Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (39 page)

“Did you…kill them, too?” Aria tearfully asked.

Marisol couldn’t stop smiling for the amusement she was enjoying.

“This is just too damn good!” she said.

Turning her back to Aria, she happily walked back to her makeshift torture station.

“I’ll give you this, Aria. You can be amusing.” She clucked. “You don’t have to be worried about the Vencedors’, dear.”

She came closer to her with yet another tool, this one looking like a large pair of nippers, making Aria’s heart race with panic.

“You see,” Marisol said, as she positioned herself near Aria’s ear to whisper into it. “I am the Vencedor. It mean’s
winner
.”

She moved back to face Aria, wanting to get the full impact of her reaction.

“In other words,” she said to the shocked woman, “
I
am The
Vencedor
Corporation.
I
have been the one buying all of your properties.”

The crisp sensation of ice settled throughout Aria’s body, effectively destroying what little composure remained.

Marisol was enjoying the physical torture, but this…well, this reaction was priceless. She couldn’t help but gloat.

“Yes—Me,” she said, raising her arms in emphasis. “
I
did ALL of this!”

Her boastful victory resonated through the entire house. Marisol had finally gotten Aria right where she wanted her. She arrogantly glared at her bleeding, bruised, and swollen face and couldn’t help but add salt to her wounds.

Smugly, she held the nippers in her hand, but before she inflicted more torture to Aria’s body, she couldn’t help but maliciously ask…

“How does that feel, bitch?”

Marchelle felt the tears. Although she couldn’t speak it well, she understood more English than Marisol gave her credit for, and what she comprehended broke her heart.

I didn’t know I hit a person…a woman! We were both in the car! I saw a woman, but I also saw an animal. Marian—Marisol told me it was a deer, and to keep driving. If I had known it was a person, I would have asked to stop
—
even if she became angry.

She kept pacing.

What to do…what to do…what to do? Nothing was going to bring back that woman. This was terrible. She destroyed a family. What if the woman had only been hurt? She could have taken her to a hospital! Oh, and her poor husband? Now he had no wife! Madre de dios! It was all her fault! I have to make this right! I have to make this right!

She knew that Marisol couldn’t hear her if she drove away. She had music playing upstairs and Marisol didn’t pay attention to anything Marchelle was doing unless she wanted her for something. She had to take a chance. She had to go. It was the right thing to do.

Quietly, she snuck out the lower level door.

I have to find that man. I have to tell him what happened. He was always with the other man that Marisol liked. I have to tell him it was an accident. I have to tell him I’m sorry!

“What did you say?” He felt the blood draining from his head upon hearing Paige’s words.

“Declan, what’s wrong?” Paige asked, concerned. She immediately knew that she had said something to cause him alarm.

His voice became more intense with each word he spoke. Carter and Blake were also giving her their full attention. Only moments before her arrival their discussion was of the failed attempt Declan had at gaining information connecting Marisol to Ms. Vencedor. This chilling revelation gave the three men cause for alarm.

“What do you mean, she went to meet with The Vencedor Corporation?” Declan asked, as fear began to set in. “A dinner meeting? Somewhere public?”

He could only hope.

Paige felt all eyes in the room turn to her, and all were filled with panic.

“It’s a company,” she said, innocently, “The Vencedor Corporation. They’ve been purchasing many of Aria’s remodels. Most of the paperwork has been done through an attorney to me, but the attorney was out of town today,” she informed him, still uneasy with the looks they were giving her. “The attorney—Mr. Dietz—his office left a message that some tools were left at one of the houses. They wanted Aria to get them tonight. They said someone would be moving in tomorrow. I picked up the message at my office and gave it to her before stopping here.”

Feeling the tension, she turned to Carter.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Ignoring the question, Carter jumped into action as Declan fished for his car keys.

“What’s the address of the house?” he asked her.

Paige was stunned at everyone moving so quickly.

Blake grabbed his cell as he turned to Carter.

“Who do you want me to call? State Police?” he asked.

Paige, dumbstruck at the sudden flurry of activity, hadn’t answered Declan’s question.

“Paige! The address! Where is she?!” he repeated.

“I don’t know,” she said blankly. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Taking her arm, he tightened it to impress the urgency of what he needed her to do, and became forceful.

“Find out the address! Now!” he ordered.

Visibly becoming upset, Paige pushed him away from her.

“I don’t know the address, Declan. The call came into my office. I didn’t even look at the message!” she explained. “I just handed it to her. Mr. Dietz closed on three houses this month for Vencedor. The office is closed or I’d call to get the address. It could be any one of them.”

He shoved her briefcase toward her.

“Look in there,” he said. “Think! Do you think you can find any information in there?”

She closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to concentrate amongst the chaos. Once she reopened them, she averted her eyes from the scrambling men to her bag where she saw her appointment book.

“I think I have them!” she shouted, as she systematically rifled through the pages.

Writing as quickly as she could, she handed him three addresses.

“Please tell me what’s happening,” she pleaded. “Is Aria okay?”

Declan ripped the page in three sections.

“Call the police and go to the address,” he said to Blake as he handed him a piece of the paper. “I’ll go to this one.”

He ripped the remainder in two, and gave another piece to Carter.

“Whoever gets to her, call the other two,” he instructed, as all three men prepared to leave.

Making their way to the door, Paige stood frustrated. She angrily raised her voice.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?!” she asked, frustrated.

She saw a look of murder come over Declan. His expression frightened her, and at that moment, she knew that Aria was in danger. He answered her, barely able to say the acrid words;

“Vencedor is Marisol…”

As the pain and shock of her most recent infliction faded away, and her reasoning returned, Aria was unsure if she’d survive. Several hours had now passed, of that she was certain. If Marisol had inflicted this amount of damage to her in so short a time, she was certain to be dead by morning. What little hope she had of survival remained in engaging Marisol. It might distract her somehow, buying precious time.

Knowing that Marisol was her own favorite topic of conversation, she used that as an attempt to throw her off her mission.

“Why would you say that Declan humiliated you?” she asked, almost incoherent, her voice rough like sandpaper. “I know he likes you,” she said, feeding Marisol’s need for flattery. “I saw him sitting with you. I even saw him taking your side in the argument after Lacey’s benefit.”

Aria could tell she was getting Marisol’s attention. Although the pain was unbearable, she tried to continue speaking.

“You should be nice to him, Marisol. Don’t you think that
he’s
been through enough?” she asked, trying to gain some support for Declan.

It was a desperate attempt to coax Marisol to come out of her delusional train of thought, give her a topic she liked—Declan—but the desired effect was a bit too effective.

Marisol broke into a maniacal rage.

“Enough?
Enough?!
”

Scathingly, she spat the words contemptuously in Aria’s direction, tossing her head back, shouting the words toward heaven. She regained composure long enough to cover the room in quickly measured footsteps until she was within inches of Aria.

“There will never be enough heartache to satisfy me where you and he are concerned, Aria!”

She pulled Aria’s head back, forcing her to face her.

“You came out of nowhere and disrupted
my
life! You turned him against me! Do you understand how you’ve inconvenienced me?
My life!
The life
I
created! No one is allowed to do that and get away with it.
NO ONE
!”

Moving a razor blade back and forth, amused, in front of Aria’s face, she mocked with each word, and threatened with each motion.

“You have
no
idea what I would do to someone who would take
anything
that belongs to me, do you?” she sneered. “You think that I’m just some airhead model who does what they tell her to do, stands where they tell her to stand, wears what they tell her to wear…”

She moved her hands in a deliberate motion above her head as if to indicate who
they
were and what
they
were telling her, and she was moving away from Aria. Aria needed to keep her talking.

Just then, Marisol sharply turned toward her.

“You…
YOU
underestimated me!” she attacked.

Aria tried to keep her breathing on an even keel. She thought that if she appeared calm Marisol would quiet down. It took every ounce of energy to create the illusion that she was in control of her emotions, which she most certainly wasn’t. Aria had to focus and stay calm—and she turned her thoughts to Declan to accomplish that.

Reminding herself that he went through months of hell and pain—alone—she used him as inspiration. She took it second by second, minute by minute. If she could survive one minute, then she could survive another. If she could survive one hour, then she could survive another…

“No, Marisol. You’re wrong,” Aria rasped peacefully. “The one thing I’ve
never
done is underestimate you; quite the contrary.”

She smirked in arrogance, finding inner strength welling up inside, making her bold. If she were going to die, at least she’d go out being the woman he’d helped her become—STRONG.

“Actually, Marisol,” Aria painfully opened her mouth as far as she could, ensuring she’d be better understood, “I think you’re cold and calculating—and I believe you’re cunning.”

Her words had begun to have the desired effect—Marisol seemed to be deriving pleasure from them. Aria saw that praise was like a drug to her—and that meant it could buy her time.

Marisol’s repugnant smile revealed the euphoria being delivered. Measuring each word carefully, Aria attempted to continue the ruse.

“You calculated the day you came to Declan’s house so well,” Aria said, as the agony brought fresh tears. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”