“You never asked me,” he says with a crooked grin. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns down at it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Andy says he hasn’t heard from our mom today. I’ll try to call her again.” He holds the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. “Mom! I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
His shoulders sag in relief, and I slip my hand into his free one, giving it a supportive squeeze.
“Are you feeling okay?”
I tune out the conversation and glance behind me. There are only two girls following me now.
Tammy’s gone.
Is it because they found her body and now she can be at peace?
Is peace what they each want?
I wish I could talk to them, understand what in the world is going on.
I wonder if the only way to figure this out is to allow myself to dream-walk again. To ask questions and be more present in the moment and less afraid.
To be fair, it was a surprise last time.
But if I’m more prepared, I might be able to make it work in my favor.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
Cash hangs up and sighs in relief.
“How is she?”
“Tired,” he says. “She says she’s just tired, but I talked her into going to the doctor.”
“I’m glad. I suppose we should stop in to see Millie at the café. And I should call Daphne.”
“No.”
I stop on the sidewalk and stare up at Cash. “What? Why?”
“No, we’re going to take a few hours just for us.”
I’ll admit, I was embarrassed last night when I blurted out that he hadn’t kissed me yet. I’d like to chalk it up to exhaustion and sexual frustration.
But it’s probably more about me being socially awkward.
“Say something,” he says.
“What do you want to do?”
“Anything, as long as it’s with you, we’re not talking about murder or death, and I can get to know you better.”
“You want to go on a date? At eleven in the morning?”
“Dates happen at any time of day,” he reminds me. “And, yes, that’s what I want. Let’s take a break. We’ve done everything we can for now. Until Asher or my boss calls to let me know I’m officially part of the investigation, there’s nothing more for us to do.”
He brushes his knuckles down my cheek.
“I’d like some time alone with you.”
“Death follows me wherever I go,” I warn him, but he just smiles.
“Yes, but we don’t have to dwell on it, do we?” He kisses my nose and leads me back to my apartment and his car, which he parked at the curb yesterday. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Okay.” I sit in the passenger seat. Once he’s started the car, he pulls away and heads across town, away from the French Quarter.
“I asked my brother to tell me where his favorite restaurant is away from the Quarter,” Cash informs me. “I think we need a little break from there. We’ll have a nice lunch, then go from there.”
“It’s not part of my usual routine, but I admit that it sounds nice.” I settle back against the leather of the seat and take a deep breath. It feels good to let someone else make plans. “I work tonight.”
“No.”
My head whips around so I can stare at him. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t you think you should take some time off until we get a handle on this?”
“No, I don’t.” I shift in my seat to face him fully. “First of all, you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, Cash. Second, I have to work. I have bills to pay. And trust me when I say it’s not cheap to live in the Quarter.”
“This sicko’s taking girls, torturing and killing them, and they look exactly like you.”
“I’m well aware.”
Two of them are sitting in the back seat of his car, but there’s no need to tell him that.
“Give me one week,” Cash says as he guides the vehicle into a parking space and turns to me with beseeching, green eyes. “Please, just give me a week. I’ll pay your rent this month. Hell, I’ll pay for everything.”
“That’s not—”
“I’m scared,” he admits and reaches for my hand. He kisses my knuckles and then looks back at me. “If he were to take you, I would never forgive myself.”
“One week,” I confirm. “I’ll give you that. I’ll make a call once we’re inside.”
“Just like that?”
“I don’t know many men who would freely admit that they’re afraid,” I reply. “Most give an order, stomp their foot, and expect the little woman to fall in line.”
“I’m not an asshole.”
“No. You’re not. So, yes, I’ll agree to a week. You don’t have to pay my rent, though. I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, then gets out of the car. He opens my door and leads me inside a new building that houses a Mexican restaurant. “New construction. Not remodeled, brand new. No ghosts here.”
I smile, touched that he put some thought into choosing the place. Of course, there are ghosts everywhere, no matter when the building was built.
But I won’t tell him that and rain on his parade.
“I hope you like Mexican food.”
“It’s actually my favorite.”
“I ate my weight in chips.” I pat my belly as he drives back toward my apartment. We agreed to head over because his boss called while we were having fried ice cream. Cash is officially part of the investigation. “Why can’t you stop eating them once you start? They’re like crack.”
“It’s the fried ice cream that does me in,” he confesses. He pulls up in front of my building and follows me upstairs.
“When do you have to go report in?”
“Tomorrow morning,” he says with a smile. “I can get most of the information remotely. And I’m not leaving you today.”
“I don’t—”
“Need to be babysat,” he finishes for me. “I know.” He shuts the door behind us and advances on me, prowling.
The look in his amazing green eyes is hot as fuck.
“I’m not here to babysit you,” he says as his hands slowly loop their way over my hips and around my back.
“No?”
“Nope.” He kisses my forehead. “I have other things in mind that don’t involve sitting.”
“No sitting.”
He smiles and kisses my cheek. His body is warm and firm, and his hands rub delicious circles over my back.
“Not unless we decide to rechristen that chair Daphne talked about,” he says. His hands glide over my butt, and he suddenly lifts me effortlessly, supporting me with his palms under my ass, carrying me to the bedroom.
“Are you ever going to kiss me?”
“Eventually.” The lips that I want so desperately on mine twitch into a sly smile. He lays me down in the middle of the bed and crawls over me, dragging his nose over my clothes, sending shivers down my spine and causing goosebumps to rise.
My back instinctively arches off the bed in invitation.
“God, you’re amazing,” he whispers against my neck. He places a wet kiss there, then drags his lips up to my ear. “Sexy as hell. Keeping my hands to myself for a whole week has been complete torture.”
“But not keeping your lips to yourself?”
He smiles down at me. “Now I feel a lot of pressure to do this right. What if I’m really bad at it, and you’re expecting fireworks?”
“You’re not bad at it.”
“You don’t know.” He kisses the apple of my cheek. “I could be a dud in the kiss department.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth, teasing me relentlessly.
Finally, finally, he presses those hot lips to mine and sinks in.
This man doesn’t merely kiss and call it a day.
No, he kisses like it’s his damn job. Like kissing me is the only thing in the world he can think about
.
As if he’s wanted to kiss me for decades.
I sigh, push my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and hold on as my body comes to life under him. His hand cups my breast over my shirt, his thumb brushing over my puckered nipple.
We’re fully clothed, and I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.
“So sweet,” he whispers before changing the angle of the kiss and diving in all over again. I’m drowning, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever experienced.
“Am I a dud?”
I lick my lips and narrow my eyes as if I’m thinking it over.
Honestly, I just can’t make coherent thoughts form yet.
“Brielle.”
“I like the way you say my name.”
He quirks a brow. “How’s that?”
“Like it feels good on your tongue.”
“Your name isn’t the only thing that feels good.” He licks along my jawline. “You make me crazy, you know?”
“No, I didn’t know.”
“Well, you do now.” His lips cover mine again, and his hand tugs my shirt out of my pants. He kisses and undresses me as if it’s effortless.
As if he does it every day.
The air is cool against my naked skin.
“Goosebumps,” he whispers before suckling my nipple, then blowing on it.
I had no idea it could get harder than it was.
But it can. It does.
And he’s still dressed.
“If I’d known you were hiding all of this talent, I would have attacked you days ago.”
He chuckles and lets me pull his shirt over his head so I can get my hands on his warm, smooth skin.
He’s tanned.
Toned.
Has muscles for days.
And for now, he’s all mine.
“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” he says.
“Oh, I’m pleased for sure.” And in just a mere ten seconds, I have him naked, his heavy cock resting on my belly as he kisses me silly.
I work him over, gently at first, and then with more aggression as he hardens more in my grasp.
“Condoms,” he mutters.
“Drawer.” I point to the table beside the bed and grin when he finds an unopened box.
A girl should always be prepared.
Even girls who never get laid.
You just never know.
I take the little packet from him, tear it open, and with my gaze glued to his, I roll it down his length, enjoying the way his jaw clenches from the pleasure.
“Keep touching me like that,” he mutters, pinning both of my wrists over my head with one of his big hands, and positioning himself at my slick entrance, “and I’ll blow this before we even get started.”
“Oh, I’m having a good time so far.”
“Just good?” He pushes inside of me and seats himself, pausing. “We can do much better than good, sweetheart.”
Before I can retort, he covers my lips with his again and starts to move, rendering me completely thoughtless.
All I can do is feel.
Him. Us.
And how this seems familiar.
“Past lives,” Millie suggests the following morning. “That would explain it.”
I just finished telling her about the day before. Sex for hours. Sighs and laughter.
More orgasms than should be allowed in any twenty-four-hour period.
And how it all felt like we’d done it before.
“I don’t even know for sure if I believe in that.”
“I do,” Daphne says. “It’s written somewhere, isn’t it?”
I frown at my baby sister. “What, past lives? Like in a book? I mean, people have been telling fictional stories about it for ages.”
“No.” Daphne shakes her head impatiently. “It’s on the edge of my memory, but I swear we’ve seen it somewhere before.”
“The book,” Millie says, snapping her fingers. “Remember that old book we found when we were kids?”
“Oh, yeah. Where is that?” I ask, shocked when Millie shrugs. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Mama took it away from me when I was sixteen and refused to give it back. It was just a few weeks before we all moved out of there.”
“You never told us that,” Daphne says.
“I was afraid you’d get mad at me for getting caught,” Millie admits. “I don’t have it, guys.”
We look back and forth between us, dread settling in.
“We said we’d never go back there,” I remind them.
“That was before,” Daphne says. “We need that book. Grandma wrote it for us.”
Our grandmother was a witch, and she wrote a book of spells and prophecies and random magical knowledge that she hid in the house. We found it when I was about fifteen, and we all pored through every page.
We didn’t know Grandma practiced the craft.
No one ever told us.
Then again, our parents mostly ignored us.
“How are you able to make your potions?” I ask Millie.
“Lots of practice. I memorized most of them, and whenever I have a question, I just ask Miss Sophia and add it to my own grimoire.”
“I can’t believe you never told us.” I rub my stomach. It’s already full of butterflies—and not the exciting kind—at the idea of going back there.
That house almost killed us all once.
“We have to go together,” Daphne says.
“Mom won’t let us in,” I remind them. “She’s crazier than ever, and mean on top of it. She certainly won’t willfully give us that book.”
“It’s ours,” Millie says. “I never should have given it to her.”
“It’s not like you had a choice back then,” Daphne reminds her, patting her shoulder. “Sometimes, you got the worst of it.”
Millie is the spitting image of our mother. Tall and blond and absolutely beautiful. Once upon a time, our mom was, too.
Not anymore.
“We don’t necessarily need the book right this minute.”
My sisters stare back at me.
“Past lives, apparitions, evil things happening,” Daphne says, ticking off the items on her fingers. “Sure would be helpful to have a handbook right about now.”
“Okay, I get it.” I sigh deeply. “I don’t like it, but I get it.”
“When should we go?” Millie asks.
“Tomorrow.” I square my shoulders as if I’m preparing for war.
Because I am.
“I want to go with Cash. There’s strength in numbers, like he said.”
“Are you sure you want to show Cash where we grew up?” Daphne covers my hand. “It’s not pretty. No one would blame you if you wanted to keep him as far away from that as possible.”
“He won’t leave me because we grew up poor.” I shrug. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do. I’m not proud of where we grew up or how we did, but I’m proud of what we’ve accomplished since we got away from there. I think Cash would prefer to go with us than have us go alone.”
“She’s right,” Millie says. “He should go.”
“Tomorrow it is, then.”
Chapter Nine
“I was born with the devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing.”
- H. H. Holmes
“You weren’t there!” He slaps her across the face, disgusted when she cries out in pain. “You think that hurts? You wait. Just wait, you little piece of shit.”
“Please,” she cries, begging. She’s beseeched him for days, pleaded with the monster to let her go. “I won’t tell anyone, mister. Honest. I just want to go home.”
“Shut up!” He hits her again. Rage is a beast roaring through him. It’s Tuesday. Brielle always works on Tuesday. She has Monday off, and that’s when he rests and plays with his toys.
On Tuesdays, he goes back to following her.
But
she stood him up tonight.
She’ll pay dearly for that.
“I was going to go easy on you,” he mutters as he assembles his tools. “I was in such a good mood, Brielle. I was going to make it sweet.”
The smell of urine and blood hangs in the air, still fresh from late last night when the electricity finally took the life of that last one. She moaned in pleasure for hours, screamed his name as she came.
She loved it, just like he promised her she would.
But it was eventually too much for her.
It always is.
“Let her go, you sick fuck!”
He spins and pins the girl he took two hours ago with a look that has made others piss themselves in the past.
But not this one.
No, she’s feisty.
She shrugged off his medicine, and she’s been fighting against her restraints the whole time.
He’ll break her, just like the wild horse she is. He’ll remind her of her place, and who’s in charge.
And when the life finally leaves her filthy body, he’ll celebrate.
“Now, Brielle, that’s not polite.”
“I’m Sarah Chandler, you sick son of a bitch. And I’m going to kill you.”
This makes him smile. Oh, he loves a challenge. Secretly, he sometimes enjoys it when they fight back just a little.
He can’t let them know that, though. No, he has to maintain his standards.
She’s going to be fun.
But first, he has other plans. He turns back to the whiny little bitch on his table and snarls.
“You made me mad tonight, Brielle. Do you know what happens when I get angry?”
“Please,” she whines. “I swear, I didn’t do nothin’ to you, mister.”
“You’re not so innocent.” He hits her again with the leather belt he keeps by the table, just for fun this time. Her flesh immediately welts and turns bright red. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”
There’s crying and mewling behind him. Six women can make more noise than a barn full of pigs.
“No one can hear you.” His calm is back as he turns to look at each of them. “You can scream and cry all you want, Brielle, but no one will ever hear you. You’re never going to leave here.”
He breathes deeply, satisfied that his little toy has soiled herself.
He reaches for the hacksaw.
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