Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  “This is all your fault, you know,” I hiss, a bead of sweat dripping into my eye. The burn is minuscule compared to the fire raging in my chest.

  Zade stills, and his eyes study me closely. “Is it?” he counters.

  “You pretend like you care about me, or whatever you convince yourself that you feel for me, but I’ve been in danger because of you. You do know that, right? Max would’ve never came aft—”

  He steps into me, and my mouth involuntarily snaps shut. His presence is powerful and invokes my will to bend to him. Whether I want it to or not.

  “Don’t pretend like fucking Archie would’ve been the end of it. The man would’ve dragged you into a life full of pain and suffering, and Max and the rest of them would’ve stood idly by while Archie destroyed you from the inside out. I saved you from that life.”

  I snarl. "But he wouldn't have come after me if you didn't kill Arch."

  "You're right, and that was my mistake to not take out Max when I took down the rest of Archie’s family. But I'm not going to apologize for what I did. Had I left you and Archie alone, you would've been hurt and traumatized, and I would've ended up killing him anyway. If I hadn't killed him for touching what's mine, I would've for hurting you instead. Archie's fate was sealed the moment he led you up those stairs."

  "You traumatized me."

  He leans down and snips, "A gun in your pussy certainly is traumatizing, little mouse, but only because I used it to make you come, not to make you bleed."

  I snarl, refusing to acknowledge that. “And Mark? I would’ve never been on his radar.”

  “False,” he snaps. “Mark didn’t show up at Bailey’s because of me, Adeline. And he wasn’t seated where he could get a perfect view of you because of me. I brought no attention to you whatsoever and did my best to keep him distracted, but I can’t control a man’s wandering eye. Even if you’re a decade older than his normal taste.”

  I balk, disgust curling deep at his implication.

  “You knew I was at Bailey’s,” I guess. “And you knew he was heading there? So why not redirect him somewhere else?”

  His spine straightens. “Do you think I possess magic and can influence a man to do everything I say? I regret to inform you that I can’t.”

  I tighten my lips at the condescension in his tone. “I tried to, but Mark was insistent on going to Bailey's, and trying to force him to go elsewhere would have only aroused suspicion.” He takes another step into me, crowding me against my bedroom wall. “And that’s the last thing I need when Mark’s trust in me means saving lives. Because you know what I can do, little mouse? I can protect you. And I can teach you to protect yourself. But those children and girls that are being held captive? They don’t get that privilege right now.”

  My eyes drop to my toes, and all I can manage to feel is shame. He tips my chin up with his finger, and I’m too lost in thought to fight.

  “You’re allowed to be angry and frustrated with your situation. You’re even allowed to be angry with my stalking you. Life strips you of power often, but what you can control is pointing the blame in the right direction. Don’t misplace Max’s and Mark’s ill intentions onto me when I’ve been doing my best to keep you safe from them. What we’ve been doing all week is to keep you safe. So, you can either redirect all the effort you’ve been putting into acting like a brat and apply it towards something useful, or you can continue to be powerless in the situations life throws you in. You choose, baby, because I’m not going to keep making these decisions for you.”

  I had forgotten what it felt like to truly be scolded like a child. My mother does it often, but considering that’s all she’s ever done, it felt less like being scolded and more just like a normal conversation with her.

  But now? I feel nothing but small and bent out of shape, like a piece of paper wadded up in Zade’s fist. Pride bucks against that feeling, and I want nothing more than to snap something clever back and hold on to my dignity.

  I’d only be proving him right, though. He’d look at me with superiority, and I’d only shrink further beneath him.

  “Okay,” I relent. “Fine. I’ll just be mad at you for being a creep then.” I pause, hating the words but knowing they need to be said. “I’m sorry for misplacing blame, but I’m not sorry for the ass beating you’re about to get.”

  He suppresses a smile, but he can’t contain the emotion in his yin-yang eyes. Pride. Amusement. Something deeper and far scarier than Zade’s hand wrapping around my throat.

  I don’t give myself time to panic, nor do I hand myself over to the heat he invokes, I just let my body take over. I jerk to the left, bringing my elbow down on his outstretched arm before he can blink.

  His grip loosens. And I seize the moment, pouring all my frustration into my limbs. I may not be able to hate him for Max’s misplaced blame for Arch’s death or Mark’s wandering eyes, but I can use that against him in a different way. In a way that matters.

  I curl my fist and swing it back into his face and then crush my elbow directly into his nose.

  His head jerks back just in time, my elbow striking true but hardly enough to be gifted with a bloody nose.

  He lets go and it feels like I can finally breathe. Not because he was squeezing hard enough to genuinely choke me, but because I finally succeeded.

  He chuckles, deep and low, as he steps away from me. The bastard doesn’t look the least bit ruffled, but I choose not to dwell on that. If I focus on everything I didn’t do, then I’ll only be stripping myself of power.

  “There you go. That was really good, baby.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I mutter, but really, I feel a tinge of pride swelling deep in my chest cavity.

  “Or what?” he challenges. I sigh, not having the mental capacity to spar with Zade right now. I need a hot shower and then a long soak in the bath. I refuse to bathe without washing the dirt and grime off first. I don’t like to spend hours pruning in my own dirty bath water.

  He goes through the motions with me for another hour, forcing me to perform the move over and over until I’m panting, and he has a bruise forming under his eye.

  Somehow, it just makes him look sexier, and I want to punch him in the face for the tenth time all over again for it.

  “That’s enough for today,” he announces, smiling despite the fact that I just nailed him in the face again with my elbow.

  “Good, because I need to take a shower, and you need to leave because you’re definitely not coming within six feet of that bathroom,” I grouse, planting my hands on my hips.

  A smile curls his lips, slowly and salaciously, until flames lick at my cheeks again.

  Bastard of a man.

  “Who said I even need to be in the same house in order to watch you bathe?”

  My eyes narrow into thin slits. “There are no cameras in the bathroom.”

  He chuckles with the same sinful undertones. He seizes my neck in his hand once more, but my body refuses to go through the motions again. His intention is dangerous, but not directed towards my life.

  But rather my vagina.

  Traitorous, useless thing, you are.

  “That you know of,” he taunts in a low, husky whisper before placing a soft kiss on my lips and effectively silencing me. It’s short and anything but sweet. His hand flexes, and my pussy pulses in tandem. “Just don’t forget to scream my name when you’re holding that showerhead to your pussy. You can come knowing that I’ll be shouting yours, too.”

  He releases me, slips a rose in my hand, and strides out of the bedroom, shooting me one last heated glance before clicking the door shut behind him.

  I look down at the rose, twirling it in my hand as the world around me blurs. I’m not even capable of considering where he was hiding it this entire time. My heart is firmly lodged in my throat while I try to process his words. They’re currently wading through the animalistic arousal convoluting my body and struggling to make their way to my brain.

  Was he just fucki
ng with me? Or am I really about to tear apart my entire bathroom instead of taking a well-deserved bath? Because I did have plans with that showerhead, and Zade’s name tends to break free of my tongue when I make myself come.

  I don’t want him to witness that.

  I rock on my toes, deciding if I should just go kick his ass again instead.

  But my bones are weary, sweat is trickling into places that only my loofah should be touching, and I’m well and truly horny now. Kicking his ass will somehow turn into him gaining entrance to mine, and I’m too tired to put myself in that situation.

  Whatever. He can look just this once, but at least the dickhead can’t touch me from behind his stupid screen.

  Chapter 27

  The Manipulator

  I ’m just drifting off into a deep sleep when I hear the creak of a door, my body jolting from the disturbance.

  When I turn to look at the door, it’s firmly closed. My brow crinkles in confusion. Just when I convinced myself I was only hearing things, I see a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I turn and see Zade standing outside my balcony doors, a red cherry pulsating in the moonlight.

  Wide awake, I sit up and glare. “How long have you been out there, you creep?” I snap.

  Zade opens the doors the rest of the way, smoke billowing from his mouth.

  “Awhile,” he answers flatly.

  He flicks the butt of the cigarette out over the balcony and then reaches up and pulls his hood down from his head. The moonlight shines directly on him, making him glow beneath the soft aura.

  Such a contradiction that something so dark shines so brightly beneath the light.

  “Stop littering.”

  “You’re much more pleasant when you don’t know I’m around,” he murmurs, his voice subdued as he walks in and closes the doors behind him.

  I frown, squinting my eyes in an attempt to see his face clearer. There’s something off about him right now. He’s not his usual smirk-y hoity-toity self at the moment.

  He was here just a couple of nights ago, going through more training with me. I finally got the hang of several of the moves he’s taught me.

  I’m going to be a badass pretty soon.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I snip, though the heat is missing. It’s almost like I’m feeling actual concern right now.

  I raise a hand to my forehead and feel for any warmth. I must have a fever and be delirious from the sickness.

  He steps from the shadows and comes closer. My body locks as he trudges to the bed and sits down on the edge. It’s not unusual to see his muscles straining against his clothing. I think he purposely shops for shirts and hoodies two sizes too small. But right now, his body looks rigid, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders appear bunched up.

  “Just tired today,” he says quietly.

  I frown harder, not liking this side of Zade. Or rather, not liking how much it bothers me seeing this side of him.

  A battle renders me frozen as I try to decide what to do. Kick him out of my house, attitude be damned. Or pry into his odd behavior and show him that I just might care.

  His head rolls, cracking his bones and making me cringe from the disturbingly grotesque noises.

  “You uh, gotta lot of tension going on there, buddy,” I say, awkwardness dripping from the words. That makes me cringe harder.

  He huffs out a laugh, but the amusement is missing.

  Sighing, I relent and push the covers back. With great reluctance, I crawl towards Zade and kneel behind him. His body tenses, and I never thought I’d see Zade wary of me.

  That concerns me more than anything.

  “Take this off,” I demand softly, plucking at his hoodie. His head turns, presenting me with his side profile.

  Very few people have attractive side profiles. That’s something that most people just don’t possess. But Zade looks beautiful, no matter what direction you look at him from.

  “Why?” he asks, his tone flat.

  Bristling, I open my mouth and begin to snap something at him. I’m trying to be nice, and he’s actually being difficult when this is already hard enough as it is. What’s that saying, don’t bite the hand that feeds you?

  But I stop myself, the harsh words dangling from the tip of my tongue before falling to their death. This isn’t about me and how I feel, getting defensive isn’t going to solve anything. It’ll only result in making him feel worse and probably end up leaving. And oddly, that would just serve to make me feel like shit.

  It shouldn’t. But it would.

  “Because it would make things easier for me,” I say softly.

  He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say fell to its own death alongside my defensive words.

  Relenting, he grabs his hoodie from behind his shoulders and pulls it over his head, dragging up his white t-shirt. I see a glimpse of an elaborate tattoo before his shirt falls back down.

  He doesn’t say anything, just rests his elbows on his spread knees.

  Balancing my butt on my heels, I blow out a breath and start kneading his shoulder muscles. It feels like pressing my knuckles into a boulder.

  “Jesus,” I mutter, pressing harder. He groans deeply, his head dropping low between his shoulders as I dig at the knots polluting his muscles.

  We don’t speak. Not for a little while. My hands grow tired, but I don’t complain, nor do I stop. Slowly, he relaxes beneath my touch, his muscles beginning to loosen beneath my persistent fingers.

  “Tell me,” I whisper, attacking a particularly brutal knot that pulls a groan from deep in his chest.

  He doesn’t respond right away, and I can feel the internal battle from outside his flesh and bones.

  “I lost a young girl today,” he confesses, his voice hoarse and uneven.

  I swallow, sadness spearing deep in my chest. He pauses, and I don’t speak. Letting him find the words at his own pace.

  “She was very traumatized and wouldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t in the building yet, I was still working my way in when I heard the gunshot go off.” He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself. “I heard the conversation before I killed them. She was fighting them tooth and nail. It didn’t matter how much they threatened to kill her, she fought anyways.”

  His hands fist, and every muscle I worked hard to relax stiffens again as Zade fights against his own demons. I pinch my eyes shut, berating myself for what I’m about to do. But if I don’t… it would be unforgivable. I would hate myself.

  Sighing softly, I sit on my butt and wrap myself around him like a koala on a tree. Legs and arms around his torso and my head resting against his broad back.

  He doesn’t move, a stone pillar amongst the wreckage of his mind, just like the ruins in Greece.

  “Dying isn’t the worst thing that happened to her. It’s just the worst thing that happened to you and her family,” I whisper. I feel the shift of his head, his eyes peering over his shoulder at me. But I don’t meet his gaze.

  “The life she would’ve had to live would’ve been far more painful than where she is now.”

  “You think it’s a good thing she died?” he asks, his tone flattening.

  “Of course not,” I placate, squeezing him tighter. “Being stolen from her life. Her family and friends. And then being put into an incredibly horrendous and fucked up situation. It’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to her.” My voice breaks on the last few words, and it takes a minute to put myself back together.

  “But dying? Dying is not, Zade. She was screaming because she was fighting against the life that she was being forced to endure the only way she knew how. It wasn’t his right to end her life. But he did it anyways, and I… I hope he suffers for it. But after what they did to her, I know that she is more at peace now than she would’ve been alive.”

  He stays silent, and I’m not sure if I’ve made him feel worse or better. But I told him what I believe to be true. Sometimes people just aren’t
meant to live through that trauma. A shell of who they could’ve been. Broken and fighting every day not to die.

  I think if she had lived, she could’ve learned to be happy again. I think everyone who suffers from internal demons can find that. We're all capable. But sometimes, unseen forces take it out of everyone’s hands, and maybe that just means they were meant to find their happiness in the afterlife instead.

  I unwrap myself from Zade and move away. His head drops, and he looks almost disappointed. He stands, and aims for the door, but he doesn’t make it two steps before I’m snatching his hand and tugging him back.

  He looks back at me, silent and confused.

  “I still hate you,” I mumble, and the lie tastes chalky on my tongue. “But I want you to lay down with me, Zade.”

  I peel back the covers, indicating for him to get in. It takes tremendous effort to look away from him as he kicks off his boots and climbs in next to me. He makes it a point to stay on top of the duvet, part of me resenting him a little for that.

  I’m nervous. Up until now, every encounter Zade and I have had was forced upon me. And now that I’ve made the decision for him to be here, I don’t know what to do.

  “Why were you on my balcony?” I blurt. He chuckles, facing me and urging me to do the same. Stiffly, I roll to my side and try not to faint from the intensity of this man.

  “I wanted to watch you,” he confesses. And then he tacks on with dry amusement, “In peace.”

  I snort. “So sorry for being so disruptive to your stalking. Next time I’ll strike a couple poses for you.”

  I’ll never admit how his answer gives me chills. Both ice cold and fiery hot. He smirks, and it makes me sad that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “I’d appreciate that,” he murmurs distractedly. His eyes are tracing my curves like they're scripture, and he's a sinner that is searching for proof of a God that he no longer can hear.

  “You need space from me while wanting to be close. Sounds like a marriage,” I deadpan.

  “It will be.”

  It’s instinct to deny that. I still want to and do so in my head. But I don’t give voice to it. Not tonight, I won’t.