Cold Dark Souls : A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (Cruel Black Hearts Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  “Ready?” I asked.

  He gave me a short nod, and then we were out of the house.

  Chapter Nineteen – Stella

  The Tribune’s office felt…different, now that Sandy was gone. It was quieter, even if it was still filled with mindless gossip. Sandy was always the one to speak loudly over others; she made herself the center of attention regardless of what was going on. It would take time getting used to the office without her.

  Just as I started to pull my laptop from my bag and boot it up, someone tapped the corner of my desk. John? I wasn’t sure. These people didn’t matter enough to merit any of my attention. All I knew was that he said, “Killian wants to see you.” And then he turned back to his tablet, fingers furiously typing away as he made his way to his own desk.

  Better just get it over with, right?

  Sighing to myself, I got to my feet and strolled through the building, past the round table we had our meetings at and straight to Killian’s glass-enclosed office. He was the only one with actual walls between his office and the rest of the building. The rest of us just had desks lined up, like we were bankers or something.

  Killian sat in his fancy chair, looking…well, he’d looked better. The skin on his jaw was a bit blue, and each time he shifted his position, he winced, almost like he was in pain. Even if he was a jerk to me half the time, I didn’t enjoy seeing him in so much pain. He was a part of my normal life, not my life with Edward and Lincoln.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, slowly closing the door behind me. The blinds in the windows were up, meaning everyone could see in. I wasn’t afraid to be alone with him—we’d gone on a pointless date last Friday, after all—but I hated the others thinking there was something between Killian and me.

  There wasn’t. There never would be. He was…well, he wasn’t my kind of man. Edward and Lincoln were, flaws and all.

  Killian nodded. “I’m fine. Rough night.” I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, so I said nothing as I sat on the chair facing his desk. “How did yesterday go?”

  Right. Yesterday I wasn’t here, because I was with my stupid bitch of a mother and my idiotic prissy sister.

  I felt my blood boiling just thinking about them. “It was great.” A lie, a lie anyone could tell based on my low, monotone voice and expressionless face. A lie I didn’t bother recovering from.

  A smile spread on his face. “You really don’t like your family, do you?”

  I shook my head. Of course I didn’t. If I could truly hate someone, I hated them. I didn’t often feel negative emotions, but they were so strong inside me I could not deny them. I loathed them all with every fiber of my being. “No. They’re…they’re kind of dicks.”

  Nodding as if he agreed with me, as if he knew how awful my family truly was, Killian’s green eyes fell to his desk, a heavy expression crossing his face. “I hear you. My family was…not a group of winners, either. Truth be told, I’m glad to be free of them. Sometimes it’s what you have to do.” His stare rose to me, and for a moment, neither one of us spoke. “Cut the diseased part of your life out.”

  Killian had no idea how much of my life was diseased. How he looked at me, like I was his whole fucking world—he had no idea what I’d done. Hell, I deserved a family like Margaret and Bree. They were my punishment, if I believed in karma. What I did…surely there was a load of karma headed my way.

  I shrugged. “It’s not like I talk to them when it doesn’t involve Bree’s wedding, so…I’m sure I’ll be free of them soon enough.” A bad thought entered my head, one I knew I shouldn’t have but it came all the same: I could have Lincoln and Edward take care of my family. I could have the two of them kill my family. Or even better—I could join them in the bloody fun and help them. Then I could finally be free their hold.

  Forever.

  Nodding along with me, he said, “Sometimes it’s best to go it on your own.” Silence overtook the office, and I couldn’t help but feel like I wanted to slink out of this chair and crawl back to my desk. The way he looked at me, still, it made me uncomfortable. It was obvious he cared for me more than I did for him.

  He was just my boss, really.

  “How are you doing besides that? Officer Black told me what happened. You were there, when they found the newest victim. That has to be hard for you.”

  Officer Black needed to mind his own fucking business. I didn’t need everyone in town knowing. I’d become the center of everyone’s focus instantly, my heterochromia aside. I hated everyone paying attention to me. I’d much rather fly under the radar, like the Angel Maker was doing.

  “Not too hard,” I said, shrugging. “When are they going to release the identity of the body?” He had to have known it was Sandy. Officer Black surely must’ve told him that, too.

  “I believe the chief is doing a press conference this afternoon. I thought…well, since our last date didn’t go as planned, I thought you and I could go. You could jot down some things for your articles—”

  I blinked. Was this his way of asking me out again, or was he trying to be nice? I sure as hell had no idea when it came to Killian.

  That said…going to the press conference would definitely get my mind off of the little fight I was in with Callie, not to mention totally make me forget about my family drama. Plus, I’d never been to a press conference before. It could be fun, as fun as anything could possibly be for me. I didn’t really want to go on another date with Killian, mostly because I knew Edward and Lincoln would hate it, but it wasn’t like I was going to sleep with him.

  Killian and I were…friends. Okay, not exactly friends. Acquaintances. Boss and employee. That was it, and it was all we would ever be.

  “Okay,” I said. “Just let me know when we have to leave.”

  “Great. I’ll pick you up at your desk. You can make up a few hours of the work you missed yesterday.” He grinned, flashed me a set of pearly whites. His smile was flawless, I had to admit, and the way it lit up his face in the most boyish of ways…he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Cute, definitely Irish. Not my type, though.

  I gave him a tiny smile back. Mine was not as genuine as his, but I figured it was the easiest way to get out of his office and back to my own desk. With a happy boss came happy employees, including me, although my happiness had less to do with Killian and more to do with Edward and Lincoln.

  I would be a liar if I said time passed quickly. I was excited to go to the press conference, but when it came to drawing up a rough draft for the article due by Friday for the Sunday edition, I was…not as gung-ho. My mind hardly worked. It took me far too long to even come up with a possible title.

  Which was stupid, really—I always came up with better titles after I’d written the article. I guessed I was just discombobulated with everything going on.

  The other employees came and went. Most of them were part-time too, so they didn’t work the full day. It was just another way the Tribune and its old, ancient owners got out of paying for health insurance for most of their employees. I didn’t listen to their gossiping; they talked too much about Sandy. I just focused on my work, though I did find myself scrolling through my blog a bit too much. It was a good thing Killian was in his office, otherwise he would’ve scolded me for using work time to play on my blog.

  It wasn’t playing, but that’s always what everyone seemed to call it.

  It was four o’clock when Killian stood by my desk and told me we should go if we wanted to make it in time. I quickly packed up and followed him out of the door. We got in his car and drove to the police station, where news vans were parked alongside the street, already doing practice runs before the actual thing.

  The crowd was…bigger than I anticipated. Fifty people, at least. Maybe more. Some journalists, others just curious people. The masse of bodies blocked off the sidewalk, the steps to the police station corned off. It was where the chief would come out and give his statement about the recent body, along with his statement about the Angel Maker.

  My b
ody thrummed in anticipation. My fingers tapped against the strap to my messenger bag, and I almost forgot Killian stood less than a foot away from me, until he opened his mouth and said, “You’re lucky you’re here.”

  Ignoring the noise all around me, I turned to him. “What?” He wasn’t as tall as Lincoln, a few inches shorter than Edward, but he was still taller than me by quite a few. I had to angle my head to meet his emerald stare. There was an emotion hidden in his eyes I could not place.

  “He had you,” Killian said. “The Angel Maker. He had you, and he didn’t kill you.” Around us, everyone was so busy in their own lives, their own conversations, they didn’t pay us any attention. He could’ve been going over a detailed checklist of how to murder someone, and no one would be the wiser.

  It wasn’t like I escaped his grasp. I said, “He didn’t take me to kill me.”

  “Then why?”

  I wasn’t certain if Killian was genuinely curious, or if he was just trying to kill some time before the police chief came out, but I found myself answering him all the same, “He wanted me to see. I think…I think we’re alike, in a way.”

  “So you think he took you because he wants you to…” Killian paused, weighing his options. “To see him? To know him? Seems kind of stupid, don’t you think?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It makes sense. If he’s alone, if he’s been following my articles, my blog, he knows that I’m…different than everyone else.” My eyes darted around us. “He probably knows I’d come here. He might be here, watching me.” The thought sent a tingling up my spine, standing the small hairs on the back of my neck. I wasn’t sure why, but the mere idea of him hiding in plain sight excited me more than I would ever admit aloud. “He wants to find someone like him.”

  Killian’s voice dropped lower, and it was hard to hear him ask, “Are you a killer, Stella?”

  I looked at him, about to say something back—because there was no way he knew about what I did to that hooker—but before I had the chance, the doors to the police station opened, and the chief of police strolled out, looking mighty nervous. My retort died in my throat.

  Camera flashes. A bunch of people held up their cameras, held out their microphones, swarming as close to the small barricade as they could to record his words. The chief was an older man, in his fifties, with grey hair cut short in a buzz cut. As tough as he looked, his skin was pale. This might just have been his first ever official press conference. This was a small town, after all. We’d never had such a string of violent crimes, let alone a serial killer among us.

  “Good afternoon,” the chief started, “we’re all here today for answers. Unfortunately, I don’t have many. On Saturday night, a third victim was found. Same M.O. as the last two. Sandy Goodman, a writer at our local paper, was identified as the most recent victim to this…killer.” He swallowed, as if he did not want to admit we had our own serial killer.

  I had no idea why. This would put our town on the maps of all Americans.

  “We are following every lead we have, and we ask you to remain vigilant. Never go anywhere alone. Never meet any strangers in private. You are our eyes and ears on the street,” the chief continued, “so please, be safe and be aware.”

  It was, all in all, a ridiculously short press conference, but seeing as how there weren’t many details on it, I knew it was the best they could do. He opened it up for questions soon after, and he was flooded with them.

  A woman reached her microphone towards him as she asked, “Are there any suspects?”

  “Nothing I’m willing to report right now, but as for guesswork, I’d say thirties, early forties, maybe. White. Male. But that’s going off of statistics of other serial killers.”

  “And the FBI? When can we expect them?” a man spoke, holding out a recorder. I wasn’t sure if that meant he was here for a podcast or what.

  “They have been notified, and they will be sending agents out. Together, we will catch this…Angel Maker one way or another. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s only a matter of time until he makes his last one.” When the chief called him the Angel Maker, everyone broke out into chatter.

  The Angel Maker. My nickname for him. It was the first time I’d ever felt prideful, almost as if I’d created the beast myself.

  The chief answered a few more random, pointless questions, and I glanced at Killian, wondering if he was as enthralled in this whole thing as I was—and, strangely, he was. He watched with an expression I could only label as eager. He was enjoying this just as much as me, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyes squinted just a bit.

  By the time I turned my attention back to the chief, he was shaking his head and saying, “No more questions.” And then, without another word, he headed back into the police station, all the camera flashes now getting nothing.

  People were slow to disperse. Killian and I wandered back to his car, and once we were inside, he looked at me. “I’m surprised you didn’t take notes.”

  If he would’ve remembered, I didn’t take notes when we had gone to that abandoned house, either. I wasn’t the note-taking type of person. Everything important, I remembered. And the chief had said nothing too important, anyway. Deep down, I knew. I just knew, as weird and as impossible as it was.

  “He was there,” I said, clicking my seatbelt.

  Killian drove off. “Who?”

  “The Angel Maker,” I whispered, turning my head to watch the small crowd of people as we drove by, passing the news vans and all the other parked cars.

  “And why do you say that?”

  “He likes watching the chaos he creates.” I mentally relived the moment when I woke up on the concrete, when I spun and saw Sandy displayed, pipes jutting through her body to keep her up. How her back had been peeled, wings of flesh created and held back by wires. “You don’t leave a body like that if you don’t want someone paying attention. He wants an audience.” I felt the weight of my next words before I spoke them, “He wants me.”

  It was a long while before Killian said, “Then you need to be careful. I know I’ve been a jerk to you sometimes, but I don’t want to lose you, Stella.” We were at a red light, and he turned his eyes to me.

  I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say, so I just told him my address and hoped he would stop with the pleading, desperate looks. Killian wasn’t my kind of man. My kind of man was a psychopath, apparently. Edward and Lincoln were cruel, twisted souls, but they were mine all the same. If I could love, I would love them.

  Killian took the hint and dropped it. When he pulled up to my house, I got out of the car without saying a single word, waving once as I meandered to the front door. Once I stepped inside, I saw Callie sitting on the couch. She didn’t even look at me as I dropped my messenger bag on the counter.

  “How long are you going to ignore me?” I asked. I didn’t really care; I just wanted to prepare myself. If Callie wanted to act like a child, let her. I sure as hell wouldn’t stop her. We were all entitled to acting however we wanted to.

  She threw me a look over her shoulder. “I’m not ignoring you.”

  I let out a skeptical chuckle. “Oh, yeah? Then where have you been?”

  Callie got to her feet, moving around the couch and crossing her arms as she looked at me with brown eyes that were anything but warm. “You’re not my mother. I don’t need to tell you where I’ve been.”

  “I put your pills back in your room.”

  Her response was immediate. “I don’t have any pills, Stella.” The way she glared at me…made my stomach twist, my jaw clench. She had to have pills. They certainly weren’t mine. “Maybe you should, with the way you frolic with your two guys.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” Callie said, frowning. Heavy bags rested beneath her eyes, her face free of makeup. She looked…sick, almost. Like she’d just gotten through pneumonia or something, her cheeks far too hollow and pallid. “You always know what I mean. Don’t pretend you don’t.
”

  I said nothing, going straight to my room. If she wanted to argue with me, screw her. I didn’t need that. It was unnecessary stress in my life, which I honestly didn’t need. I fell onto my bed, burying my nose in my sheets. When I inhaled, I smelled sweat. I smelled Edward and Lincoln.

  I needed them.

  My phone in my hand, I dialed Edward’s number. I had no idea if he was at work or not. I didn’t care. I couldn’t stay here tonight. Not with Callie and the way she was acting. I couldn’t handle it.

  I was afraid I’d snap and kill her.

  Chapter Twenty – Edward

  I couldn’t have gotten luckier. The moment Lincoln’s family doctor left, leaving me with a supply of pills I’d have to find a way to make Stella ingest, my phone rang. Of course it was Stella. She wanted to come over. I’d left work early to meet with the doctor, so really her call couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.

  Tonight would be her first dose.

  I sent Lincoln to pick her up, told him I’d have dinner ready by the time they came back. I also warned him not to touch the plate I arranged for Stella. Until she was good enough to take the pills on their own, I would have to disguise them.

  As I cooked, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d still want to be with us, once she was back on her meds. Would her hallucinations cease? How quickly would it happen? Would she remember what she did? I had to get her out of that house for good, and do it soon. How long would Callie’s family give before they put out a missing person’s report? I couldn’t let Stella get arrested for something she might’ve done when her mind was not fully her own.

  This was not a situation I anticipated having to be in. I thought everything would be perfect and easy once I got Lincoln to realize Stella was made for us—but I was wrong. Not wrong about Stella, but about the easy part.