There’s no such thing as being too young to remember.
I was three years old when my life was turned upside down. Blood splattered, monsters’ fangs showed, and I was caught between them, having the sole destiny to be crushed to death.
I was three years old, and I still remember every vicious word, every hateful stare and can still hear the gurgle of life leaving a body. I still have nightmares about a body hanging from the ceiling and looking at me with unblinking, bulging eyes.
I haven’t been the same since.
Yes, I was adopted by a loving yet unconventional family and have the best parents alive, but that never managed to make me forget the past.
Thing is, some images just can’t be erased.
Some images bleed into my subconscious and devour me from the inside out. Every night.
Every day.
Every second.
It’s not just a distant memory; it’s part of who I am.
I’ve ignored it all my life, tried to cope with it, to come to terms with the past, and to blend myself into my current life.
I’ve truly tried. My honest attempts have included doing everything by the book, following the therapist’s coping mechanisms, and learning to lead a normal life.
But I’m not normal.
And coping is never enough. And neither is convincing myself that time will make it better.
Seventeen years later and the images are still as vivid as back then, with their gruesome details and those bulging fucking eyes.
I learned to stop asking my parents about the past—not only do they avoid the subject like the plague, but Mum also gets this sad look in her eyes. The one where it feels as if I’m ripping her chest open and punching her fragile heart.
Luckily, I’m old enough now to pull the strings on my own.
Even if it means abandoning everything I’ve known for the seventeen years since the massacre.
That’s what I’ve always called it in my head, even though only two people died. Make that three—including the three-year-old version of me.
He suffered the most, despite the fact that death chose to exempt him.
The time has come to finally do something about those hideous memories.
In the past, I couldn’t be proactive due to living under my parents’ roof and being under their constant scrutiny.
However, I’m at university now and I have enough freedom to seek the truth. The only barrier is the personification of my parents’ hawk eyes—my annoying older brother, Eli.
As circumstances would have it, I know exactly the information to feed him so he’ll remain preoccupied and leave me the fuck alone.
Because something changed recently.
I got a piece of information that flipped my perspective upside down.
It’s not anything groundbreaking, but it’s the tip of the iceberg—a little clue that will allow me to dig deeper.
This time, I won’t stop until I unveil the whole truth.
“The arson didn’t do much damage. I’m a little disappointed.”
I slide my hand from my face to stare up at my cousin—second cousin—who’s perched over my bed.
Landon is three years older than me and has the looks of a refined prince and the character of the devil himself.
Or more like Lucifer—the one who controls demons and every obscure creature.
His brown hair falls in a chaotic mess over his forehead, highlighting angular features that are no different from the stones he’s obsessed with sculpting. He’s even doing an art master’s degree to be able to produce more stones that people weirdly call masterpieces while labeling him a genius.
Anarchist would fit him better.
Since I’m trying to sleep, I turn on my side and close my eyes again.
A creak comes from the chair beside the bed, indicating that Landon chose to stay, not caring about my clear ‘Fuck off.’
“It could’ve been much better. What a loss of potential.”
“And you could’ve left so I can sleep.”
Landon pffts, a light chuckle spilling from him before he kicks my back. “Wake up. There are better things to do than sleep.”
“Doubt it.”
“What if I say I have the second piece of the puzzle for you?”
My eyes open and I slowly turn around.
Landon grins, knowing full well he’s got me exactly where he wants me. “Happy to have your attention, baby cousin. Now, let’s go.”
Staring at him harshly, I don’t move, and he rolls his eyes dramatically. “Your habit of trying to communicate with your eyes is annoying as fuck. Not all people are good with that language and they could—and will—misunderstand you. Lucky for you, I’m proficient in all languages. To answer your less-than-subtle demand, no. There will be no piece of the puzzle for you unless I get something in return. That was the deal, remember?”
So this is the downside behind my master plan of collecting information about my past. Somehow, Landon got wind of that and he’s using it to make me do his bidding.
He tried to ask nicely at the beginning, I’ll give him that, but those of us with the King last name just don’t do things nicely.
We need to be kicked, provoked, and even threatened so that we’re forced to do anything.
And that’s exactly what Landon has done to have me on his chessboard.
I sit up, throwing my weight against the metal bedpost. “What do you want? Another fire?”
“Nah, that was fun on the first try, but their security has gotten better now. Let’s give them some time to come to terms with the change, and just when their guard is down… Boom. We strike again.”
“Then why are you bothering me now?”
“Don’t be a little shit.” He opens my wardrobe, flings out a hoodie from all the similar ones and throws it in my direction. “We’re out to have fun.”
“No.”
“Or you can model for me? I’ll make a masterpiece out of your features.”
“Definitely not.”
“We’re going out then. Only when we’re done will I tell you what the next step is.”
I grab the piece of clothing and step past him. “You must be so lonely if you want to spend time with me.”
He laughs, the sound genuinely amused. “Maybe. Your peaceful silence is hard to find in this loud world.”
I lift a shoulder and pull on the hoodie. Landon and his twin brother, Brandon, are probably the only two who seek me out because of my silence. Everyone else just wants me to talk—not them.
They’re tolerable, but only separately. They become annoying dicks in each other’s company.
After I’m dressed, we leave my room and start down the hall. Elegant wallpaper extends for as far as the eye can see, giving the place a classical vibe.
We live in an off-campus mansion that Landon also uses as the compound for his club, the Elites.
A club that he has wanted me to be part of since I enrolled in REU, but I’ve refused his invitation every time.
I pledge loyalty to no one. Not even to myself.
We drive away from the mansion, or more like Landon does in his show-off one-of-a-kind McLaren. I spend the whole ride sleeping.
The opening of the door hauls me out of a light sleep. A man dressed in formal wear inclines his head in my direction. “Welcome back, sir.”
I step out and cast a look at my cousin, who’s already stepping onto the cobbled street. An easy expression is written all over his face, but it’s just a camouflage for his twisted insides.
Only a few lights adorn the hidden alley that’s situated in the least populated part of the island.
This is where Landon started to bug the fuck out of me. He somehow ran into me through our mutual fucked-up cravings and hasn’t left me alone since.
Knowing him, he probably hunted me down like the creep he is.
The bouncer of the club lets us in with a smile and a curtsy. We’re probably their youngest members but the most ruthless.
The most in-demand, too.
“What do you have for us?” Landon asks, pure sadism dripping from his voice.
He is a sadist.
I’m just an animal.
A man in a tux smiles with the shrewdness of a pimp. “There are two members who I believe will be to your liking. Room nine.” He hands the key to my cousin, who slips him enough cash to make the man’s beady eyes glow in the darkness.
We walk down the dark red halls, our steps making little to no noise on the carpet.
My blood pumps with the promise of inflicting pain.
Lots of pain.
Enough to drown the pain festering inside me.
Landon opens the door and we slide inside a red-lit room.
Two naked girls kneel on the carpet, collared in black leather, heads bowed, arms bound with black cuffs, a gag hanging around each of their necks, waiting to be shoved in place.
Whips, canes, and chains decorate both sides of the room, shining in the red light, all available for our use.
“Evening, ladies.” Landon goes to the brunette and strokes a thumb under her jaw. “Are you ready for some fun?”
“Yes, please,” she purrs.
Her friend, a leggy blonde who’s at least five years older than me, licks her lips when she looks at me.
She’s beautiful and will be even more exquisite when I engrave my welts in her pale skin.
She’ll be enough for a little fun, like Landon said. Enough to stop the nightmares for one more sleep.
I start to approach her, then stop. Her face, older, mature, and a little sharp, morphs into a completely different one.
Just like in some fucked-up fantasy, her hair turns a rich brown. Her features soften, becoming smaller, more lively, more…irritating.
Her pouty lips are parted, begging to be stuffed with cock, and a pink hue covers her cheeks. Big blue-gray eyes glitter with life, happiness, and breakable innocence.
An innocence I want to tarnish with my darkness.
I shake my head with the sole purpose of ensuring I’m not going insane.
Sure enough, the blonde comes back into focus, staring between me and her friend, who’s getting acquainted with Landon’s ruthless cane.
I didn’t even notice when he got the brunette on the floor and started his session. I didn’t hear her muffled cries or see her tears—usually, those are the highlight of my nights of cravings.
The blonde arches her back, thrusting her big tits in my direction, an invitation for me to give her the same treatment as her friend. She doesn’t move or crawl toward me, though, probably having been told by the waiter that I loathe disobedience.
Her face starts to blur again, changing, morphing into one that has no business being here.
I curse beneath my breath, turn around, and leave.
Not only the room but also the club and the street.
I walk all the way to the rocky side of the beach where a few people and couples are mingling about. I hop on a faraway rock and sit there, leaning back on my palms.
My gaze gets lost in the waves that slam against the jagged rocks in a symphony of violence.
I have always had an inclination toward brutality. Whether it’s underground fighting or inflicting sexual pain. It’s why I get along with morally black people such as Eli and Landon.
It’s also why I usually participate in any adrenaline-induced mayhem they plot. I need that deranged energy and the pure unhingedness that comes with it. It’s how I survive day-to-day.
I remain in the same position for over half an hour, but the pesky reason that I rushed out of the club is still plaguing my mind.
I fetch my phone and type a text to the one person who’d be able to explain the fuckery that just happened.
Creighton: What does it mean when you see another girl’s face on the one you’re about to fuck?
I say ‘fuck’ so I don’t have to mention the whipping and caning part. He wouldn’t judge, but he’d publish it in the Daily Mail for the world to see.
My cousin from my mother’s side replies almost immediately.
Remington: It means you should’ve fucked the other girl. The one whose face you saw, because your dick wants her and we always let our dicks decide who they fancy. That’s like the easiest and most logical explanation ever. Come on, spawn, my lordship taught you as much.
Creighton: I’m not even attracted to the other girl. She’s not my type.
Remington: Types are overrated. They can change.
My jaw clenches and I refuse to take Remi’s words as fact. After all, I’m the only one who considers him wise. Everyone else just seeks him out for fun times, not advice.
He’s probably the most balanced out of us all, but then again, he’s the only one in the house whose last name isn’t King.
Remington: And rude, btw, you left me on Read last night.
I exit the chat, leaving him on Read again.
But before I close the app, I go to someone else I’ve been leaving on Read for the last couple of weeks.
Annika.
My finger hovers over her endless texts. Some are telling me about her favorite music—classical. Her favorite film—Pride and Prejudice, all versions. Her favorite food—pizza—that she doesn’t get to eat a lot because of her disciplined routine. Some are selfies of her.
Those stopped after I ignored the first few.
Her last text was prior to the deliberate loss of control on my part.
Deliberate because I meant to push her away. So far away that she’d stop looking at me with those glittery eyes and parted lips.
It was my last bit of courtesy for someone who gave me food and didn’t hand me over to her brother on a silver platter.
That incident happened a week ago.
She’s kept her distance since—even during lunch. Before, she glued herself to my side and chattered happily until I got up and left.
Now, her chosen victims are either Remi or Bran. On and on, she talks to them about the last book she read or film she watched.
They listen to her, engage, and even reply.
Unlike me.
Ava even asked her if she’s finally given up on me. She laughed and subtly changed the subject.
She did give up.
Finally.
If I’d known it would be that easy, I would’ve shown her a hint of who I truly am a long time ago. That way, I wouldn’t have had to put up with her disturbing cheerfulness.
I click on the last selfie she sent two weeks ago. Her hair falls on either side of her face and she has both hands under her chin. She’s too young, oozing with an irritating type of happiness that grates on my nerves.
Yes, I’m young, too, but only in age. I’ve never felt young since the massacre.
A notification of a text shows up at the top of my phone. Did I somehow send a reaction or something?
That’s when I realize I’ve been staring at her selfie for about five minutes.
A long fucking time.
I scroll to the text she sent just now.
Annika: So I’ve been thinking.
Creighton: I’m surprised you do that before talking.
The dots indicating she’s typing appear and disappear.
*Screaming emoji*
*Dead sticker*
*It’s happening GIF*
Annika: OMT! Did you actually reply? Say the secret words or I’m reporting you for kidnapping Creighton.
What the fuck is she on about now?
Annika: I’m serious. I’ll report you right now. I swear to Tchaikovsky. That’s what OMT means if you were wondering. Oh my Tchaikovsky.
Creighton: You talk too much.
Annika: It’s really you. Hi! Also, thanks for replying after a thousand years. Really appreciated.
Creighton: If I’d known this was what I was in for, I wouldn’t have.
Annika: Wait, don’t ghost me yet. You’re seriously cold, did you know that? I wonder if you even have a heart beneath all that ice.
I don’t reply.
Annika: Here we go again. You’re leaving me on Read. But anyway, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day and I’m curious about the ‘deviant tastes’ part. I tried searching and asking around your childhood friends, but I think either you keep that part of yourself under wraps or it’s not true? At any rate, I want to know more. Can you tell me?
My hand flexes on the phone and I type with stiff fingers.
Creighton: This is my one and only warning, Annika. You have no clue what you’re asking for. Be grateful that I have no interest in you and run the fuck away. If you let me catch you, I’ll swallow you alive.
She reads my text immediately, but no dots appear.
Good.
“There you are.”
I turn off my screen and slide my phone into my pocket as Landon sits beside me.
“Why did you disappear before the fun started?”
“Not in the mood.” Which is putting it mildly. I was disgusted to the core.
Not by that girl.
By myself.
The fact that my thoughts veered in that direction made my skin crawl and softened any erection I could’ve gotten.
“I had my fun with both of them. Thanks for that.” Landon leans back against his palms, not looking satiated in the least.
It’s almost a routine for him now. It’s probably starting to become the same way for me, too.
The satisfaction of flesh against flesh, of welts and canes, chains, and gags can only last for so long before it fades away.
Soon enough, it becomes an afterthought, a mere instinct to satisfy.
“Ready for what comes next?” Landon tilts his head. “Spoiler alert, it’ll be brutal.”
I give a sharp nod.
“Always a good fucking sport, Creigh. Listen up, in exchange for telling you who destroyed your biological family, here’s what I want you to do…”
My muscles tighten at the prospect of finally having a name.
I never questioned what Landon’s scheme behind all these little anarchies is. He’s always plotting for chaos anyway, and I don’t mind playing a part in it as long as I get what I want.
And to do that, I’ll tune out any and all distractions.
Namely, Annika fucking Volkov.
