Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,55

around my lungs, keeping me from pulling in a single breath. A ruckus of emotions has taken residence in my body. I take a wary step back from the stranger, my eyes widening with surprise as I do. This man isn’t just any stranger, though, he’s the same man who was lurking in the shadowed hallway on my floor of the estate all those years ago.

The monster.

“I know you,” I whisper. Everything feels off-kilter. A cold sweat seeps from my pores, and my hands tremble. As if sensing danger, my feet move of their own accord, taking me farther and farther away from the man in the black suit. He’s dressed almost identically as he was years ago. So much so, I think I’m imagining this. Imagining him.

But I can’t be, can I?

His mouth quirks, like he finds me amusing. There’s a frightening glint in his eyes that has me wanting to turn and run. Run as far away from him and this carnival as I can get.

“Do you now?” he asks the question calmly, as if he knows the effect he’s having on me.

“You were in my house. In the hallway outside of my room.”

He smiles then. It’s as devastatingly beautiful as it is frightening. “Are you scared of me, Tesoro?”

My stomach dips. Gooseflesh raises on my skin, and my throat constricts, refusing to swallow. “Should I be?” I croak.

He takes a step toward me, his eyes darkening with each second that passes between us. “Yes.”

One word.

One answer.

It’s enough to cause my soul to leave my body. Fear claws at my chest, warning bells ring in my ears, and without thinking about it, I run.

Hard and fast.

Colors blur and bodies whiz past me. Voices and laughter trail behind me. I don’t turn, too afraid to face the reality of the man in the dark suit. Wind whips savagely at my cheeks. Fear claws at my chest.

I weave around booths and rides, running this way and that, clipping people as I go, stumbling in my haste. My lungs burn. My feet ache in these tennis shoes and my heart, the organ feels like it’s on the verge of bursting out of my chest. I spot large crowds of people up ahead and dig deeper, running harder, faster. I’m nearing the carousel and the entrance of the carnival when it happens. The music grows louder and louder as do the bright lights of the carousel. I can almost taste the safety. Pushing past the sharp stitching in my side, beneath my ribs, I force myself to keep going.

Suddenly, pain rips through my skull, and I’m roughly yanked from behind. I let out a scream that only lasts a few seconds before a fist is wrapped in my hair, a gloved hand slapped over my mouth and I’m airborne. My body is cruelly snatched away from safety, and I’m dragged away from the lights and the crowds of people, hidden behind one of the booths. Not one person notices the struggle.

There is an unrelenting hold around me. It’s suffocating and painful, spurring me into a panic. I kick and flail my arms, trying to free myself. I hear pained grunts and feel multiple sets of hands trying to restrain me. The unrelenting grip on my hair tightens, and I scream as more pain burns at the base of my skull. Fear wraps cold and savage around my heart. In a last-ditch effort, I dig my teeth into someone’s arm and one of the men hiss in pain.

“Basta!” is the last thing I hear before a fist comes sailing toward my face. Pain explodes, and everything fades to black.

CHAPTER THREE

Saint

Plans have changed.

It was supposed to be a somewhat civil affair as I collected my down payment. Westwood asked for one more night with his daughter and a breakfast meeting between the three of us where he could explain to the young girl her new “adventure” in life. His word, not mine. To allow her to pack her bags and say goodbye.

But it’s like Westwood forgot the very essence of the Vitale name. It’s as though he thinks I’m a watered-down version of my father.

Fool.

I’m worse.

Dad ruled this city with an iron fist. Tight. Impenetrable. Unyielding.

Unlike Dad, though, I rule like the night. Dark. Suffocating. Terrifying.

Where my father had a code of fucked-up morals, I have none. I have agendas that require the patience of a saint, my name being a coincidence I pride myself on, that take years to fulfill. But, oh, are