All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

15. Vesper

VESPER

I'm floating, drifting through a haze of colors and shadows. The drugs coursing through my veins paint vivid pictures in my mind, beautiful and terrifying all at once. One moment, I'm soaring above the glittering skyline of Boston, my blonde hair whipping in the wind, feeling invincible. The next, I'm plummeting into darkness, icy fingers of fear clawing at my chest.

The nightmares come in flashes, memories distorted by the chemicals. I see my father's cold eyes as he tells me of my fate and hear the cruel laughter of the Petrov men as they discuss their plans for me. My wrists burn where rough hands grabbed me, and I can still taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth from biting my lip to keep from screaming.

As the drug-induced visions swirl around me, a new horror takes shape. I see myself, a shadow of who I once was, trailing behind Dmitri Petrov like a broken doll. My eyes are vacant, my spirit crushed. I watch helplessly as this future version of myself endures unspeakable acts, each one chipping away at my soul until there's nothing left but an empty shell. It changes, flipping to The Shadow Man. The way his hands felt on my legs. His threats. Then, it shifts again, to a white room where I am lying on a hospital bed, legs spread and chained to stirrups, as they steal piece after piece of my body from me until I vanish into nothingness.

Slowly, agonizingly, the fog begins to lift. My senses return one by one, each bringing a new realization. The soft sheets beneath me are unfamiliar, the air heavy with the scent of sandalwood and something darker, more primal. My eyes flutter open, struggling to focus in the dimly lit room. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut.

I've been delivered to my new owner like a package, and now I'm here to be unwrapped and used as he sees fit. My heart races as I try to take in my surroundings, my limbs still heavy and uncooperative.

That's when I see him. A figure standing in the shadowy corner of the room, watching me. I can't make out his features in the low light, but I can feel his eyes on me, watching, assessing. Terror grips me, stealing the breath from my lungs. I want to run, to fight, to scream, but my body won't cooperate. I'm trapped here, helpless, at the mercy of whoever this man might be and whatever he intends to do with me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this to be another drug-induced nightmare. But when I open them again, he's still there. Silent. Watchful. Waiting.

My mind races, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But deep down, I know the truth. There is no escape. This is my new reality, and I have no choice but to face it head-on. Whatever comes next, I'll have to find a way to survive it. To keep my spirit intact, even as fractured as it is.

My mouth is dry, my voice barely a whisper as I croak out, "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

The man takes a step forward, and I instinctively shrink back against the headboard, my body trembling. He stops, holding up his hands in what might be a placating gesture, but I'm too scared to trust it.

"Easy, Vesper," he says, his voice low and surprisingly gentle. "You're safe here. We're not going to hurt you."

We? My eyes dart around the room, searching for other hidden threats. The man seems to sense my panic and takes a small step back.

“I’m the only one in here,” he assures me. “The others are outside.” He steps closer. Too close. Close enough that I can see him better. He's tall, broad-shouldered, a looming presence that sends shivers down my spine. But there's something in his voice, a familiar cadence that tugs at the edges of my memory.

I shake my head violently, pressing myself further against the headboard. The cool wood digs into my back, grounding me in this terrifying reality. "No, please," I whimper, my voice barely above a whisper. "Don't come any closer. Don't touch me."

My eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, a weapon, anything. The room is sparsely furnished. Only the bed I'm on, a nightstand, and a chair in the corner make up the room. The curtains are drawn, blocking out any hint of the world beyond. I feel like I'm suffocating, trapped in this unfamiliar space with this unknown man.

"Please," I beg, my voice cracking. "Just let me go. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Just please don't hurt me."

The man stops his approach, his hands still raised in that placating gesture. "Vesper, listen to me," he says, his voice steady and calm. "You're not a prisoner here. Look."

He gestures towards my hands and feet, and for the first time, I realize I'm not bound. There are no ropes, no handcuffs, nothing holding me in place except my own fear. I flex my fingers experimentally, half expecting to feel the bite of restraints.

"The door isn't locked either," he continues, nodding towards the exit. "You could walk out right now if you wanted to. But I can't let you leave until I know you're okay."

I stare at him, disbelief warring with hope in my chest. Could it be true? Am I really free to go?

"I don't understand," I murmur, my eyes flicking between the man and the door. "Who are you? Why are you helping me?"

He takes a deep breath, then slowly moves to sit in the chair, putting more distance between us. I feel some of the tension leave my body at this small act of consideration.

"My name is Oscar," he says softly. "You know me.”

"No," I whisper, shaking my head violently. "No, you're lying. This is a trick.”

“We aren’t trying to trick you.”

My mind whirls, trying to process Oscar’s words. Friends? Outside? I strain my ears, listening for any sound beyond the room, but all I can hear is silence, and the pounding of my own heart. The silence is oppressive, making me feel just as I had with The Shadow Man. “I don’t believe you.” I think back to The Shadow Man’s words. New owners. The horrible, unspeakable things he thought they’d do to my body. “You want to hurt me…like The Shadow Man did.”

Oscar's face contorts, a mix of emotions flashing across his features. His jaw clenches, and I see a muscle twitch in his cheek. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes, darken with what I can only describe as barely contained rage.

"The Shadow Man?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Did he...did he hurt you, Vesper?"

I flinch at the intensity in his tone, shrinking back against the headboard. My heart races, and I can feel the panic rising in my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories that threaten to overwhelm me.

"Hey, hey," Oscar's voice softens immediately. When I open my eyes, I see him leaning forward, his hands outstretched but not touching me. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. You're safe here, I promise. The Shadow Man can't hurt you anymore."

I want to believe him. God, how I want to believe him. But my fear is too deep, the memories too fresh. I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself.

"You don't understand," I whisper. "No one can protect me. They'll always find me."

Oscar leans back, giving me space. His eyes never leave mine as he speaks, his voice steady and calm. "Vesper, listen to me. We found you. We got you out. The Shadow Man, the Petrovs, none of them can reach you here. We've made sure of it. Even the doctor said…” he trails off.

The word 'doctor' sends a jolt of panic through me. Suddenly, I'm back in that sterile white room, strapped to a table as faceless figures in white coats loom over me. "No," I gasp, my hands flying to my stomach. "No, no, no. They took them from me again. They took my babies!"

Oscar's brow furrows in confusion. "Babies? Vesper, what are you talking about?"

"My babies," I sob, curling in on myself. "They keep taking them. Every time I close my eyes, they're there with their needles and their knives, and they take my babies away.”

The room spins around me, reality blurring with the nightmares that have haunted me for so long. I can smell the antiseptic and feel the cold metal of the stirrups against my skin. My hands clutch at my stomach, desperately searching for the life I know should be there but isn't. The loss is a gaping wound, raw and bleeding, and I can't stop the keening wail that escapes my lips.

Oscar's face swims before me, his blue eyes wide with concern and confusion. He's saying something, but I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears. All I can focus on is the phantom pain in my abdomen, the emptiness where my children should be.

"Please," I beg, my words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Please don't let them take them again. I can't...I can't lose them again. They are mine, they're all I have left!"

I'm spiraling, lost in a maze of terror and grief. Oscar reaches out, trying to comfort me, but his touch sends me reeling. I lash out, my nails raking across his arm as I scramble away. My back hits the headboard with a thud, but I barely feel it. All I can see are the faceless doctors, their hands reaching for me, ready to tear away the last shreds of my humanity.

"No!" I scream, my voice raw and broken. "Stay away from me! Don't touch me!”

Panic rises like bile in my throat as I back away from Oscar, his soothing words a low growl in my ears, but I don’t understand them. The walls of the room seem to be closing in on me, pulsing with my frantic heartbeat as my mind reels with unspeakable terrors.

But then, the door opens, and a figure emerges. My heart races at the sight of someone new, both familiar and terrifying in my state of desperation. In his hand, something glints in the dim light – a syringe. The mere sight of it sends me into a frenzy.

"Get away from me!" I scream, throwing myself off the bed with wild abandon. My legs are weak and unsteady, causing me to crash to the floor in a heap of blankets and limbs. "No more drugs! Please!"

I claw at the ground, trying to crawl away but my body betrays me. The new man moves with lightning speed, before I can react, and I feel the sharp sting of the needle piercing my skin.

"No," I whimper, my struggles growing weaker as the drug takes hold. "Please...not my babies..."

I fight against the haze that threatens to overtake me, struggling to hold onto consciousness but it's like trying to grasp smoke. My limbs grow heavy, and my thoughts become sluggish. In the blurry space between wakefulness and unconsciousness, I hear bits and pieces of their heated conversation.

"...didn't have to do that!"

"She was out of control..."

"We were making progress..."

"She was hurting herself..."

As my vision blurs and my eyelids droop heavily, I catch a glimpse of a tattoo, a phoenix rising from ashes. It's both beautiful and haunting, a symbol of rebirth that comes at a steep price. The image sears itself into my mind as I slip away into drug-induced oblivion, a final anchor to reality before I am consumed by darkness.