by Mason, V. F.
“If she doesn’t mind, I do.” I blink in surprise when I see Lydia, her hair blowing in different directions, running to us from her car, wearing jeans, a jacket, and flips-flops as if she left her house hastily. “You have no right to speak to my client without her permission.” She pants for breath when she stands behind me and puts her hand on my shoulder so our gazes meet. “You don’t have to talk to them.”
Noah narrows his eyes, annoyance crossing his face before he covers it up with indifference, and his tone stays steady, although I imagine he doesn’t like Lydia’s interference. “Hold your horses, King. You’re acting like we dragged her with us. No one is forcing your client to talk.”
What is my lawyer doing here anyway? Or is she informed by the police whenever something weird comes up with my name?
Lydia places her hand on her hip, her brow rising. “Yet here you are wanting to question my client, instead of going inside the apartment and studying the trace the serial killer left for you.”
“We’ve already seen the photos sent to us by the police, and he left no trace evidence, so there isn’t really any point examining the crime scene,” Ella says, her attention focused on me. “But the note addressed to you leaves us with a lot of questions. That’s why we’d like to clarify a few things before moving forward.”
“It’s in your client’s interest, as well, to listen to us,” Noah says and then addresses Zachary. “You too, Mr. King. Something tells me you’d be surprised by some of our findings.”
“Hardly anything surprises me. But we’ll go.”
“Zachary, Phoenix is tired and—” He shuts Lydia up with his raised hand, and she huffs in frustration. “You are impossible. And what are you doing here anyway? Haven’t you done enough?”
I blink once again at the way she talks to him without a care in the world or the least sign of respect, as if she’s not afraid of repercussions for her actions.
A few things become crystal clear to me in this moment.
They are siblings, although it’s still a mystery to me why his sister decided to help me, and they are out of their fucking minds.
“I think I missed the memo where both of you make decisions on my behalf.” I get up, adjusting the blanket around me, and look at Lydia who still sends daggers at Noah and Zachary. “Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s okay. I’d like to hear what they have to say and provide any help in catching this son of a bitch.” My tone drops an octave when I turn to Zach. “And you have no right to make any decisions for me. Please stop.” With this, I step toward the agents and say, “Lead the way.” What do I have to lose anyway?
And besides, I don’t want to go back to that room anytime soon, and I don’t have anything else to do, so I might as well be useful to society.
“Stubborn woman,” Zachary mutters right before grabbing me by the elbow and dragging me to his waiting car, the blanket flapping around me while I protest.
“Let me go.”
Oddly, no one pays attention to that but instead nod when Zachary shouts, “We’ll meet you there. Lydia,” he calls his sister and motions with his head to his car, “come with us. James will take care of your car later.”
She quickly dashes after us, relief flashing in her face, and in seconds, I’m sitting in the spacious vehicle while the beautiful scenery of New York reflects back at me from the window, the city illuminated by thousands of lights that give it an even more majestic feeling.
I forgot how gorgeous the city is at night or any time of the day, really, and rest my head on the window, gluing my stare to it and pushing back weird thoughts.
Like the fact that I’m in Zachary’s car and can’t escape him no matter how much I try.
But the most disgusting thought that makes me break out in a sweat and sends goose bumps all over me?
Is that I don’t mind having the Kings by my side, because they rule the freaking world with just one word.
And I feel like to survive in this battle with a serial killer, I need at least a little percent of their power.
Because I have none.
Isn’t that sad?
Zachary
Noah opens the door to one of the glassed rooms in their office and says, “Please come on in. Would you like anything to drink?”
“No thanks,” Phoenix replies, walking with Lydia inside and settling on the spacious couch located in the middle of the room. Two chairs stand opposite it with a small table separating them. “I’d like to cut all the polite talk and move on to the situation we have here. There is no need to create an environment for me to open up,” she tells him honestly, and he nods, clearly appreciating that, if the relief crossing his face is anything to go by.
To get a job as a profiler and be leader of the team, he has to be one of the best psychologists in the world who can guess a lot about the person in just thirty seconds. One part of their job is easing the victims enough to trust them, and this bond allows them to speak up, seeking help from the profilers.
“Very well.” Noah and Ella drop onto the opposite chairs while I purposely go to Phoenix’s side so she has no choice but to scoot farther over on the couch. I sit next to her, my hip pressing against hers, and she jerks a little, probably feeling the electricity transferring between us.
Her lavender scent mixed with vanilla disturbs my nostrils, making me want things I shouldn’t from this woman who hates me with a passion, but that unfortunately doesn’t play well in her favor.
Hate, like love, is a powerful emotion with the same intensity. And where there is passion, there is lust, and I intend to use this lust to keep her with me even if her hate for me becomes stronger.
I don’t seek or want love anyway. It has so much power to destroy that I’m not sure I can survive it a second time around.
But indulging in her because she has something that pulls me toward her, and in the meantime, we try to find a killer?
Oh, there is no harm in that.
Ella places a larger tablet facing us on the table and scrolls through several pictures, each displaying gorgeous blonde women in different stages of their life. Some laugh, some cry, and some stare in the distance. “These ten women are the latest victims of the unsub,” she says while Noah has another tablet, but this time he shows us various photos of dark-haired men in suits sitting in their offices, and I recognize some of them.
Wasn’t the last guy the head of a security company and his wife died two years ago? I even attended the funeral, drawn after hearing some drunk driver killed her.
Support might be one thing grieving people reject, but it’s what they need, so I offered mine to the man who had to raise his four kids on his own.
“These are their husbands.”
“Okay.” Lydia prolongs the word, confusion written all over her face while Phoenix leans closer, her stare on the pictures, her brows furrowing to form a deep line between them.
Something is swirling in that mind of hers, but what?
“The women all died on the way back home either from the salon, gym, or their favorite restaurant.” Ella then taps on the tablet a few times, and another set of pictures pops up, this time of the dark-haired women who wear clothes that easily allow us to guess their profession.
A judge, a doctor, a firefighter, and a librarian to name a few. “Those are the drivers. All had alcohol it their system.”
“I’ve already shown this to Phoenix, and I’m sure Zachary knows about it.” Lydia gives me a side-eye like I should give a fuck about it.
My connections run deep, and I will never apologize for them. She should be grateful for them really, or otherwise her ass would’ve been on the line a couple times in the past. “You showed her the facts. Not what lies between the lines.” Noah speaks up again and addresses Phoenix. “You are a psychiatrist. They say you would have been one of the best if this tragedy didn’t strike you. Do you understand where we are heading with this?”
She nods, a raspy breath slipping past her lips, and she folds her
hands together, the pulse in her neck beating wildly, and I know whatever the implications are, it rushes fear through her body.
She is afraid, and somehow her fear unsettles me, wanting me to snarl and kill the source of her fear so it won’t hunt her again.
Laughable, considering I’m probably the star of her nightmares right behind the serial killer.
Finally, she whispers, but she might as well have shouted the words for the impact they have on me. “With each victim, he recreates the first time. He probably felt an adrenaline rush, and it brought pleasure to him so intense he got addicted to it. But no matter how much he tries, he can’t.” She lifts her head, tearing it away from the photos, and tells Noah, “That’s why he confessed about my case. He wants the same adrenaline rush he experienced four years ago. And he thinks I became his best friend.”
Dead silence follows her words, and then Lydia gasps, covering her mouth while everything inside me goes still.
Because if I’m still one of the key players of his high, it means he never chose me coincidentally. I’ve studied enough serial killers over the last two weeks to know about that.
So whatever game he’s still playing with Phoenix, I’m part of it.
But that’s not what has me gripping the couch arm so hard I’ll probably destroy the leather while barely controlled rage fuels my blood, demanding I find that fucker and kill him, even if it means going behind bars for it.
It’s the thought that this time around, if he wants to use someone precious to my heart… he will use my daughter.
Emmaline.
And I’ll die first before I let anyone touch her.
Phoenix
“This is fucking bullshit,” Zachary snarls, getting up so swiftly he rattles the table in front of us when he is practically vibrating with fury.
Noah’s voice is even, although I don’t miss how he barely controls himself from not facing off with him too, not appreciating Zach’s tone. “This is criminal psychology, Mr. King. We are dealing with serial killers. Everything might sound like bullshit when you are dealing with them.”
“What you’re saying is that he will use us to recreate the situation from the past.” Before any of the agents can comment on that, Zach continues, each word reeking of coldness and harshness. “Last time, it was my wife. And this time? It will be my child, right?” He picks up the tablet with the victims’ photos and shakes it in the air, bellowing so loud I almost cover my ears. “I will never let that happen!”
I gasp internally, confusion washing over me at this statement… and fear… for this child I don’t know, because this killer is insane. He will use whatever means he wants if it ensures he can get his next fix.
Although, how many times does he intend to use me before he has enough? Judging by the tone back in the apartment, he plans to go out with style, and I’ll be damned if I let him smear me in his dirt again.
In this twisted game of his, I’m not a toy who he controls while he gets his fill of the entertainment he lacked as a child.
Noah and Ella share a look, their brows furrowing, and it brings me to the whole kid thing.
He has a child? How is that possible?
Vaguely remembering the investigation during my case, I knew he never had children with his wife, and based on how much he loved her, I doubt he married someone else.
But then grief might do a lot of things to people, even fathering a child you never expected.
Lydia clears her throat. “My brother adopted a little girl three years ago. Her name is Emmaline. We didn’t really publicize this fact for fear of the press haunting her or something. Besides, it was so fresh after Angelica’s death we wanted privacy.” She speaks out almost apologetically, as if she is sorry for hiding this fact and doesn’t meet my eyes, shifting uncomfortably.
And that’s why she probably misses the devastation and agony her words bring, shattering my heart all over again. The air is frozen in my lungs as I squeeze my palms so hard the nails dig deeply into my skin.
Emmaline.
A name I wanted to use for my child, but I never got the chance, because he took it away from me. Overcome by hate, he dished out the only punishment he was capable of.
Yet he adopted a daughter? Gave her the same name I wanted for my baby? Protected her from the scandal attached to our names but never showed such compassion toward my baby?
How is that fair?
Rage blurs my visions. The red haze rises uncontrollably while anger boils my blood, filling my mouth with acid as the voices from the past ring in my ears, delivering blow after blow resulting in the death of my child.
While the man lived his life experiencing the joy of fatherhood that men like him don’t deserve, because a good man wouldn’t have done it to me… even in the midst of his sorrow.
Before my action registers in my mind, I lunge toward him and hit his chest with my fists, screaming, “You bastard!” Without paying attention to where my blows land, I keep slamming my fists into him—any body part will do. I use all my strength, hoping it hurts him just a tenth of how it hurt me to be ripped apart on his orders. “You sick bastard!”
He stands still, not escaping my assault, but it doesn’t even appear to bother him.
Without thinking, I rake my nails over his face before slapping his cheek hard. “You sick bastard! You killed my daughter! And now you have your own?” I grip the lapels of his jacket, shaking it as tears stream down my cheeks while my heart gallops so hard in my chest everyone can probably hear it. “I hate you, Zachary King!” Another harsh slap.
Strong hands wrap around my waist, pulling me back, but I still reach for Zach, scratching his cheek once again and leaving red marks on it, all while shouting, “I hate you, Zach!” I’m lifted in the air as I kick at him, wanting to bring him as much pain as possible, even though he probably doesn’t feel anything.
Monster don’t feel pain, right? They feed off it, listening to the cries of their victims until they drain them. And then they move to another one.
“Let me go!”
I slap Noah’s hand, but he doesn’t listen, swinging me to the side and placing me back on my feet while barking, “Zachary, leave the room.”
“Oh, dear God,” Lydia mutters, and I twist in Noah’s hold, ready to bolt for the man again only to find him standing in front of me, ripping me away from Noah’s arms. I use this opportunity to hit him again, but this time he catches my arm, so I strike with the other one, but he traps it in his hold too.
Forcefully, he pushes me toward the wall, my back slamming against it harshly. With my hands trapped, I kick him hard, wanting to escape his close proximity or I just might kill him!
“I hate you! I hate you! You destroyed my life!” I shout, not caring about the three people listening to us. Let them know what a despicable human being he is! “If you just looked, used all your money back then to find the truth, tried to listen and believe me.” Kick. Kick. Kick. And I pull at my arms, but his hold on me is like steel, permanently keeping me in place.
“I didn’t know, Phoenix! I didn’t know about the baby!” he shouts, his tone laced with emotion I refuse to examine, because I don’t want to know if he feels remorse for it.
He’s a monster, and I will never forgive him for what he has done. “If you just showed me compassion. If you just tried… if you just tried.” I full-on cry now, barely seeing him through all my tears. “My baby girl would’ve been alive. Why didn’t you try?” I finish on a whisper, suddenly so exhausted, and my knees wobble, but Zachary manages to catch me before I fall on the floor, pressing me to his chest while I breathe heavily, crying into it and probably soaking his shirt.
“I didn’t know, Phoenix,” he whispers at the top of my head, rocking me gently in his arms, and although I despise him with all my being, I let him do it, needing the momentary reprieve from all the overpowering emotions.
If you didn’t know about the consequences of your crime… does it excuse it?
Does it br
ing back the loved ones?
Can his remorse give me back my baby girl?
“I would have loved her,” I say into his chest, so tired I can barely breathe. “I would have loved her so much.” She wouldn’t have grown up like me, not knowing if she was ever wanted in this world or just a simple mistake that should have never happened.
“Shhh.” He keeps rocking me in his arms, and slowly my eyelids flutter shut, while I’m lullabied to sleep by the even beat of his heart.
His dark, good for nothing heart that knows no mercy or compassion.
Chapter Twelve
“They say lust is a sin.
They must be right.
Wanting him, craving him, responding to him… is a sin.
A sin that is so tempting I can’t resist it.
And for that, we might both go to hell, but then don’t we already live in it anyway?”
Phoenix
From Phoenix and Zach’s email history…
To: P
From: Zach
I’m writing this email drunk as fuck, because honestly what else explains this insanity, right? It’s been almost two years since our last talk, but then I never sent you my email so I guess you couldn’t contact me with some stupid shit you like to talk about.
But apparently your name is the first one popping in my mind after two bottles of whiskey and too many cigarettes to count.
How is the Ivy League, smart girl? Is it everything you dreamed of or more?
Hopefully it’s the former; otherwise, it sucks to be you stuck with a scholarship and all.
You always sent me letters when you wanted to share something profound with me, and why not return the favor? Although in my case, it’s a hideous truth that I’ve finally had to face.
Without disclosing my real name—you really don’t need this kind of trouble in your world, darling—my father just announced to me he gave shares of our company to his three adopted children. As in made them shareholders.
Can you fucking imagine it?
