32. Crime Wall
CRIME WALL
KITTY
Image after image of missing young girls assault my eyes. All around the same age, the same build, and the same hair color. Harley.
Pointing to another picture pinned to Monster’s bedroom wall, Rogue says, “This is Trevor Addams. The man you met tonight.”
“He killed them?” I gasp, spinning my head to look at her for confirmation. Goosebumps rise over my flesh. I’d been so close to him and he put his rancid hands on my skin.
“No,” Monster cuts in, poking his finger at a blacked-out silhouette next to the image of Trevor. “Trevor is a sexual predator with the ambition to evolve into more. He communicates with this man on the dark web. Planned to meet with him.”
“And that man is the one responsible for all these missing girls?” I ask, nausea stirring in my stomach.
Heavy pounding against my skull makes it hard to absorb all the new information they’re feeding me.
After cleaning up in the shower room behind door number three, Rogue brought me to Monster’s bedroom.
It’s not really a bedroom, though. More of a shell or cell.
There’s nothing but a bed and a dresser.
It has plain white walls and a thin window that’s too high up to even open.
The entire back wall is like something out of a detective movie.
He’s turned it into an evidence board, string stretching across a map with pins in various locations.
Images of men and women sit in rows of five on the left and right sides.
Some have crosses drawn across their face in red or black pen.
“Before I found out who was guilty of murdering Harley,” Rogue starts, then pauses. The muscles in her neck flex and her eye twitches at the mention of her sister. Swallowing, she continues. “Callan and Monster were trying to find out who could have been responsible.”
My gaze shifts to Monster. His feet are braced apart, hands clasped in front of him, gaze focused on the wall.
“They believed signs pointed toward a serial killer, Edward Jarvis.”
A shiver ghosts through me.
You hear the term serial killer and know of all the notorious ones throughout history, but to hear Rogue say Callan thought Harley was murdered by one and see their wall of missing girls is haunting. It’s too close.
I’ve never really thought of them as real living beings. They’ve always been the boogeymen under the bed. But they’re not mythical. They’re real. The man tied to the metal table was real.
My world just got smaller and scarier.
“So, they hunted the hunters,” she says proudly.
My heart beats like a war drum. The tremor in my hands is back with force. I know my brother is fearless, but to actively look for serial killers?
One by one, narrowing the search, until Tyler’s confession.
“So, Callan knows about this?” I ask.
They look at each other, and Monster grunts. Squaring his shoulder, he mumbles something I can’t make out under his breath.
“No, he doesn’t know we continued after everything went down with Tyler.”
“Why haven’t you told him?” My brow puckers. If he was the one to start all this, it doesn’t make sense to hide it from him.
“Because he would restrict how involved I can get, and I’d just go at it alone.”
“And end up on the table,” Monster growls, scratching his cheek through his beard.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” She rolls her eyes and turns to the wall. “We narrowed all these cases down to one perpetrator. All the girls are of similar circumstances: they’re runaways or hardly have any family or come from poor backgrounds and end up dancing or on the streets.”
“They look alike,” I state, wrapping my arms around my body, needing comfort.
“He has a type,” Monster confirms. “Most serial killers do.”
The fictional killer who was obsessed with his own mother springs to mind, and I shudder. Wasn’t he based on a true killer who made skin furniture?
“Knowing this sicko is out there and not doing anything about it after seeing these girls who all resemble Harley in some way…I couldn’t do it, Kit.”
“How do you know he’s a killer, though? Maybe the girls are being kept or sold. Sex trafficking is out of control right now.”
Monster crosses his arms and leans a shoulder against the wall.
“Sex trafficking has always been a big business. You just hear more about it now because of everyone’s access to the internet, social media, and live stream airing.
It’s the same with pedophiles. People just didn’t speak out back when we were kids.
Now, it’s encouraged. We have movements.
One in three people will experience a sexual assault in their lifetime.
One in three.” He uses his fingers for emphasis, or because he thinks I can’t do the math.
“There are three of us in this room right now. Let that sink in.”
It’s sunk and stained forever on my brain. Our eyes bounce between each other, all wondering or knowing if one of us has suffered that cruelty.
“There’s no cure for their sickness, and they shouldn’t be allowed to walk the earth. I’m no saint, but there are lines even monsters like me won’t cross.” His face twists with disgust.
“And we know they’re being murdered because some of the missing victims’ remains have been found,” Rogue adds, her chest falling, sorrow spilling into her eyes.
My stomach drops to the ground. “What are the police doing about it?” I ask. There are so many images. How is this not on the news or trending on social media?
Pushing off the wall, Monster looks over the images, “The intel from my source says not much. They’re chasing their tails.
The problem is, when victims from different towns go missing in new towns, no one knows them and they can go unreported.
And police rarely share information, so a pattern can go undetected for years. ”
His eyes seem to morph from serene to crazed, his pupils expanding like spilled ink, engulfing the color.
There’s no doubt he’s a vicious force. I can almost feel his muscles ripple with anger as he lingers on the wall, glaring at the blank silhouette like an ominous beast, threatening, promising—a hunter with his target in sight.
“But we work outside of the law, and we’re so close,” he muses, almost to himself.
“So, the guy on the table?”
“Is how we’re going to catch this fucker.
” Monster grins over at me, and I notice the missing tooth he used to have has been replaced with a new one.
His smile is half hidden by the overgrown mass of hair on his face, but it reaches his eyes, and for the first time ever, I pay attention to how handsome he is.
Imperfect in the rough-edged way I like.
His flawed skin is littered with scars but none distract or blemish his best feature: those oval eyes.
They’re an array of color, like a forest floor in autumn, coated with thick, dark lashes.
His brown hair brushes the tops of his broad shoulders.
There’s the tiniest of bends in his otherwise well-placed nose.
He’s tall and commands any space he’s in.
You can tell just by being in his presence there’s darkness in him.
It’s compelling in a villainous allure type of way.
He’s a bloodthirsty, raw, alpha male. Just like Cutter .
Cutter.
My insides twist. My heart weeps. All I seem to do with him is love and lose him over and over. It hurts too much.
“Are you going to tell Callan, Kit?” Rogue pins her gaze to mine. The weight of it crushes down on my chest.
“What he doesn’t know can’t make him an annoying, overbearing asshole, right?” I jerk a shoulder and blow out a heavy breath.
Compressing her lips to stifle a laugh, she nods. “Exactly.”
“What’s the plan?”
“What do you mean?” Rogue asks, furrowing her brow.
“I mean, how do you plan to catch him? What are you going to do with Trevor?”
“This is heavy stuff, Kitty. Are you sure you want details?” Monster’s hoarse baritone vibrates up my spine and settles in my chest like a stone.
They’re doing something incredible. Dangerous, yes, but all the lives they could save by taking out this evil, it’s hero-type shit. “I want more than details. I want to help,” I declare.
“We can use help.” Monster nods to Rogue, who breathes out through her nose and smiles.
“Let’s get this son of a bitch.”
Adrenaline and a splash of excitement surge through me. I feel hyped on E numbers and like we need to all put our fists together and shout out a rallying cry.
Rogue’s phone buzzes, distracting her for a second. I take the time to look around the room again when she gestures to the phone and the door before disappearing through it.
There’s no sign of life in here. No clothes lying around or slippers by the bed.
The image that conjures up brings a tilt to my lips.
“What are you smiling about?” Monster asks, studying me.
His gaze is attentive, causing heat to bloom in my cheeks and a sprinkle of unease to swell in my gut.
I’m not afraid of him, but it would be na?ve not to give him the respect of being wary.
“This is nothing like I thought your room would be,” I admit.
“Thought about it a lot, have you?” He grins wickedly. “What did you expect? Sex swings and pleasure racks?”
“Mess, signs of life, maybe some club slut’s panties on the floor.”
“Their panties combust into ash before we even make it to the bedroom.” He winks, and I bark out a laugh.
We both turn to the door when Rogue reappears, her mouth agape. “Claire’s pregnant? That motherfucker, did he know?”
Emotions unleash like an avalanche within me. Tears burst and stream down my cheeks without permission. I feel small and foolish and consumed with a rage that could level this entire building. “I don’t know,” I say honestly.
In the next second, she wraps her arms around me, stroking her hand through my hair. “Please let me hurt him,” she pleads.
My misery turns into laughter. I pull away, swiping at my cheeks. They’re sore, the skin stretched tight. I’ve cried too many tears over a man who claims to love me. Love shouldn’t hurt this much.
“You’re like those goldfish when it comes to that man.” She frowns.
“Meaning?” I chuckle, not sure I should be offended just yet.
“A three second memory,” she clarifies.
It pains me to hear it, but she’s right. I’ve given him so many chances, forgetting every reason why I shouldn’t as soon as he flashes that devilish smirk and drowns me in those blue ocean eyes.
“It’s a myth that goldfish have a three second memory,” Monster says, going to his dresser and coming out with a stick of jerky.
What the hell?
“Scientists did studies and proved they can retain memories for a month, sometimes longer.” He snaps a chunk off and chews.
“Where does the saying come from then?” Rogue asks.
“Idiots presuming because they’re small, they must have tiny brains.”
“You learn something new every day.” I raise a brow at Rogue, who bites her inner cheek.
“Knowledge is power. You should never stop trying to learn new things.” He nods then holds out his half-eaten piece of dried flesh. “Want a bite of my meat?”
Scrunching my nose, I shake my head. “No, I’m good. But thanks.”
“Please yourself.”
“I often do.”
“Ha!” Rogue barks. “I love you. I’m so glad you found Trevor.”
“You could have saved me the twisted experience and just told me weeks ago when I asked.”
“You know now. That’s what’s important.”
“Actually, what’s important is getting answers out of Trevor.” Monster moves back to the wall and stabs a pin through Trevor’s image. “The meet is supposed to happen tomorrow. I need to make Trevor talk fast. He’s already losing blood.”
“Is the plan to go in his stead and play along pretending to be him, or ambush the fucker and get answers with pain?”
“I can already tell you’re going to be an asset to the team.” Monster smirks. “We need to know if they’ve exchanged pictures or descriptions before we make a plan.”
“Monster’s plans usually end with them on the table,” Rogue informs me.
“Or in a ditch,” he adds.
“Well, as long as we don’t end up in a ditch or on a psycho’s table, I’m good with anything.”
“Good,” Monster grunts.
“What happens if they have seen photos of each other?” I ask.
“Then we go to plan B.” Rogue’s complexion pales.
“Is that the ambush and table?”
“No—that’s where one of you come in.” He places his hands on his hips and juts his chin in my direction.
“What do I do?”
I sweep my gaze between them both, immediately wishing I hadn’t asked when he says, “You be the bait.”