Page 16 of The Wolf

Vega

“We can't stay here long,” I said as I locked the door behind us. “But it'll be fine for now.”

“It's not like you're really giving me a choice,” she responded as she stepped into the living room and looked around. Her eyes took in everything. The paintings. The furniture. The large area rug. The busts of animals pinned to the walls. “You kill all these?” she asked.

“Some of them, but not all. My father killed some, too.”

“Hunting runs in your family. I guess we can't choose what gets passed down to us.”

“You could say that I inherited it from him. I'm not ashamed of that. My father was a good man.”

“Yeah, I'm sure every therapist would agree with that, too. A father who trained his son to kill should be given the Father of the Year award.” She stood beneath the bust of a stuffed deer and softly petted its fur. “Sixteen points on this one.”

“You hunt?”

“Not exactly. I did a lot of reading as a child.” Her fingers moved slowly over the fur, caressing the buck as if he could feel her touch. “Who killed this one?”

“I did.”

Poppy let out a chuckle as her hand dropped lifelessly to her side. “I bet you enjoyed it, too. Like the first sip of liquor to a home-bred alcoholic.”

“To be honest, no. I didn't enjoy it at all.”

“Bullshit.” She cocked her head and peered at me. “I don't believe that for one second.”

“It's true. I was only ten when I shot him,” I said as I stepped to her side. I looked up at the buck and touched his nose. “I was hunting wild turkey, not deer. This guy—” I slapped the side of his snout. “This guy charged me. I didn't see him until it was almost too late. I got lucky.”

“I wonder how much luck I have. It doesn't seem to be much, honestly.” Her eyes fluttered to mine briefly before going back to exploring.

Poppy moved from one bust to the next. She wanted to know who and how it was killed. The buck was the only unintentional death in the room. My father took that kill as an opportunity to teach me, to show me that beauty can be dangerous. He taught me that without death, there would be no life.

My father showed me how our family relied on death to survive.

But my father and I looked at the world through a different lens.

He killed, and it didn't matter who you were or what you did.

I couldn't do that. I couldn't just kill so callously.

Not that there hadn't been unintended casualties here and there.

It came with the job. You can be careful, plan ahead, and plot every single scenario, but nothing is definitive.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, it went as planned.

Yet, that one percent couldn't be avoided.

“It's cold in here,” she said.

“I'll build up the fire more.”

“Let me get this straight, you're obviously a wealthy man. There's electricity but no heat?”

“There's solar panels and a fireplace. I like to stay off the radar.”

“I wonder why.”

“Sit down. I'll have it warmed up in here in a few minutes.” I walked to the fireplace and started to add fresh logs. “You can use that blanket if you want to cover up.”

Poppy tucked her feet beneath her and wrapped herself in the blanket. “How long are you keeping me here?”

“I don't know,” I answered. “As long as it takes, I guess. The longer you're with me, the longer I can keep you alive.”

“I'm so confused.” Poppy snuggled into the blanket, her eyes sternly fixed on mine. “I don't know what to think anymore.”

“How about you just listen for now? Can you do that?” She thinned her lips and nodded.

“You have to stay with me. Being with me is the safest thing for you, but being with me doesn't make you safe.

I did something I wasn't supposed to, and people are going to come looking for me. Those same people are already looking for you, too.”

“What people?”

The fire began to crackle and pop as I poked the red embers. When there was a steady flame, I went to the couch and sat next to her. “Poppy, you're not ready to hear the truth. I know you think you are, but you're not. For now, you just have to trust me.” I reached out and touched her cheek.

Her eyes were studying me. I was screaming inside for her to see me as the man I was and not the monster she imagined. I wanted her to look into my soul and see the light, not the darkness.

“Trust me, Poppy,” I said as I held her face. “I'll explain everything when I know you're ready to hear it.”

“What the hell does that even mean? Ready to hear what?” she asked.

“I can't right now. You need to open your eyes first.”

“Another response without a real answer. Thanks for that. It was really helpful.” Poppy tucked her chin into her chest and stared at the fire.

I pinched her chin and turned her head back to me. She didn't want to look at me, but I forced her to. “Poppy, you know the truth. If I told you, you'd hate me even more than you already do because you wouldn't be seeing it with your own eyes. You just have to listen to yourself.”

“All I hear is screaming when I listen. There's so much noise inside my head.” Her red, glassy eyes flicked between mine. “I can't quiet it down long enough to think anymore. Everything is just too much. I'm overwhelmed. I'm exhausted. I'm afraid. I don't want to be afraid.”

“I won't say I'm sorry for doing this to you. All I can do is show you I won't hurt you.”

“What about back at that factory? You forced those men to stuff that tube up my nose.”

“I wasn't going to let you starve yourself to death. I didn't do all of this just to let you kill yourself.”

“You have people that work for you. I thought serial killers worked alone?”

“Of course, I have people. Even the worst of us need help at times, but I'm not a serial killer.”

Poppy laughed as she pulled her face free from my hand. “How many people have you killed?”

“I don't keep count,” I said.

“What's the definition of a serial killer?” she asked coyly. “I think it's someone who kills multiple people for fun.”

“Stop. It's not the same.”

Poppy's lids thinned as her lips sealed tight. “Mm-hm. Whatever you say.”

“I'm serious. It's not the same thing. Serial killers do it just because they want to. I'm a paid professional. But I don't just kill anyone. There's a method to it. I have a system.”

“Right,” she said. Poppy didn't believe me; that was easy to see. “So, these people that work for you, do they know what you do?”

I nodded. “Of course they do.”

“And they're okay with it?” Her lips parted as she inhaled a breath.

My eyes were drawn to her mouth, to her supple and soft lips. The dewy glisten of her skin under the glow of the fire made me hard. Was it wrong to want her when she looked so vulnerable? Was it worse that I didn't care?

“Let's not talk about this right now. We're both tired and need some rest.” I wanted to avoid the conversation at all costs. I didn't want to explain my reasoning for what I did. And I especially didn't want to explain it to her.

“I don't want to sleep. I hate sleeping. And you took my medication, so now I have no peace either.” Poppy inhaled a deep breath as her eyes followed the dancing flames.

“Those pills weren't good for you.” I got up from the couch and walked to the cabinet on the wall to my right.

“Now you're my fucking doctor, too? Is that what you are?” Poppy's mouth hung open slightly as her eyebrows dipped into the bridge of her nose. “You have no fucking clue. Without my medication—”

“Without your medication,” I said, cutting her off. “You're mind will clear.” I took out two glasses and filled them with whiskey. “Here.” I held out a glass to her. “This will take the edge off.”

“You want to get me drunk? Is that going to clear my mind?” Poppy let out a condescending laugh. “You're a real fucking gentleman. Aren't you?”

“No, I just want you to relax a little. Drink it.”

“You probably poisoned it.” Poppy looked inside the glass, inspecting it for any residual powder or drugs.

I sat back next to her and took a sip of my own glass. “Fine, don't drink it. Stay up all night and feel like shit tomorrow.”

“You're such an asshole.”

“You like assholes.” I downed my glass and poured another. “That's one thing I know about you.”

Poppy's eyes turned to slits. Her mouth folded at the corners as her fingers tightened around the glass. In one quick move, she knocked back the entire glass of whiskey. She held out the empty glass and nodded for me to fill it again.

“Is this what we're going to do while we're here? Sit by the fire, get drunk, and what, share stories? Pretend like this is a weekend retreat at a ski lodge?”

“Would that be a bad thing?” I poured her another shot and then one for myself. “It's better here than at the factory, isn't it? Would you prefer to surround yourself with those types of people from the event the other night? Rich, smug, narcissistic fuck faces?”

She shrugged a shoulder as she held the glass in her lap. “Yes and no. I know how those people are and what to expect from them. I can't see the future here. And those people didn't kidnap me. Here, I'm still your prisoner.”

“Those assholes would never put their life on the line for you. Not one of them. I can tell you right now that most of the men in that room would have thrown you to the wolves just to protect themselves. Just so we're clear, you're not my prisoner. You never were. And you're alive,” I said.

“For now.”

I snapped back a third shot and then a fourth. “Let me ask you something,” I said. My voice hissed from the back of my throat because of the alcohol. “Do you think you're any more of a prisoner here than you were at Aneska Pharmaceutical?”

“It's not the same thing.”

“I'm serious. Think about it. Really think about it.”