Nightcrawler Page 8

  Her brother, a local cop, was older than her and on his way to be an FBI Agent himself. My guess would be that he and Dana were close yet competitive with one another. Her family seemed close-knit and happy.

  I toggled to the various recordings that featured her, and, when I found the right one, I saw her lying on the cold road as red and blue lights illuminated the scene. Medics tended to her and the other agent. Next, I followed the ambulance to a hospital nearest to me. I felt my smile reach my eyes.

  Now that I knew she was close, I continued reading about my Dana.

  Something stirred within me I hadn’t felt in a really long time. I shoved the memories down and away.

  She was unmarried and had no current boyfriend or partner.

  Over time, I would slowly make her mine. And she would love me like no other.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The smell of iodine and rubbing alcohol assaulted my nose as I cruised through the hospital’s large corridor. My Dana was scheduled to be discharged in three days’ time. They wanted to keep her for a few days to ensure she had no internal bleeding. A psychiatrist had consulted with her, and even though he offered something to ease her anxiety and nightmares, she rejected the medication.

  She was my good girl.

  I preferred my woman clean and wholesome—drug and alcohol free. It was better if she felt every emotion, every touch, and every ounce of my soul I was about to offer her. I wanted to share so much with her that I couldn’t wait to start. I just needed to find a way into her life.

  I stood in the doorjamb and watched her sleep. Her roommate, who shared the semi-private intensive care room with her, had been in a car accident and was unlikely to wake up—ever again. The machines kept her alive, and the constant sound of the ventilator feeding air into her lungs ensured my footsteps weren’t audible as I entered the room. It wasn’t visiting hours, and ward round was over, so the chance of anyone walking in on us was slim.

  I touched her foot over her bedding, and she moved. I wanted to climb in beside her, wrap my arms around her body and squeeze. The best thing I could do now was stand closer. I moved hair out of her face and traced my finger down the plaster on her jaw. My mark would be on her forever.

  I gently grabbed her hand, which lay limp in mine, and pressed it against the front of my pants, so she could feel how hard she made me.

  She moaned in her sleep and moved onto her side.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway. I leaned over and licked her cheek; she tasted of soap and face cream. The footsteps drew closer. I had to leave. As the footsteps approached, I pulled one side of the curtain closed and hid behind it. The person walked past.

  “Bye, Dana. I’ll see you soon,” I whispered.

  The clowns at the FBI were dumbstruck after they had tried to take us down. They were back to square one with no suspects, and the only witness had asked to resign, and she had seen nothing. We had worn masks. Following our attack on them, she had submitted her resignation from her hospital bed. It brought me joy that I alone had changed her mind and that she would no longer work for that terrible institution. I wondered what she would do with all her time once she was out.

  I watched Dana climb into her parents’ car and followed them to her apartment—the same one I had entered the day before and added cameras, so I could keep an eye on her from anywhere. After ten minutes, she chased out her parents; I could only assume it was so she could be alone and recover in peace. If she was anything like me, we enjoyed our own space with only our thoughts to keep us company. The only time she left was so she could attend the funeral of that woman who had shared the semi-private hospital room with her. It seemed she had grown close to the dead woman’s husband. She didn’t stay long and came straight back home.

  That evening, I entered through her front door with a key I had made. The apartment smelled of the floral perfume she wore—most likely from when she had gotten ready for the funeral. She had cleaned her kitchen and packed the pillows differently on the couches than they were before.

  Earlier, I had watched her on my laptop in the car as she had kept herself busy. I suspected she thought of me when she touched her jaw.

  I crept silently into her bedroom.

  She lay curled in a ball with her sheets wrapped tightly around her body. Her breathing was steady.

  I sat in a chair she kept against the wall and continued to observe her. My sleeping beauty. The plaster was off her face, and the wound I had left would be faintly visible. The plastic surgeon who stitched her together did a great job, maybe too good a job, and I wanted to cut the stitches open again.

  I wanted her to remember me, not forget.

  Chapter Eighteen

  My studio apartment was a mess when I opened the door. Eleanor glared at me from her seated position on the couch, the bruising to her face was fading.

  “Where is my greeting?” I demanded and placed my jacket over the back of the chair.

  Her response was to fold her arms, pout and look away from me.

  “Are you mad at me?”

  “What do you think, asshole?”

  I smirked at her. “Glad you finally found your backbone. For a moment, I thought your submission was real.”

  “You know what, Travis? I did like it in the beginning. I really did. I wanted to do everything right for you. I wanted to please you in every way possible. But you’re so fucked up, nobody in this world would ever make you happy.”

  I roared with laughter. “Oh, Eleanor, I’ve found the one who pleases me more than you ever did.”

  “Oh, and will you trap her inside this apartment, like you did me?”

  I stalked toward her, gripped her by the neck and pulled her onto the bed where I bound her hands to the headboard. “Yes, and I need to make the space.”

  Her eyes widened, and the stench of fear assaulted my nose, along with the melody of her screams.

  Chapter Nineteen

  That weekend, we all met at my little reserve outside Chicago—a short forty-minute drive into the wilderness with enough space for anyone to scream and not be heard. I stood at the entrance as I waited for everyone to park inside the ten-car garage and admired the newly erected brick wall around my land, twice as thick and smooth on the inside so no one could grip and climb over it. The clubhouse was newly built, with six bedrooms all with their own en suite bathroom, a large kitchen, and open dining room, with a library that doubled as a living room. This would be our safe space to enjoy over weekends.

  “Oh, my gods,” Aika said when she entered, followed closely by Damian.

  When Dafne entered, she tripped over the carpet as she marveled at the large open space. “You can say that again, Aika. This place is massive, Travis, and beautiful.”

  “This is our space.” I grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and popped the cork. Champagne spilled over the kitchen basin. “A place where we can come together for a few drinks, a few laughs, and hunt in peace.” I poured champagne halfway into each flute. “Come, join me in a toast.”

  “Holy shit.” Joe stumbled into the back of Dafne and dropped his and her bag as he grabbed her shoulders, stopping them both from crashing to the ground. “Fuck, sorry, Dafne. Jesus, Travis, this place. What is it you do again? This must’ve cost you a small fortune.”

  He and Dafne each grabbed a glass while the other three joined us; everyone raised their drink.

  I chuckled. “I own a software company where I contract certain programs to law enforcement.” I studied them over the rim of my glass as I took a sip. “And, as I’ve said before, I come from old money which I inherited after my parents died.”

  “No shit.” Joe chortled.

  “My chef has prepared dinner for us.” I pointed to the food on the table. “Eat before it gets too cold, then I’ll show you around.”

  Once dinner was over, I showed everyone to their room where they could freshen up and meet me in an hour on the deck. I poured myself a whiskey on ice and admired the view w
hile I waited for them. My great-granddad had bought the land before parts of it had become a park, housing, or a public reserve. It was a one-hundred-acre piece of privately owned land with its own forest, hiking trail, and obstacle course. From the deck, I couldn’t see where my land ended and others began. I glanced at the box and grinned menacingly.

  Doors closed, and I turned around to see my Horsemen approach looking relaxed and ready.

  “Please help yourself to whatever you want to drink then join me out here.” I pointed to the bar against the wall on the deck.

  Once everyone held a drink, I started with the other reason I had brought them here for the weekend. “Have a look at the beautiful scenery. Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  Everyone bobbed their head while others mumbled in affirmation.

  “I thought when we are here, we could have a different name, that we become what we really want to when we play. Even though this is private property, and we don’t have to wear those masks anymore, I still want us to become our alter egos. Besides the fact that whoever I bring here won’t be walking out anyway.” I chuckled. “I still want to scare the living shit out of them.”

  “I like that idea. What were you thinking?” Aika eyed me carefully.

  I smiled warmly at her. “Choose a color, one you’d prefer to be known by.”

  “As in Mr. Pink or Mrs. Orange?” Joe asked.

  “Precisely.”

  “Cool. I’m Mr. Yellow,” Joe added quickly.

  I thought it was fitting, as it matched his yellow-green eyes, reminding me of cat eyes.

  “Mrs. Platinum.” Dafne twirled her fingers through her grey-platinum hair.

  “Miss Red.” Aika licked her red lips.

  “You aren’t a miss anymore,” Damian chirped.

  “I don’t care. I want to be a miss, thank you very much. Now shut up and pick a color.”

  “Mr. Bronze.” Damian brought Aika into a sensual embrace.

  “Mr. Maroon.” Neal flattened his red mustache then rubbed his shaved head and downed his drink.

  “Well, since my name is already Green, I’ll remain Mr. Green.” A warm feeling engulfed me as I stared at each of my Horsemen, proud to be part of such a fine group of people. “Oh, before I forget, look down.”

  All five heads glanced down with only Neal gasping and pointing at our special friend. “Who is that?”

  “She’ll be the first of many, Neal. The first of many special guests we’ll bring here to show them the error of their bad ways, and the only way to correct them is to eradicate them from existence.”

  Our guest glanced up but kept her dark gaze on me.

  Present day

  Chapter Twenty

  Mr. Bronze breathed in the cool air and licked his lips; the salty taste excited him, and he adjusted himself. The freedom of not wearing restrictive underwear sent a thrill down his spine. Spring was in the air, and he was grateful winter had finally passed. He preferred the hot sun on his body than the chill of the snow in his bones.

  Vincent Black moved. The boy was finally awake and tugged on his bound wrists. He pulled free and lifted the blindfold off his head. With wide eyes, he stared at Mr. Bronze then at the others. “Who are you?” Vincent asked as he stood, his voice strained. He tried to stand taller, but his body trembled. His nervousness was evident.

  Mr. Bronze chuckled and glanced at his teammates—Mr. Maroon, Mr. Yellow, Miss Red, and lastly, Mrs. Platinum. They smiled back at him. Even someone as serious as Mr. Maroon’s smiled. His red mustache curled upward when he winked at Mr. Bronze.

  “Glad you finally woke up, Vincent. Mr. Yellow gave you enough to knock out an elephant.” Mr. Bronze lifted his compound bow to rest it on his broad shoulder.

  Vincent swallowed hard. “What do you want from me?” He studied the others with realization registering in his eyes, and he backed up.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Mr. Bronze added quickly.

  Vincent stopped and looked behind him. He stood on the edge of a concrete block with a ten-story drop. Vincent fell to the concrete floor, momentarily frozen.

  Mr. Maroon jumped off the step they were standing on and approached Vincent. “There’s a rope over there.” Mr. Maroon pointed. “You have a minute, Vincent.”

  “And then what?” Vincent’s gaze flittered from Mr. Maroon to the others.

  “Before we come after you, Vincent,” Mr. Maroon said, the corners of his mouth reached his eyes, revealing a gold front tooth.

  “But why? I don’t even know who you are!”

  “But we know who you are.”

  “What did I do to you?”

  “It’s not what you did to us, Vincent, but to your wife,” Mr. Bronze replied.

  Sweat beaded on Vincent’s forehead. He rose slowly, stepped away from the edge and kept his eyes on Mr. Bronze. “I didn’t touch my wife.”

  “You’re lying, Vincent,” Mr. Bronze said.

  “Lying bitch!” Vincent spat.

  “You have sixty seconds, Vincent. I would go if I were you,” Mr. Bronze said, his voice deep and commanding. He jumped off the same step, his combat boots hitting the concrete with a thud, and stood beside Mr. Maroon. “You’re wasting time, Vincent.”

  Vincent approached the rope, stared below and went down onto his hands and knees. He glanced up at them. “Where must I go?”

  “It isn’t where you can go, but how long can you last?” Mr. Bronze said, towering over him. He pointed his compound bow at Vincent’s face. “Fifty-nine seconds, Vincent. Fifty-eight …”

  “I’m going. I’m going.” Vincent grabbed the rope with both hands and climbed down.

  “You make it so easy for them, Mr. Bronze,” Mrs. Platinum said and unholstered her gun. “Please, can I just shoot the boy now? Put him out of his misery.”

  Mr. Yellow smirked. “Give Mr. Bronze a chance first, Mrs. Platinum. You know the rules.”

  “Fine.” Mrs. Platinum huffed, tucking her white hair behind her ear, her sun-kissed hand weighed down by her diamond jewelry.

  Mr. Bronze couldn’t understand how anyone could fire a hand weapon with so many rings that might get in the way and hurt. But it was her problem. Today was his turn for some fun.

  “Shall we?” Mr. Bronze asked.

  The Horsemen used the stairs on the other side of the concrete block and reached the ground as Vincent dropped from the rope.

  Sweat drenched his face and stained his clothes. Vincent saw them approach and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could.

  “Quick little shit when he’s on the ground, isn’t he?” Mr. Maroon said. “He’s all yours, Mr. Bronze. Let the game begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mr. Bronze ran after Vincent, but the boy was faster.

  Vincent disappeared behind the shell of an old house that sat on Mr. Green’s vast property.

  Mr. Bronze crept along the side of the house, and, as he was about to walk around the corner, a wooden board collided with his face. Fortunately, Mr. Bronze was now a trained specialist, and his reflexes had improved—he had had over three years of excellent training on these grounds with many hunts under his belt. He had a second to spare and saw the board; he lifted his arms to protect his face, which took most of the impact, but he still crashed to the ground and wasted precious seconds.

  Mr. Bronze cried out in pain as he rubbed the sides of his arms, trying to soothe the sting still vibrating in his bones. His pulse thundered in his ears as he sat upright. This boy would break his bad streak of late, even if he had to fight dirty. He grabbed his compound bow from the ground as he stood. On his haunches, he slowly peered around the corner. All he saw was the burned crates from their last game. Some poor soul had ended up in Mr. Yellow’s flamethrower.

  “Are you all right?” Miss Red purred as she sauntered toward Mr. Bronze, her lips twitching to smile.

  “I’m fine,” he said, noticing the bruises blossoming on his forearms.

  Miss Red chuckled. “You lost hi
m so soon in the game?”

  “Shut up, wench.”

  “Ah!” she gasped, covering her mouth in mock protest.

  “Ha-ha, he is mine, Red.” He winked at her.

  “I know.” She lifted her hands. “But you only have twenty-eight minutes left. After that, he is fair game.”

  “Do you want to make money?”

  “I don’t need money, Mr. Bronze.”

  “What do you want?”

  “That’ll depend on what you need.” She licked her red lips seductively.

  “Naughty, Red.” One side of his mouth curled upward as he eyed her. “Help me catch him, but he is still mine.”

  “Hrm … Fine, but”—she stopped walking and glanced over her shoulder, the others were on their way—“when the time comes and I want a favor, you have to do it for me.”

  “That’s dangerous talk, Red. Your request could be anything.”

  She smiled sinisterly. “Decide quickly, Mr. Bronze. The others are nearing.”

  Mr. Bronze thought hard. He needed her help to trap the boy, but he also knew Miss Red. Everything she did had devious undertones. He narrowed his eyes. “Okay, fine, but be reasonable in your request.”

  She proffered her hand, and they shook on it. He was a gentleman and would abide by his agreements. But, with Miss Red, he needed to heed with caution. He had to take her requests with a pinch of salt or throw it in her face before drawing his weapon.