Haunting Adeline (Cat and Mouse Duet Book 1)

by H. D. Carlton

  “Thank fuck,” Daya mutters from behind me. I barely hear the words. Plunging my arm into the hole before I can consider the bugs, I grab at the piece, my hand closing around something plastic. I go to pull that out, but my hand grazes what feels like paper, so I make a grab for that too.

  I swipe at my arm, cringing at the feel of cobwebs sticking to me. I don’t even look at my arm, I just keep brushing it off all while beelining for the steps.

  “Let’s go,” I breathe, right before I’m nearly knocked on my ass from Daya pushing past me and running down the stairs.

  Whatever is in my hand, it’s something big. I’m as sure of it as I am of the eyes on my back, watching me leave.

  Slamming the attic door behind me, I lean against it and heave, shaking out the bone-chilling cold that seems to cling to me like glue.

  “I’m never going up there again,” Daya says, panting.

  “I don’t think I want to, either,” I say. Finally, I look down at my hand and see a Ziploc bag with a gold diamond encrusted Rolex in it and blood streaked across the plastic. And the note in my hand is a quick scrawl that says, “hide this, no one can know I did it. Remember that.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe.

  “Let me see it. We can’t touch it or we’ll get fingerprints on it, but those have serial numbers. I can probably trace that back to its owner.”

  We rush down into the kitchen, the demon residing in my attic forgotten. I find a pair of spare rubber gloves that Daya and I used when we were cleaning out the house. She snaps the gloves on and carefully pulls out the bloodied watch.

  “I don’t want the blood to flake off, but I need to remove the bracelet in order to see the serial number,” she murmurs, handling the watch piece with care. “Do you have a thumbtack?”

  I whip around and open up the junk drawer in my kitchen, confident I have one somewhere. After rummaging for a minute, I let loose a celebratory ah-ha and hand Daya a blue thumbtack.

  It takes her a minute, but she finally gets the bracelet unhooked between the lugs of the watch.

  “Motherfucker,” she curses.

  “What?”

  “Someone scratched at the serial number. It’s barely legible.”

  Daya looks up at me, disappointment radiating from her green eyes. I deflate, a frown tugging my lips down in defeat.

  “I’m not gonna give up. We’re getting this blood tested and I’m going to figure something out with this watch. Let me handle it?”

  I nod, trusting Daya to figure it out. She’s incredibly intelligent, and her resources on finding out information are astronomical.

  And then a light bulb goes off in my head. “In those pictures with Gigi, Frank was wearing that watch.”

  I pick through all the papers scattered across the island until I find the small stack of photos.

  “Same watch,” I reiterate, handing the pictures over. Daya peers down at the photos, a grin pulling her lips up.

  “Now we just have to prove it.”

  Chapter 37

  The Shadow

  T here’s nothing you could’ve done.

  You can’t change what has already happened, man.

  You can’t save them all.

  I’m grateful for Jay. I really am. I don’t trust many men in this field, especially to do a part of the job I have a very hard time relinquishing—but I can’t be on the floor and have my face in a computer at the same time.

  And Jay has been more than efficient at helping with that side of the job.

  But what the fucker is not skilled in is making me feel better.

  He’s trying. I get it.

  But I have a hard time appreciating his effort when it’s taking all of mine not to go into Savior’s and blow the entire place up.

  If it wasn’t for the fact that there are innocent people who work there—or rather are being kept hostage there—I’d fucking do it.

  I was there.

  I watched them drink the blood of a little boy. An eight-year-old kid sacrificed on some stone altar to welcome the new members of a devil-worshipping, blood-drinking, pedophile club.

  I’ll never understand why. I’ll never understand the desire to hurt someone so young, so pure, so innocent. But those qualities are what attract them. That’s what draws the devil to the angel.

  They want to corrupt. To hurt. To taint. To cause harm and suffering upon those that never asked for it. That’s the sick thrill of it.

  “He was eight years old, Jay,” I grind out through gritted teeth. “He had a family. Two mothers, three brothers and a sister. He was loved. He was brought up in a good home by parents who loved him. And they stole him in a fucking grocery store and sold him to the skin trade and used him as a fucking sacrifice.”

  Jay stays quiet, seeming to realize his standard feel-better responses are moot.

  I was there.

  And I did nothing to stop it.

  I open my mouth, ready to go on another tangent when another call comes through. I glance at the phone and a feral snarl takes over my face.

  “I have to go,” I snap, hanging up the phone on Jay and immediately answering the call.

  “Daniel. So nice to hear from you,” I greet. Like a blanket being thrown over a fire, my tone is cool and collected.

  “Zack, sorry to call so unexpectedly. I wanted to ask something of you.”

  I lean back in my chair, rolling my neck, the muscles cracking loudly. My eyes never stray from the computer screen displaying the picture of the little boy who was killed in the last video.

  I’ll never forget him, but gluing my eyes to his face reminds me that there’s more out there in the same situation. And right now, that reminder is the only thing keeping me from going ballistic.

  I need my wits. If I lose it now, I’ll ruin what I’ve been working so hard for.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Consider it a preliminary initiation. We have our hearts set on what we'll be having for dinner this Saturday, and it’s really special. We want to make sure this goes off without a hitch, so Friday, we decided to have ourselves an appetizer, if you will.”

  My brows crease, and a pit of dread forms in my stomach, like the sky opening up and releasing a torrential downpour on a drowning city.

  “Without a hitch?” I repeat, my tone dropping.

  “Don’t take it personally. Most men who are initiated have been around for years. We're all taking a gamble here, so my superiors thought it best we have dinner beforehand.”

  The Society is testing me. My mind is already racing with how I’m going to prevent a child from dying in front of my face without killing them all.

  “Is that so?” I say, my tone intrigued.

  “All I ask is Friday night, you meet me at a dinner party I’m hosting.”

  Friday is two days from now.

  My head spins as I try to figure out what Dan is planning. It’s something evil, I know that much.

  “What’s the purpose of this appetizer?”

  If Dan has a problem with my questioning, he doesn’t make it known. And frankly, I don’t give a fuck.

  Feeling the urge come over me, I switch my screen to a live feed of security cameras I have set up around Addie’s property. She’s home, and Daya's car is still parked outside of her house.

  Later, I’ll have to go over more training with her. I’ve gone over several things she should do if ever kidnapped but I want to make sure Addie is fully prepared. Not because I plan on ever letting her be taken, but because I’m a realistic and logical person and understand that I can’t control everything.

  I’ve been in this business far too long to know better. Getting taken can happen in a single second, when you’re doing the most mundane thing that every single person does every day. Walking to their car. Walking in or out of a store. Putting gas in your car. Going on a walk in a park. And some even force bait to knock on your door and ask for help.

  “Well, to get our fill before the main event, of co
urse. We have the perfect appetizer picked out just for you. One that resembles your own meals at home. It’s safe to say you’ll join me, yeah?”

  My fists tighten until I hear the bones crack. The appetizer is a little girl. One that apparently looks similar to the girl who was in the picture I showed him at Savior's. He went out and handpicked a girl based on what he thinks I like.

  I’m past the sickening feeling that stirs in the gut and makes you want to vomit—I’m seeing red now. The red of his blood, leaking from his throat as I slice into it. The red flowing from his mouth as he slowly suffocates. I see so much red.

  “Of course,” I say breezily. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Make sure the men are watching over Addie while I’m gone,” I remind Jay, tightening the tie around my neck.

  It feels like a goddamn noose, and playing nice with these men tonight is the proverbial bucket being kicked out from beneath my feet.

  Socializing with some of the most depraved men to ever live certainly feels like hanging myself from the ceiling rafters. They deserve to die, and instead I’ll be drinking expensive whiskey with them and imagining all the ways I'm going to slaughter each and every one of them.

  “Her house is being watched around the clock. Discreetly, of course,” Jay assures from behind me.

  Doesn’t feel good enough. Something I learned from when she was just a girl getting undressed in her room, while I watched from afar through her window. I knew her skin was as soft as silk and that her pussy would feel like fucking paradise. But being so far away and only just watching—it wasn’t good enough.

  And now, her safety feels precarious. I have the best men in the world watching out for her, but if the Society were to send someone after her—they wouldn’t hire some low-life off the streets.

  They’d hire someone just as trained to hunt and kill as the men circling the perimeter of her house.

  I spare a glance at Jay through the mirror, his shaggy black hair curled around his pale face as he fiddles with the plastic red rose on my nightstand. I don’t feel particularly comfortable having him in my personal space, but Jay decided he didn’t care and walked into my bedroom and sat on the bed anyway.

  Addie hasn’t even gotten the chance to come here yet. I’ll have to rectify that soon.

  I walk over to him and snatch the rose from his hand, his fingernails painted black today. Every time I see them, they’re a different color.

  Never one to shy away, Jay prods. “Is that personal? Where did you get it?”

  I cock a brow at him, but he just stares up at me with faux innocence in his hazel eyes, patiently waiting.

  Whatever.

  “My mother gave it to me a long time ago. She loved roses and had them all over the house. She gave this to me to always remember her by.” My tone suggests that Jay keep his mouth shut.

  So, he does.

  I twirl the rose, getting lost in the memory of my mother. She was beautiful. Long, black hair with eyes as dark as my right eye—nearly black. But she carried a shroud of sunlight around her. Dad always joked that she kept herself in the shadows so everyone else could shine. She was selfless and kind, always giving but never taking.

  Deep down, I know my mother would be incredibly proud of what I’m doing. She may not approve of my methods, but I think she would’ve found a place with the girls I save. Helping them and taking care of them.

  She would’ve been happy.

  Setting the rose down, I turn and glance one last time at the mirror. I make sure my three-piece suit doesn’t have a wrinkle in sight. The Armani suit has been tailored to mold perfectly to my body and drips with capitalism.

  Good thing I steal from the rich.

  “You look beautiful,” Jay says wispily, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye. I give him a droll look and slap his forehead as I walk by.

  I ignore the muttered ow and grab my keys and wallet before slipping on the earpiece and loading myself with two guns. I grab my white gold Rolex, fastening it around my wrist. It’s no ordinary overpriced watch though. Right by the clasp on my inner wrist is a tiny button I installed. The moment I press it, a diversion will ensue and hopefully allow me to get the poor child out safely.

  I’ve already hacked the cameras inside and out of Daniel's place, and while he has hired security detail, the few guests I saw enter didn’t get patted down nor were required to walk through a body scanner.

  This tells me this is more of an intimate affair with few people who are trusted enough not to shoot the place up.

  I roll my neck, my muscles brimming with tension. Something about this night feels off. It feels like being shot at in a metal room, just waiting for the bullet to ricochet and hit me somewhere vital.

  There’s absolutely no way I’m letting a young child get sacrificed or abused tonight. This will be a matter of how to get the girl out safely while maintaining innocence. If I’m to be brought into the underground dungeon tomorrow, then I need to stay on Daniel's good side.

  “I want your eyes on Addie tonight as well. If something happens, you tell me immediately.”

  He chuckles. “Do you think she’ll like it when I stalk her, too?”

  I pin him with a glare. “You watch her for any purpose other than ensuring her safety, I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you.”

  His face scrunches up in disgust, but I don’t miss the flash of terror in his eyes. “Just kidding, dude,” he assures, his hands raised in surrender. “I like my women willing.”

  A wicked smile forms, though the heat in my eyes remains. “Sounds to me like you don’t understand a woman’s body well enough to know when it sings for you, even when her mouth tries to resist.”

  Jay’s sputtering follows me out, and I can’t help but laugh when I hear him on the phone immediately after, getting reassurance from one of his booty calls.

  “So glad you could make it, Zack,” Daniel greets, gripping one hand in a handshake and slapping me on the back with the other.

  Dan’s house is just as ostentatious as any other person with a bank account sitting in the millions. His house is rustic, with an accent wall made of wood to imitate a cabin, exposed beams, wooden floors that he paid big money to look weathered, and a lot of tan and brown accents.

  Abstract paintings decorate the walls, each painting with an earthy tone of reds, browns and yellows. I pause at one in particular, the drone of Daniel greeting other guests behind me turning into a low buzz.

  The painting looks like two big brown eyes, with streaks of bright red trailing from them. Soft yellows and reds make up the round, short curves of the girl’s face. My eyes roam, taking in every detail until the full picture comes together.

  It’s a little girl crying tears of blood.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I drag my eyes away to find Daniel standing next to me, his eyes roving over the painting with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  He stares at the painting with pride as if he painted it himself.

  “Yes,” I murmur, before turning away. I’m not going to stand there and interpret art as if I'm not standing in a museum of depraved paintings. One glance around shows the other paintings are carved in subtle morbidity.

  I shake hands with a few people I recognize from Savior's and Pearl. Minutes later, Daniel has us all join him in the dining room, the twenty-foot-long table set for at least twenty people.

  It’s not a normal set up. There are crystal glasses, white plates and a fork and knife set on a thick plastic covering. The entire middle of the table is completely empty. Normally, flowers and decorations will take up space in the middle to add a taste of class to dinners.

  I keep my face blank, despite my heart thudding heavily beneath my ribcage.

  “Take a seat next to me, Zack, please,” Daniel insists, pointing towards the chair to the right of him. Of course, he sits at the head of the table, smiling at his guests like a king.

  He leans over and mutters to me, “I’m
very excited for you to see tonight’s entrée.”

  I smile, and even I can feel how ice cold it is. “What would that be?” I ask.

  “Well, we wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, now would we?” Dan deflects before turning his attention to the guest on his left side.

  I stay silent, instead observing the guests seated around me. Everyone looks to be at complete ease, talking amongst each other, laughing, and smiling.

  As if it’s just another day, sitting at a dinner table and waiting for a young child to be served.

  There are three exit points in the dining room. One leads into the kitchen, where there’s a back sliding door. The second leads down a hallway towards the game room and deeper into the house. The third leads back towards the front door.

  I imagine the girl is in the kitchen. I don’t know if she’s already dead or if this will be like their rituals in the dungeon.

  My question is answered five minutes later when the kitchen door opens, and an older man walks in, hand in hand with a little girl no older than six.

  Her brown eyes are wide with terror, looking upon the table like every boogieman in her nightmares has come to life.

  The monsters inside her dreams were only there to show her what they look like on the inside.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is served.”

  Chapter 38

  The Manipulator

  A ll the information Daya and I have gathered so far is splayed out on the island before us. I twist my lips as I mull over what we know for the millionth time, while Daya twists the ring in her nose ‘round and ‘round. She’s waiting on a call back to get the DNA results for the blood on the watch.

  “You know, we still never found out who sent me the envelope with all those pictures and the note,” I mumble.

  “I know,” Daya says, dropping her hand and pursing her lips. “That’s so odd. I have no idea who it could’ve been.”

  Just as I open my mouth, Daya's phone rings. She picks it up so fast, you'd think it was sitting on a burning stove.

  "Hello?" she answers, clicking the button to put it on speaker.