16. Crimes of Passion, Emphasis on Crimes
Crimes of Passion, Emphasis on Crimes
I recognize Charles’ convenience store when the car pulls up to the warehouse.
It parks and the man inside the car with us gets out and walks to my door, opening it and gesturing for me to get out.
When they searched me, they missed the small multipurpose knife hidden inside my boot.
I consider using it rather than complying.
Not that I could do much with a small knife in a gunfight, but no matter what happens, I don’t plan to go down without a fight.
Killian’s hand wraps around mine, giving me a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be alright, princess.”
I nod. Now isn’t the time for last-ditch efforts. With a deep breath, I calm my nerves before stepping into the chilled air.
“Yeah, don’t worry, princess,” says the guard as he grabs my upper arm with a bruising hold. “You’re going to be just fine as long as you behave.”
“And what if I don’t behave?”
He hits me in the back of the head hard enough to stun me temporarily. I can hear his laughter followed by a struggle. Shaking off the last remnants of confusion, I look behind me and see Killian with a bleeding lip in the hold of his own guard.
“She would be that type of bitch,” Killian’s guard grumbles, and I notice a minor cut beneath his eye.
Killian must have gotten a good swing in.
I feel hard metal wrap around my wrists before the telltale clicking of cuffs getting tighter. Killian’s guard is putting him in cuffs too, his hands in front of his body. My gaze meets Killian’s, and we exchange a look of concern.
Where are Tommy and James?
The guards lead us into the warehouse. It’s dark inside, lit only by a few hanging fluorescent bulbs that flicker and hum.
Dust filters through the beams of light, making it look like I am inside a giant snow globe.
The air inside is chilled, but warmer than outside simply because the wind is no longer whipping at my back, but the smell is considerably worse.
Stale oil and a hint of something more pungent, like the sweet smell of decay. It makes my nose crinkle.
The guards lead us further into the building, passing steel beams and abandoned machinery.
We are led down into the basement and it looks familiar.
From the Shepperd crime scene photos. Victoria Shepperd was disemboweled here.
The sound of our footfalls echoes off the walls and my heart matches the rhythm, but I keep my face calm and stoic.
No sign of Tommy. No sign of James. Where the fuck are they?
We are led to a heavy steel door embedded into the wall. Killian’s guard keys in a code, unlocking the door before pushing it inward with a groan.
It’s a goddamn lab.
Stainless steel counters gleam under bright white lights. I can see rows of medical type equipment, computers, and finally, Bill Roman. He sits in a chair with a wolfish grin.
I am pushed through the doorway first, followed by Killian and then the door shuts menacingly behind us. I look back and see only one guard standing in front of our only exit.
“Come. Have a seat,” Roman invites, gesturing to the set of chairs in front of him.
“You don’t want to do this. We aren’t who you think we are,” I hedge, hoping to get Roman to let us go before things can escalate further. “We’re police officers. We were working undercover.”
“I know exactly who you are,” Roman says, looking at Killian. “But, I wonder,” he says, shifting his gaze my way, “if you know who you’re standing next to.”
I look at Killian, confused.
The guard moves forward, grabbing Killian and forcing him onto a chair before returning to do the same to me. He grunts when he’s finished before heading back over to guard the door.
“I was wondering when you would find your way back home, Kalon.” Roman smiles. His tone is as slick as oil. “You remember the lab, right? We spent years together in here.”
My blood runs cold.
Killian stiffens at my side but doesn’t speak.
Roman leans forward, steepling his fingers as his gaze flips between us. “Well. Are you going to tell her, or shall I?”
“Tell me what?” I look at Killian, my throat dry. He isn’t even looking at me. His gaze is set forward, staring at Roman with a look of seething hatred.
“Leave her out of this, Bill,” Killian says, his tone low and threatening.
“I wasn’t the one waltzing her around my part of the city. You involved her.” Roman laughs, dark and cruel, making the hair on my arm stand. “You brought her to me. Is she the other thirteen?” Roman raises his eyebrows, looking at me with a wolfish smile.
Killian silently stares at Roman. He doesn’t turn even when I look his way. My mind can’t help but think back on the report written by Al. He was talking about type thirteens. His experiments.
Is Roman suggesting that I am one of them?
“Is this Catherine with a C ?” Roman smiles, like he knows he’s correct, but my heart hammers with the truth.
Cathy. He thinks I’m Cathy.
Killian keeps his mouth shut, not bothering to correct Roman’s mistake.
“She’s prettier than the other Katherine,” Roman says, and Killian stiffens.
“Poor, poor Katherine with a K. It’s a shame your father liked to name them the same.
I mean, I get it from a practical standpoint.
It’s much easier to swap out soulmates with the same name.
But it led to some unfortunate…” Roman looks at me directly, “mistaken identities.”
“What do you mean?” I ask Roman, too entirely lost to understand the pieces of the puzzle he is trying to lay down for me.
“Oh, right. I’m sure he didn’t tell you. The brothers got their Katherines mixed up. Katherine with a K was meant to be Calvin’s. Catherine with a C,” Roman looks at me pointedly, “was meant to be Kalon’s. But let’s be honest. You were really made for me.”
Something inside my heart shatters. Calvin. Brother.
Catherine was meant to be Kalon’s, which I’m pretty sure is Killian. My Cathy was meant to be with Killian. He’s her soulmate.
“She’s not Catherine,” Killian growls. “Catherine died. This is just my partner at the police station. She’s a mateless nobody.”
It feels like my heart has been ripped out of my chest and thrown to the floor to be crushed under the heel of everyone in the room.
“He’s right,” I say, having a hard time getting the words to come out despite knowing it’s in my best interest. “My name is Kira. Cathy was my partner. She died a few months ago.”
Roman’s eyes narrow as he slowly looks me up and down, disappointment rolling off him in waves. “What a pity. I was going to enjoy breeding you.”
“Breeding me? What the actual fuck?” I spit, feeling relieved to know that being the wrong one at least saved me from that future.
Roman scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking back at Killian.
“I’m not going to waste my time explaining things to a commoner.
But you,” he points his steepled fingers at Killian, “why did you come to visit me? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize you?
It’s been a few decades, but come on. The hair, the attitude.
Sure, you’ve gotten a few more scars.” He pauses, blatantly staring at the patch covering Killian’s missing eye.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t know exactly who you were the moment you stepped foot in the room? ”
Killian remains silent.
I need answers for my own mental stability, but I also need to survive this encounter, and from the looks of things, Killian isn’t who I thought he was. Roman's eyes are glued to Killian, and I creep my cuffed hands toward the top of my boot. The one with the knife hidden inside.
“I was hoping you would lead me to the other thirteen. Just like you lead me to the first Katherine.” Roman smiles when his words cause Killian to stiffen.
“They were always supposed to be mine. Both of them. That’s why my father had Dr. Ledger make them.
Your father only made you and your brother as tests. ”
“I know what I am,” Killian says, keeping Roman’s full attention while my hand slowly inches closer to its goal. “You’re lucky you had Nigel for a father.”
“Trying to poke at old scars, Kalon?” Roman laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. They stay dark, pointed, and set to devour. “Then again, I would much rather have my scars and be the king. You’re just a lab rat.”
I can feel Killian stiffen more than see him out of the corner of my eye. My hand crawls ever closer, just inside my boot, as I search for the hard metal of the knife. Just a few more minutes.
I hear a dog bark outside the lab, then the shots start. Roman whips his head around, using his chin to direct the guard to open the door and see what is going on. The moment he does, all the lights cut off, and I am plunged into absolute darkness.
There isn’t time to waste, and I fling myself off my chair, landing on the hard floor.
I reach my bound hands into my boot, feeling around until my fingertips finally brush against the smooth metal.
It takes some dexterous movement to pull the knife into my palms, but I don’t struggle to release the blade with a simple flick of my wrists.
It’s not much, but at least it’s something.
I can’t tell where Killian is, or Roman for that matter. But right now, I’m not sure I want either of them to know where I am. Instead, I stay low and make my way toward what I think is a wall.
The outline of the doorway illuminates for a brief second as a shot is fired from someone’s gun, giving me a general sense of orientation. My eyes adjust to the darkness, but it’s not enough to move with confidence.
Then the noise starts.
Loud. Heavy music blares, reminding me of the booby trapped building the night of the raid. I half expect smoke from a fog machine to roll in next, but it doesn’t. I hear voices shouting directives and orders.
Then I hear the clear voice of Roman outside the doorway. “Get the lights back on. Call the backup security. I don’t care if the phones are down. Get. It. Done.”
I use a trick I learned in the academy. I feel for the keyhole on the cuffs and find it in the middle. That’s good. They are the basic style.
I flip the blade, feeling the other side for the small pair of tweezers hidden inside.
I spread the prongs apart, crafting a tool I can use to stick into the keyhole.
Once inside, I wiggle it around until I can feel the slight resistance, then push until I hear a click. The double lock has been disengaged.
A rush of excitement runs through me, but I’m not done yet.
Next, I take the tweezers and carefully maneuver them into the arm of the cuffs.
There’s a slight space just big enough to wedge the metal until it won’t go any further.
From here, it’s just some maneuvering. I push down on the tweezers and the arm, wiggling and finessing the metal until it covers the teeth of the arm inside. Then I can pull the cuff arm free.
I’ve done it. I slip my hand free and don’t bother with the other cuff for now. At least I can move my hands independently. While I have the blade handy, I grab the hem of my beautiful dress and cut jagged strips from the bottom so it doesn’t trip me.
I finally get my movie moment when I grab my knife and cut into my palm. Blood wells as a hiss escapes from my lips. I pull the long sleeve of my dress up, revealing the skin of my arm while I dip a finger into the well of blood in my palm.
Bill Roman 919 Front St
I hope the message comes out legible, but I can’t exactly tell in the dark. I hold my small knife in my hand and slowly make my way toward the doorway.
Hopefully, my dark knight comes to my rescue.