With Visions of Red 3

by Trisha Wolfe

Red covers my vision. Pulsing, blinding. A pure bolt of anger fires through my veins, and white-hot fury scorches my blood. In a moment of uncontrollable rage, I release a roar, choking the room of sound. A crackle fills my ears, then a deafening ringing.

  I feel something warm trickle over my knuckles. I look down, see the cane splintered and my blood dripping to the plastic-covered floor. Little dots of bright red, mocking me.

  I crick my neck, turning to face my pet. Avery’s eyes—those orbs of chocolate brown—have become as pale as her ashen skin. Her fear tickles my senses, and I inhale the scent of urine. It streams down her leg.

  That almost makes up for that amateur’s fuck-up. Almost.

  As always, I think as I slink toward my shivering pet, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Time’s run out. The tick tock of the clock just stopped for that one weak soul.

  “Brace yourself, pet,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s time for your transformation into a Monarch.”

  I smile into the camera as Avery’s screams drown my disappointment.

  8

  Shadow

  Colton

  When we were kids, Julian had a hiding spot in the woods. Whenever he’d get caught cheating on a test, or brought home a failing grade, or raised some other discontent he didn’t want to deal with, he’d hide out in his fort until our parents were out of their minds with worry. Then he’d stumble in, dehydrated and filthy, and they were just so happy he was home that all was forgotten.

  My brother is the quintessential Machiavellian. His manipulative behavior hasn’t changed any over the years. Whenever he runs into an uncomfortable situation that he doesn’t want to confront, he finds refuge in his hiding place until it’s safe to show his face again.

  Only now, instead of a child’s hand-built fort, Julian boasts a two-story log cabin along the Potomac River.

  “How do you know he’s here?” Carson asks, shutting the door to his Crown Vic.

  I enter in a code on the gate, and the wrought iron bars grind and screech open. “Because,” I say, walking through to the pebbled driveway, “he’s not answering my calls. He’s off the grid.”

  “If he doesn’t want to be found, wouldn’t he go somewhere that you don’t know about?”

  I shrug. “I don’t come here.” In other words, I don’t chase after my brother.

  Julian and I have an understanding on that. Just like I knew to leave him alone during his funks when we were kids, he knows not to push my buttons. We’re good at giving each other a wide berth, and plenty of space when we need it.

  Except for now. I’m breaking that unspoken rule between us. All bets are off when it comes to Sadie.

  “This place wasn’t listed on any of Julian’s financial reports.” Carson’s expression darkens as he takes in the sweeping terrace overlooking the river. “Can’t see how I could’ve missed this.”

  “Not all detectives are cut out for the job.” I cut a sharp glance his way, and he returns my glare. Truth is, this place wouldn’t be on any financial statement. This is what a whole lot of bribery and cash under the table gets you.

  Carson smirks. “Looks like the perfect place to conduct sordid affairs…of the kidnapping and torture kind.”

  My smile drops. I march up the stairs toward the entrance, wanting to get this part over with. My brother might be a lot of questionable things, but a serial killer isn’t one of them.

  The sooner I prove that to Carson, the sooner I get back to Sadie. Her last update has me on edge. I can feel her panic and desperation in every message, and even though she’s strong, I know everyone has a breaking point. I never want to see hers.

  I don’t knock. I go right through the front door, tripping the alarm. To the right, a panel flashes red. Carson radios in some report about the alarm, while I stare at the panel, trying to get inside my brother’s degenerate head.

  A painful ache twinges beneath my rib cage as it comes to me. Steadying my hand, I enter in Marni’s birthday on the keypad. The alarm shuts off.

  “I thought you never came here,” Carson says.

  He doesn’t get a response on this one. When he had me in that interrogation room, dredging up painful memories of Marni, reminding me of choices I can never take back—I was there. At my breaking point. I won’t give him any more ammunition.

  “You’d think a loud-ass alarm system would alert the dead,” he says, glancing around. “Your brother is either a heavy sleeper, piss drunk, or not here.” He stops at the end of the foyer, turns around. “Unless he’s somewhere else on the property. Like a basement…or a torture chamber. A nice, isolated spot where he can muffle the screams of tortured women.”

  I reach into my pocket and grip my rope. Needing just one measure of restraint to ground me. I close my eyes, breathe, open them. More in control.

  Julian’s seen my calls coming through. He knows I’m on the hunt for him, and I’m sure he knows it was me who tripped the alarm. I’m the only one who could’ve guessed that code. Where the fuck is he?

  I take off up the stairs with Carson close on my heels. If Julian isn’t here, then that means he’s in deeper trouble than I thought. Our conversation about him wanting me to take over the club comes back to me. I honestly believed him—that he was giving up the lifestyle to get married.

  I should’ve known better. Julian’s too selfish to give anything up for another person.

  He’s hiding. But I don’t know from whom or what. Who has he pissed off? Which one of his cash cows got tired of being blackmailed?

  Even all these years later, after learning his tricks, he’s still able to play me.

  The second story of the cabin is one large, open loft. Equipped with just about every electronic, a gaming section with a pool table, and a playroom in the far corner, it’s the ultimate man cave. That is, if your ideal haven includes bondage. I doubt his fiancé has ever been here—this is Julian’s secret. Even—or especially—from her.

  As Carson checks out the wall of bondage gear, I head toward Julian’s computer area. “I’m calling in a sweep,” he says. “All of this shit needs to be tested. You can’t tell me your sick brother didn’t bring Avery here. Or other vics. I’ll bet my left nut that we’ll find Avery’s DNA…” He trails off. “Holy shit.”

  He’s putting in a call before I can process what I’m seeing.

  I stand frozen, every muscle corded tight, looking down at my brother’s mutilated body. The word corpse hits me hard and fast, knocking the breath from my lungs.

  His black suit is shredded, dried blood staining the expensive material from slashes across his chest. Throat sliced so deeply, his head is nearly severed from his body. As I take in the carnage, the only thought circling my mind is how he would hate to be seen like this. His face bruised. That perfect suit, ruined.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Carson instructs. And it’s like his order finally gives me permission to move.

  I drop down and feel for a pulse. His skin is cold. Not ice-cold, the way you’d assume death would feel. But rather a chilly, air-conditioned temperature. As if he’s become just another inanimate object in the room. His glassy blue eyes stare wide and vacant right into mine.

  “I said, not to touch anything.” Carson says something else into his phone, then steps beside me. “Mother fucker. Julian was just a slimy piece of business shit, after all. I guess this proves he’s not the perp.”

  In two moves, I’m off the floor and have Carson jacked up by his shirt collar. I back him against the wall where my fist drives into his face. “This proves it?” I shout, sending another punch into his stomach. He tries to double over, but I keep him held upright. “All this time, you could’ve been investigating the real killer, but you had it in for my brother. Satisfied now?”

  He sucks in a breath and manages to knock my arm away. He takes a swing and lands a strong right hook to my jaw. My vision explodes with white. His arms reach around my middle and he drives me backward.

  My feet
fail to push back against his momentum, and I fall, leaving a huffing Carson looking down at me. “Yeah. He’s cleared. But what about you?” he grates. “There’s still a matter of the evidence. Rope—just like yours—being used at a damn crime scene.”

  Pushing to my knees, I deliver a punch to his gut. Then land another to his face when he buckles. I look straight into his eyes as I get up and grab his neck. “You think I killed my own brother? You twisted fuck.” I punch him in the stomach. “I was with Sadie last night. Then I was with your ass all day. What about you? What’s your alibi?”

  He coughs, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. A slow smile curls his mouth. “If I was going to get rid of him, I wouldn’t do it now. Not when I was so close to nailing him.”

  I shake my head, anger ripping through every muscle. My knuckles throb, my hand fisted so tight…just looking for the next place to stick Carson. Shoving him back, I say, “You’re not worth it. Get out.”

  “Not happening. This is a closed crime scene now.” He motions around the room. “Don’t you think it’s just a little too convenient that the owner of The Lair winds up dead? What about the missing footage from last night and this morning? Why would the UNSUB need to knock off Julian? What’s your brother’s part in all this?” His gaze sharpens on me. “Just because he’s not the perp, doesn’t mean he’s not connected.”

  “His death could have nothing to do with this case at all.” Given the number of enemies my brother’s made over the years, that’s not a complete stretch.

  His eyes widen. “Really? I admit he doesn’t fit the victimology. Unless he’s hiding a vag beneath those slacks, he’s not really the UNSUB’s type. But he’s linked to this, Colton. You know it. Give up what you’re hiding.”

  As I turn my back to him, he clocks me hard across the back of my head. Blind fury rips loose, blocking the pain, and I unleash a growl as I tackle him to the floor. I wail on his face until a loud beeping breaks through the adrenaline haze.

  I stumble off Carson and look around the room, recognizing the emergency signal. “Where is that coming from?”

  Carson rolls to his side and spits blood into his hand. “Fucking hell. We just trampled and bled all over this crime scene.” He winces as he pulls his phone from his coat pocket. “Quinn’s going to fucking bench me for sure this time.”

  “What’s coming from your phone?” My adrenaline is still pumping, my limbs quaking as the sudden concern for Sadie overtakes my need to pulverize Carson.

  He shakes his head. “It’s a video. I don’t know—” He squints at the screen, his eye already starting to swell. “Shit. It’s a video of Avery.”

  I get to my feet and stand behind Carson, my brother and this whole fucked-up room forgotten when I see the scene playing out on the screen. My stomach bottoms out.

  Last night, Sadie whispered her secrets to me in the dark. In my arms, safe and sheltered, she told me about the physical dungeon that held her captive for days when she was young. About the man who stole her childhood. Who abducted and tortured her—the reason she fears chains, and touch…and herself.

  She bared that secret in such descriptive detail, as if she was reliving every second. She trusted me so implicitly, that I listened—sick with fury—as she uncoiled every detail from her memory. I listened, unable not to see her words through my own eyes.

  Now, looking at Carson’s phone, it’s as if I’m watching her memories play out. Hearing her pain all over again in surround sound as Avery’s screams bleed from the speakers.

  The woman on the screen—Avery—is dressed in a pink tank top. Just like Sadie wore all those years ago. Her legs are naked and battered. Just the way Sadie was found. Even Avery’s hair is the same shade as Sadie’s dark tresses.

  And the cane connecting with Avery’s back…

  I shut my eyes against the image.

  It’s nothing like what Sadie and I shared last night, as I endeavored to drive her demons away, giving her a piece of me and accepting her in turn. This is something evil. Vile. Pure and sinister. The abuse Avery’s suffering in that video is just that. Abuse. And her captor is the only one receiving.

  I hear Carson scramble to stand. “Jesus Christ. Is this being sent to everyone?”

  And like that, my eyes fly open and I’m grabbing the device out of his hand.

  The fight still hasn’t left him, and he takes a wild swing, but I block his arm. “We’re done!” I shout.

  “That’s fucking evidence! And it’s mine,” he says.

  I know it’s wrong…but I can’t stomach the thought of Carson watching. I know what the UNSUB is recreating with this video. The scene he’s methodically orchestrated to depict Sadie’s torture. Having Carson witness something this personal to her…watching a moment in time when she was so vulnerable…

  I squeeze the phone until I hear a crack.

  Bringing myself back to my senses, I release the device. “Here,” I say, shoving it against Carson’s chest. “Find out if everyone in the department saw that, or if it was just us.”

  But truthfully, I already know the answer. That scene was staged just for Sadie, whether or not the UNSUB meant for it to get to me, he wanted her to witness his act. I know she watched it. I can damn near feel her fear traveling right to me, this second. I whip out my phone and hit her number. Desperate, needing to hear her voice.

  It goes to a generic voicemail recording.

  “Fuck!”

  Carson looks at me, then at my dead brother. “Shit, man. You’re having a bad day.”

  It should sound as smug as his face—but I can actually hear empathy in his voice.

  Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I look down at the floor. “Stay if you want, but I have somewhere to be.”

  Sadie’s promise won’t mean shit after this video.

  But I’m keeping mine.

  I take off down the stairs, hating myself for ever letting her out of my sight.

  9

  Trace

  Sadie

  Everyone has a cherished object that transforms them. Changes them—even if just for a moment—into something else.

  It could be a new pair of jeans. A fit so damn sexy it makes you put a little more swing in your hips. A cherry-red convertible so panty-dropping hot, it gives you a boost of confidence and the sex drive to match.

  Whatever your poison, there’s an object to get you there. It’s a psychological phenomena that offers a perception of invincibility. Without it, we may never work up the courage to ask that certain someone out. Or demand that raise we know we deserve.

  Those are all very obvious examples of lives that have never rocked on the edge—that have never been submerged in darkness. Devoured by its cruelty. But what about those of us who have? What do we deem necessary to transport us?

  There’s an object that I valued. One that I used to wear to transform myself. Or more accurately—reveal a hidden side. That person only surfaced when my demons raged, and I needed to unleash the monster within to quiet them.

  When I lost that object, however, I thought it was a sign. Perhaps it was time to try a different way to sate my inner demons. Discover a new, safer path where I didn’t have to loathe myself.

  As I watch the tiny screen, hearing the shriek of absolute suffering, the scene playing out should mortify me. All that pain…all that anguish…should bombard me and make it impossible to discern any one signifying object in the dungeon.

  But my eyes zero in on that small, revealing piece.

  Hanging around Avery’s neck, it’s the only thing out of place in the scene. It doesn’t belong. I didn’t own the trinket when I was abducted at sixteen. It’s what he wants me to see. I’m the only one who can recognize the flaw.

  He hasn’t wanted me all this time. No, he’s been trying to bring her back. The woman who slipped that necklace on as if she was slipping into a second skin. Who caressed the crest of the Blood Countess as she prowled the edge of the night.

  The monster I
tried to bury.

  “Sadie.” Quinn’s voice draws me out of my troubled thoughts. I glance up from my phone as he steals it from my hands. “Watching it again won’t help. You’re just torturing yourself.”

  He’s right, of course. Watching Avery suffer the same torture I endured all those years ago will do nothing to help her. But it does help me cope with what I have to do next.

  “I know it’s difficult,” he continues. “But it’s at least proof that she’s still alive. We still have time to find her.”

  I push the heels of my hands into my eyes, as if I can scrub away the images seared into my retinas. “I know, Quinn. Trust me…I’m just tired of sitting idle.”

  A doctor appears from around the corner and Quinn stands to meet her. “Is she awake?”

  The doctor purses her lips disapprovingly. “She is. But I have to insist that you make this quick, detective. Though her vocal chords weren’t damaged to the extent we first thought, she’s suffered severely and is under heavy pain medication. She needs rest to recover.”

  Quinn nods. “Thank you. We appreciate your help.”

  He hands me back my phone as the doctor leads us into Carmen’s hospital room. A plastic breathing apparatus covers the lab tech’s mouth, and a loud beeping emits from a machine beside her bed.

  The doctor draws the curtain, giving us some privacy as the nurses continue to monitor her condition.

  “Carmen,” Quinn says, his notepad drawn and pen at the ready, just like the good detective he is. “I’m Detective Quinn. This is Agent Bonds. We need your help to catch the person responsible for your attack. Are you able to do that?”

  Weakly, her eyes blink open and she nods against the pillow.

  “That’s great. Do you recall what the offender looked like?”

  She shakes her head.

  He frowns. “That’s okay. Was it because he knocked you unconscious? Do you remember the attack?”

  She shakes her head again. Then slowly lifts her hand and points to her face. When Quinn only stares, she blinks a few times and waves her hand over her face.