Cruel Control by Candace Wondrak

Chapter Fifteen – Juliet

I didn’t know what was happening, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut I knew but just didn’t want to face it. Markus was going to kill that man, and he was going to make me watch.

Will’s hands were on me, steadying me, and I jerked when I heard the door to the room close. He held onto me much softer than Markus did, and when I looked up into his light eyes, I saw the concern he had for me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But he wants you to watch.”

I closed my eyes as Will positioned me before the window, so I could gaze inside and see the whole thing. I heard a bang on the glass, and I opened my eyes to see Markus standing there, clutching that knife.

The knife he’d wanted me to take to the stranger and kill him with. But I wasn’t a killer. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. I didn’t have it in me. I wasn’t like that, and I could never be like that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, but I guess that’s the difference between me and the men of this house.

They were monsters, and I was not.

Markus was glaring at me through the glass, wearing the worst glower I’d ever seen on his face. He was not happy with me, that much was obvious. He was also very hateful in everything he said, not gentle with me at all—and my body and head hurt like I’d just been hit by a train.

Okay, more like fell on a concrete driveway, but still.

When he was satisfied that I was watching, he moved to the side of the room, setting down the knife. Every movement he made was deliberate, the way he held himself an intimidating display, as always. Except he seemed more dangerous now, now that someone was in that room with him, tied up, unconscious and unable to defend himself.

Who was he? Did he do something bad, or was he just some random guy who was picked off the street so Markus could use him to make a point? Probably the latter, because monsters did not care about the people they hurt, and they sure didn’t care about the people they killed.

That man was going to die, and it was all my fault.

Markus’s dark eyes were fixated on me as he reached to unbutton his suit jacket. Slowly, he took it off, folding it before the window all while staring at me, all while drilling it into my head that this was my fault. It was the same ritual he’d done before beating the life out of Jaxon before my eyes that night, when I’d refused to take the birth control.

The next thing that came off was his tie, and then his watch. After everything was safely put to the side, he stood before the window and rolled up each sleeve, taking his time.

When he’d done this ritual before, all I saw was his back and his reflection in the mirror on the dresser. Watching him do it, being on the receiving end of his death glare while he readied himself to go ballistic on a poor, innocent guy, made me feel a way I never had before.

This man was terrifying. He was everything I should fear and everything I should hate. Handsome, devilish, cruel to the extreme. Markus Scott was no hero, and once again, he was about to remind me of that fact.

All because I’d run away. All because I’d tried.

There was no escape. I knew it now. I knew it in every bone in my body. Even with the warmth seeping into me from Will’s hands, knowing his solid presence was behind me, I couldn’t stop my body from growing so very cold as I watched Markus ready himself.

This was going to be ugly, uglier than that video Markus had shown me before—based on the fact that this was actually happening, right before my eyes in live time, and it was all because of me. If I wouldn’t have run, this guy, whoever he was, would still be out there, living his life. That knowledge alone made me feel sick.

“Just know,” Markus spoke once he dug in his pockets and retrieved two sleek, black gloves made of leather, “this man’s fate is on you. His death rests on your shoulders, not mine.” He slipped the gloves on one after the other, his glare cutting. He moved his stare to Will behind me. “Do not let her turn away. Make her watch. If she closes her eyes, force them open. I don’t care how rough you have to be with her.” There must’ve been speakers somewhere near the glass, for I was able to hear him perfectly, his voice not muffled at all.

I knew Will would do whatever he said, which was why I tried to ready myself for the worst. I would not look away, no matter how bad it was, no matter what Markus did to that man. I might feel terrified, I might want to turn and run away, never come back to this house, but I would not flinch.

This… this was a punishment. My punishment, and it was as bad as any punishment could ever be. Maybe now I’d get it through my skull, hmm? Maybe now I’d realize there was no running from this. This was inevitable. These men, Markus especially, didn’t play nice, while I had no idea how the game was played in general. I wasn’t made for this.

Holding the knife in one hand, Markus’s other curled into a fist, and he heaved a punch to the man’s face. Just one. Enough to jerk the poor man awake, to get him to open his eyes, cringe, and suddenly realize where he was.

He tried to speak, but Markus grabbed him by the jaw, covering his mouth with his hand. “Nothing you say here will stop this,” he warned. “Scream all you want, cry, piss yourself; it doesn’t matter.” He lifted the knife, and the man’s eyes fell to its glinting steel. “You are going to die here, and before you do, know it’s her fault.” He flicked the point of the knife over his shoulder, at the window.

At me.

The man’s gaze followed the trail of the knife, and his brows creased when he saw me. He was probably thinking something along the lines of how he didn’t know me, and his arms struggled against the restraints. All pointlessly, of course.

If I could, I would tell the man I was sorry, that I didn’t know, didn’t think it would end up this way. For me, for a stranger. I wanted him to know this wasn’t something I wanted, but I was mute as I watched Markus go on with his show.

Because that’s what it was: a show. A performance put on for me and me alone.

Still holding his hand to the man’s jaw and covering his mouth, Markus went on, “I don’t often make a big show about what needs to be done, you see. I just do it, but for her benefit, I will.” He pushed away for him, finally releasing him, and the man swore up and down at him.

But Markus ignored him.

He started to circle the man in the chair, studying the knife blade as if he’d never seen it before. Which, I was fairly certain, he had many, many times. “I don’t like getting dirty,” he said. “I don’t like staining myself with blood, but I do it. I do it because it needs to be done, because lessons must be had and learned.”

His legs stopped when he stood behind the chair, staring squarely at me through the glass. “Pain. It’s always been such a fascinating concept to me. You see—” His jaw ground, the fury in his expression palpable. “—I don’t feel it, so I have a hard time understanding it. And yet…” He brought the knife around the chair, digging it into the man’s cheek and causing him to cry out as the metal pierced the skin. “It is the easiest way to break someone.”

Markus twisted the knife’s tip, blood pooling from the man’s cheek as he did so. The dark red liquid oozed down his face, dripping past his neck and landing on his collarbone, on his dirty shirt.

He ignored the man as he finished circling him. “This knife,” he went on, “is going to end you, all because that girl refused to listen to me.” Markus glanced at me, and the look he sent me chilled me to the bone. “Blame her for every single ounce of pain I fill your body with before I end you for good.”

The man muttered, “Why, man? Why are you doing this? Please, let me go. I won’t tell a soul—”

Markus threw another punch toward his face, this time landing a blow on the man’s wounded cheek, causing him to whimper. Not saying another word, he reached for the man’s shirt and started to tear it off his body, using the knife when the fabric near the waist caught and refused to rip easily.

With a jerk of his arm, he cut a long line down the man’s chest, the blood from the wound taking a few seconds to appear. I wished I could turn away, wished I could close my eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening, but it was impossible. My eyes were glued to the window, to Markus and his swift, deliberate movements, burning each and every image into my brain.

Markus went at him like an artist would a canvas, a painting no one knew what it would look like until it was done. Back and forth, he cut the man’s torso up, shredded it completely—but he never cut deep. He didn’t dig the knife into him; he cut just enough to make him bleed, crisscrossing the injuries.

The man winced, crying out, taking turns to sweat and simultaneously beg for his life. He offered Markus money he didn’t have, future favors, anything he wanted, but Markus did not listen to him. He was a man at work, focused on the job.

On creating so much pain the man’s eyes started to glaze over. On making his chest and stomach such an ugly, hideous sight, he looked more a monster than a man. But that’s what Markus was, you know: a monster.

A monster who had his claws in me, digging deep.

I dared to take a step closer to the window, feeling my eyes tearing up on their own. I did not want to cry, didn’t want to lose it, but it was so very hard to keep it all together while watching a man lose his life because of me. Will’s hands still held onto my arms, but I was able to put a hand on the glass and say, “Please, stop. I understand. I get it. I won’t try to run again—”

“No,” Markus cut in, stopping me cold. The knife dripped an ugly red color, blood dropping to the floor. “You won’t.” And then he did what I feared all along, something there was no coming back from.

He stabbed the man in the stomach, twisting the blade with a firm hand. The man cried out, his eyes glazing over. Not quite dead yet, but getting there. Getting there on a fast-track thanks to Markus.

I couldn’t even cry out, not as I watched Markus yank the knife out and slash it across the man’s neck so deeply it must’ve hit a vital vein, for the amount of blood that escaped his neck afterward was ungodly. Ungodly, unreal, and unrepentantly garish. So much blood. So much blood everywhere, splashing onto his chest, on his lap, pooling around the chair on the floor.

Blood. So. Much. Blood.

Markus never once let go of the knife, and he held out his other hand. “Bring her in here.”

My heart skipped a beat for all the wrong reasons. “What? No, no—”

But Will dragged me along, taking me away from the window, pulling me to the door. It slid open with such a sickening thud. Will handed me over to Markus, who took hold of my arm with such force I flinched. Fighting was useless, but I didn’t want to be this close to a now-warm corpse.

“No,” I said, unable to look at the man, feeling the blood on the floor with my bare feet. “Stop—” Every single word I said fell onto deaf ears, and Markus once again positioned me between him and the man in the chair. The dead man in the chair.

Markus was unrelenting. He threw me at the corpse in the chair, and I stumbled onto his lap. His pants were wet with a mixture of blood and piss, and the moment I crawled off him, Markus grabbed my hand and put the knife in it once more. His hand curled around mine, and all of my struggling was futile.

He jerked my arm forward, and the knife plunged into the man’s chest, sinking deep. “You feel that?” Markus whispered, his chest rumbling with a growl, “Did you feel how the skin gave way to the knife? No? Then let’s do it again.” He yanked my hand out, still very much conducting the show here.

The knife, slick with red, went into the man’s gut this time, and my ears heard a sound I never thought I’d hear. Organs, intestines, slick and warm—and the sound of metal cutting into them.

My hand came away covered in blood, and Markus released his hold on me. I dropped the knife, shaking my head over and over, a single tear coursing down my cheek. The knife clattered on the ground, splattering in the blood. He wasn’t done with me yet though, for he spun me around and gripped me by the neck, the blood on his gloves smearing on my skin.

I knew, even though I couldn’t see it. I could feel the wetness, and it was one of the most awful things I’d ever felt.

“Having fun yet, Juliet?” Markus hissed out my name, as if it was the worst thing he’d ever had the displeasure of saying.

There were no words. I could not respond.

“No? You want more?” While holding onto me, his other hand shot out. I couldn’t see where his hand went, but I found out shortly after, for his arm jerked back seconds later, his gloved hand gripping what looked like slick, wet, gory sausages.

I might’ve thrown up a little in my mouth, but with how hard he gripped me around the neck, I had to swallow most of it back down. Gross, I know. Not nearly as gross as him shoving the bit of intestines against my chest and smearing it on my pajamas, though.

“How’s that for you?” he asked, and as the intestines fell to the floor, he brought the bloodied, gloved hand to my face, wiping blood across my cheek. “Do you like the smell of blood and piss? I hope so, because you’re about to get very acquainted with it. Will! Take out the weapons.”

Will looked like he wanted to kill Markus, his jaw grinding, but he entered the room and did as he was told. Markus was focused on me, which let Will throw me looks every now and then, looks the former wasn’t aware of. For just a split second, it looked like Will debated on stabbing Markus in the back, but he thought better of it, taking each and every weapon out into the hall and setting them on the floor, one by one.

The last weapon to leave the room was the bloodied knife on the floor, and as Will bent to retrieve it near our feet, his hazel eyes locked with mine.

I wanted to call out to him, to beg him to get me out of here, but Markus’s hand gripped my throat tighter, stopping any potential words from coming out. I watched Will go, watched the door close behind him, leaving me alone with Markus Scott and the corpse of his latest kill.

“Just remember,” Markus hissed out, “this is your doing. You could’ve avoided all of this.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond; he released me, and my knees gave out immediately.

I collapsed on the floor, my hands barely moving fast enough to catch me. My pajama pants got soaked instantly, and I fought to get back up, to get out of the maroon, but I kept slipping. My stupid body couldn’t right itself. I couldn’t stand. Every part of me felt weak, and I only ended up making myself look dumb.

Dumb and bloody.

He started toward the door. “And like I said earlier, you should’ve eaten.” He tossed a look over his shoulder at me, as if I was nothing to him, as if he hated me for simply existing. “Because you won’t get a crumb of food until I believe the lesson is learned.” And then he yanked open the door, about to step out.

“Wait! No—”

The door shut, and he didn’t even look at me as he went. I managed to get to my feet, finally, racing toward the door, but I couldn’t open it. He must’ve locked the door right as he went out, for no matter how much I pulled at it, it would not open.

My hope, whatever little sliver of it remained, died when I watched Markus and Will leave. They picked up the weapons, and then they left. The only one who looked at me was Will, and even that wasn’t much, his stolen glances not giving me anything solid to hold onto. There was nothing but the coldness of the door and the warmth of the freshly spilt blood.

When they were gone, I was slow to turn, feeling like I was going to lose it. My sanity suddenly felt like such a fragile thing, something easily lost. If I lost it, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to get it back.

I didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to look upon the mangled, bloodied corpse of the stranger, but I finished turning anyways. Maybe to further torture myself, maybe to let it really sink in. Or, and this was probably the case, I’d already lost my mind. Who could say?

The man looked even worse now, now that I could study his gruesome form without Markus strangling me or making me mutilate him further. He hardly looked like a man. Now that his heart had stopped beating, the blood flow had stopped… but that was also because most of the blood in his body now stained the floor.

And it was all over me. My feet, my face, my clothes… even my hands. I felt like I’d taken a shower in the stuff, and if I would’ve eaten, I knew I would’ve wretched it all up and made the room smell even worse.

Markus didn’t say how long he was going to keep me in here. Until he thought I learned my lesson. Until it sank in. I couldn’t say how long that would be, but I felt my knees weaken once more. With my back against the door, I slid down slowly, inch by inch until my backside hit the floor.

It was too much. The sight of the corpse, the blood… it was all I could see, and it was far too much. The image would be imprinted in my brain, and every time I closed my eyes, I would remember him, that this horrific fate was because of me. I didn’t know him, but I knew he didn’t deserve this.

I couldn’t say how long it was, but eventually the lights shut off. Even in the hall, the lights went off, and I was left, alone with the corpse, in complete and utter darkness. Pitch-blackness, since there were no windows and no other sources of light. I let out a whimper, an invisible pressure against my chest.

It wasn’t the first time I’d been locked away in the dark, but this time felt so much worse than any of the other times. I pulled my knees to my chest, wrapped my arms around my legs, and curled into myself as much as I could. Normally I’d call out, try to reason with Daddy, but this darkness was unlike the darkness of my old bedroom.

At least I had a window. At least there was light from the hall. Something, anything to keep me rooted in reality. Here, there was absolutely nothing, nothing but a dark void swallowing me up, devouring me whole. No light, no hope, no salvation.

There was no point in banging or crying out. No one would hear my screams. No one would let me out, not until Markus said so. This was my punishment, and I had to live with it, for however long it ended up being.

Probably not long.

The truth came to me, and though it had always been the case, it was only just now that I believed it with every fiber of my being. It was a truth that hurt, a truth that further cut me to the bone, heavier than anything I’d ever felt. It compressed against my heart, pulled against every emotion I had.

This house, these men… I wasn’t going to survive them.

They were going to kill me.

And the worst part was there was nothing I could do to stop them.