Cheryl POV

"I'm Steph." She smiled innocently, like a child, as she settled into the armchair across from me.

I didn't respond. I just stared at her. She had to know he was a killer; she must have realized I'd been kidnapped. Yet, she acted so blithe, as if everything was amusing to her.

"Look, Cheryl, we could have fun if you just relax," she added, her voice light and carefree.

That's when I scoffed. "Fun? Relax? Sorry, but I'm not like you." The words squeezed out of my tight throat.

"Like me? What am I like?" she asked, her curiosity genuine as she leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

"Obedient to some criminals." I threw the words at her, barely containing my frustration.

She shook her head, exhaling a small laugh. "Finn was right about you. You're stubborn."

"That's his name? Finn?" I asked, confused.

"Yes," she replied, reclining back in the armchair.

So, he has a name.

"What now? You're just going to watch me all day and night?" I arched a brow in question.

"No. I have school and other things, deliveries to make at the restaurant. I promised Finn I'd stay here after class, until eight." She pulled out her phone and began tapping on the screen.

"Don't you think you're oversharing? My dad's a detective," I cautioned her, in case she wasn't told.

Steph paused, glancing at me from beneath her eyelashes. "Oh, I know. Trust me, I've known about your dad for years now. Finn won't shut up about him."

I froze. For years? Had he been planning this for years?

"For years?" I whispered, stunned.

"Yes. Ever since I've known him, he's been obsessed with the Masons," she said, rolling her eyes.

Obsessed with my family? If he wanted revenge, why wasn't he killing me?

"But why?" I asked, hoping she'd tell me what Finn wouldn't.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" she teased, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"He's not telling me." My eyes pleaded for answers.

"You know, Finn's not much of a talker. He prefers action over words. I'm surprised he's said as much as he has this week. He told me you never shut up."

I didn't know what to say. Part of me wished Finn would stay quiet because when he did speak, his words were never kind.

"Look, this isn't as complicated as it seems. You don't have to cheer up, but at least eat something and take a warm bath. You probably have designer outfits in that box," she sighed, standing and moving toward the bed beside me.

My eyes stung with the onset of tears, blurring my vision. I pulled away from her and curled up, hugging my knees tightly to my chest.

"I get it; it's not easy, but let me help you." Steph's hand landed softly on mine, her thumb brushing lightly against my skin. "I'm not saying I'll rescue you. I'm not looking to become Finn's next slice of barbecue," she joked, laughing lightly.

I looked at her, baffled. Was she serious or just playing around? Memories of Amelia, pushing the trolley of food, and helping me until her last breath flooded my mind.

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt Steph's arms around me. "Shh," she soothed, stroking my hair gently.

"I hate him. I hate him," I whispered repeatedly through my sobs.

"I know," she said quietly.

For a fleeting moment, I almost believed Steph was a victim too. But then my conscience reminded me, she had her freedom. She could leave this place. She could see her family anytime she wanted. She could report Finn if she were truly in danger. But she wasn't. She was on his side, part of his world. We weren't the same. She was his ally, and I was his hostage, willing to do anything to escape, only if it meant sacrificing others.

Taking a slow, shaky breath, I pulled away from her embrace. "I'll take a bath now," I said, my voice hollow.

"I'll get the water ready and help you up," she responded, smiling brightly as she stood.

***

It was after two in the morning when I heard engines rumbling to a stop, followed by the sound of car doors slamming shut.

Since Finn had left the room after Steph arrived, I hadn't seen him again. I wondered where he'd been, what he'd been up to.

I stood from the bed and peeked through the windows, but none gave me a view of the driveway.

The house was quiet again, until a few minutes later, when the sound of men's voices echoed through the hallways, only to fade into silence. I had no choice but to crawl back under the comforter.

Where are they coming from? I wondered. A party, maybe? Or a funeral of someone they killed.

But sleep wouldn't come. Anxiety churned inside me, and before I knew it, I was tiptoeing down the hallway, my soft slippers barely making a sound as I avoided putting weight on my sore feet.

Then I heard something that stopped me in my tracks. My heart plummeted to my stomach.

"You slaughtered them, slit their throats. They felt the fear, the helplessness, and then—boom." A voice from below the staircase said, laughing. Glorifying, like it was a football win. The room filled with deep chuckles, along with the thick haze of smoke, likely from weed.

"Dying's a bitch," another monstrous voice added.

"Particularly when they realize who they're dealing with in their last moments," Finn's voice drifted through the air with pride, making my heart pound.

They weren't talking about my parents, were they? No, my dad's a cop. Finn wouldn't risk it. But what if he did? What if he killed them both? I was sure my mom had returned to town to help my dad with the case.

No. This can't be true, right? At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

My breaths came in quick, shallow bursts, my pulse thundering as the horrifying thought spread into my mind. I might be parentless.

I tried to calm myself, but the fear was overpowering, and I spiraled deeper into despair as hot tears streamed down my face.

Finn was a killer, a man who always meant what he said. The fact that he was bragging downstairs, possibly about me, filled me with a flood of emotions, an insatiable urge to hurt him that was almost impossible to resist.

The rough, husky voices getting closer made my heart race. I quickly hid beneath the staircase leading to the third floor.

"I'm going to bed; it's already late, and the drive was long," Finn muttered.

"Goodnight, sir," an older man responded.

I cringed with every step they took above me, pressing my hands tightly over my mouth to silence my sobs.

I stayed there, trembling, for what felt like an eternity, listening to footsteps fade, doors creak open and shut, and weapons being loaded until the building finally fell silent.

With my heart in pieces, I slipped out of my hiding place and hurried down the hallway toward my cage, toward where I was supposed to be. But then a new idea struck me, freezing me in my tracks.

"Revenge." Finn's words echoed in my mind like a haunting radio tune. Before I knew it, I was heading back to the third-floor staircase.

Cautiously, I climbed the steps. Thankfully, the corridor was empty. I pressed my ear to several doors, but it was eerily quiet.

It seemed like Finn was the only one staying on this floor.

When I reached the fifth door, I heard faint sounds, a soft murmur, nothing too busy. I slowly pushed it open, greeted by dim lighting from a single lamp. The room was dark, despite its size, a luxury studio with a private living area and a kitchen tucked to the side. Apart from the gentle hum of an aquarium, the only sound was my heartbeat, loud and erratic.

I scanned the room. No one was in sight, but a figure lay sleeping in the bed at the far end. My eyes drifted to the cluttered table nearby, files, envelopes, and weapons. My trembling hands reached for a pistol, it was the only thing I knew how to use. The rest were too foreign, too complicated.

At the same table, I noticed some disturbing items my father would never approve of. Illegal drugs, piles of them. If I wasn't mistaken, I saw packets of cocaine.

My hands shook uncontrollably as I moved closer to the sleeping figure.

He lay on his back, shirtless, with moderate tattoos covering his skin. His sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his v-line.

His chest rose and fell steadily, giving him an almost peaceful, innocent appearance in sleep. So different from the monster I knew him to be.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. I raised the gun to his forehead, trying desperately to regulate my breathing.

My dad had always talked about self-defense, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't right. I wasn't a killer. I couldn't even hurt a fly, let alone take a human life. How was I supposed to pull the trigger on this ruthless man?

Still, I thought maybe I could do it. It was self-defense, wasn't it? But the truth was, I wasn't built for this. I was too weak, too scared to hurt anyone, especially like this.

My body trembled, and tears blurred my vision as I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to summon the courage to pull the trigger.

When I finally opened my eyes, the nightmare worsened. Finn's dark, piercing eyes were wide open, staring directly into mine.

I was screwed.

~

Finn POV

"Rowan McCain and James Ford had a meeting today in Kentucky. They're staying the night before heading to New York tomorrow," Teddy informed me.

"Isn't that just perfect?" I smirked. It was good news after making it through that sudden Structural Analysis test, not that I was complaining. I nailed every question, but sketching three structures in the middle of the afternoon? Definitely not my idea of fun.

"And Jamie called. Cheryl passed out again," Teddy added. Well, that killed the vibe. If only she could manage to stay awake for a full day. Her constant fainting circle is getting on my nerves.

I get it, waking up in an unfamiliar place isn't easy. But she should know by now: I'm not going to hurt her. I wouldn't let anyone hurt her.

She's my failed mission, my game over. Maybe that's why the thought of taking two lives tonight felt extra satisfying. I am fighting myself, desperate to prove I am still who I vowed to be.

"Alright, we'll stop by home before I leave for Kentucky. Get the car ready, meet me at the English department," I ordered the two men behind me.

Teddy and Reddy have been my most trusted guys since I was a kid. Twelve years ago, they were just gardeners at my house. Today, they're the only ones who know everything about me. They wouldn't sleep until they were sure I was good.

They're more than just bodyguards or friends, they're my guardian angels. I'm lucky to have them by my side.

I'm also lucky to live a life that looks completely normal, like anyone else at Illinois University. I walk around like there's no blood on my hands. Hell, I stroll past cops, not even flinching at the sound of sirens, as if I'm some law-abiding citizen.

It's kind of funny. I've always known I have no regrets, but if I ever get caught after finishing my list, what I'll miss most is this, walking freely, enjoying life, and some of my favorite takeout spots.

That is, if I ever get caught. Because I'm pretty good at what I do.

When I reached the English department, my three black Brabus were already lined up, and Liam was casually leaning against his black Lamborghini, parked right next to them.

"Hey man, why not just follow your rides?" Liam grinned, always the one with a smile ready, his blonde hair perfectly styled, unlike my perpetually messy brown hair.

Liam and I might be best friends, but we couldn't be more different. He's fun, I'm intense. He's kind, I'm ruthless. He's scared of blood, and I crave it.

"I need to clear my head before tonight," I told him.

"As usual?" he raised a brow.

"Yup." I sighed.

He gave me a small smile, shoving his hands into his denim pockets. I knew my lifestyle made him uneasy. He always tensed up when he knew I was about to kill someone, but as my day-one friend, he understands why I do what I do.

"Cheryl passed out again. I need someone to look after her," I mentioned.

"What about the girl you hired? I thought she signed the contract," he asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

I bit my lip, sighing. How was I supposed to explain this? "I killed her." There wasn't a good way to make it sound better.

Liam's jaw dropped. "You what? Why? I thought you don't kill girls? Finn, this is crazy! You promised to leave innocent lives out of this!"

I placed my hand on his shoulder, my voice dropping to a hushed tone. "I didn't kill her myself, the men shot her. She was trying to take Cheryl, and you know I can't let anyone take her away from me." I rolled my eyes, feeling irritated.

"That's still insane! You can't go killing civilians just like that," he argued, matching my tone.

"They need to learn to be trustworthy. She signed a non-disclosure agreement and then tried to break it. If I'd let her go, she'd probably have gone straight to the cops, so she and her man had to die." My irritation deepened. Why are people such liars? Betrayals and so untrustworthy.

"You killed her boyfriend too?" Liam's eyes widened even more.

"He was the getaway driver. What else was I supposed to do? Kill his girl and let him go so I could end up in jail?" I countered, shrugging.

Liam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.
"Finn, I don't like all this killing."

"I've got nine people left. Once that's done, everything will go back to normal, just like before," I said, offering him a reassuring smile.

"And what about Cheryl? What, are you going to kill her too? You're probably in love with her," he scoffed.

"I'm not in love with her," I snapped defensively.

"Oh really? Then why is she still alive? Why does she need an assistant, and why are you worried about leaving without finding someone to look after her?" He crossed his arms, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"She's my hostage, and a hostage needs to be taken care of," I tried to make sense of it.

But I wasn't fooling him, or anyone else. When Reddy first told me they'd found Nate Mason's daughter, it was the happiest day of my life. I knew nothing would hurt him more than taking his only child. Cheryl was loved deeply by both her parents. Her mother couldn't wait to have her in Washington after graduation.

Getting to her lawyer mother and detective father was only possible through Cheryl. To hurt her would be the sweetest revenge. But when I captured Cheryl, something changed. She shattered the meticulous plan I'd spent years crafting. The first time I saw her, I stalled my yearning for vengeance, she gave my life an oddly meaning, a feeling I never thought existed.

She became more than just a pawn in my game. She became... everything. And the thought of killing her felt like losing. I hated losing. Her life suddenly was something valuable, so keeping her came to be my only choice.

Hurting her parents didn't go as planned. The night I grabbed her from the bathroom, I was furious at myself. I couldn't hurt Cheryl, and it hurt more than losing everything. She was a Mason, and everything I'd arranged for years was for the Masons, but Cheryl destroyed it all, leaving me standing by my car, staring at the girl I'd chloroformed into unconsciousness.

Pricking her finger with a needle for blood was difficult, it was torture. I needed her blood to torment her parents, to let them know their daughter was in the hands of the infamous, yet unknown, murderer.

"Clearly," Liam smirked.

Annoyed by his attitude, I shot him a look. "Dude, I really need someone to look after Cheryl."

"Ask Steph. She owes you her life," he suggested as his phone buzzed.

"I don't want to call in that favor. I didn't help her to own her," I reminded him.

"I know, but you trust her. She's not going to try running off with your hostage," he chuckled. "Anyway, I've got to go. My dad wants to start the barbecue before the guests arrive. You should stop by, my mom would love to see you."

The Camerons were like family to me, but I had other priorities tonight.

"I've got a ten-hour drive ahead, and I need to check on Cheryl first."

"Alright, stay safe, man," he said, patting my shoulder before heading to his car.

I watched him drive off before heading to my waiting rides.

***

I promised Cheryl I'd get her an assistant, but I hadn't figured out who yet. As we drove back home, I had no choice but to dial Steph's number and ask for a favor. She accepted without hesitation, only asking for a little time to finish baking snacks for her mom's customers.

Steph was the kind of person I could entrust my heart to, confident it would be safe until I returned, even if I left the continent.

By the time I got home, I took a quick shower, knowing from Peter that Cheryl was still asleep. I had lunch in peaceful solitude before heading to her room.

She lay there, sleeping soundly, though her expression still held traces of sadness, just like the day I laid her in my car after pulling her from that carousal. The guilt gnawed at me. I hated that I had caused her pain, but I couldn't let her go. It wasn't just that she knew too much about me. There was something else, something I couldn't quite define. Having her in my house brought a comfort I hadn't felt in years. Even when I slept on the floor above her, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time. She gave me a warmth I hadn't realized I was missing.

"How's she?" I asked Peter, just as Malcolm brought in Cheryl's lunch and quietly left the room.

"She'll be fine, but she needs to eat," Peter replied.

"Alright." I nodded, gesturing for him to leave. Peter had been my family doctor for years, he was the one who delivered me into this world.

"I'll check on her later," he said before closing the door behind him.

I watched Cheryl closely. Even in her sleep, her breathing was strained, and she looked so scared. I wished things could be different, that she didn't have to go through this or hurt herself. The cuffs had done a number on her, and I hated myself for using them. But she was stubborn. The most stubborn person I'd ever met. She was my headache.

Sitting beside her, my fingers carefully examined her wrists, making sure not to hurt her. But as if she sensed my presence, her eyes snapped open, and she yanked her hand away, glaring at me with pure hatred.
Trust me, Cheryl, I've seen worse.

Ignoring the look she gave me, I focused on the damage my cuffs had caused. She looked drained, and broken, and I knew I was the cause.

I wish things were different Cheryl.

"You had a mild fever, but you'll be fine. You need to eat and rest," I said gently.

She didn't respond. I could tell she was exhausted and tired of everything. And I was sorry. I really was. But I had no choice.

I placed the tray of food Malcolm had brought on the bed and began making her a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'd read in her file that it was her favorite. My men had seen her eat it all the time, at school, and during picnics with her family and friends.

As I focused on preparing the sandwich, I could feel her eyes on me. It warmed me, despite the hatred in her gaze. I loved it when she looked at me, even if she despised me.

"Here. Eat this." I handed her the sandwich. I'd never made one before, so it meant something to me. But she rejected it.

"Can I have some water?" she asked instead.

It felt like I'd failed, even though I'd never really failed at anything in my life. I aced every test in school and doubled my earnings in every business deal. But I shook off the disappointment and handed her a cup of water. She needed it anyway, and she drank it eagerly.

I watched her carefully as she hydrated herself. She had to be starving, but she kept refusing everything I offered. She was weak, and it was starting to bother me.

Eventually, I gave up. I picked her up and took her to the bathroom, her feet had been re-dressed, so she'd hurt if she stepped on them. If only she weren't so stubborn. But of course, Cheryl was Cheryl. She had to kick me where it hurt and run through broken glass.

She avoided looking at me when I sat her down on the toilet.

"Can I have some privacy, please?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I obliged, stepping out of the bathroom to give her space.

When I helped her back to bed, she looked terrified, like she thought I might hurt her. If only she knew, all I wanted was to keep her for myself, even though she was always trying to leave me

I realized she was still avoiding my gaze as I sat on the armchair beside her bed. The tension between us was thick, neither of us saying a word until the door swung open and Steph rushed in, rambling about her mom's seventy cupcakes, which I couldn't care less about.

"You made it," I said simply.

Steph glanced at Cheryl, then back at me. "So... this is Cheryl?" she asked, intrigued.

I turned to look at the girl now curled up, hugging her knees in fear. I nodded. "Yup."

"Don't worry, go do your thing. We'll manage here," Steph said with a reassuring smile, easing my worries about leaving Cheryl while I went on my trip to Kentucky.

***

By the time I got home, it was two in the morning. I had already swapped cars with Teddy, and my driver had taken me back to the house while Teddy drove the original vehicle to the garage to give it a complete makeover and burn the tires.

We had wiped every trace of evidence from the scenes I visited, the places where I slit the throats of the people on my list.

I had pulled it off, succeeding in exacting my revenge, a dream I had carried since I was eight years old.

At home, the guys couldn't stop singing my praises as I ate dinner, washed it down with whiskey, and basked in the success of the night. Reddy, as always, was especially proud, recounting the night's events to everyone.

After a few drinks, I was mildly drunk and drained, but I forced myself to get up. I had school in the morning, and the night had already stretched too long.

The small table knife, the one I'd been given by my parents to cut my birthday cake, was still with me and safe. It was my weapon, and it never left my side. The cops could never find a trace of me, because there was none to find. I always wore gloves, and my men had crafted my shoes so meticulously that they left no trail to give a lead to the cop's investigation. Everything was flawless. Thanks to my team.

After a quick shower, I collapsed into bed, only to get a call from the camera room.

Cheryl was on her way to my place.

Why does she always have to be so damn stubborn?