Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy) (2 page)

After chopping this evening’s Heather down to the correct size, I separate each body part into its own section of plastic before taking the box cutter and slicing the plastic to fit.  I then wrap each body part in plastic before stacking piece by piece in a two by two foot cardboard box. After I’ve doused the box with gasoline I wrap it in cellophane. I do not change my clothes, I do not wash away the crimson blood soaking me to the skin through my clothes. I walk away from wherever my playing grounds were for tonight, drop the box in the trunk of my Audi R8 and slide into the driver seat before tearing through the night headed for the gates of Payne Estates.

I heed no attention to speed limits, traffic lights, or signs. From the moment I realized I murdered the only woman I have ever, will ever love, I welcomed the authorities to apprehend me. Long ago. I welcomed the death promised for resisting them with as much hostility as I can muster.

It has yet to happen. And after every Heather I allow my carelessness and recklessness to become sloppier and even more erratic.

Andrew, my most trusted confidant and his high fucking morals recently spurred him to inform me he would be unable to continue the collection and clean up. Sebastian had no problem executing when he was my number one right hand man.

I don’t register how long it takes to arrive at the Estates.  All I know is that I park my car, then I mechanically carry the cardboard box from the garage to the basement and light the trash incinerators.  I stand watching them glow for a moment.   As I shove the boxed remains of this evening’s Heather into the incinerator chute, my anger at Andrew and his newly found conscience swells and grows, blanketing even my own self-hatred.

Chapter 1

I can’t explain what happened between my fading bravado and screamed lies at Roman before my world went black. I’m just thankful I was delivered from the hell of my husband’s presence.

I wish I was able to sound rational when I explain how Roman affects me, how he’s always affected me, but I can’t. Do you know how hard it is to look at yourself in the mirror when you absolutely detest the person staring back at you?

I hate myself. I’ve hated myself since the incident in France when Roman beat me to the brink of death and I have no idea how to accept this reality and live contently with it. How can you when you’re the bane of your own existence? I can’t even hate Roman for his involvement, the only person I blame is myself.

After the fire poker clipped my shoulder before making contact with the base of my skull causing my world to go black, I was still able to hear every word said. I felt Roman’s body trembling as his tears fell to my face. I also felt his body go rigid moments before Seb spoke.

But the thing that rocked me to the core was Roman’s whispered confession,
“I love you, mouse. It has always been you. From the moment I saw you swinging high enough to take flight with your blond hair blowing in the wind, it’s been only you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why didn’t you just stay away, mouse, why?”

Those words are ones no one in their right mind ever expects to hear come from a man as evil as Rome. So when they’re said, it leaves you in complete and utter shock, grappling to make sense of the collage of emotions wreaking havoc through your mind and already shattered heart.

It was him.

All those years ago, it was him.

I haven’t even thought of my sweet young knight in shining armor. My little protector. My…Romie.

Son of a bitch. That
was
his name. By the time I was fifteen I’d completely forgotten that one pertinent memory. All I had remembered was the dark haired boy with eyes the color of a spring day moving to stand between me and the gang of bullies. Followed by the sight of him on the ground, surrounded by boys kicking him over and over again.

I’m so immersed in the memory playing behind my closed eyelids I don’t hear the rest of the conversation between the two men, nor am I mentally present when Roman leaves.

“Mac, darlin’, can you hear me?” I register Seb’s words, but when my body doesn’t obey my brains’ commands to open my eyes or speak, anxiety spikes and courses through my veins as panic sets in. “Shit, this isn’t gonna work.” His hands cup my face before rolling it back and forth then settling my face looking to the right. I feel his fingers brush over the tender spot bleeding at the nape of my neck. “It isn’t as bad as it sounded. Dammit, darlin’ I’m so sorry. You have to know there wasn’t any other way to make sure he left you alone for good. If you can hear me, please understand I truly did do this for you and Ivy. Please.”

Wait. What? What is he saying?

I feel my mind disengage from reality and my last conscious thought before floating away is a single word echoing,
‘Why?’
.

I don’t know how many days have passed. My muscles are strung tight with tension from the small movements I’ve made and ache from lack of use. After a few minutes of slowly moving each of my stiff joints, I lift the palms of my hands from the mattress I’m lying on.  I continue my small routine by pointing my toes, then pulling them up as far as I can to flex my weak calves. The pain of those miniscule movements rips a groan from the base of my throat splintering even more agony through my vocal cords.

“Shh… Hush now. You’re fine, probably just a little sore. I need you to take a few deep breaths. You’ve mostly been oxygenating your sleeping body with shallow, infrequent breaths.” The woman’s voice is so soft it’s difficult to hear, but I am able to make out her words.

The only sound over what feels like an eternity is the ticking of a clock in the distance somewhere in the room. I allow the repetitive sound to lure me into a false sense of security and I immediately begin to pull my defenses up around me. I can hear cackling laughter that sends shivers up my spine and feel fear, lucidly. Because I know. I’m slipping.  Once I feel myself splitting away, and the emergence of the same wicked entity who surfaced in France, I immediately retreat into the dark recesses in an effort to hide in the dark, unseen corners of my mind.

“Hello, dear. Tell me, do you remember me?”

I rapidly blink at the woman standing in front of my mind’s eye. She has tattoos running from her wrists to her shoulders and from my spot hunkered in the corner of my mind, it looks as if they round over the top of her shoulders and continue down her back and sides. Her hair is the same pale blond shade as mine. If not for the streaks of hot pink and pale lavender, as well as the extrinsic black, white, and vibrant colored tattoos adorning eighty percent of her visible flesh, she is easily my identical twin.

After taking her in from head to Alexander McQueen peep toed pumps, I avert my gaze downward and attempt to make myself smaller, inching further back into the dark corners I frequent in my mind.

“It’s okay, you know that right? I’m not here to hurt you, Mac. I’m here to protect you. I’m here to clean up your
fucking
mess. Didn’t your momma ever teach not to fucking trust so easily? Fucking bloody hell. You’re a bit dim when it comes to common sense and self preservation, aren’t you?”

The soft female voice repeats, “Shh… hush now. I done told ya, you’re fine.” When I peek through my eyelashes I see a familiar woman. Familiar, yet still a stranger. Her dark hazel eyes seemingly contemplate if there is anyone home or if all marbles are accounted for before smiling as she brushes her hands across her lap and stands to leave.

The wicked woman from my mind steps in front, blocking the soft-spoken, red haired woman who was just physically standing in front from me. The sound of a door clicking shut behind her causes me to clench my eyes and shake my head back and forth.

I use my metaphorical heels digging into the floor to push my back further against the wall but this…this woman. This twin of mine keeps advancing into my personal space. When I’m on the brink of screaming bloody murder for her to fucking stop, I throw my hands up and she immediately freezes in place. “I-I-I don’t, my mother, she died giving birth to me. So no, she didn’t teach me any lessons. And I’m not dim, I’m fucking tired. But, if you think you can do any better, by all fucking means, the floor is yours. Just go away, please. Leave me alone.”

Her damn sinister laugh mimics black crows cawing, her brown eyes flash with light and turn dark navy before they narrow on my own.
“Hmmm… Well, Mac, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my name is Mace. I’m pretty much the personification of every thing your father, teachers, and fairy tale stories warned you of. YOU, however, are who created me. To show my appreciation, I’m just going to…”
WHAM! From nowhere a gate materializes right before slamming shut an inch away from my face. Mace’s face is nose to nose with mine through the bars and she smirks, “
Take it from here. I’m sure you understand.”
Her lips brush mine before I’m able to jerk my face away, clenching my eyes closed.

The only sounds I hear are the clicking of her Alexander McQueen heels as she walks away from the shelter of my dark recesses, echoed by her chuckle reverberating through my once sound mind.

Chapter 2

Yes. I drugged her.

No. It wasn’t difficult.

When you follow someone and he’s a man of…medicine, you pick up a thing or two about drugs. One thing picked up was the discovery of a certain drug frequently used in anesthesia. Was I surprised Roman was fooled? I was. It was a first. But definitely not the last. The elaborate plans I have had in store for Roman William Payne since all those years ago on my prom night, are finally coming full circle.

There was no other way to ensure Roman’s permanent absence in Mac’s life, and I have always known how imperative it was to remove his presence if I ever truly wanted Mac to accept me in his place.

I hate that I was forced to partake in actions as risky and uncertain as the ones I did, especially without a definite knowledge base of the medication I chose, it’s doses, and long-term effects, but I had no choice. If Roman would’ve heeded my advice when Ivy was born, none of this would’ve had to happen. It’s his fault I was shackled with the burden of guessing the appropriate dose based on the information I was able to obtain on WedMD. With it being an anesthetic drug, resources and information were extremely limited, so yes, the dose I gave Mac was a guesstimate, but it’s pretty fucking obvious, Roman made sure my hands were tied.

During the entire drive from Seattle to Mount Shasta, the events of last week replayed in my mind over and over.

The memory of Roman slapping Mac across the face with picture after picture of the evidence of his appalling, malignant endeavors.  All the while he roared, demanding irrelevant and nonsensical answers.

Even from where I stood in the shadows I could see her cracking, her sanity withering to ruins. And all I could do was pray the medicine mother gave her for her ‘mastitis’ would kick in and deliver my Mac into unconsciousness. Every tendon under my skin almost snapped in half while Roman took out his anger and mistakes on Heather’s lifeless form.