Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy) (4 page)

I allow OnStar to direct me home, and as soon as I pull my Audi R8 into the five-car garage and hit the garage door button, my cellphone rings. When I hear my father’s voice on the other end I tense and immediately regret not letting the call roll over to voicemail.

“Son, explain to me why your mother and I were the last to hear of our daughter-in-laws death and subsequent funeral. Then you explain to me why you,
YOU
, her husband and the father of her child didn’t attend and pay his respects.”

Walking into the kitchen through the mud room from the garage, I supply him with the only answer I have, “Because, Father, I’m who put her there. I’m the sick, demon riddled man who allowed an argument to escalate until accidently allowing my actions to take over rational thought before bludgeoning my wife to death with a fire poker. Now, is this inquisition over, or do you have more words of wisdom to prevent me from following in your own pathetic footsteps?”

When my fathers’ only response is nothing but white noise barely discernable over the phone I attempt to piece together my common knowledge as my brain formulates and recognizes the dilemma before me, as the proverbial nail in my coffin, “Goodbye, Father…don’t worry yourself with my affairs.”

An incoming call beeps in my ear interrupting the verbal chess match between father and son. After the phone finally ceases its insistent notification, a good twenty seconds of silence settles between us. “Father, my goal for Heather never involved her bearing the punishment of my own tribulations, much less my beloved daughter, Ivy. Please, leave me be. Allow me the privacy I need to heal and regain my strength.”

“Son, I am fairly certain the authorities already have men skirting your property’s perimeters. For me to fight alongside you would be futile, especially considering the circumstances surrounding your current predisposition.”

“Yes. I understand that notion. It’s the reason I haven’t once even considered asking for your help, Father. Not since the first incident, and I have no plans of requesting your assistance in the future. Is there anything else you wish to discuss or review with this phone conversation, or are we done?”

I pour whisky to the brim of a crystal glass and toss it back while my father responds, “I do have just one more concern-with little Ivy now motherless, thanks to her fathers’ proclivity of losing control over his rage, will it be you raising my granddaughter or just any shmuck who’s willing to take her in?”

Rage, thick and potent sears through me so abruptly it blinds me momentarily. By the time I seize control of my anger, my father is no longer on the line.

I know my father’s question was a valid one, but it’s also one I am not ready to examine too closely. If I acknowledge the issue of who will raise my daughter, the man who woke up this morning with a woman’s head resting against his hip will look like Peter Pan instead of the villain from ‘Saw’.

However, I know I have to do something now before my rights as her father are threatened, so in an effort to put a band aid on a bullet wound, I dial Andrew.

“Sir?”

“Andrew, I need you to contact Dolores. Let her know I need her to temporarily watch over Ivy.”

“Yes, sir. After Heather’s funeral I think she moved back home to northern California. I’ll find her phone number and make arrangements to bring her here within the hour.”

“Very well. That’ll be all for the weekend, Andrew.”

“Sir?” His voice rose towards the end.

“I said that’ll be all for the weekend. Did I stutter?”

Say it. I dare you to say it, motherfucker.

“Oh. Okay. I-I just wanted to make sure. I didn’t realize you’d decided to stay home this weekend. If you need a-anything, or any, if you need me, I’m just a phone call away.”

“Yes, Andrew. That is what I pay you for. I am aware.” I slide my thumb ending the call before I say something he’ll regret in the morning.

After I settle in the high back oxford leather chair behind my large mahogany office desk I pour glass after glass of whatever liquor I’m able to find in the liquor bureau.

I don’t think you’re wrapping your fucking mind around what I have done. I don’t think you’re understanding the ramifications of my actions when I slammed picture after picture of my sins, literally against my wife’s face. Taunting her, demanding to know why. Why she stayed all that time when I knew damn well I left every window, every door unlocked, silently begging her to run. But she didn’t…she stayed. I wanted her to finally tell me the one thing I’ve always truly wanted to know,
WHY
did she allow herself to be a lamb in a known wolf’s presence. Why? God-fucking-dammit,
WHY
did she love me?

I’m not worthy of her. I was never worthy of her.  And now…now I’ll never be a man worthy of a woman as my Heather was. I stain my hands nightly with as many Heathers’ blood as I can, because when their blood coats my skin, it makes
hers
go away…

Chapter 4

No. If you’re looking for Roman’s darling mouse, I’ll tell you like I told Sebastian, she checked out. Checked. Out. She’s done. Finished. Bermuda Triangle kinda gone.

She fought…for like two seconds. After that I suppose she realized this was a war she didn’t stand a chance in, her self-made hell winning.

Fuck. I forgot. I’m sure you already know, but I still need to get the formalities out of the way. You and I ran into each other in France, though I’m certain you don’t recall, and so without further ado, it’s a pleasure (No, it actually isn’t) to meet you.

My name is Mace.

I’m here as a by-product of Mac’s splintering sanity. You see, with the reality of what she allowed her life to become and she finally opened her eyes to her surroundings, she couldn’t swallow the truth…she went out of her way, bent over backwards, accepted the fact that the man she loved strangled and killed her last living parent figure in front of her while her jaw was wired shut by the hands of the same man.

Then.
THEN
…

He skinned her.

He shattered her bones.

He obliterated her virtue.

He swallowed any and every fiber of hope she ever clung too.

He turned her against herself.

And after
everything
he took away from her, he killed her.

THAT
. That is when I was born.

Think of me as a sort of guardian angel, except I’m the baddest fucking guardian angel you’ve never met.

I’m here to cushion her blows. I’m here to take the punches. I’m here to withstand the hurt constantly fracturing her soul.

However, the main reason for my presence, is to make sure Ivy is kept away from both Roman and Sebastian. I possess not even the smallest modicum of maternal instincts. As far as I’m concerned Ivy isn’t my daughter. I didn’t foolishly fall in love with Lucifer’s Belial and procreate with the bastard, carry his spawn for nine months and then push her from my body. But Ivy is Mac’s daughter, and Mac is, well—as important to me as a daughter.

The only thing holding me back from annihilating Seb is my weakened state. You see, I’m a prisoner of Mac’s body. It’s utterly preposterous how much strength she’s lost in only 4 days. Not only physical, but emotional strength too. I knew when she purposely made her thoughts and memories loud enough to drown out the argument between the two men dueling for her heart, that when her eyes closed, the next time she opened them she’d be checked out and I would be the one behind the wheel.

This is not the outcome Mac preferred, but it is the one that will give her the greatest advantage. She doesn’t like having others step in and clean up her messes. She never has. But I’m afraid it doesn’t matter what she prefers. I’m not letting these men take any more from her, or break any more of her.

I was the presence who rose in the form of a phoenix from the ashes they left of her in their wake…and I’m not going anywhere—ever.

The doorknob silently turning sends malicious excitement through me causing my eyes to flash with a sinister flare and flicker towards the door. When I see who my next visiting prey is, delight ignites within me.

I remain as still as a waiting predator, my eyes, following the red haired waif floating through the doorway, are the only part of my body I allow to move. Her eyes are obviously unaccustomed to the pitch black darkness currently consuming the room, the proof of this is in her awkward slow movement as she stumbles into several pieces of furniture while making her way to the bed. When she’s close enough to see my deviant, watchful eyes she gasps before nervously laughing as she rests her hand across her chest and speaks, “Dear Lord, child, you almost gave me a heart attack! What in Sam’s hell are you doing in the dark?”

When her hand moves to turn on the lamp, the venom in my voice lashes out, “Don’t.”

Her hand freezes an inch away from the lamp as her widened eyes shoot to mine. After a staring contest that she almost immediately folds and loses two seconds in, she nervously laughs again, “Ms. Heather, there’s no need to continue to lie here in the dark, child, really. Now, we have some things to discuss, and because of their importance I refuse to have this conversation in the dark.“ The entire time her hand has remained an inch from the lamp.

When I see her entire body tense in my peripheral vision, I drop my voice to an even darker shade of sinister, “I fucking said don’t. I understand you hoped you and Heather would form a quasi-sister bond in which she would come to respect you and hold your opinions highly, however it’s time
YOU
understand she is no longer with us. Heather, or Mac, or whoever your brother manipulated for the last year and a half, is now gone. My name is Mace, I prefer the dark because it helps me see you and every other prey that ventures onto my web before you’re able to see me. Your being here proves only one thing to me. You are just as much to blame for Mac’s being here as Roman and Sebastian. As far as I’m concerned you’re even more to blame. At least when Roman was wreaking havoc on her mind, body, and soul, he never allowed her illusions of him to be anything other than what he really is. Now, stay right there, leave the goddamn light off, say what the fuck you came to say and then get the hell out of this room before I walk you through the process of having the skin stripped from your backside before your face splits as it meets your fiancé’s desk.”

This woman I’ve come to know as Lizbeth, stands to her full height. She remains as still as a statue as I’ve instructed, her shoulders back and her head held high. However, her eyes refuse to meet mine and remain cast downward. “I-I…I just wanted to let you know, contrary to your belief, I am here as a friend, not an enemy—“

“Friend?” My taunting tone elicits the reaction I was baiting from her, causing her to become flustered and fidget as if she’s now finally realizing whatever upper hand she believed she held prior to entering this room no longer exists. 

“Y-y-yes, a friend.” She coughs clearing her throat before continuing, “Sebastian has given me the duty of making sure you are taken care of, if you need anything, anything at all, let me know and I’ll see that you’re provided with whatever it is.”

She attempts an extremely awkward curtsey before turning to leave, when she’s less than two steps to the door, I speak, “Good. Inform your
brother
you will need the following to make sure I’m taken care of: a change of clothes as well as a suitcase packed with the essentials. An inconspicuous vehicle, several credit cards and a driver’s license with the name Mace Winters. I will no longer need you, Roman’s, or Sebastian’s help. I have a daughter to take care of, and I plan on setting those wheels in motion to do just that as soon as possible.”

When she hesitates at the door and moves to turn around, I stop her rebuttal instantly. “Don’t fucking mistake who it is you’re up against, Sister dearest. It will only end very badly for both you and your brother.”

Her voice is so quiet I barely make out her uncertain words, “I’ll see—I’ll let Sebastian know, child.”

As the door closes behind her, my cynical laugh echoing through the dark room perfectly represents who the fuck these amateurs are now dealing with in Mac’s place.

Chapter 5