Seductive Truths (Seductive Trilogy) (13 page)

     Our gazes remain locked and the electric volts thrum along the flowing current until his eyes detach and fall to the ground.  His hold on me slackens as does his breathing.

    
‘
Do you think you can stand?
’
he asks still looking away.

    
‘
Y-yes, I think so.
’

     Ever so slowly he releases his grip and I find myself discomforted at the loss.  It is a feeling out of place.  I should be relieved, but this is not the case.

     I stumble slightly but with a bit of manoeuvring I adjust my feet to accommodate my weight.  I can still feel the imprint of the string on my wrists and ankles, a constant reminder of the catastrophic turning point in my life.

    
‘
Why did you cut the strings?
’
I ask.

     Eyes still hidden by the shadows he replies,
‘
They were hurting you.
’

    
‘
Is that all?  It’s as simple as that?
’

    
‘
Yes.
’

    
‘
Aren’t you afraid I will try and make a run for it?
’

    
‘
You could try, but you won’t get far.
’

    
‘
I may just surprise you.
’

    
‘
Oh, there’s no doubt about that.  I bet there’s
many
ways you could surprise me.
’

     It was the way he said it, almost as if he is flirting with me, but that surely can’t be right.  This man does not flirt, he torments.

    
‘
At any rate,
’
he continues. 
‘
There is only one escape and I hold the key to it, unless you follow through on surprising me and manage to climb to the window above.  Now that
would
be a surprise.  But as that strategy seems very unlikely it looks like you’re stuck here for the time being.
’

    
It could be worse.  No, wait!  Why could it be worse?  Isn’t kidnapping enough for you Alex?  Oh god, what am I thinking?

    
‘
Is there at least somewhere comfortable to sit?
’

    
‘
Not exactly, you are my prisoner after all.  Kidnapping is not meant to be a comfortable experience.
’

    
‘
Then can we have some light?
’

     After some deliberation he drags me into the sun’s rays being cast through the aforementioned window.

     I go to thank him and notice he remains on the shadow’s perimeter allowing only a silhouette and the slight glow of his eyes to be seen.  The man retains his mystery.  He holds his distance.

     I’m still unsure where I stand with him.  One wrong word and I could be
flung
across the room, as he did with Zoe.  He is a man with depth; the question is how far does it run?

     Then a glint of something catches my eye and I turn to see him swigging the contents of his hip flask.  The same hip flask I picked up not so long ago.  I remember the way it effortlessly glided under the tips of my fingers, so intimate.  I remember the initials, the odd inscription.

    
‘
What does it mean?
’
I speak without thinking.

    
‘
What?
’

    
‘
The inscription, what does it mean?
’

    
‘
Oh, that.
’
  A brief pause then,
‘
The flask was a gift from my brother.  The inscription was his deluded idea.  It was more to do with his belief than anything related to me personally.  Well, I hope it doesn’t apply to me.
’

     The first willing mention of his brother.  Hope this is a good sign
.

    
‘
And it means?
’

     I get nothing.

    
Is he backing off?  Please don’t close up again, please.

    
‘
Drown the Devil in your sins.  It started out as a joke between the two of us.  My life is one big sin.  Whenever it got too much for me when I was younger, my brother used to say,
“
Here, drown that devil,
”
and he’d hand me over his flask.  Over time it became his saying then his motto.  It wasn’t long before I started seeing him for who he really was.  He was becoming the devil himself.  Everything he did was out of malice and for his own gain.  My father…
’
his voice cracks. 
‘
My father believed he was bonding with Mark, thinking they were a team, but Mark only looked out for number one.  He used to be kind and considerate, but that all changed when…It all eventually changed, setting the course of my life.
’

     Agonisingly slow he raises his eyes and I catch the pain, the hatred.  The battered and bruised man reappears.  He’s closed his heart off for so long he’s forgotten how to feel.  This could be the chink in his armour I’m looking for.

    
‘
What happened to your brother?
’

    
‘
What makes you think something has happened?
’
he snaps.

    
Maybe not
.

    
‘
You speak of him in past tense.
’

    
‘
Whatever happened is my problem, my business, nobody else’s.  My private life remains that,
private
.
’

    
‘
So what happened to
my
private life,
my
business?  You come blundering in taking me away from my family for what?  Telling me the truth about my brother?  To me I’d call that invasion of privacy.  What business of yours is it how or why my brother died?
’

     The tension crackles.

     Unconsciously he has edged forward inch by inch in his tirade, bringing him into the beam of light and I catch the fire burning his pupils, consuming him. 

    
‘
It became my business the day your fiancé walked into my life!
’

     His tone is thunderous, but it’s his eyes that
lead my concentration.  The shi
ning blue has dissolved into a foreboding black causing my breathing to quicken and my breasts to rise and fall at a faster pace, capturing my captor’s interest.  His eyes darken further.

     The silence washes over us and the friction grows.

    
Why does it always end up in a shouting match?

    
‘
What do you mean by that?
’
  My voice may have dropped a notch or two, but there’s strength behind my words.  Just.

    
‘
Who
are
you?
’

     His gaze is unwavering, the look haunting and his face drawn. 

     As I stare into the abyss of his eyes I see nothing. 
How can I be seeing nothing?
  A man that has so much passion, so much vitality, even when his eyes are cold, reduced to this!  It is not him. 

     Out of some deluded sense of bravery, or stupidity, or something else altogether, I take a step towards the lost child in a man’s skin and ask the question again.

     His eyelids flutter, colour returns to his pale cheeks and tiny specks of life dances on the edge of his irises once more.  His tongue slips out to wet his lips then swallows, Adams apple bobbing up and down mesmerizingly.

     I can feel his agitation, as if something is holding him back.

    
‘
Gareth,
’
he croaks. 
‘
My name is Gareth Hill.
’
   

    
Gareth.  How that name rolls easily off my tongue.

    
‘
Gareth.
’

    
‘
Yes, but I go by G.
’

    
‘
Or Mark.
’

    
‘
I only used that name once when introducing myself to your friend.  Other times it’s G.
’

    
‘
So whenever you meet someone new you say your name is G?
’

    
‘
I rarely introduce myself to anyone.  It is others who come and introduce themselves to me.
’

    
Now I’m extremely confused.  I don’t think I’ll ever understand this man.

    
‘
Why Mark?  You could have picked any name, Pete for instance or Clive.  Why your brother’s name?
’

    
‘
To remind myself not what to become.
’

    
‘
If your name is so precious to you why tell me?  I could have ignorantly carried on calling you Mark.  I wouldn’t have known anything different, it wouldn’t have mattered.
’

    
‘
It would have mattered to me.
’

    
‘
Why?
’

    
‘
Because…
’
but nothing else follows, instead he takes a step towards me, further into the light and his features leap out, enabling me to finally take a good look at him. 

     His hair is slightly shorter than I remember, not as long in the front.  A tad blonder too, especially with the angle of light bouncing off the top of his head casting an almost golden glow, like a halo.  It’s a
bit
scruffy in an adorable way - bed hair.

     Adorable would be the last word I would use to describe this man, but in this instance it suits him perfectly.  I have no other word that would do him justice.  However, his mild stumble lends him a precarious edge dulling the vulnerable appeal.

     The blue of his eyes sparkle in the beaming sun illuminating his face.  They’re so deep and penetrating, as though he can see straight into my soul to its darkest depths.  A speckle of grey dance in the irises, but it’s the crystal blue that shines through, hauntingly captivating, always drawing me in.

     Gareth’s mouth is slightly smaller in comparison to other men I’ve known, but strong and engaging.  They appear soft and enticing.  My mouth goes dry at the tempting prospect of tasting those lips.

    
Christ!  What am I thinking?  This is not the time or the place for such thoughts, Alex!  Get your mind off this path this instant!

    
‘
Alex,
’
he tenderly murmurs, caressing every letter.

     I look up only to find him right in front, eyes a multitude of emotions. 
When did he get this close?

     My heart goes up a gear, drumming to its own beat.  Blood riots around my body, circulating heat at a rate I’m not used to.  My palms are unusually dry, but still feel clammy.

     Then everything happens in a matter of seconds and a sharp tingling sensation shoots up my back and Gareth speaks into my ear,
‘
I’m so sorry,
’
before my mouth is being covered and vision dissolves into nothing.




     Rustic red liquid seeps out of the lifeless form, gradually forming a puddle on the tarmac.  Dirt, grit and mattered hair surround the horrific gash in the skull.  The once healthy glow of the cheeks, that
were
seen many times supporting a cheeky smile,
are
now a deathly shade of
white.  The red, rich lips are no more, but in their place
lies
a chilling blue-grey, as if the grim reaper itself had come along and sealed his fate with a kiss.  No longer is the shirt he wears pristine but now bores the evidence of the incident.  The material is ripped and torn, as if someone has come along with scissors and hacked it to shreds.  His denim jeans fair no better.

     The men and women that inhabit London’s night atmosphere begin to swarm around the still figure.  Sirens from both police and ambulance can be heard screeching down the neighbouring street.  A second later everyone scarpers to a safe distance as the emergency vehicles come to an abrupt halt near the unfortunate victim lying in a heap on the cold ground, like a discarded rubbish bag.