Chapter 5
| A U R O R A |
Past
I must have passed out. Next time when I came to my senses, I found myself back in the car seat, lying comfortably with my head rested on a small pillow. It was a smooth drive, considering the luxurious car, as I slowly adjusted my eyesight. Viktor sat comfortably in the front, engrossed on his phone.
Groaning, I sat up as I slowly recollected the events right before I passed out.
Factory. Captive. Viktor. Blood. Of course! I realized I didn't pass out at the sight of blood. It was my entangled predicament that unnerved me for a moment.
"Are you feeling alright?" Viktor asked curtly, his eyes glued on the rearview mirror.
"Yes," I groaned, even though my voice clearly suggested the contrary. My head was pounding like hell. "Did I hurt my head somehow?" I asked, clutching it tightly in my hands.
"No," he said. "Your knees are just lightly bruised."
I gazed down quickly to realize that he had already cleaned the wounds and applied some kind of ointment on it.
"Great," I muttered, leaning back. "Where are we going now?"
Looking over his shoulders, he spared a sideways glance. "It's about time you meet him."
Viktor didn't utter his name this time like it was something ominous, some threatening. Was it, really? I didn't do well with strangers—never turned out to be good for me. And here I was being handed over to a person who was supposed to train me to be a killer. Of course, I could have opted out, but the price I would pay would be my life.
After a tedious twenty minutes drive, the car pulled up near a massive house. It wasn't as big as Viktor's place, but the contemporary opulence of floor to ceiling glass walls and the magnificent decor was breathtaking. Slowly stepping out of the car as someone held the door open once again, I took in the surroundings.
Crime did pay a lot, I thought.
"Let's go," Viktor said, putting a hand on my lower back as he herded me toward the house.
Drawing in an anxious breath and ignoring the weird knot in my stomach, I took small steps towards the house. Nervousness took control of my body beyond measure. In fact, it was written all over my face.
From being dragged into the detention facility, then the great escape and finally ending at Viktor's warehouse - I had seen and lived through all of it. But not once was I afraid. For the first time in my life, I was aware of my fragility in my bones.
Advancing forward, Viktor latched the doorknob, pushed and held the door open for to stride in. A massive room stretched out, dominating the whole space with white and beige accents of interior decorations. The house was splendid at its best. Across the end, was the huge kitchen island with chestnut cabinetry, steel ovens, fridge, and wooden shelving.
It was a well decorated, lavish place but soulless. It looked... void, despite being finest.
"Viktor," a hard, foreboding voice called out from behind as every hair on my body stood up. It reminded me of an edged knife. I could hear the echo of his footsteps as he descended down the stairs, but I didn't dare look up. Instinctively, my arms wrapped my body in search of some warmth even though I was well-shielded from Chicago's cold conditions.
Viktor, who sat across me on the couch, stood up and greeted the man as he finally came within the periphery of my vision. And I gasped, almost.
A tall, broad-shouldered, muscular figure stood before me. Donned in a crisp black shirt, tugged out and sleeves folded, paired with slightly ragged jeans made him look like a foreboding creature. His presence had the strength to electrify the air.
And when those almost gray irises narrowed and glanced at my way, the strange fear clawed up my spine. My own breath threatened to strangle me as I held my breath. At that moment, I had wished to force my gaze down, but I couldn't not. Not because the enigma to his personality imprisoned me, but the sheer force of his gaze was so commanding.
"Marco, that's Aurora," Viktor introduced, pointing my way. "Aurora, Marco. He's the one to train you."
Marco's eyes hovered over the contours of my face for some time, as if he was studying me. His expressions remained unyielding.
"Sit down," he ordered, jerking his chin slightly.
Obedience came naturally with his smooth, dark voice as I, most ungracefully, plopped down on the couch with a thud. Marco sat down beside Viktor without taking away those gray, inquisitive eyes off mine.
"Aurora," Viktor said, and I quickly shifted my gaze. In a strange, comical turn of event, Viktor seemed to be an angel compared to the man sitting beside him. "I have already stocked up this place with everything you might need. If you need anything else, tell Marco, and he will provide you with."
Dazed and tongue-tied, I nodded.
Marco cocked his head to the side. "I hope she can talk, right?"
Viktor didn't answer but glanced at me, amused. The flaring temper of mine suddenly broke through every barrier of fear and anxiousness, and I snapped. Although, I wish I didn't.
"She is sitting right here," I gritted out, and his head turned immediately in my direction. A questioning brow raised commandingly at my little outburst.
He slowly shook his head, disapprovingly, and told Viktor, "She won't last a week with me."
"You won't last a week with me. You're just not good enough," I countered, and it almost sounded like screaming.
It was probably the most childish outburst, but somehow it felt so, so good at that moment. Almost satisfying like a child stomping her foot.
Sensing the rippling tension in the room, Viktor stood up before Marco could get a word out.
"I am going to leave now," he announced, picking up the suit jacket.
"Try not to kill her," he told Marco with a smirk.
Advancing towards me, he said in a low voice, "Remember what I said: You'd listen to each and every word that Marco says. You'd respect him, obey him and do whatever he asks you to do. We made a deal Aurora—you and me. Try not to break it. I will see you in a week."
"I don't want to stay here," I pleaded.
"We'll have this talk in a week."
Our eyes followed as Viktor shuffled out of the door, and then we turned to face each other. There was something in those smoky orbs that part-intrigued, part-terrified me.
I would have taken a step back when he took a step forward, had he not captured my chin between those rough fingers and pulled me slightly towards him. "Let's get to the point. The first week, I'd allow you to scream, cry and yell as much as you want. By—"
I jerked myself away from him in pure defiance. "In your dreams, I don't cry."
Nostrils flaring and lips pursed, he sighed and began in a much more controlled voice. "Yes, you're going to do a lot of things that you have not done yet. And never, ever interrupt me again." He took a pause letting the threat sink in. "From second week onwards, no more crying. And by the third week, no more screaming or yelling even when you're in pain."
"Unless you don't know, screaming in pain is a natural reaction. Nobody can control it," I shot back in retaliation.
"But you would. Because by the third week, you'd realize you can't escape the pain, no matter how much you scream or cry. So your natural reaction would be getting used to it."
I gave him a taunting smile. "And here I thought you said that I would not last a week."
"My job is to make sure to want to quit every moment of every day. Your day job is to make sure that you don't," he quipped.
"You're a sadist," I fumed at his arrogance.
Marco grinned wickedly, muttering, "Said every woman ever."
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Now that you're here, there's only one rule that covers everything: you do as I say and you do it without questioning, without whining, and definitely without back-talking."
"So... if you want me to jump into the fire, you expect me to do it?" I asked and then added mockingly, "Without questioning, without whining, and definitely without backtalking."
He took a step forward in my direction, still keeping a healthy distance between our bodies, yet I could feel the heat radiating off him in abundance. "Now you're going my point."
If he thought I'd do everything that he says, he had another thing coming for him. I wasn't an escapist, but I understood the fine line between bravery and stupidity. For the sake of my sanity—running far, far away from this man would be a wise decision than staying back and fighting with him, knowing I wouldn't ever win against him.
"One more thing, Aurora," he said, uttering my name for the first time in the last half an hour that we have known each other, "I value honesty. Never lie to me or try to deceive me in any manner. Do it, and I'd make you wish you hadn't."
I glared at him, trying to match the intensity of the fire in his eyes. "Then let me tell you something very honestly, Marco, I am not here willingly. It's either you or..." My gaze faltered, and I exhaled a breath I had sucked in for a long time. "It's either you or prison. And I don't want to go back there." My voice was now small and devoid of any power.
I shuddered at his ability to disarm me with mere words and a stern look. What would happen if he actually decided to exert his authority over me?
He brought his hand closer to my face and paused without making contact, and to my surprise, I didn't flinch. In that brief moment, he slowly tucked a stray lock behind my ears in a compassionate manner. "Since I am your preferred choice out of two bad choices presented to you, I'd make sure you don't regret it."
Truthfully so, he seemed to be the lesser of the two bad choices given to me. But even then, I couldn't deny how he caught me off guard every minute.
I nodded slowly.
Marco immediately snapped back to his raw, rugged and manly self, breaking out of the shell of gentleness he had just displayed a moment ago. "Words. Use your words, Aurora. I am not going to accept any childish nodding or shaking of your head. Have you understood?"
Steering away my urgent desire to smack his arrogant face, I did the most unthinkable. I played along. A faux smile broke out of my lips in mockery as I retorted, "Yes, Sir, I understood."
His expression didn't change, but the tick of his chiseled jaw clenched tightly was hard to miss.
"Good," he said, "Let's get you something for lunch then. You're hungry." Without waiting for me, he walked towards the open kitchen island far across the living room.
"I didn't say I am hungry," I mumbled, following him like a puppy nevertheless. It was a lie, I was famished. Between the tortured captive scenarios I witnessed and meeting Marco—the thought of food flew out of the window until he mentioned it.
In a flash, he turned around as I stumbled and took a step back. Stormy grey eyes flashing contempt nailed me to the spot. "I didn't ask whether or not you're hungry. And Aurora, that's your first and the last try at deception under this roof."
He marched towards the kitchen as I followed wordlessly, knowing it wasn't the right time to test the waters. Pulling a bar stool, I sat down and watched Marco grabbing a plate of food and shoving it inside the microwave oven. The timer beeped within a minute, and he took out the plate, placing it in front of me.
"Eat," he said, grabbing a stool for himself and sat down. "I am done with my lunch, and this should suffice for yours."
I glanced down at my plate. There was Lasagne, dripping with cheese and a side dish made of crispy potato, mushroom, and cubed red-meat. Beside the plate was a bowl of thick, creamy chicken soup; the steam emitting from it was alone making me hungrier than ever.
In a weird coincidence, the array of food was my all time favorite dishes.
"I love these," I murmured more to myself as I took the first bite of the Lasagne. It melted on my tongue, and I was pretty sure I moaned a bit.
"I thought you might want to have these for the last time," Marco supplied casually, fidgeting with the phone in his hand.
My head whipped up so fast that I thought I had hurt my neck. "What do you mean by 'last time'? Are you planning on keeping me starving?"
He abandoned the phone, wheeling all his attention towards me and smiled. "On the contrary, I would never let you starve under my roof, Aurora. But you're going to eat healthy food and keep up your strength because you'd need it in abundance. So, enjoy your choice of food for today because, from tomorrow onwards, you'd eat what I'd choose for you."
I narrowed my eyes. "What if I don't want to?"
"Trust me; you don't want to find out that I can force feed you in more ways than you can think of."
If he was trying to instill some kind of fear in my mind, it was damn well working. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a control freak?"
"You have no idea about it." He smirked devilishly and tossed a small cube of red meat in his mouth from my plate. "Eat now, Aurora," he said, almost in a cajoling manner. "Your food is getting cold."
His threats and assurances were tangled so mysteriously that I found myself getting more and more trapped in the situation.
Marco reminded me of the scary horror movies I went to watch with my mother when I was little more than a child. It scared the shit out of me every time, but I still insisted on watching them—peeking through my fingers—even though I knew that the dread would leave me unsettled the moment I would walk out of the movie hall.
Guess I always loved danger more than I had realized.
So, how is the first meeting between them? Did the air crackle?