Allison's POV
My room darkens with his presence as he steps in, my heart beating rapidly at the sight of a strange figure intruding into my space. A figure I've always known to haunt me, a figure that makes my blood rush. It's him, my prince charming, my torturer, my god. I sit up in my bed, my chest heaving as he strolls to my bedside, his half-naked torso, with its well-shaped muscles, craving my touch. And... I want to touch him so badly that my head is beginning to spin, as I'm overwhelmed by a rush of emotion.
"Allison..." My name forms on his lips like a mystery, causing my nerves to tingle with pleasure and desire, while a maelstrom of other unfamiliar feelings bursts through my veins like an intrusion. I love him. Yet I doubt he feels the same, but I know he is intensely attracted to me. I can see the evidence from the bulge in his stylish black jeans. "Close your eyes..."
For some inexplicable reason, I obey, my eyes shutting, while all my other senses remain alert to his presence. My mind is brewing with the dirtiest thoughts that would make the devil blush...
"Open your legs..." He whispers in my ear, his voice thick and heavy, yet permeating through every break in my skin, taunting my sanity and breaking my resolve. Not that I ever had one, apart from the decision to submit to him.
Once again, I obey him, but this time with a little skepticism. What if he gets disappointed? What if he gets enough of me and leaves? I love him. I love him so much that he owns me. If he leaves me, I will be forever ruined.
But as much as I love him, I do not know him. So I dare to ask. "What is your name?" With a blink of an eye, he places his index finger on my lips, silencing me and distracting me instantly.
"Don't speak unless you are asked to." Why does his voice sound so mystical? A blanket of satisfaction and danger wraps me in its melody and warmth, making me want to listen to him speak forever.
Yet again, I obey him, waiting patiently for him to do with me as he pleases. Waiting for him to own me.
"Allison... Open the door..."
The door? I frown in confusion. Is that some sort of metaphor? I refrain from asking any questions, pushing my legs farther apart in sheer, understandable confusion.
"I said open the door...!"
My eyes force themselves open, my body jolting up in shock, yet a pitiable confusion drowns my consciousness with a density and pressure that can only exist underwater. I manage to squint at the figure before me, frowning at the perplexed woman staring hard at me with a tightly creased forehead and eyes blazing with intensity.
I recognize her, yet I do not, nor am I certain of where I am.
"Allison Martins! Child, get up... It's time for your training."
Training. Now I remember, but with a wince, my entire life flashing before my eyes, a routine I hate as I live and breathe. And of course, I recognize this woman as my mother, a very disciplined, no-nonsense woman whom I believe was sent by God to ruin my life. And my father? Though a man of the cloth, he is just indefinitely a confused man. A gambler in his past life, with lots of enemies. Hence the training introduced by my mother.
"I don't feel too well, Mother. I can't train today," I say weakly, adding as much weariness to my voice as I can manage.
Madam Francesca eyes me with suspicion, her tiny eyes peering through her round face like two holes on a blushed orange.
"Lies! Lies! You were having a wet dream, I know it! Those fantasies...!" She literally spits on my bed, causing me to jump to my feet, nearly twisting my ankle.
"Mother!" I yell at her with wide eyes, giving her a horrified look. "You are delusional!" I cry out, pain reaching the tip of my voice. "There's no war coming, I'm not doing this with you. No more martial arts, or hunting, or gun range training, or learning the art of seduction." The last part still disgusts me, but my mother's paranoia has turned me into something worse than weird and creepy. Especially considering the reason for all of this is to protect my family from my father's creditors, which I also believe do not exist.
"Hmm... Have you heard of Darius Hunter?" She asks with a mischievous smile.
Except I've never heard this name in my life, and definitely not in the books I've been reading. But he does sound like a dangerous man, except my mom's being paranoid over a name she put together.
"No. Who is he?" I ask with disinterest, folding my arms across my chest.
My mother chews her bottom lip, and if I didn't know her too well, I'd say she is pretending to be distraught. Except this tell of hers isn't fake; she is truly distraught.
"He's the devil. And your father owes him, which means that we owe him. Allison...?" I look at her as she calls my name. "We owe him sixty-five million dollars."
My mouth drops open, too shocked to remind myself my mother has psychological issues. "Sixty... Sixty-five... Mi... Mil... million dollars..." I choke on the last words, coughing hard to get the disbelief out of my system. Now I'm having a panic attack, unable to breathe, my internal organs suffocating.
"Hey! Breathe! Or use your inhaler... You're my only child. You must learn how to defend yourself. That's how I've survived this life with your father. We fight and move, and you train, stay in your room and not socialize, because in the end, all you really have are your books and imagination."
Anger wells up in my gut. I'm twenty, and my whole life, I've lived in the shadows, not allowed to go outside because some monster was lurking in the corners of the world, waiting to devour me. A monster I probably prefer to this prison my parents have forced me into. The only time I'm allowed to go outside is when I have to train, which isn't even a mile from our house.
"I can't do this anymore, Mother... I'm tired. I can't live like this." I begin to sob, my heart aching as my situation seems impossible.
My mother, whom I've never known to be soft, swallows and shakes her head. "You think I don't know? You think I like this? You think I wanted this life for you? No! But... But we don't have a choice, child..."
The emotions passing through her gaze catch me in the heart. "What if we tried something different for a change? What if we tried to live? Mom, we moved here a few days ago... I'm pretty sure we can stop being paranoid." I advise her passionately, getting goosebumps on my skin as I listen to my own voice echo in my ears.
For the first time in years, my mother, Francesca Martins, smiles at me, causing my heart to skip a beat. Yet there's some kind of sadness in her eyes. "Maybe. Except..." She pauses strangely, watching me in hesitation. I can tell she wants to tell me something, something bothering her deeply, but she can't. We barely talk, only train. The connection between mother and child is lacking. I prefer talking to my dad most times, except he annoyingly chips in Bible verses into our conversation. My mom, on the other hand, supports my dad's decision to be a priest, but she's more logical, believing in handling her issues herself.
"Never mind. Get dressed. You need to know the basic defenses..." Her sternness slides back, replacing the softness I'd almost witnessed in her gaze.
I sigh in defiance, yet a small nod of acceptance follows, agreeing to my mother's demand. I don't think I have a choice. In fact, I'm certain that I do not have a choice. It's time to train, it's time to duel with our wooden swords, and yet again, accept my fate as she will surely put my back to the ground.
I dress up in my customized Spandex jumpsuit, following her out of the room, hoping we will bump into my father so he can effortlessly dismiss our journey. He doesn't like the idea of me training either, but he loves my mom so much that he finds it hard to disagree with her, and vice versa.
Except my dad is not home; he must be at the church. So our journey continues to our very spacious backyard with high fences. My mother tosses a bottle at me, forcing me to catch the object with an expressive look of horror. That bottle could have hit my head.
"See?" She says proudly, "You're learning."
"I'm learning!?" I yell at her in disbelief. She's getting even crazier, yet I'm the only one who sees this.
"You are indeed. If any of Hunter's men come for us, you won't be the weak link, because you'll fight back!" She says proudly, pumping her fist into the air.
Weak link. Is that why this training exists? Because she thinks I'm weak? Wow! I'm hurt beyond words, distraught that she's turning this on me. I should be a normal child; I never asked for this life.
"I'm done." I swear under my breath, my voice thick with pain and indignation. "I'm done with this madness. I'm getting out there! And I'm going to live my life!" My voice raises beyond my expectation, and just as I try to walk away from her, she catches my arm, about to kick my feet from under me, when something drastic happens.
My reflex. I don't know how or when, or why, but my mother is on her back, lying helplessly on the ground because I have somehow overpowered her. Except that the actual problem is that she looks very much lifeless. "Mother?" I call softly, licking my lips in confusion. "Mother?"
"Mother!?" I place my hand on her chest and feel no heart beat. "Oh my goodness, what have I done?"