Sick Twisted Minds (Cruel Black Hearts Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  Well, except the bodies.

  “I came to speak with you, actually,” Perry said, flashing me a set of pearly whites. Trying to disarm me. Trying to act like everything was normal here, when it clearly wasn’t. A man who looked for serial killers on a daily basis for the FBI didn’t come to your workplace to talk to you about the best local fishing spots. “Can we head in the back?”

  Nodding, I escorted him to my office, closing the door behind him and shutting the blinds so the nosy employees couldn’t watch. Whatever the hell this was. Round two of questioning? I sat in my chair and set my mug down between us.

  Perry took his time sitting in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk, leaning back as he gave me a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a cup,” he said, the bastard well-aware that we passed the brewer on the way back here. No, he’d waited until I sat down on purpose. It was what he did.

  I forced out a smile to match his. Two could play at this game. I would give him nothing here. Except coffee. “Alright. Give me a minute.” I pushed myself back to my feet and exited my office. Whatever coffee mug was in the sink, clean of course, because I wasn’t a complete monster, I took and filled. When I returned to my office, I found Perry sitting in the same spot, as if he hadn’t moved to snoop.

  Which, maybe he hadn’t. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but you couldn’t blame me. I had quite a lot of things to be paranoid about.

  “I wasn’t sure if you took cream or sugar,” I said, handing him the mug.

  Perry took it, shaking his head gently. “Black is fine. I find that cream and sugar just water it down.” He took a sip, not even reacting a little to the steaming temperature of the brown liquid. “Wonderful,” he said, setting it on the corner of my desk.

  Yes. So fucking wonderful.

  “Well?” I asked. “What can I do for you today?”

  “You’re a busy man,” Perry said, “so I won’t take up too much of your time.” What a fantastic way to not answer my question and place himself in charge of the conversation. “I want to talk about Stella. Has she seemed…different to you lately?”

  “Different?” I echoed. “Different how?” She had seemed different to me, but that was because Edward was slowly getting her back on her meds.

  “I noticed she hasn’t been posting to her blog lately,” Perry said. “And her articles, I assume you read them since you’re the boss?”

  I nodded once. “I give all of the articles a quick run through before I approve them and send them to the formatter.” I wasn’t quite sure where the hell this guy was going. What was he getting at? And why the fuck did her blog have anything to do with this? I knew she hadn’t written another post in a while, because I got notifications anytime she did, but what did it have to do with his investigation?

  “Have you read her blog?”

  To the untrained eye and ear, his questions flitted back and forth, but I knew he was getting somewhere with this. I just wasn’t certain where he thought he was going. “I have glanced at it before, in the past. I don’t really do much blog surfing.”

  Perry gave me a closed-mouth smile. He didn’t think I was funny. Right now, I wasn’t feeling too hilarious, anyway. “Well, I’m concerned that she might be getting into something she shouldn’t. If you’ve read her recent articles, there just isn’t the heart behind them that there used to be. And like I said, she hasn’t posted to her blog in two weeks. Seems odd for a woman who used to post to it at least twice every week, steadily, for the last ten years, doesn’t it?”

  I gave him a noncommittal shrug. “I’m sure everyone gets tired of things eventually. I know a lot of people who take hiatuses from social media.”

  “Do you?”

  No, but that wasn’t the point. “Yes,” I said. “I don’t even have any profiles on any site.”

  Perry, still with that fucking closed-mouth smile, as if he wanted me to know he knew something I didn’t. “I saw that, and I find it extremely odd. But I’m not here to talk about you. Let’s get back to Stella Wilson. A few posts ago, she wrote to the Angel Maker, and we all know by now that he answered. He kidnapped her and dumped her in front of his latest victim—a woman you also knew.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Sandy.”

  “Let’s talk about her for a moment. The last time anyone saw Sandy was the night of your birthday. You all went to the local bar and had drinks.” Perry detailed the night as best he could, considering most of his witnesses of that night were drunk. “Do you remember who left with Sandy that night?”

  Inside my chest, my heart hardened. “No,” I said. “I had a few too many. I don’t remember much.”

  “You know, that’s funny,” Perry said, his eyes vibrant and lively even with the wrinkles on his face, “because I went back to the bar and spoke to the owner. He was working that night. My badge must’ve jogged his memory, because he remembered seeing her leave with a red-headed man.”

  She didn’t leave with me. That would’ve been stupid of me. We both left at the same time, however, so I guess to an amateur, to a fucking bar owner who didn’t know shit, it would’ve looked like we left together.

  Fuck.

  “I didn’t take her home, if that’s what you’re getting at. We all left at the same time. Everyone here.”

  Perry made a sound in his throat, a sound that told me he didn’t believe me. “Back to Stella. I combed through the comments on her blog, and it looks like there might’ve been some interaction between her and our killer.”

  Our killer. Because the old bastard never called him—me—the Angel Maker. Only our killer. How undignified. I was much more than a simple killer.

  “And then, in her last post, she said she was signing off for a while. I wracked my brain about it for the last few days. It just doesn’t seem right, for someone so obsessed with killers to suddenly sign off when her town is home to one. If anything, she should be writing more, don’t you think?” Perry asked, tilting his head as he watched me.

  I was careful not to give anything away. No strange body movements, nothing at all that would tell him I was the one he was looking for. It was bad enough the fucking bar owner had said I left with Sandy. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill both the bar owner and the older man before me, but I held back, because killing an FBI agent would be one of the stupidest things I could possibly do.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I think so. I think Stella should be writing more, put even more heart into her work. But the fact remains she’s not. You have no idea why that is? Have you seen her with anyone? Anyone new in her life? Maybe a boyfriend?”

  “None that I know of,” I said, praying to God that this conversation, this mini-interrogation would end soon. I knew exactly what this man was trying to get at, and I’d be damned if I gave anything away.

  Perry got to his feet. “I think she’s found her killer. Why bother writing about one when she could spend her time with one? I think, if I follow Stella, she’ll lead me right to him.” No smile sat on his face as he looked down at me. No sliver of emotion I could read, but I knew what his words meant.

  A threat.

  He knew something wasn’t adding up. He knew I was connected, and he knew Stella was, too.

  “Thank you for the coffee. I’m sure I’ll be in touch.” Perry walked out of my office, and I forced myself to remain sitting as he went. I would not get up and watch him go.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” I muttered to myself, mocking him, getting up once he was gone and grabbing his mug, “that I drank once.” I could not stop the frown from forming on my face as I went to dump it out. Perry was long gone, luckily, so I let my scowl deepen, aware the others stared at me.

  I’d be the topic of office gossip once again, and I couldn’t stop them from talking about me. Whatever. Let them. I had other things to worry about.

  Mainly Stella.

  The dinner with Edward and Lincoln. Our date tonight. How Perry seemed to be zeroed in on her and me. That last one especial
ly. The man had hardly anything to go on, but maybe he was so good when it came to listening to his gut that he knew something wasn’t right about us. Truth was, nothing was right about me.

  The only thing that was right was Stella, and I’d be damned if I let the FBI get in the way.

  Chapter Four - Stella

  I ran through the house, trying to quickly gather what I needed for work. I really should’ve just brought a new change of clothes and my laptop over to Edward and Lincoln’s house, but I never thought it through. I couldn’t shower, because Callie was in there; I heard the water running. The only thing I did was change my clothes and grab my phone charger. I was about to throw them into my messenger bag when I froze.

  I stood half in the kitchen, half in the living room. It was a small house, mostly open concept. All of the fixtures were at least fifteen years old. It felt…strange. Almost like a sense of déjà vu. An odd feeling crept up the back of my neck, and I turned, thinking it was maybe Callie behind me, but no one stood there. No one was there, so why the hell did it feel like someone was breathing down my neck?

  Running a hand through my hair, my eyes flicked around. I had a bad taste in my mouth, and I had no idea why.

  I moved back into the hall, about to knock on the bathroom door, try to apologize or something to Callie, but as I lifted my hand to knock, I saw the door was cracked open. What the…

  All it took was a gentle push to open the door, and I saw an empty shower. No one in sight, and not a single water droplet on the curtain or the tub surround. “Callie?” I asked aloud, hearing nothing in response. Not a single movement in the house.

  I was…alone.

  So weird, because a minute ago, I could’ve sworn I heard the shower running. But clearly it hadn’t been, as there was no one there. No evidence of a recent shower. I ran a hand through my hair, taking a step back, away from the bathroom as if it had offended me. In a way, it did. It made me feel crazy.

  I hated feeling crazy, even if it was my normal.

  Not knowing what else to do, I returned to the kitchen and grabbed my bag. I was out of the door the next minute, trying not to think about it too much. If I did, if I let myself ruminate about it over and over, I would drive myself even more mad than I already was. And sometimes I felt pretty fucking mad.

  Sometimes I could hardly think straight. But Edward and Lincoln, they helped me. And Killian, but I could never make myself lump him in with the others. He was still an other to me, still so very different than my other two killers. As he should be—he’s my Angel Maker.

  I took the long way to work, feeling the soft breeze caress my skin and tangle through my hair. The sun shone above me, beating down at a temperature that was anything but unpleasant. A nice, breezy day. Like spring.

  Bringing up a dinner with them all had come out of nowhere, but at the same time, I wanted them to get along. I hated this, feeling like I was being pulled in two separate directions. Was it so wrong that I wanted them to get along? If they were friends, if they were at least nice to each other…

  Honestly, I wasn’t certain what I hoped to gain from this dinner. Did I want all three of them with me at once? Did I want to have them all naked and at my command—or, conversely, be at their command? That was probably a pipe dream of mine, and even if they got along, it didn’t mean they’d suddenly all drop their pants at once.

  Hell, I had no idea what I wanted. All I knew was that I wanted them to be friends. We were all alike in some way. We should all get along, right?

  I would bring it up to Killian tonight. We had a date. I wasn’t sure where he was taking me, what we were doing, but I would make myself bring it up sooner or later.

  A dinner date with all three of my monsters, my beasts. The mere thought was exciting, thrilling in a way I never could’ve imagined. Being surrounded by them, oh it would be fun. So fun I couldn’t picture it.

  The Tribune was only fifty feet away, my gaze fixated ahead of me as I was lost in my thoughts. I was busy thinking about Edward and Lincoln, how much they’d hate the dinner and whether or not they would humor me through it when I noticed someone walking out of the Tribune.

  My feet stopped when I saw him. Perry, I thought he’d said his name was. An FBI agent who’d asked me a countless amount of questions about the Angel Maker and my blog. Granted, I didn’t think I’d ever heard him actually call Killian the Angel Maker, but still. I did not enjoy being on his radar. And since I was currently walking past the parking lot, he’d definitely see me.

  Too late to turn around now.

  Perry’s eyes locked on me instantly, and he picked up speed to stand before me. A skinny guy, but fit for his age. He was a few years younger than my father, I thought, but I knew better than to not take him seriously.

  “Ms. Wilson,” Perry spoke. “How are you today?”

  I did not like the way his eyes twinkled when he saw me, nor the tone lingering in his voice. There was something off about it, almost like he’d found a lead in the case. Which was utterly preposterous, because Killian had assured me time and time again that there was nothing to pick up on. Nothing to see. Nothing to discover. Killian was a clean monster, his darkness meticulous. Still, I knew everyone made mistakes in their life, Killian included.

  “Tired,” I said, telling the truth. Anytime I spent the night at Edward and Lincoln’s place, I always came to work tired the next day. They had a habit of keeping me up at night, wearing both my mind and my body out. I would sleep like a baby tonight, I knew.

  Hmm…I wondered if Edward would drop by the house and leave me some dessert while I was out with Killian.

  Back to the matter at hand. Or, rather, the FBI agent standing three feet away from me, giving me a smile that I knew wasn’t genuine. It was fake—the grin didn’t look fake, but a seasoned agent like him had years of practice.

  “Why so tired?” Perry asked, cocking his head. The wind rustled his grey hair. “Up all night thinking of your next blog post?” The words blog post did not sound right coming from him. Like he was too old to say it and not sound ridiculous.

  I shrugged. “Just busy.” It was all I offered him, and when I said nothing more, he nodded.

  “Maybe you should,” he said, starting to move past me and head to his car. “It seems we’re at a dead end when it comes to our perp.” Perry gave me a tight smile before getting in, pulling the door behind him and driving off, waving at me as he went.

  Yes, fucking waving at me like we were friends. Best buddies.

  Hell no. The only best buddy I had wasn’t talking to me, barely even staying at our house anymore. I didn’t need…

  My thoughts trailed off, and I could’ve sworn I smelled blood in the air. A sharp, metallic twang that made my veins run cold.

  I looked around. Nothing but a motionless parking lot and a street to my other side. Huh. I was definitely going mad. Mother wouldn’t be happy. She always hated it when I did crazy things, or when I said them. She wanted me to play nice, to be happy and normal. We didn’t all get our wishes granted. Bree seemed to have inherited all of the family’s luck.

  I shook off what odd feeling came over me, finishing my walk to the Tribune’s door. When I entered, all eyes flicked to me, as if they knew I’d been accosted by Perry. Then again, Perry did walk out of the same door I’d just come in from, which meant he’d probably been talking to Killian.

  Pointedly ignoring their curious looks, I headed straight for my desk and sat down, unpacking my laptop and plugging my phone charger into the wall nearest me. Soon enough, everyone got back to work. By now, I was used to having all eyes on me. At first it was because of my heterochromia, then it was because of what happened with Sandy, and now it was due to the wonderful FBI Agent Perry. I’d probably remain their favorite topic of conversation and inquisitive glances until the FBI left town.

  Surely they’d go soon. How long would they wait, how many taxpayer dollars would go to waste while they piddle dicked around here, waiting for a break in the An
gel Maker case? They had to be getting ready to go. Perry coming here, talking with Killian and saying all that to me had to be his one last push, one final try to attempt to gain some kind of clue.

  I let half an hour pass before I got up and went into the back, knocking on Killian’s door before entering. The blinds were drawn, meaning he didn’t want to be seen. Or maybe he’d just forgotten to open them after Perry left.

  Killian sat in his chair, leaning back, his shoulders sagging. His cup of coffee sat on his desk, mostly full. Not a single bit of steam rose off it, so my guess was that it was cold, and he hadn’t drunk a single sip after Perry’s departure. The expression on his handsome face was not one that set my mind at ease.

  I sat in the chair nearest to me, meeting his emerald stare. He leaned on his fist, his mouth drawn into a pensive line. It was a mouth I hadn’t kissed, lips I didn’t know the taste of. Would that ever change? After two weeks, we were still crawling slowly, as opposed to the fast-paced sprint I’d done in my relationships with Edward and Lincoln.

  But it made sense, as he had a lot to make up for.

  “What did he want?” I asked, not wanting to say his name, lest he appear suddenly. Perry seemed to have that way about him. I didn’t feel safe in his presence, maybe because of what I did, what I wanted to do again.

  God, I really felt like killing someone right now. Some people had urges to eat chocolate. Some people needed a fix of their drugs. I needed to feel blood running down my hands. It was the only thing that would calm my nerves—but even I knew it wouldn’t keep me sated for long, because Perry and his FBI friends were still in town, still searching.

  Murder was not the best thing to do when the FBI watched your every move.

  “He wanted to scare me,” Killian said, speaking evenly. He was much better under pressure than I was. I didn’t know how he did it. Always so calm and collected—unless alcohol was in the equation, then he was anything but. “It’s nothing to worry about, Stella.”