Page 19 of Cain
“Wine?” she offers.
“I don’t drink,” I mumble, chewing the delicious ground meat of the food.
And then I seehimstanding in the corner of the room, penetrating me with his cold gaze.
Suddenly, shudders consume me again, and I feel terrified of him.
“Welcome back, Mr. Manson.”
“At your service, Mr. Manson. Have a great rest of the day,” the driver says.
I slam the car door fiercely and stride towards my mansion’s entrance.
I should have taken my bike to the office. I needed an intense, high-speed ride to cool myself down. Instead, I left my gorgeous Ninja H2 waiting for me at home.
A simmering rage has been seething within me all day, making it impossible to focus on anything. I feel a surge, a rush I can’t control, barely able to keep myself from erupting.
How dareshe do that? Slap me? Me? I’m no saint—not even a good guy, to be fair—but slapping me is something I won’t forgive. Even I have boundaries, and she’s crossed them in the worst possible way.
As I approach the entrance, I realize I’ll see her soon, and I have no idea how I’ll react. If I snap and hurt her, I’ll never forgive myself. So, I decide to light a cigarette and take a few long drags before going inside. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve smoked today.
She wants to leave … leave and go where? To her so-called boyfriend, who only makes her miserable? To those “friends” who are just jealous of her?
Or back to her abusive and indifferent parents, who do nothing but push her? Push her to be “perfect,” to do things she doesn’t want, all for the sake of her image. Push her into a future, a career she never even wanted. Lock her in her fucking room because she disobeyed them. Being indifferent when she was sick. When she needed them.
Katerina seems perfect, as if she has the whole package. But deep down, she’s just like me. An outcast. An unloved child. Not because she did anything wrong, but because she dared to exist in a marriage as a product of their vanity.
God, she’s perfect. Untouched by darkness. Her mind and soul are still innocent, unstained by malice and corruption.
I am a fiend. A wretched man who should be cast into the fire and left to burn. But thinking of her in danger makes me even more certain about my decision to take her. The way that piece of shit was stalking her thenight she went to that party made my blood boil. How dare he?
Fuck, I shouldn’t act impulsively and kill him. I should find out what he knows. As if I’m a fucking amateur. At least threatening the bouncers to bail on their job was easy, as always.
That pulsing feeling in my spine won’t let go, the certainty that someone is always watching her. And Elijah isn’t the real threat. It’s something else, something I can’t see. No matter how much I search or tear myself apart over it, there’s nothing. But I know better. I know it’s there.
She has to be protected and ripped away from this sick, rotting world. Locked away, where nothing and no one can reach her. No cruel words, no filthy hands, no twisted, hungry eyes. Nohim.
Safe from everything.
I tried not to be a creepy stalker. I tried to remain rational and sane. But she was in danger, and I couldn’t risk her safety.
I yank my cigarette from my fingers and enter the mansion. As always, it’s quiet and peaceful. I dislike voices, noise, and unnecessary chatter among the staff. Instead, I want everything to roll smoothly and the way I desire.
On my way, I pass the vase with bloodred roses in the corridor and take one in my hand. Fuck, its smell is almost euphoric, just like hers.
I walk into the kitchen and find her eating the meal I had Eleanor cook for her. The minute they both hear me, they direct their eyes to me.
Damn, now I realize how much I wanted to see her again. See her eyes again. Hear her voice. Touch her skin.
She startles as if she had been doing something naughty, and I caught her in the act.
“Welcome back, Mr. Manson.” Eleanor smiles brightly, stirring up Katerina’s marmalade in the pot.
I can’t look away from her. I simply can’t. She acts like a martyr, still dressed in my shirt, eating hesitantly, little, like a bird would.
However, she is still beautiful. She doesn’t have to try to look attractive; it comes naturally to her.
“Leave me with my guest, Eleanor.”
