by Mason, V. F.
We enter the house, and as he walks through the narrow hallway, I have a second to notice all the luxury, from the exclusive paintings to crystal chandeliers along with the most expensive furniture imaginable.
I should know, since I have almost the same at my house.
Finally, we reach another set of fucking double doors, the man knocking three times before twisting the knobs and motioning for me to go in.
God, the fucker is good; I’ll give him that. In the five minutes I’m at his house, he has no problem showing me we are in his domain, and in such, he holds the upper hand.
As I step inside the spacious office with a huge-ass window that brightens up the entire place, I zero my gaze on the man sitting in a leather chair, holding a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other.
His blond hair sparkling under the sun would give him an almost angelic look, except for his crystal-clear blue eyes that are void of any emotion and a slight smirk, sinister in its nature.
“You’re not allergic to the sun? Could have fooled me,” I say instead of a greeting.
He chuckles, although I don’t miss the warning his voice holds as he replies, “Never believe everything you see.”
Without waiting for an invitation, I sit on the chair opposite him separated by the heavy oak desk, and he offers, “Would you like something to drink?”
And I’ve had enough of this bullshit at this point, so I rest my elbows on the arms of the chair and cut to the chase. “Let’s stop all this shit, Lachlan.” I address the man by his name, and his eyes glint in amusement.
“I didn’t even start. What brings you here, Zach?”
I throw the folder on the table with all the latest information on our case. He picks it up, flipping through it. After examining it for a few moments, he raises his gaze to me. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Do you know who did this?”
His brows rise as he takes a large sip from his glass, the ice clacking inside it and echoing in the silent room. “Why would I know some serial killer who goes around killing women?”
Why would he indeed?
Except Lachlan Scott is the underground king of New York whose proteges are some of the most notorious serial killers in the country, and maybe even the world.
He teaches them all the unique techniques of torture, despair, and agony they can bring to victims and, at the same time, gives second chances to all the lost souls who need guidance.
He’s a ruthless businessman worth billions of dollars by day and the meanest motherfucker you’ve ever met by night, killing people without remorse.
He is the judge, the lawyer, and the jury all at once, and God help you if he decides to end you.
The high society, the elite of the elite, have no clue about this part of his life, and only my deep connections in the underground allow me to know this truth about him.
Well, that and the fact that I’m not afraid of him. Besides, what reason does he have to kill me?
None.
“I know who you are, Lachlan.”
He cocks his head to the side, studying me for a second before taking a long pull of his cigar and exhaling smoke, wrapping us in fog for a fraction of a second. “I see. And this knowledge makes you think what? That I’m responsible for every psycho roaming the streets of New York?”
“Kind of. You train people like that. Make them vicious.”
“Make them?” He rubs his chin with the rim of his glass. “You must have studied serial killers for your case. A man like you wouldn’t have it any other way. You need to know about the subject in order to destroy it. As simple as any business takeover really.”
“I do.”
“Well then.” He leans on the table, resting his elbows on it. “Serial killers are the product of their upbringing. I couldn’t make one out of my students, even if I tried. They come to me like that.” He taps at the folder with his cigar, the ashes of it dropping on one of the pictures. “My students know boundaries and limits. My students don’t do shit like that.” He finishes his drink, slamming the glass back on the table, and it rattles loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. “I usually kill fuckers like this. They lose their head, and the minute the head is gone, they’re a lost cause.”
Fuck this shit.
“You have to have something,” I say, my temper rising, but I rein it in, because playing whose dick is bigger with Lachlan won’t bring me any results. “This fucker plans to kill Phoenix.” I’m not sure what I expected from Lachlan, but for him to burst out laughing is not it.
He rests his back on the chair. “And you care since when? Last I heard, you actively tried to kill her in prison. What changed?”
“The truth,” I snap, shame washing over me at the thought of what I’ve done, especially after last night.
I know Phoenix regrets succumbing to her basic needs and having sex with me… yet that’s all I can fucking think about. The way she tasted, moaned, came undone under me, and how in such a short span, I’ve connected to her in ways I thought not possible again with another human being. All while love doesn’t even exist between us and she hates my guts. How can sex possibly transform into more once other emotions are attached to it?
She is passionate and demanding in her lust, not apologizing for her craving, soft yet strong and loyal with the people she loves, and no amount of hardships puts her on her knees, ready to give up. Her compassionate heart is ready to live with the monster that has destroyed her life if it ensures the safety of his child.
How could Sebastian have let go of such a woman? Doubt her? Pick my fucking side when I came to him with a proposition to work for me if he finalized a divorce from Phoenix quicker. Back then, hurting her was my only purpose, and I wanted to snatch the person she loved away from her too.
My hands clench along with the possessive beast roaring inside me at the mere thought of another man’s hands on her body, on the body that became mine last night, and I’ll be fucking damned if I allow him too close to her ever again.
He gave up the right to the heaven that is her a long time ago.
Lachlan clicks his fingers in my face, pulling me back to the present, although by the knowing smirk on his face, it’s not hard to guess he suspects where my mind went. “It must be more than the truth,” he says and then flips the lighter between his fingers. “I can tell you a few things that might help you.”
Shrugging away all other thoughts from my mind, I focus on our conversation and nod at him to elaborate. “He is smart, vicious, and weak.” My brows furrow at the last part, because it almost contradicts the first two points. “He is constantly afraid of the person who reminds him of his weakness. Usually in such cases, these are parents or guardians.”
“You are talking about the fact that he was abused.”
“More like degraded. He is very bloodthirsty in his killings, but he never comes close to his victims. That’s the fear. I suspect he never got to kill the person who inspired it. That’s why it still stays.”
Fucking shit, all of a sudden, everyone is a psychologist who understands serial killers, and I’m the clueless idiot. “You got that just by the signature killings of his?”
“Of course. I could’ve made thousands more observations, and I probably would’ve been right, but I don’t want to waste our time. The clock is ticking for you, my friend.”
“I figured it’s personal.”
“Not in the way you think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have everything that the serial killer wants. Look into your past really close, Zachary.”
“Well thanks, Lachlan, because I didn’t think about that,” I say sarcastically, threading my fingers in my hair, ready to rip it out.
I’m back at square one with this shit, and coming to Lachlan didn’t help me at all, despite his little analyses.
With a frustrated growl, I get up from the chair and head to the door, not seeing the point of staying here a minut
e longer, when his deep voice calls me, and I look over my shoulder at him. “Zachary, wait.” He gets up as well, grabbing the folder on the way, and gives it back to me. “What he wants the most right now is Phoenix. You know why?” He doesn’t wait for me to ask and answers it instead. “Because she represents himself in this equation. The victim. You are the executioner in her life and in his life.”
“And he is the rescuer.”
“Correct. If you stop being the executioner to the victim, and instead become a rescuer, he will snap. You will take away his place once again. And you know what happens when a serial killer snaps…?”
“He becomes reckless,” I finish for him, but he shakes his head.
“No. He makes mistakes as he becomes emotional. He doesn’t know how to play the part of executioner. When he kills all these women, he thinks he saves them from their ruthless husbands. And if he doesn’t know how to play a part, he can be caught. One way or another, he will come after Phoenix.” He waits a bit before adding, “However, the outcome depends on how well you understand what I just said.” With this, he grips the doorknob and opens it wide.
My mind is burning from all this information and the puzzle pieces I’m trying to align in the appropriate blocks so the picture in my head fits together, but before I go, I have one last thing to say to him. “Thank you for your help. I appreciate it.” Considering we are not even close friends and he could have told me to fuck myself, this is a win with a man like Lachlan.
But then again, one might never know where his true agenda lies.
His eyes stay absolutely cold as he replies with his emotionless tone that has the power to freeze everything around. “If you catch him, then you can thank me. I’ll contact you if I find anything useful. I’ll be happy when this particular psycho dies and stops messing around in my town.” With this, he motions with his hand for me to get the hell out of his office and shuts the door in my face.
I think he is the only fucking person on the planet who can get away with that.
On my way to the car, a chuckle slips past my lips and reverberates around the walls of his enormous house when his words ring in my ears.
His town.
Leave it to one of the most notorious serial killers to claim New York and act like the king when the King himself is treated like an object.
Ah, Lachlan.
In another life, we could have been friends, but in this one, we will always be acquaintances.
For there cannot be two kings who coexist with each other.
Phoenix
“So, in short, there is nothing to worry about,” Rafe concludes. “Doctors said I was lucky the sharp object didn’t touch the C something artery, or it might have started some major bleeding.”
“Carotid artery,” I correct him as a habit. It used to drive me nuts when people couldn’t properly use medical terms. But I’m still not convinced by his words, as he is a bit too pale.
His head is wrapped in a bandage, probably more a precaution, since the wound is still new and they don’t want it to get infected.
And at this moment, a nurse steps inside the hospital room, holding a tray with food to my surprise, since hospitals usually have special staff to deliver it, and I ask her, “Was a CT scan done on him? What are the results?”
She blinks. “The doctor said there was no reason for it.”
“No reason?” Disbelief coats my voice while anger sparks inside me at such foolishness. Rafe might be all right on the surface, but the fall along with the hit could have resulted in several kinds of brain or blood vessel injuries.
If he has an undiagnosed brain bleed, they won’t be able to do shit to save him.
“Told you I’m good,” Rafe says and then winks at the young nurse who blushes under his stare. “Are these mashed potatoes? I’m all for it. God, if I knew coming to the hospital would mean eating like a king, I’d have broken something a long time ago.”
“Could you please call the doctor who is on call right now? I’d like to ask about a CT scan.”
“Sure, of course. Dr. Sawyer should be around here somewhere.”
I still at the mention of the familiar name, wondering if it’s possible for her to be here of all places, but then chuckle under my breath.
Leiken got the position as the staff psychiatrist in our old hospital the minute they took away my license. Working there was a dream come true for her; no way would she have given up a job in one of the best hospitals in the country to come here. They had one of the best fellowship programs in the US. The seat was too comfortable for her to ever give it up.
The nurse disappears, and Rafe grabs my hands, squeezing it. “I’m all right, Phoenix. The fucker just surprised me. Otherwise, trust me, he would have been the one lying on the floor,” he reassures me with a boyish smile, and I relax a little bit; some part of me has been tense ever since he was sent to the hospital.
“We need to tell your sister about this.”
Rafe almost jumps up from the bed at this, and I have to push him back to rest on the pillow. “No!” he shouts, and I frown. “Let’s not call her, okay? She’ll worry for nothing.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, and she can’t help me from prison, can she? So let’s just drop it.” Anger flashes in his eyes—such a contrast to his previous mood—and he must realize it too as he softens his tone. “I just don’t want to make her feel as if she’s helpless by not being able to do anything for me.”
Everything inside me rebels at the idea. Had I been in her place, I would have preferred to know, but maybe there is some merit in his words? He is all right, so why worry her?
“Okay, if you say so.” He exhales in relief, ready to add something else, when we hear voices coming from the distance, closer and closer to the door.
“So she asked if a CT scan was done,” the nurse says, “and it wasn’t.”
“Who was on shift during that time?”
“Dr. Smith.”
“Ugh, yeah, okay. Then let’s schedule a CT scan first thing and call me with the results once it’s done.”
“Sure thing.”
In a second, they walk into the room. The sound of her voice was enough for me to confirm who it was.
She transferred here after all.
Leiken smiles brightly, the typical doctor smile that you have to train yourself to have in order to ease the patients, even if you are having a shitty day with lost causes. “I want to apologize for—” She stops abruptly, her eyes widening when they land on me, and she covers her mouth with her palm, staring at me in shock, while the nurse and Rafe look between us probably trying to guess what’s going on.
We’d been friends for years before the accident happened, inseparable despite our three-year-old age difference, and always stuck together no matter what.
Countless memories together, the good, the bad, and the ugly wrapped in a beautiful world called friendship that we had vowed would last a lifetime.
But with her now in front of me, among all these memories, only one stands out in my mind, rotten in its nature and that spoiled everything that came before it.
The pouring rain cascades down on me as I blindly follow the path to Leiken’s home, not paying attention to the passing cars that send water from under the tires splashing in my direction.
I’m soaking wet; a few more drops and the stains won’t matter.
The sidewalk is lit by several streetlamps above me, the only source of light in my miserable state right now after Sebastian left me and sent divorce papers along with a note to get the hell out of the penthouse that belongs to him.
The red suitcase trails after me as I pull it, rolling on the sidewalk heavily, bumping over each crack in the concrete.
I’ve managed to pack some papers along with my diplomas and pajamas. Everything else, he destroyed, so I saw no point grabbing torn clothes.
Nothing to salvage, just like our marriage.
Tears stream down my cheek. I don’t bother to
wipe them away while I think how I’m going to explain it all to my best friend who will probably kill Sebastian once she hears about it.
She is fiercely protective of me, claiming that I’m too nice for my own good and that’s why people take advantage of me.
At least in this good-for-nothing life right now, I have her in my corner, someone with whom I can stay until all this is over.
I believe in justice and true investigation. I believe they will find out what really happened that night and free me from all these accusations.
And then I will be able to safely deliver my baby, building my life anew.
Without Sebastian in it, because I will never accept him now.
Ten more minutes and I reach the small condo on the outskirts of the city, exhaling in relief when I see the lights are on. She is home; waiting for her outside in this weather would have been awful.
Not for me, but for my little bean.
“You have the best aunt, my little one,” I whisper to my stomach and pat it gently before coming closer to the door, only to feel it vibrate with music and laughter coming from inside.
I pause with my fist about to knock, musing over this information and hoping I don’t interrupt one of her and Scott’s, her cardio-surgeon fuck buddy, times together.
I knock several times before the door swings open and a giggling Leiken holding a glass of wine greets me.
Her mouth almost drops open at seeing me, and the amusement is gone, along with the music that shuts off when everyone sees me standing in the doorway.
And by everyone, I mean almost all our coworkers from the hospital are here, clearly celebrating something.
But I was not invited.
“Phoenix,” Leiken says. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re celebrating something?” I ask weakly, uneasiness rushing through me at how detached her voice is and that she’s not pulling me inside her house, despite my drenched state.
“Well, um. Well….” She huffs, her cheeks heating up as if she can’t voice it, and Sam appearing from behind her does it for her.
He is not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice. “Yeah, the chief offered her a position.” He lifts his chin and folds his arms, acting all protective over her. “Question is, what are you doing here?”