Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  I scoff, turning my head away from him. Only to hide the blush that I feel creeping up my cheeks and the sharp thrill chasing the nerves down my spine. I still feel the phantom bite of metal from his belt buckle around my neck, and I know with absolute certainty that Zade would follow through on his threat if I pushed.

  Dickhead.

  He continues as if he didn’t just serve me the most delicious threat I’ve ever heard. “Don’t speak of your personal life. Nothing that means anything to you anyways. You’re here to get information on Gigi, and that’s incentive enough.”

  “Incentive?” I interrupt, whipping my head back towards him.

  “You’re walking into the viper’s pit because Mark found something that you care about and is holding it over your head,” Zade explains plainly. I snap my mouth shut, contrite and a little worried.

  “If he finds out anything else you care about, that will be something he’ll use to his advantage if he’s given the chance.”

  My mouth falls back open. “But don’t worry,” he says, cutting in before I can demand that he take me home. “I’ll flay his skin from his body before he can even think to do anything to hurt you.”

  With that, he opens the door, gets out and throws his keys at the waiting valet, shutting the door firmly and cutting off any questions I had on the tip of my tongue.

  For starters, can I go home now?

  I’m asking myself if solving Gigi’s murder is worth involving myself with dangerous people. But it’s too late. I’m here, and I’m bound and determined to get at least a few more of my questions answered before Zade takes me home.

  I have the feeling that not only am I putting my safety in Zade’s hands tonight, but my life.

  Because I’m walking into a house owned by an evil man, I don’t need Zade to spell that out for me.

  Zade opens my door and holds out a hand for me to grab onto as I slide out of the car. Electricity explodes from where his hand grips mine, and all I really want to do is guide his hands to other parts of my body.

  I suck in icy air, the cold offering a balm to my insides, and allowing me enough clarity to concentrate on everything else besides the domineering man beside me.

  Mark’s house is ostentatious. A massive white monstrosity with five huge pillars and a million windows. In my opinion, the house is ugly, typical and downright boring.

  The inside is even worse. I walk into a large, wide hallway with picture frames lining either side of the wall of who I assume is Mark’s family. My heels click against the ivory tile, and I can’t help but think it’s going to turn brown after all the shoes that’ll be treading across it.

  We’re ushered by a butler down the hallway, past an all-white kitchen and into a ballroom.

  An actual fucking ballroom.

  The kind you see in movies set back in the 1800s, when finding your future husband or wife depended on going to a ball.

  Three massive chandeliers dangle from the gold ceiling, arches of intricately carved wood between each fixture. The floor is a sparkling ivory, the little flecks glinting off of the chandeliers nearly blinding me. It’s like looking into the damn sun.

  “Fix your face,” Zade murmurs from beside me. It’s not until he speaks that I realize my face was screwed up into a look of disgust.

  Not because the place is ugly, but because it’s so damn… pretentious and flashy. I don’t need to see the rest of the house to know that the place screams look at me, I have a gazillion dollars and have no intention of sharing the wealth with the millions of starving families around the world.

  But what do I know? I’ve always wondered if the people who have the money to feed the entire world population are allowed to. All governments are corrupted. Maybe if you try to save the world and actively steal money from the rich’s pockets, you’ll wake up dead one day.

  I smooth out my face, donning a blank mask as I look around at the hundreds of people occupying the ballroom. Everyone is dressed to the nines, the guests ranging from young adults to people who look like they’re on their deathbed.

  Zade holds out his elbow to me, and every signal in my brain tells me to snub the request. But that’s pride speaking, and I’m not in a good position to let pride get the best of me. I loathe to admit it, but I’m safer attached to Zade.

  Stiffly, I grab onto his elbow and lean into his side. It feels like hands smoothing into wet clay. No matter the divots in our bodies, we mold together perfectly.

  Ugh.

  For the next hour, we mingle around the ballroom, talking to random people, many of them familiar faces I’ve seen on the news, arguing over bills and laws that usually do nothing but flatten Americans further under their thumbs.

  Zade is charming, his demeanor calm and slightly reserved, but still manages to draw people in until they’re hanging on every word he says.

  Most of their eyes linger on his scars. Questions on the tip of their tongues that never see the light. You’d think it’s because it’s a rude question to ask, but really, it’s because Zade carries intimidation around with him like a woman with a designer purse.

  Despite that, he’s a sight to behold as he works the room, gaining these people’s trust and interest in a matter of minutes.

  I’ve no idea who’s involved in Zade’s mission and who’s not, but he looks at each and every one of these people as if he knows exactly who they are and their entire life story. Maybe that’s how he sucks them in so profoundly—he makes them feel like they’ve known each other for years.

  I, on the other hand, am not a natural. The social anxiety licks at my nerves, keeping my heart rate well above a normal pace. I smile at the strangers and laugh at everything they say, doing what I do best and manipulate people’s emotions with my words. I pretend they’re all avid readers, and the words I’m speaking are printing on blank sheets of paper for their greedy eyes to consume.

  Somehow, it works to the point of discomfort as all of their eyes are ensnared on me as I answer their questions about my career. I heed Zade’s advice and keep it all vague and surface-level but find pretty words to make my life seem more interesting than it is. Even Zade appears to struggle with looking away, and the notion gives me a small bit of confidence.

  But on the inside, it feels like my stomach is a black hole, crumpling my insides like a wadded-up piece of paper.

  On several occasions throughout the hour, Zade wraps his arm around my waist and squeezes, his grip firm and reassuring. Those small touches are anchors, leveling my head and reminding me that I’m not alone.

  Mark seems to appear out of thin air, joining the two couples gathered around Zade, listening to him speak about some interaction he had with another senator. I guess the story is supposed to be funny as the couples are both tittering out laughs, but I can barely digest a single word he says.

  “Zack! Adeline! I’m so glad to see you two made it,” Mark announces boisterously, interrupting Zade’s story. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered. I have a feeling the tale was fabricated entirely anyway.

  Seems I’m not the only one good at bullshitting.

  “Mark,” I croon joyfully, as if this man’s face brings me any type of delight. He eats it up as he shakes hands with Zade and offers me a warm hug.

  Or what’s supposed to be warm. It feels like hugging a cold-blooded reptile.

  Next to Mark must be his wife. An older woman with beautiful red hair—the color of ripe cherries—matching red lipstick, and a black dress that seems to hang on her frail body.

  She widens her lips into a beautiful smile as Mark introduces her to Zade and I. What irks me is he doesn’t tell us her name, he just says my wife. As if she’s merely a possession and not her own person with her own fucking identity outside of her marriage to this wretched man.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Adeline. I’m Claire,” she says, gripping my hand in a light handshake. She offers the introduction to Zade as well, and the devil takes it a step further and kisses her hand, trappi
ng her gaze into his own.

  It wasn’t sensual by any means. Something about it seemed comforting, like he was making her a promise that even she didn’t know she needed.

  Claire’s smile wobbles and she gently pulls her hand from Zade’s grip. No one except my shadow and I seem to notice her hand curling into a tight fist to abate the shaking.

  She’s nervous. Scared. And whatever that moment was with Zade, it shook her.

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out this woman is abused. My eyes subtly search her body, but the high neck, long sleeves, and full-length dress hide her body. It’s a beautiful dress, but one clearly designed to disguise the bruises that I’m sure are staining her skin beneath the silky fabric.

  The other couples meanders off, sensing that Mark is now expecting a private conversation.

  “I have a few more guests to greet, but please, I insist you meet me in my study in about an hour and join me for a drink. My butler, Marion, would be happy to show you the way when the time comes.”

  Zade smiles, appearing relaxed. Maybe it’s because I've become acquainted with the monster settled between his bones, but I can feel the intent beneath his fabricated ease.

  “Of course, be happy to,” Zade responds smoothly.

  “Great!” Mark bursts, smiling wide. “And Adeline, I look forward to speaking with you about your great-grandmother.”

  He smiles one last time, casting me a lingering look before walking off with Claire in tow.

  Zade wasn’t wrong. The man is definitely exploiting the one weakness I have, solving Gigi’s murder. And something tells me he’s going to hang information over my head until he gets whatever he wants.

  Problem is, I don’t know what he wants from me. But whatever it is, I have a feeling deep in my bones that it’s capable of ending my life.

  Chapter 25

  The Shadow

  I f I spend another moment in this stuffy ballroom, I’m going to start shooting people just to release some tension. There are plenty of heads in this room that I wouldn’t mind embedding with a bullet.

  Addie stands beside me, her tiny hand gripping onto my arm like her life depends on it.

  It’s fucking addictive.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper in her ear. Her sweet jasmine smell wafts from the juncture between her neck and shoulder, and I have to grind my teeth against the urge to take a bite.

  Flashes of her on her knees, that red rose in her hair as she sucked me off with a belt around that dainty neck… fuck.

  A growl slips free, and it takes monumental effort to bite back the satisfied grin when I feel her tremble.

  Her reaction is more potent than a drug. It drives me deliriously insane, and the need to wrap my hand around her throat and fuck her until neither of us can breathe is overwhelming.

  This woman is going to reduce me to an animal.

  Her head snaps towards mine, her brows scrunching in confusion and what almost looks like anger. She probably thinks I mean to leave this place entirely and deny her the chance to get information on her great-grandmother.

  “Calm, sweet little mouse. I just meant this room.”

  She relaxes, her shoulders dropping an inch.

  It goes without saying that all guests are expected to stay inside the ballroom. But if staying on the safe side of rules and laws was something I did, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

  In a senator’s house with a girl who’s not supposed to want me.

  I grab her hand, basking in the feel of her skin against mine as I guide her out of the room. I wait until it seems all eyes have turned away from us and slip through the door and out into a grand hallway.

  Now would be a perfect time to search the house, see what I can discover in a pedophile’s safe space. But selfishly, I want to ease some of the building tension swelling in Addie's shoulders.

  She’s doing fucking amazing so far. Despite the obvious nerves, she’s managed to make every single person in the room fall in love with her. If anything, her shy, innocent demeanor and suave words are these people’s daily dose of whatever prescription pills keep them sane.

  I’m equal parts impressed and perturbed by her. Because all this woman has managed to do is make these people want to see her again. And that’s the last thing both of us want.

  I slide out my phone and shoot off a quick message to Jay, asking him to take care of the security cameras. I’ve spotted dozens just from the entrance to the ballroom, and I’m sure Mark has a team actively watching to make sure no one does exactly what we’re doing now.

  Mark would be alerted immediately and we would be caught before we even got a chance to have fun.

  Jay confirms the cameras are set, and Addie and I take off. Her heels click against the tiled floor as we sneak through the maze of hallways and rooms.

  Occasionally, I open up doors and peek inside, finding nothing of interest. That is until we get somewhere far enough away that the noise from the ballroom no longer penetrates the walls.

  At the end of another hallway are wide double doors, the cherry wood standing out against the champagne walls.

  I head towards the doors, Addie barely keeping up behind me. “Zade, we shouldn’t be sneaking around. We’re going to get in trouble,” she pleads, glancing behind her as if someone is hot on her heels. It’s the fifth time she’s said that since we left the ballroom, yet her eyes are dilated with excitement.

  She’s not fooling me when she wears her arousal on her sleeve. She’s scared. Nervous. And that feeling never fails to make her pussy dripping wet.

  The girl gets off on fear. The moment I realized she was turned on by the terror I instill in her—there was no chance of me ever letting her go. She was fucking made for me.

  “Shh, baby girl,” I whisper, silencing her weak protests. Her mouth audibly clicks shut, and this time I don’t bother restraining the smile.

  Too easy.

  Gently, I open the doors, sticking my head inside to look around. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but my smile widens when I get a good look at the darkened room.

  I look back at Addie, allowing her to see my shit-eating grin. Her eyes round and another protest builds on her sharp little tongue.

  Yanking her inside, I quickly shut the door behind her and let her take in the room, once more silencing her objections.

  A movie theater.

  Ten rows of comfortable red chairs line the walls and in front of it is a massive screen, the sides curving to the adjoining walls to fill the viewer’s peripheral vision. It gives the effect that you’re inside the movie, and I know just the type of movie to watch.

  I note the padded walls and tightly sealed doors. This room is soundproof, and I’m nearly weak in the knees with how perfect this night is turning out to be.

  “Zade, whatever you’re planning…” her voice trails off when I make my way to the projector in the back of the room.

  There’s a display screen, showing the controls of the projector, along with thousands of options of movies to watch. Some of these haven’t even hit theaters yet.

  I select the latest horror movie, set to come out in a couple of months. Which means Addie hasn’t seen it, and the experience will be entirely new.

  Hopefully, it’s a good one and has the desired effect I’m looking for.

  “Zade, we shouldn’t be in here,” she says, backing away towards the door.

  I chuckle. “Always following the rules,” I observe, messing with the buttons on the screen. “Tell me, little mouse, are you close with your father?”

  She sniffs. “Why would you even ask that?”

  “Your father is an attorney, is he not? A rule follower. I imagine you got your desire to follow the rules from him, no?”

  She scoffs, “No. I didn’t learn that from him.”

  I pause to look over my shoulder, giving her a wicked smile.

  “You got daddy issues then?”

  “I don’t have daddy issues,” she snaps. “I mean,
I don’t really. My father has always kind of just… been there. My mother was such a force that he usually faded in the background.” She finishes with another sniff, looking every bit uncomfortable.

  “Well, if you didn’t before, you do now,” I drawl, my smile growing as I watch a pretty blush stain her cheeks.

  Her eyes round and her mouth drops in shock. I want to stick my cock in it again just to give it a better use. Her skills are very refined in that area.

  And thinking of how she refined those skills makes me murderous for a brief moment.

  “Are you saying you’re my daddy?” she sputters out incredulously, bringing my attention back to her.

  “That’s right, baby. And you’re my good little girl,” I croon, sliding my tongue across my lower lip and looking at her like… fuck. The things I want to do to this woman. Things that would show her just how insane I can be.

  “I am not,” she hisses, though the protest is weak.

  Leaving the movie for now, I stalk towards her, enjoying the sight of her stumbling away from me and into a wall. If she had the power, she’d burn me to a crisp from the heat in her glare. Good thing she doesn’t realize what power she truly holds yet.

  I don’t stop pursuing her until my body is pressed into hers, relishing over the feel of her nipples cutting through her thin dress.

  Watching her on her knees for me earlier, sucking my cock like her life depended on it, but yet angry as hell about it—was the most magnificent sight I’ve ever seen.

  She wanted her power back in that moment, and I was more than happy to show her that she never lost it. This beautiful woman holds my life in the palm of her hand, she’s just incapable of seeing it that way.

  The only one who’s truly in danger is me.

  “No?” I whisper. I tip her chin up, brushing my lips softly against hers. The sharp intake of breath has my cock straining against my slacks.