, I am going to go fetch our guest… Try not to stare, he isn’t looking too attractive these days.” I pause and laugh, “Who am I kidding? He never was!”

Amelia remains motionless as I make my way to my study. I tap in the code and the secret door opens to my play room. I already have Mr. Jackson strapped into a wheelchair so I can move him easily to the dining room. He has puss leaking from his eye, along with the other nasty openings that are visible on his body. A mixture of drool and blood drip from his bottom lip. I’ve ripped his tongue to shreds, so I doubt he’ll be able to eat much.

Chapter Eight: Amelia

I
’VE FOUGHT MY RESTRAINT RELENTLESSLY, to no avail. A defeated sigh escapes me when I realize that the table is bolted down. It seems my Master is prepared for everything.

My mouth waters - my stomach threatening to give way if I even try to put the raw meat into my mouth. It looks to have been seared momentarily on each side, the middle remaining completely uncooked. I don’t even eat meat.

My eyes dart to the entrance as I hear the squeaking of wheels accompanied by footsteps. Gabe has the dining room dimly lit. A single candle flickers in between our trio of plates and there are sconces throughout, offering a low light. I cannot make out the person until he gets closer. Once I see him, my hand flies to my mouth and tears spring to my eyes.

Gabe parks the man in the wheelchair right across from me before sitting at the head of the table.

“Let’s dig in.” He says as he ravages his steak.

I feel my stomach twisting and bile rising to the back of my throat. All it takes is some type of bodily fluid to drip from the man’s non-existent eye for my stomach to give way. I lean to the side and release the contents of my stomach onto the floor.

“Oh dear.” Gabe says before continuing, “Amelia, if you were not feeling well, why didn’t you tell me? Look at this mess.”

I shakily wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as my eyes meet Gabe’s. He looks incensed.

“I do hope you plan to clean that up.” He says sternly.

“Y-Yes, Master.” I manage to whisper.

He leans back in his chair as he stares at me intently, “So what was it? The rare steak or the grotesque Mr. Jackson?”

“Oh, neither Master, I’m just not-”

I jump when his fist slams down onto the table, “Do not lie to me.”

I feel the tears run down my cheeks, “Both, Master.”

“Ah.” He says as he stands and puts his hands behind his back, “Silly me, I forget that I’ve become accustomed to such sights in my line of work.”

My lip trembles as I try to spit out the question.

As if he reads my mind, he stops abruptly, “Well, go on. Ask me.”

“What i-is your line of w-work?” I stammer and I jump once more when he claps his hands together.

“I thought you’d never ask, Amelia!” He walks towards the man that he refers to as Mr. Jackson, “This is my line of work.”

“I don’t understand.” I whisper.

“People pay me to take care of problems – Mr. Jackson here, was a problem.”

My eyes grow wide as he reaches over the man to retrieve a steak knife, “See, not only was he a problem for his wife, he’s also a problem for you – I can’t do anything about that dead cow on your plate, but I can do something about Mr. Jackson.”

Before a scream can escape my lips, he impales the knife into the man’s neck and begins moving it in and out, his eyes never leaving mine. Blood is going everywhere, on Gabe… the table.

I scramble from my chair and a mixture of sobs and screams escape me.

Before I know it, Gabe has me on my back and is screaming in my face like a wild animal. Once I stop, he does as well. A twisted smile displays on his handsome face, his beauty betraying the pure evil pumping through his veins.

“You scream, I scream, we all scream.” He sneers before leaping to his feet and wheeling away the deceased man. I remain on the floor, my chest heaving and the tears falling uncontrollably.

I’ve been sitting for a couple of minutes when Gabe returns and kneels in front of me, “You look like you could use a bath, my love.” His tone is eerily calm after his obvious psychotic episode.

He releases me from my restraint and gathers me into his arms before carrying me up the stairs. He looks to have washed up, his shirt is gone and his arms and hands are clean. The thought of him touching me with the man’s blood all over him makes my stomach flip.

Once in the bedroom, he walks to the bathroom and puts me down as he begins running the bath water.

He turns and stalks towards me before placing his hands on my face. I stare at him with bleary eyes.

“Why does my father owe you money, Master?” I whisper.

He smiles momentarily before his face drops into a frown, “Why do you think, Amelia?”

My lip trembles when I think back to the journalist that disappeared. I found it odd since it was the same journalist that was causing problems for my father; his name was Mark Tipton.

“He wouldn’t.” I murmur.

Gabe strokes my cheeks lightly with his thumbs, “There are a lot of people who are wolves in sheep’s clothing. That is your father. He was figured out, and blackmailed. When he feared that his life of luxury would end, he called me. He paid me half upfront and promised the other half once the deed was done. He never paid up, and now I have you.” He pauses, his moss green eyes searching mine, “I’m a wolf, and I do not wish to cover up my sins with sheep’s clothing. I’m a wolf in wolf’s clothing.”

I frown as I take in his words. What he said was profound in a horrific way. I knew that my father was a crooked leader. There were countless people that threatened that they would reveal his secrets of money laundering and his multiple affairs before they disappeared mysteriously. I had always assumed that it was the charm of a politician that helped him get off so many times before, that and I never would allow my admiration for my father to be tainted. Now I know that it was his order to have a man killed, a man who had a wife and young child. What happened to the others that simply vanished?

“How many?” I ask.

Gabe shakes his head, a dark look on his face.

“Get undressed, and bathe.” He says before disappearing into the bedroom.

Chapter Nine: Gabe

I
POP OPEN A BEER, exhausted after beginning the “disposing” process for Mr. Jackson. I jumped into the shower downstairs to wash away the blood and bits of flesh; the scalding hot water washing away my sins.

His body is cut into small pieces, thanks to my trusty electric saw. It took me a while to find the proper one that wouldn’t crap out when a tuft of hair got caught in the blades.

I seared off his prints with a blow torch and put the pieces of his body into containers which I then filled with cement. Once they dry tomorrow, I will load them up into my pick up and dump them in random places. Some will go into the river, others will be scattered throughout the woods surrounding my home.

Nobody ever questions my wealth, or what I do for a living. I was left a hefty inheritance, one which would keep a dozen different families financially well off, and then some for their children and grandchildren.

I was always “troubled” as my father would say. He made it a constant point to point out every single flaw, and my mother would just quietly look on, as if we were the fucking Brady Bunch. I didn’t go around tying cat’s tails together over a clothesline or anything, but I have always had a passion for pain, for blood, for the relentless pleas; they’re like a song to my ears.

My father wanted me to take over his company - a corporate string of grocery stores. However, I had other plans. He was epically pissed when I joined the military and eventually became a sniper. The others who served alongside of me were devastated when they returned from our tours. Me, I couldn’t get enough war. Deaths, screams… all of it.

When my father passed and my mother soon after, I went home. My contract was up with the Army, and when I was about to re-enlist, a friend of my father’s asked me to do a “job” for him. That’s when it all began, the rich caught wind of what I am capable of and I gained a network of trusted clients, clients who would never cross me, clients who have, and have paid the ultimate price. I’m not the man that you want to see in an empty parking garage. I would tell you to ask Mr. Jackson, but… well you already know what happened there.

Anyway, I sold my father’s corporation for a pretty penny, along with the mansion where I spent my childhood and I had this beauty built up in the Appalachian Mountains. Couldn’t I just snipe my victims and get it over with? Of course I could, but where’s the fun in that?

I hate redundancy. I like each kill to be different. I developed a fascination with medieval culture and torment when I was a teenager. It draws me in because it was a time of extreme brutality, but it was also so primal. I feel as though society has forgotten our barbaric ways, which long ago were a necessity for survival. People have gotten too soft. I follow my primal instincts when I kill… and when I fuck. I like owning. I like claiming. I like killing.

What can I say? Some people want to fight their demons. Me? Well, I like to play with mine.

My eyes snap up to the entrance of the kitchen as Amelia slinks in. She’s wearing one of my plain white t-shirts and nothing more. Her hair is damp and her eyes locked onto the floor. I’m assuming that she’s wearing my t-shirt to cover up, which is annoying – though she does look pretty hot in it. It practically swallows her, the sleeves hanging down to her elbows and the hem falling right above her knees.

“I see that you’ve helped yourself to my things, Amelia.” I say sternly.

Her eyes meet mine momentarily before she diverts them again.

I take a swig of beer before stalking towards her. Her shoulders curl inward as she tries to cower.

“I like it.” I whisper and she narrows her eyes at me. I play with a loose strand of her hair and she bites her lip.

“You scare me.” She whispers, her lip quivering.

I cock my head to the side, I’m an apathetic bastard. I could give a shit less if I scare someone, but sweet Amelia is different. So small. So innocent. So delicious.

I tilt her head up and brush my lips against hers, her once frigid body begins melting into me. I pull at the hair at the back of her head and she sighs as my tongue makes its way into her mouth and past her teeth. Her trembling hands begin running up my sides and she stops abruptly and pulls away, her eyes finding mine.

“I-I’m sorry Master.” She whispers.

I sigh as I run a thumb over her soft cheek, “Do you want to touch me, Amelia?”

I see the rose red rise to her cheeks as she hesitates.

“Yes, Master.” She responds, exhaling the shaky breath that she’s been holding.

I pull the shirt from over my head and throw it onto the counter. I gently grasp her wrists and place her hands on my chest, “Touch me.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine as she runs her hands from my pecks and then down to my abs. She stops and breathes in sharply once she gets to my happy trail. I smile as I grab her hand and lead it to the bulge that has grown in my pants. She almost loses her balance and I grip the small of her back and hold her tightly against me. We stand like that for several minutes, her brown eyes look into mine with so much emotion, want, hesitance, fear. I grab her hand and lead her to the stairs.