Page 38 of Cain

Frustrated.

Tonight, he’s an entirely different person. He’s the man I initially thought he was. The gentleman—a handsome stranger who intrigued me from the very first moment I laid eyes on him. And playing the piano makes him feel different. I can see it. He is relaxed. His facial expression is serene, as if the melody washes away all of his darkness.

He melts into the music he plays. He becomes one with it. He diverts his eyes to me, and his expression calms even more. How can he do that? How can he be a two-faced bastard? And not only that, but his two personalities are completely contradictory. My heart is fleeting under his serene gaze. This man can make my heart race for many different reasons.

And then, the song ends, and the pleasant ambiance around us remains.

“You never fail to amaze me.” I couldn’t help but say that. He chuckles, keeping his intense gaze on me. Damn it, I shouldn’t be so open. “I mean, you play very well.”

“Likewise, little rose. You never fail to amaze me.” He picks up the glass and sips his whiskey again. “You haven’t touched yours.” I look down at it and contemplate. “Ah, I see.” He stands and prowls around me. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already by now.”

“Are you a killer?” I whisper. I tremble to hear his answer, though I know it.

He swallows. “Yes.”

“Why?”

He halts right in front of me and peers down at me. “Because it brings me peace. Justice.”

“How can you say that?”

“You don’t know what it feels like.” He takes a deep breath. “Having control over someone’s life. Holding its thread in your hands. It makes you feel?—”

“Like God?”

“Strong. Fearless.”

And just like that, in an instant, I see his real face again. My terror simmers inside me. “What made you like this?”

He stares at the fireplace, his gaze getting lost in the flame. “My brother’s death.” He sips. “And it felt so good when I chopped off his filthy head and buried it with my own hands.”

What? My body numbs and the glass slips from my grip and falls to the floor. He doesn’t even flinch, as if he knew what my reaction would be like.

He killed his brother?

I don’t talk; besides, what could I say?

“Your pants are stained,” he says calmly, his eyes fixed elsewhere as he takes a sip of his own.

“I need to go.” I stride toward my bedroom. I want to hide from him. I want to escape this madness.

I enter the closet and take off my jeans in an attempt to get rid of the smell of whiskey that is all over me. I toss them on the ground, leaving only my lace underwear and my white shirt on, and grab the knife again. I feel safe with it; I need to have it close to me at all times. He is a madman.

I can’t believe what he just said. I can’t believe what he’s done. How can someone murder his brother?

I walk out of the closet and gasp.

“What are you doing in here?”

He is standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pants pockets. Once again, he looks calm, as if nothing is happening.

“I asked you something!”

His eyes drop to my hand. “This belongs to me, sugar,” he says as a wicked smirk spreads across his lips.

I shake in fear. He prowls slowly toward me, his head tilted to the side, giving him a sinister look. What do I do now?

“Don’t come close,” I hiss, raising the knife into the air and threatening him.