Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  I lick my lips. Soon.

  Her tantalizing, creamy skin is on full display, and I get hints of her red cotton panties anytime she bends over. Like when she pulls the covers back and pounds her tiny fist into the pillow to fluff it up.

  I get a full view of her ass when she slides her feet out of her slippers, and then bends down to arrange them neatly before her nightstand.

  My cock hardens, her perfectly round ass overflowing her underwear. Her pussy is on full display. Just a thin piece of fabric separating her from my tongue.

  I close my eyes and work to regain control.

  I have to be quiet.

  She doesn’t know I’m hiding in her closet. Waiting for her to fall asleep so I can stare at her beauty in peace.

  Right now, she fears me. Rightfully so.

  I’m a dangerous man, and I kill people daily. Not only that, but I enjoy it too.

  She should fear me, but only because once she ultimately submits to me, she’ll have no chance of escaping me.

  She’s already started to and hasn’t even realized it yet.

  I’ve never been in love with anything other than my job. I haven’t even bothered fucking a woman for over a year. I just don’t have time. They were always a quick fuck, and then I’d be off again, the release rarely easing any tension.

  After dealing with enough tears and desperate attempts to get me to stay with them, I grew tired of the hassle.

  The moment I saw her sitting in that bookstore, working to hide her nerves and anxiety, there I was—a grown-ass man, falling in obsession at first sight.

  And now, I feel like a fifteen-year-old boy who just discovered what pussy feels like. Every time I set eyes on her, I’m ready to bust in my jeans just from looking at her.

  I want to touch her, kiss her, and make her mine in every sense of the word. Marking her body wasn’t enough. But I get the feeling I will never feel like I’ve had enough of Adeline Seraphina Reilly. At least on paper.

  And I have no fucking shame. I never claimed to be a good man.

  She slides into her bed, curls up under the duvet, and picks up an old leather book.

  Her great-grandmother’s diary.

  After Addie had left one day to run errands or some shit, I flipped through the pages.

  Her great-grandmother also had a stalker. It made me smile when I realized history was repeating itself.

  Addie flips through the diary for an hour, her face pinched with an unreadable emotion as she inhales Gigi’s deepest, darkest secrets. It looks like she’s searching for answers, and the only thing that will give her clarity is her great-grandmother’s words.

  Part of her looks disturbed by the diaries. But a bigger part of her seems fascinated. Enthralled. Like she’s trying to picture falling in love with her stalker, and the thought both excites her and makes her deeply uncomfortable.

  I want to laugh at that. Because that’s exactly what’s going to fucking happen.

  I’m going to make her fall in love with every single fucked up part of me. I want this girl to see me at my most depraved. I want her to experience the true darkness residing in my soul.

  When you make someone fall in love with the darkest parts of you, there’s nothing you can do that will scare them away.

  They will be yours forever because they already love all the fucked up bits and pieces of you.

  Her eyes start to droop, her head lolls, and the diary begins to slip from her black-painted fingers.

  She jolts awake, her eyes rounding before she settles down. I bite my lip, too many feelings invading my chest.

  Giving up pretenses, she snaps the journal shut, slides it on her nightstand and clicks off the light. Instantly, the room goes black. The moonlight filtering through the balcony doors casts shadows across the room, creating monsters out of wooden furniture.

  The only real monster in this house is me.

  Once her breathing deepens, I slowly slide the closet door open and wait in the shadows, making sure she hasn’t awoken.

  Just as I go to take a step, a burst of ice blooms across the back of my neck. Goosebumps rise on my skin as I turn my head and look around in the closet, fighting against the urge to chatter my teeth.

  It’s an unnatural cold, and it’s not the first time I’ve felt it. But whatever is breathing down my neck isn’t going to deter me. I feel its eyes on me, and I hope I meet its stare so it can see I’m not the least bit afraid.

  Seeing nothing, I turn and step out into the room. The chill recedes as I make my way over to her bed. I’m tempted to brush her hair away from her face, but I know it’ll wake her.

  She senses danger easily, and I know she’s going to catch me soon.

  A large part of me wants her to. There’s a depravity in my mind that enjoys seeing her scared. I want to see her scream because I know every time she gets scared, my little mouse gets turned on, too. It makes the blood rush straight to my cock, and I want more than anything to show her exactly how hard I can make her scream.

  But the softer part of me wants to watch her sleep in peace. Especially because I know I’ll bring her so little of it when she’s awake.

  Slipping the rose out of my pocket, I lay it on her nightstand. She’ll freak out in the morning, and I’ll make sure to play the video back so I can see it and find joy in her terror.

  She stirs, and a loud noise disturbs the air.

  Something between a snore and snorting like a pig.

  I bring my fist to my mouth, biting down hard to keep the laughter from exploding out of me. Immediately, I turn and exit the room, struggling immensely in keeping quiet.

  I don’t think I’ve ever heard a noise like that come out of anybody, let alone someone that looks as cute as Addie does. I’ve tortured and killed a lot of people, and that was… that was unlike anything I’ve ever heard.

  It’s only when I’m out of the house that I let loose a bark of laughter.

  But my laughter is cut short when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, seeing Jay’s name flash across the screen.

  “Yeah?” I answer, my steps quickening as I make my way to my car.

  Jay only calls me for work purposes. And usually, that results in shooting one or twelve people dead.

  “Mark Seinburg is in town,” he starts, diving right in. It’s what I like best about Jay. He gets straight to the point. “Along with his colleagues Miller Foreman, Jack Baird, and Robert Fisher.”

  I open my car door and sink into the leather seat. I turn on my car, but don’t make a move to leave yet.

  “Where are they?” I ask.

  “I’ve gotten hits in casinos, a couple of high scale bars and a private gentlemen’s club. Members only. All places that are heavily guarded.”

  “Guards mean they have something to hide,” I say. “They’re of no concern to me.”

  It’s not cockiness, it’s just facts. My confidence in my skills is the only thing that keeps me alive.

  You can’t go into a lion’s den with the confidence of a gazelle. You go in knowing that you’re going to walk back out with their blood on your hands and their heads rolling on the ground.

  It’s the only way you’ll ever survive.

  “They’re not,” Jay acquiesces. “It’s too soon to storm their hangouts, though. I got you access to a couple of the gentlemen’s clubs they attend. I think they’re going to be our best bet for information. Just go there, scope them out, start making more appearances there, and gain their trust. See if there’s anything amiss.”

  The laughter from Addie is long gone. It almost feels like I never felt such a… happy emotion only minutes ago. Dickheads trafficking innocent children will do that to you.

  “Fuck, Jay, you want me to mingle with a bunch of rapists? I can hack into their cameras.”

  “Hacking into cameras only gets you so far.”

  I sigh, rubbing at the tightening muscle in my shoulder. He’s right. Their cameras won’t have audio, and there’s a lot more to learn whe
n listening in on conversations.

  “And right now, we have nothing,” Jay continues, driving home his point.

  I nod, though he can’t see me. Making friends with the pedos means I could be invited into the ritual. Based on the video, it’s definitely deep underground. Gaining access will be incredibly difficult, but nothing is ever impossible for me.

  Not only that, but it’ll put more people on my radar to take down.

  It’s a fucking network of pedophiles and once you meet one, you meet a hundred more. It’s fucking exhausting—the never-ending list of people to kill.

  But I’m a very patient man.

  “I know,” I agree. “I’ll make the necessary connections.”

  I will find this place, and once I do, I will kill every single motherfucker associated with that hellhole.

  By the time I’m done, the entire government will be dismantled.

  Chapter 18

  The Manipulator

  U NKNOWN: You’re so pretty when you sleep.

  My heart drops when I read the text.

  I already knew the fucker was in my house from the rose on my nightstand, but his lack of shame enrages me. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks as fury and embarrassment rise inside of me.

  I was knocked out cold last night, and I hate that while I was peacefully sleeping, a man was standing over me, watching and just being an all-around freak of nature. The thought sends cold shivers down my spine.

  After Max crashed our dinner, Daya and I felt considerably on edge—the mood soured and rotted. We combated that feeling by bar-hopping. We picked a random drink off the menu for each other, and by the end of the night, we were both pretty toasted.

  I tried to avoid thinking about Max the entire night, but his threats plagued me anyway. Lingering at the back of my mind, there to remind me when I had a moment to think.

  And it hasn’t gotten any better.

  I spent this whole day trying to write, but I barely managed over a thousand words. I’ve long since given up and have retreated to my room to watch mindless TV.

  ME: You’ll look pretty after I stab you.

  I don’t even know why I reply to him. I should stop and report this to the police. They’ll think I’m antagonizing him.

  Jesus, I am antagonizing him.

  But after Max’s threat, I don’t need any more reason to make him suspicious by reporting a stalker. And for the ones I already made after Arch’s disappearance, I hope those went missing too.

  Never thought I’d wish for my only evidence against my shadow to disappear, but the threat of Max oddly frightens me more.

  Maybe I’m kidding myself with a false sense of security with the former. He’s scared the absolute fuck out of me, but he hasn’t seemed inclined to physically hurt me. In fact, he’s done the exact opposite, and that knowledge makes me sick.

  Max, on the other hand, I know would hurt me.

  UNKNOWN: A gun wasn’t enough for you? Interesting.

  I drop the phone on my bed, and then my head into my hands. But then my head snaps up when I remind myself that the fucker was watching me sleep last night. Which means he got in my house again.

  All the blood in my cheeks drains like a whirlpool when I realize he could’ve been in my house before I even went to bed.

  That’s what he did last time, and I was pretty out of it last night. I know I read Gigi’s diary for a little while, but I don’t think I retained a single word I read.

  My gaze draws to my closet doors, like a magnet on a refrigerator. It’s a large closet with two doors that slide apart. My eyes thin, narrowing on the tiny crack between the two.

  My body moves on autopilot. I’m scrambling out of my bed and storming to the closet door before I can think it through. I have no idea what I’d do if he’s standing there.

  Probably shit myself.

  I tear the doors open and stop short when I’m met with nothing but way too many clothes that I don’t wear.

  There’s nowhere for him to hide in here. It’s not a deep closet and certainly not big enough to hide a six-foot-too-many-inches man. My hands tear through my clothes anyways, searching for him. And even when I’m positive he’s not there, I stare harder, swiping my clothes aside with heightening aggression.

  Get a fucking grip, Addie. It’s like you want him to be there.

  I sigh and turn away, the adrenaline rush diminishing. There’s nowhere else in this room for him to hide. As immense as the room is, it’s an open concept with minimal furniture.

  Now, I just feel like an idiot.

  I plop on the bed, crisscrossing my legs as I stare at my phone like it’s a mousetrap with a big ass block of cheese in it. Gourmet smoked gouda fucking cheese, to be precise.

  The phone lights up with an incoming text, the vibrations in the bed traveling straight up my legs.

  I snatch it up. I fucking love gouda cheese, goddammit.

  UNKNOWN: I’ll be seeing you tonight, little mouse.

  I snarl.

  ME: From outside my house, and preferably in a cop’s handcuffs.

  UNKNOWN: You don’t need a cop to get me in handcuffs, baby. I’ll let you do anything you want to me.

  I’m going to suffer from a heart attack with the severe directions my blood keeps rushing to. My pussy pulses from the illicit thought of him handcuffed to my bed, a smirk on his face, dripping with sin. And those goddamn mismatched eyes looking up at me the way he did when he was fucking me with his gun. Like I’m a little mouse that he wants to devour, stuck in the trap with the gouda cheese puffing up my cheeks.

  Fuck.

  My hands shake as I try to force the thought from my head. But it’s taken hold and I can’t get it out.

  I straighten my legs, squeezing my thighs together. But it doesn’t ease the steady throb between my clenched thighs, nor the wetness pooling between them.

  My heart races as another ping vibrates my phone.

  I don’t want to look, but I have no fucking self-control.

  UNKNOWN: Are you playing with yourself, little mouse? Touching your sweet little pussy to the thought of me handcuffed to your bed?

  ME: You’re disgusting.

  But that’s exactly what I’ve begun to do. As soon as I read the words, it was like he possessed my body to do exactly what he was asking. My hand snaked down into my panties, my finger gently swiping at my engorged clit. Even as I wrote back my scathing reply.

  I’m wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and comfortable underwear.

  I feel bare and exposed beneath the thin cotton. When my legs begin to fall apart, I rip my hand out like I touched a burning stove, hissing at my own stupidity.

  UNKNOWN: And you’re a liar.

  ME: Fuck. Off.

  UNKNOWN: Next time you tell me to fuck off, your clit is going between my teeth.

  My bottom lip goes between mine. I suck my lip in sharply, shocked by his nerve. By the pure audacity this man possesses. Yet just as turned on.

  I squeeze my hand around the phone, hating myself more and more as this conversation progresses.

  My fingers twitch with the need to tell him to fuck off again. The asshole probably doesn’t even know how oppositional I am.

  Tell me not to do something, and I’ll only want to do it more.

  And with a threat like that, I’m so fucking tempted. I feel my heart tumble in my chest again, beating against my rib cage as my thumb travels over the letters.

  I stare at the two words on my screen, my thumb hovering over the Send button. My shadow has proven to follow through with his threats.

  So why do I want to do it so badly? I mean, who instigates their fucking stalker? And to put his mouth on their pussy, no less.

  I throw my phone as soon as my thumb skates across the button. The message swoops away, and I know I just did something idiotic.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My head is in my hands again, my fingers clenching my hair tightly until I feel the strands pulling taut, tiny stabs of pain fo
llowing suit.

  Ping.

  The racing muscle inside my ribcage bursts free and climbs up my throat.

  I can’t look. Abruptly, I stand, restless energy coating my nerves until I’m nearly convulsing. I need to… do something. Distract myself.

  Snatching my phone, I hurry down the hall, down the creaky wooden stairs, and into my kitchen.

  It’s dark in here. Eerie. But my stubbornness prevents me from turning any lights on.

  Ping.

  Shakily, I pour two fingers of my grandfather’s whiskey into a glass. And then I hold up the decanter, noting how little is left.

  Asshole.

  I shoot the alcohol down in one swallow. The taste is smoky, with a hint of citrus. It burns on the way down, turning the insides of my body into an inferno.

  As if I wasn’t already burning up.

  After I pour myself another two fingers and swallow that down, I work up the courage to look at my phone.

  UNKNOWN: Oh, little mouse.

  UNKNOWN: I can’t wait to eat you. There will be nothing left of you once I’m done.

  Goddammit.

  Shivers wrack through my body, and I drop the phone. It clatters loudly against the island, disturbing the stilted air.

  “God? Why do you fucking hate me?” I ask aloud, my voice ringing out into empty air.

  Of course, she doesn’t answer me. She never does. I’m not even talking to God. I’m talking to myself and the ghosts inside this house.

  Not even they will answer me.

  Fuck it. I’m going to bed.

  I storm up the stairs, turn off the T.V., and slip back into my bed, connecting my phone to the charger, and then toss the blanket over my head.

  Under here, the monsters can’t get me. I’m safe. Untouchable.

  I ignore the throbbing between my legs and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

  And despite the sporadic thoughts floating around in my head, I manage to drift off into a restless sleep. I toss and turn, the blanket keeping my body too warm, but my subconscious won’t allow the blanket to go past my eyes.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, I feel rough flesh skate across my arms. My subconscious slowly starts to drift away from my dreams, but it feels like I’m weighed under a heavy fog.