Page 97 of Scarred King

“Elena,” he cuts me off angrily, “you are my Duchess. Mine.” He stresses. “Your reputation precedes you, stall them until we get there. It won’t take long.”

“Alright,” I dry my tears with a paper napkin. “Thank you, Liam.”

“Don’t let me down,” he says firmly and hangs up.

I stare at the phone and sit on the chair. I need to put on a show without the girls’ support, without Victor and Leo and without Charlie, who knows when to pull out his hunting rifle at exactly the right moment. I put my head down on the table and look at the clock. The time passes slowly.

Fear is eating me up and my man, my savior, is still so far away. Fate must be laughing at me. The thoughts are spinning around my head together with all the events of the last few weeks. I look at the clock again and realize with horror that the hands are pointing to eleven o’clock.

I run upstairs and shake my mother. She opens her red eyes and grunts in pain.

“Mom, I need you to help me,” I force her to sit up and she looks at me with glazed eyes. “You have to pull yourself together and help me. If my plan works, they’ll never bother you again.” Her eyes widen in curiosity and she is about to speak. “No questions.” I say aggressively. “The last idea didn’t work, now we'll try something else and pray it will work.” She sits up and I feel that I have my mother back. “I need you to do exactly as I ask, no comments and no questions.” Surprisingly, she just nods. “I need you to help me look like a duchess.”

“What?” she asks in astonishment.

“I said no questions,” I raise my voice, and she puts her hand on her mouth and nods. “Not just any duchess,” I explain. “A duchess who looks like Dracula's long-lost sister.”

She opens her mouth again but shuts it when I narrow my eyes at her in anger. She gets up with difficultly and hobbles to her closet, rummaging through the clothes hanging there, shaking her head, until finally, she pulls out a plastic bag and lays it on the bed.

“I wore this to a costume party a few years ago. It was great, I think it will do the job.” She undoes the zipper and removes a tight, long black dress with a faux leopard-fur cloak. I nod in satisfaction and take off my clothes. She helps me into the costume and studies my body. “You lost weight,” she murmurs in disappointment.

“Mom, this isn't the time.” I tie the cloak around my neck. “Find me a wide black belt.”

“But that's not a part of the costume,” she says and falls silent when I growl in annoyance. She fastens a wide black belt around my waist, and I sit on the edge of the bed.

“I need you to do my makeup, I want it to be heavy with smoky eyes. Make my eyes stand out and look threatening. And my lips with red lipstick,” I tell her, and she brings out her make-up bag and applies it skillfully to my exact orders. “Now my hair.” I tilt my head sideways and she picks up the hairbrush and flinches back. “Mom, you can brush it,” I straighten my neck and she lays the brush hesitantly on my head. “Come on, we don't have time. Brush it and make it shine, just like yours.” She starts brushing my hair and then oils it generously. I put on her high-heeled shoes and stand up, staring at my strange reflection in the mirror. “Perfect,” I say. “It’s so twisted, it has to be perfect.”

I start going towards the stairs, and she follows me. “Do you have a pocketknife?” I stop and she looks at me with a horrified expression. “Come on, Mom, we don’t have time.” I growl. She returns to the bedroom, brings out a shoebox, and opens it in front of my astonished eyes. Pocketknives in all sizes and colors.

“This collection was your father’s hobby when he was very young,” she shrugs. “I don’t even know why I kept it.”

I choose two knives, check their springs, hide one in my belt and another in the side of my panties.

“Will you explain everything later?” she asks nervously, and I shake my head no, and smile at her.

“Later, if everything works out—I’d be very happy if you forget everything you'll see here today.”

She nods in confusion and follows me downstairs. “We have ten minutes,” I say and close my eyes. I press my hands together and say a prayer. The tension in my body is paralyzing, and I force myself to calm down. I sketch a table with two columns in my head and fill in all the possible scenarios. Slowly, everything becomes clear and I’m breathing steadily.

There are loud knocks on the door and my mother collapses on a kitchen chair, clutching her stomach. “My beautiful daughter,” she whimpers in a panic, “what will they do to my beautiful daughter?” she bends over in pain and then looks at me anxiously. “Why don’t you hide again? And after they take me you can go to the police and—”

“Mom, be quiet.” I whisper and clench my hands into fists. “From now on, you aren’t my mother, you don’t even know me. And you’re just as afraid of me as you are of them.” She shakes her head hysterically and I signal with my finger for her to be quiet. I walk over to the door, swing it open and immediately move back.

“Who are you?” I shout and throw my head back.

“Who’s this bitch?” the guy with the snake tattoo asks and walks towards me.

“Who did you call a bitch?” I tilt my head from side to side slowly and narrow my eyes at him.

“What’s that thing?” the second guy asks as he looks at me in disgust.

“That thing is busy getting the money it’s owed.” I slam the wall and march into the kitchen. They follow me. My mother is sitting there, her head low and she is clutching her stomach. “Are you still here?” I growl and they stop in their tracks. I stand behind my mother and stroke her head. “I told you that you had until midnight to get my money, and you…” I take out the pocketknife, snap it open, look at it lovingly and place it against her neck. She’s breathing heavily but doesn’t say a word. “You thought you were playing with kids,” I smirk, making sure that the blade doesn’t scratch her. “You thought you were dealing with Mexican dogs?” I look straight at them and spit on the floor. “Come here!” I scream at the guy on the left. He’s probably so shocked by my performance that he immediately walks and stands in front of me. I slap him so hard that his head flies sideways. His friends start cursing loudly and come towards me quickly. “Stop!” I scream and open my eyes as wide as I can. “Whoever lays a hand on the Duch—”

“On my Duchess, will pay with his life,” Liam finishes my sentence as he bursts in, looking at me with an expression that makes my heart expand and explode into thousands of tiny pieces inside my body. He walks to me slowly, stands close to me, and feels me from the waist down.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, holding myself back from jumping on him and hug him.

“Shhh,” he whispers and slips his hand under my dress, takes the knife out of the side of my panties and winks at me. He turns around to face the guy I just slapped and stabs him in the heart. My mother screams hysterically and the guy crashes down to the floor, his body twitching and squirming.

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