Justifying my curiosity, I lifted the lid an inch to peek inside.
Black smoke billowed out at once, in tendrils that looked like long, dark curling fingers. Startled, I slammed the lid shut, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then I laughed. I laughed because what else can you do when you fall into an alternate reality where vampires are real and shadow creatures live in boxes in your kitchen? This was my life now, and as mildly terrifying as it was, it was even more exhilarating. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as all the possibilities of my new life settled into me.
I was untouchable.
Don was dead.
My father couldn't hurt me anymore.
Jeremy would be safe.
A giddy relief washed over me and even when my phone rang and I saw my father’s number appear, my mood didn’t change.
A new courage took hold, and I answered the call with a confidence born of blood and death.
"Where the hell is my son?" my dad said, his voice slurred from alcohol.
"You don't get to talk to me like that anymore," I informed him, no longer scared of this weak, pathetic man.
“I can talk however the hell I want. Bring Jeremy home, or I’ll send the cops your way."
I just laughed. "Your cop buddies think you're a joke, you know that, right? They talk shit about you behind your back. They mock your drunk ass and they’re relieved you're no longer on the force."
I didn't know if what I said was true, but it didn't really matter. My words were venomous arrows that found their mark in my father's fragile ego, shattering pieces of it.
"You little bitch. You don't know anything."
"I know Don won't be helping you anymore." I was careful to choose my words so they couldn't be used against me.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.
I laughed again. "You're in over your head, old man. Give it up and go back to your bottle."
And with that I hung up, euphoric and full of my own venom. I would not be knocked down by small weak men again.
In fact, it was time to end this. I needed to get dirt on my dad so I could gain legal custody of Jeremy once and for all. Then, when I had Jeremy, we would finally be free.
I found a pen and paper and quickly scrawled a note to Vlad, then went upstairs to check on Jeremy. He was still tucked into bed, his fireplace burning bright. He and Leonard must have been up all night playing the board game. I kissed his head and left.
I went to Don's house first. I needed to see… what I wasn't sure, but I just needed the closure, I guess. And besides, if he had any kind of blackmail evidence against me, like the kind he’d claimed he’d had, I supposed I should get my hands on it first.
And wasn’t there that bog troll who’d been trapped in that room with me? Was he still locked up?
I parked my car and walked to the front door. Just what would I see inside? Evidence of his final minutes? I tried the knob, my palms slick with sweat. The door swung open easily, and steeling myself, I stepped inside.
The living room looked perfectly ordinary, a sagging brown plaid couch, empty containers of cheap takeout, buzzing flies. A mess, but Don’s usual mess. Not a drop of blood to be found. Vlad must have taken him somewhere else for the actual beheading.
I expanded my search of the house but found nothing unusual. Then, I paused at the final door, the room where Don had held me prisoner. Where he drugged me.
Panic swelled, but I pushed it down, clinging to the memory of his head rolling on the kitchen floor. He was dead. He couldn't hurt me anymore.
The room was even a worse mess than the rest of the house, and there were iron shackles secured to a brick wall, but the troll was gone. Had someone rescued him? Maybe, he’d managed to escape on his own.
Suddenly, I was eager to get out of that house, but I had one thing left to do first. I went back to Don's bedroom, to the safe I knew he had there. I'd watched him open it once, memorizing the code, which I used now.
And within I found what I wanted. I pushed aside the cash and grabbed the camera. I quickly scanned the pictures and videos, rage growing in me as image after image reminded me of what he'd done to me, until finally, I couldn’t look anymore.
At least I had everything now. The question was, had he sent the material to my father yet? My gut said he hadn't. This wasn't a cell phone. He’d have had to download and send them, and last night, he’d been pretty busy losing his head.
Camera in hand, I darted out of Don’s house and made a beeline to my car.
The next stop would be harder: home. But after looking at Don’s pics, I needed a defense, and that meant it was time to collect dirt on dear ol’ dad. At the very least, proof of his excessive alcoholism would help my case.
I parked around the block so he wouldn’t see my car and walked the rest of the way home, sticking to the shadows to avoid detection.
Keeping my phone camera ready, I crept around the side of the house to the backyard and my bedroom window. It was the easiest way to sneak in and out. As quietly as I could, I pried the window open and crawled through.
Once inside, I held my breath and listened to the house. It was silent. Relieved, I crept to the hallway, on the alert for any indication that my father was home, but he wasn’t. So much for getting a shot of him passed out in an alcoholic stupor. Disappointed, I decided to focus on looking for evidence Don had, in fact, sent him the blackmail photos.
My father kept an old computer in his bedroom, it was an ancient machine, one with a monitor nearly the size of a mini fridge. Even then, it was hard to find, half buried by six-packs of Bud Light and criminal case files. He liked to pretend he was still relevant to the force, but my words hadn't been too far off target. There’d been rumors about him even when he was still on active duty. He was never as respected as he fancied himself to be. His god-like status in the community was largely a product of his own mind.
The computer came to life slowly, and it wasn't even password protected. I checked all the desktop files and found nothing but questionable porn. I opened his search engine and looked at his history. More porn. Some news sites. And Yahoo. A quick search of his email showed Don’s email address at the top of his inbox. They’d been in contact quite a bit. After scanning the first few messages, it was clear my father was working with him. One even blatantly spelled out their plan. God, they were both idiots. I snapped pictures of the emails, then forwarded them to myself and deleted the forward.
I didn't find any of the pictures Don took, though there was an outgoing email from my dad asking about them. Reading it left no doubt: he desperately wanted to get rid of me.
I knew I shouldn't be bothered by that. After all, he was an asshole of the highest order, but still, my gut wrenched at the evidence of just how expendable he considered me.
Swiping at a traitorous tear, I hardened myself against my childhood emotions. I was a goddamn woman who didn't need Daddy. Particularly not his type of daddy-figure.
I wouldn’t let him control me. No. I would end his terror on our family, once and for all.
I jammed the power switch on his computer and just as I prepared to leave, I heard the front door open.
In a panic, I climbed over his bed and skittered into his closet. With the doors off their tracks, I couldn’t close them, so I hid behind an old musty ironing board instead and held my breath, staying as still as possible.
Footsteps stomped down the hallway. My father’s. I’d recognize his gait anywhere. After all, I’d spent my childhood straining to hear his every move so I could escape before he arrived.
The doorknob rattled and he entered the room in a clatter of grating and clanking chains.
“You’ll speak, and speak quick,” My father was saying.
Something squeaked.
Startled, I inched out from behind the ironing board, just enough to squint through the crack between the derailed closet doors.
Shit. My dad had the bog troll. And he was dragging the small, wiz
ened creature, chained at the neck like he was a dog.
My father jerked him to the bed, and then bellowed, “Hop on. Make it snappy.”
The scrawny-necked creature hissed but obliged by climbing up the dinged metal footboard and then perching on the edge of the mattress like a monkey—a tufted white-haired, extra-large handed one.
“In this house, my word is low,” my father barked as he opened a desk drawer, fished around a few seconds, and then pulled out a pair of handcuffs. After clamping the troll’s hands together, he wrapped the chain around the bedpost. Obviously, that bog troll wasn’t going anywhere.
“There.” My father dusted his hands together in a job well done.
He grabbed a Bud Light, popped the tab, and chugged the beer down all in one go. I could hear him swallow all the way from the closet. When he’d finished, he tossed the can in the general direction of the trashcan, belched, and then folded his arms to squint down at the bog troll.
“Name?”
“Sam,” the troll whined.
“How many aliases have you got?” my dad demanded, slamming his fist down on his desk. “That’s the fifth name you’ve given me.”
“Kind sir, I’ll go by any name you wish,” the pathetic creature whimpered.
My heart tugged. I had to rescue the little guy. But how?
My father muttered something under his breath and then, a bit unsteadily, turned back to his desk and began searching through the piles of paper. Maybe after a few more beers, he’d pass out and I could rescue the troll and take him back to Vlad. Surely, Vlad would know how to help him get back home?
The troll quivered on the bed, his large eyes focused on my father as he bumbled around, still muttering and clearly looking for something.
But then, as he bent down to search under the desk, the troll on the bed changed. The trembling vanished. The large eyes narrowed into murderous slits. The mouth opened and grew wide, revealing several large rows of teeth.
I blinked in shock.
As the troll leaned toward Dad, straining against the chains, my father suddenly straightened.
“Here it is,” he said, turning to brandish a flat black Glock 20.
At the sight of the gun, the troll melted back, adopting a subdued demeanor.
I stared. So, the troll wasn’t as helpless as he seemed.
“You’ll show respect for the law,” My father growled, grabbing another beer while waving the gun in his other hand. With an expertise born of years of one-handed practice, he popped the tab of his beer with his finger while still holding the can. He slurped a swig and pointed the gun in the troll’s face. “You’ll tell me what I want to know. Don said you knew all about the goings on in the Count’s house. Now, spill it, Sam, Fred, Jack or whatever the hell your name really is.”
The troll? So, the troll was how Don had gotten all his inside information?
“Let me go, and I’ll grant your wish,” the troll wheedled, his eyes as round as an owl’s. There wasn’t a hint of those many rows of teeth, now. “Let me go, and I’ll hand over not only your son, but your daughter, too. She’ll be yours to control. Forever.” His mouth widened into a malicious grin.
The little shit. Any sympathy I had for him died that instant.
“If you’re lying, you’ll pay with your miserable life,” my dad grunted. He guzzled his beer and then crumpled the can.
“The Count is rich, and your daughter has the codes,” the troll cackled. “When you control her, she’ll get it all for you. She’ll be yours to command. For everything.”
He was willing to sell me out for his own benefit, was he? Well, Vlad would have something to say about that—when I could get out of here to tell him.
“So, that’s what she’s been up to,” my father belched. “Getting rich and letting her old man suffer.”
Where had all the ‘by the law’ crap gone now? Funny how his principles flew out the window the moment money was mentioned.
“You’ll tell me how to get inside that mansion.” My dad turned on the troll.
“You can’t just break in there,” the troll said with scowl. “The Count is not of this world. He’s to be feared.”
No shit. And just wait until he heard what was really happening.
“He’s nothing I can’t handle,” my dad bragged with a belligerent shrug.
I doubted that. Part of me was tempted to step out of my hiding place and egg my dad into coming at Vlad. It would be problem solved, then, but as dark as I was, I knew I never would. I didn’t want to directly cause his death. I’d settle for scaring him away, permanently, letting karma handle the rest. After all, the way he was going, there’d be a big boomerang of karma soon, judging by the law of statistics.
“It’s a deal then,” the bog troll grinned. It wasn’t a happy kind of grin, but a slimy one, the kind con artists wear when they’ve achieved their goal. “I’ll give you the power to enter his house, if you let me go.”
“Power?” My dad repeated, knitting his brows in confusion. “The security codes?”
Oh, Dad. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into.
“Power,” the bog troll nodded eagerly, as if that would hypnotize my dad into agreeing. “You want your son? I’ll give you a potion, you’ll get powerful. No one will stand in your way, then.”
“You don’t say,” My father belched, reaching for another beer.
“Guaranteed.”
“Deal, then. Let’s see what you got.”
“Let me go, first.”
That triggered my father into pressing the gun against the troll’s temple. “I’m not stupid. Give me the potion, first. I’ll not have you escape without holding your end of the bargain. Don warned me about you.”
The troll’s eyes narrowed into slits again. “A knife and a cup,” he spat. “We’ll make an even trade. I’ll hand you the cup and you’ll hand me the keys.” He held up his cuffed wrists and then pointed at the chain around his neck.
“Deal,” my dad agreed.
I stifled a snort. Why do criminals ever trust other criminals? I’ve never understood that. And anyone who’d believe a word out of my dad’s mouth was a fool.
“Here,” my dad said, tossing a penknife on the bed before retrieving a red plastic Solo cup from the floor that hadn’t made it into the overflowing trashcan. “Where’s this potion?”
The troll sniffed, but grabbed the knife, sliced his finger and squeezed a few drops of black blood into the cup.
A rancid stench filled the room.
“You want me to drink that shit?” My dad snorted when the creature held up the cup.
I gagged at the thought. But honestly, I didn't really care what they did. They could play their games, con each other, it didn’t matter. Karma would bite their asses, and if they showed up at my house looking to start shit, Vlad would bite more than that.
The sound of chains falling to the floor snapped my attention back to the present. They'd made the exchange, and my dad was apparently drunk enough to drink the foul-smelling blood. As I watched, he splashed a little beer into the cup, swished it around and brought it to his lips.
The troll huddled at the foot of the bed, twisting the key into the handcuff lock. He fumbled, his hands too large, and dropped the key. Swearing, he reached for it and tried again.
My father straightened and set the empty cup down on a pile of case files. “Interesting,” he said, his voice sounding unusually deep.
The troll grinned as the handcuffs finally fell away. He was off the bed and out the door in a flash.
And my dad, who moments ago could barely stand upright, now charged out of the room after him, quicker than I’d ever seen him move in my life.
What the hell had been in that troll's blood? Didn't matter. This was my chance to escape, now or never. With the raucous those two were making, I didn't worry about stealth. Speed mattered more at this point. I tore out of the closet faster than any hound of hell could ever dream of running.
I f
lew into the hall, but instantly skidded to a halt.
My dad stood at the end of the hall, his gun pointed at the bog troll as the creature made a dash for the front door.
Shit. He’d cut off my escape. I’d have to return to my dad's bedroom and hope the window wasn't still stuck. And while it was in the opposite direction, it was a long hallway that would leave me exposed for far too long.
Before I could make up my mind, the gun went off, the shot so loud, my ears rang.
Shocked, I turned back towards my dad to see the troll lying on the floor in a crumpled heap—like a bag of trash left on a curb.
My dad leapt forward with animalistic dexterity to crouch beside the creature’s limp body, and then with a growl that sounded like a feral wolf, he bit the troll’s neck.
I stared, unable to move. Had my father somehow turned into a vampire? That made no sense.
He attacked the creature’s flesh, guzzling the blackened blood with a great smacking of the lips, the stench of it filling the house and causing my stomach to clench. Bile filled the back of my throat and I knew I would lose the contents of my stomach if I didn't get out. Now.
No matter if he saw me or not. I took off down the hall at full speed, but halfway to the door, I heard him.
“Kass, I’m coming for you,” my father called after me. His voice had changed and had a layered dual tone that sent a new kind of fear creeping down my spine.
What the hell kind of voice was that? He sounded downright demonic.
I knew I should just keep running, but I didn’t. I stopped and turned. Maybe it was curiosity at the change in his voice. Maybe, just like the bog troll had promised, he could control me now.
Whatever it was, I turned around. I had to see.
My father hadn’t moved. He still crouched on the floor, the troll's limp body in his arms. Blood dripped down his chin and onto his clothes as he smiled at me.
But then, I saw them.
His eyes.
They were glowing.
18
I flew out of the house and down the block. My hands shook so bad it took me five tries to jam my keys into the ignition. I kept looking all around, expecting at any moment to see my father running towards me like the devil himself.
Wanted Box Set Page 13
