CHAPTER 89
ALEKSANDER ‘CHRISTIAN’ VOLKOV.
“To sound like a cliché Liam Neeson movie, I will find your family, I will hunt them down, I will gut them like pigs and tape you at the front seat to watch the whole thing. Whatever contract you have with my mother is over. Do we have an understanding? Now get out of my house and give Maria the phone.”
I recite the same thing to the old maid and not a shred of pity strikes me at the thought of giving the woman a heart attack on the spot.
I’d be lucky if she fell on the spot and I got to see her lifeless body on the floor through my camera feeds but that is pushing my luck.
So instead, I watch Maria and her colleague exit my house, leaving the Blondie stranded and dumbfounded at what just happened.
That is until the man who is too big and dumb to be a gardener pulls her away to the garden and lucky for me and unlucky for the bastard, the old soundless CCTVs by the maple tree work just fine enough to see what is going on in my garden.
Two maids gone.
And now? Now I’m dealing with a gardener that I can’t fire because the Blondie seems to know the guy very well.
And if the gardener knows the Blondie, then he knows me and my past.
For my sanity, I’m praying to the Big Man above that the gardener and I weren’t friends in my pre-amnesia life.
I can’t be friends with men I intend to kill soon.
My head pounds slightly but I keep it under control.
My neurosurgeon and his PhD brain warned me of one thing when it came to memories.
I can’t push myself to remember.
Pushing leads to chances of my brain shutting down. Pushing leads to chances of my brain losing the last ounce of control it has and bouncing off its rails.
So?
Like a kid, I’m sipping back my memories into my head with a sippy cup.
Bit by bit.
I’m Christian. I’m her Christian. Same Christian who called her ‘his brand of crazy.’
My fingers twitch, the smirk playing on my lips hiding the anarchy roaring from the back of my head.
Two years without memories only for my maid to wreck everything I know.
My right foot taps on the metallic floor beneath me, my eyes looking at my reflection as one of Taylor Swift’s snazzy music flogs the elevator, I’m currently in.
Every now and then, I check my phone.
I check the camera feeds that have my Blondie moving around the kitchen looking for something to eat.
The thought of me eating my favorite meal located between her legs sends a rush all the way down to my cock. I’m still so hard for her. I’m still too mesmerized by her pussy.
The elevator doors part and I walk into the vibrant penthouse like I own it when in reality I don’t.
Only a fool would invest in this side of town.
The penthouse is nice. Not bad for a million dollars. Yet come the next few months, this side of town is scheduled to be demolished but the man who owns this building doesn’t know that.
He wouldn’t know a bad investment if it slapped him in the face.
“Ben… Ben, no! S-stop… stop!”
The feminine shrill hits me from the living room just in time.
“Stop playing hard to get, Cass! You want this. Y-You want this, little girl”, the man I’m looking for speaks.
I make my way to the sleeping quarters, the moans and the screams from the bedroom like a cooling balm to my soul.
I step right into the room and the image I find is enough to wish I had bleach to wipe my eyes.
The fat fuck is on top of a shrieking brunette. Butt-naked.
The brunette shrieks, alerting the man on top of her that I’m in the room with him.
Benedict Woodcock, Poppy’s darling father, turns around and gets off the girl quickly covering himself as if what he’s stacking down there is magazine-worthy and not an eye sour.
“Shit! Alek… Aleksander? This isn’t what it…”, Benedict goes to defend himself.
I cut him off,” This isn’t what it looks like? This isn’t the infamous Benedict Woodcock taking advantage of an underage girl while his wife and daughter think he is in Tokyo?”
His face pales at once. He knows the severity of my statement.
“She’s twenty-one. Cassie’s twenty-one. Tell him, Cass.”
The sweat smearing his body, the chest hair starting to stick to the rest of that greasy chest, Benedict knows something’s up.
I turn to Cass with a smirk, “You have the tape?”
The woman I hired to be here, to act this out, to lure this bastard into this trap, covers her body with the white covers and jumps from the bed.
She’s four feet three, petite and in anyone’s eye, she looks sixteen rather than twenty-three years old.
“I recorded everything like you instructed, boss.”
I turn to Ben. Dear ole Ben.
“What’s going on here?! What the fuck is–.”
“How about you give us some privacy, Janine? And send me the tape asap, darling.”
She winks, turning around and walking to the living room.
I turn to the man gazing at me like I’m about to crush his favorite Porsche.
“Whatever the hell has gotten into you. Snap out of it, boy! You don’t treat family like this. I’m your father-in-law for God’s sake.”
I pace the room, thrilled at this game they’ve been playing around me for two years.
Can’t believe this idiot tricked me too.
“Right, right. Father-in-law. Same bastard who’s been whispering down my ear about how I’m mistreating your daughter for two years. Same bastard who’s been calling me crippled at every board meeting Volkov Industries holds.”
He chuckles, his potbelly moving like I’m the comedian who’s entertaining him for pennies at one of those shitty bars downtown.
“You are threatening me because I point out a few flaws you need to change? Everyone knows you became damaged after your accident Aleksander. It’s not new to anyone. I’m like a father to you, it’s my duty to want what’s best for you.”
What’s best for me?
I almost chuckle.
“You know I thought long and hard about who I wanted to start with first. The spoilt Madonna you have for a daughter, the backstabbing best friend, the conniving mother or dear ole Benny?
You wanna know who I chose first?”
“Aleksander-.”
He murmurs.
That’s right, old man. Let what’s happening sink into that thick head of yours.
I pull out my gun from the back of my waist.
“Aleksander, you are sick, you need help, you are not thinking…”
“I’ve been thinking straight since I sunk into a certain woman roaming my house”, I pull apart the gun, reassembling it in seconds.
“Funny enough I remembered bits about her in a week. And I’ve stayed with you fuckers for two years and I can’t remember shit. I know how to pull apart this gun and assemble it in a matter of seconds, matter of fact I remember how to use every gun available to man and yet not a shit about you.
I know where to shoot you, enough to make you bleed and suffer but not enough to kill you. And if I do kill you, I know how to handle your dead body without leaving any prints in my wake.
And yet? I don’t remember a single thing about you Benny. You, your daughter…none of you ring a single memory from me. Care to tell me why that is?”
“You are—are sick. T-the doctor, you can call-.”
“The doctor’s on the list too but that’s not what I’m here for, Ben. We are here for you, the man of the show.”
I lift my arm, my gun aimed at him on the bed.
The thrill of watching him die ticks like an addiction inside my body.
“I’ll—I’ll tell you everything. I-I’ll… anything you want to know… anything.”
He’s desperate. He’d tell me everything.
But I can’t handle everything at once. My brain can’t.
And every information about myself is seated in my house, in my shirt and she’ll tell me everything slowly by slowly.
“Then tell me Benny, what’s my name?”
“W—what… alright… you are Christian… Christian V-.”
That’s the confirmation I needed.
To know the maid is the real deal. To know the maid wasn’t lying.
The rest of Benedict’s words die when I fire my gun where he is seated and his screams fill the air.
The white covers turn red in an instant.
“Fuck! Bloody… you—you shot me! You… help me! Someone please…”
“My personal doctors are on their way to patch you up, Ben but I can’t guarantee your leg will make it.”
You’ll be crippled for life, you prick.
“F—fuck you! Fuck… you…”
“I’m not the one who’s getting fucked, Ben because you speak a word about this to anyone? I release your rape tape to the world. You know how these things work, whether the allegations are true or not, your Woodcock name will come crumbling down like a house of cards.
I’m watching you, you fat fuck, you step out of line and I’ll take both of your legs next time we have a chat.”
My phone pings and I know I already have that tape in my phone.
Three more people to go.
XxX
I shower in my own room. My little stalker isn’t in said room but that doesn’t matter. She’ll be in it soon.
When I’m dressed, I make my way downstairs, heading to the now empty maids’ quarters that only have her sleeping form occupying one of the rooms.
I pick her up from the bed effortlessly and her cheek plasters itself on my chest before she stirs awake.
“Christian?”
“I’m right here, baby. Go to sleep.”
Her eyes smart with sleep but she squirms in my hold looking at me with those baby blues that glint with the lighting.
“I was waiting for you.”
“Because you missed me?”
“No, because I need you to remove whatever the fuck you put inside me, out of me! I would have told Yan to remove it but-.”
“Who the fuck is Yan?”
“Ooh the gardener. His real name is Yan.”
I despise this Yan guy already.