Chapter 18. #3
“This guy isn’t a snob,” I warn Christian, “so be careful with anything you touch. His type will realize immediately if there’s a single thing out of place—” I look down at our shoes and I’m grateful at least that they’re not tracking anything through the house.
A stroke of luck.
The entire space unnerves me, and it's only when I step into the bedroom on the top floor that I find the reason why.
There aren’t any photos. Of scenery and famous places? Yes. But no loved ones, no hints to a personal life, or any life at all. Not a trace of personality or a glimpse of the person that supposedly lives here. Not even in the bedroom where he's supposed to sleep.
It’s the timeless house of a ghost.
Philip, if I had a choice, I'd truly choose not to fuck with you.
There’s only one room left, the one room in the whole house that's locked, but the moment I reach out to touch the knob, Christian is grabbing my wrist.
“No.” His expression is grim. “This one's dangerous. There's a system surrounding the room. Some type of security.”
I don't recall seeing that in the digital files.
Still, in moments, I'm pulling out my phone to call the best person I know to deal with this.
“Aster, we need an assist.”
“You're inside?” My brother is quick on the uptake.
“Yes, but there's a secure room. I'll need you to pull the power.”
“Hold tight.”
Christian purses his lips before leaning against the wall with his hand in his pockets, silent.
It takes a few minutes, but soon there's a clicking sound throughout the house and Aster’s voice is calm through the phone’s speakers, “We can stall the generator for five minutes. Work fast.”
Fucking—!
I get to work quickly on the door and I’m grateful for a lot of things in this moment.
Like Christian noticing the door’s security.
I admit, without his warning, this may have ended badly.
For the lock being the most basic of its kind, which allows me to get the door open in twelve seconds.
And for my ability to work under pressure.
Fuck Aster for raising my blood pressure so suddenly like this.
But the moment I open the door, I’m unable to take a single step inside.
There are photos everywhere. It’s almost a mimic of Xavier’s case-room which houses every scrap of data he accumulated over the course of five years—every single piece of information no matter how small or useless—the physical manifestation of his madness.
Our shadow, Philip Warren is the Harvester.
And he’s just the same. There are photos of all his victims. All that have come to pass… and even ones that will be—brand-new faces on every corner of the walls.
“Four minutes left,” Aster’s voice snaps me back into myself.
I use my phone to take photos as I step into the room, and Christian does the same.
We’re both quiet as we ruffle through Philip’s things, careful to put everything back in place after, just as we found it.
This is the one part of the house that stores every bit of Philip’s personality. A twisted type of darkness.
There are scrapbooks of each girl lining the shelves on the wall, diaries of some kind, detailing their habits, relationships and personalities, with the same erratic writing penned on every unblemished corner of each page:
‘You deserve better’.
‘I’ll save you.’
“We’ve got a serial killer with a saviour complex,” I mutter. “How charming.”
I rummage over the unfamiliar faces. Every year, the type of woman he chooses changes. The first year it was Caucasion women, blonde hair, brown doe eyes, small frame. The second, mixed-Korean women with jet black hair, full breasts, bold piercings.
This year, the first victim was an African American girl, with long black braids and a slender frame.
“Thirty seconds.”
I grab Christian and pull him out of the room sharply, closing the door just as an alarm blares through the house. It lasts barely a moment before going quiet, and the security systems click back into place.
“Thanks, Aster. We’ll be back soon.” I hang up on my brother with a sigh of relief, before turning to Christian with a raised brow. “How’d you know the room was secured?”
He places a hand on his shoulder with visible disinterest and rolls his neck, “I told you already. I could hear the hum of the system. The entire house is quiet,” he nods towards the door with a grim expression, “except for the walls surrounding this room.”
Ah. His hyper senses.
My lips tighten, and I hesitate for a single moment before following through with the words on my tongue, “So why is it that I don’t run from you and your superpower, but you ran from me immediately?”
Christian’s expression doesn’t change, but there is a flicker of surprise in his energy before he turns away, “Now’s not the time to talk about this. Besides, I told you the reason already.”
“Right,” I don’t make a motion to move as I put my hands in my pockets, “something about not wanting me to see your emotions anymore. It sounds rather convenient so why don’t you be honest instead?
” My lips form into a sneer as I tilt my head, “You’re running from me because you think I’ve lost my mind. ”
Christian’s only gotten three steps away from me when he stops, “What?”
“You don’t believe me.” I’m only half-sure that’s the reason, but any type of goading is bound to give me a clue, “You’re questioning my sanity.”
He snorts but he makes no motion to turn around, “I knew you were insane from the start. If it was just that, I’d have run from you long ago.”
That checks out. “Then—”
“I don’t want us getting any closer than we already are,” he cuts me off cleanly without looking back, “It’s unnecessary. I’m only here to listen to your orders and bring value to the team.”
I don’t doubt that’s true. I approach him slowly, “Then why can’t you look me in the eye and say that?”
“Why can’t you just take me at my word?” he bites back with new irritation. “Do you have to look at people’s emotions constantly to trust them?”
How exactly do you think I survive in this world, estrellito?
One more step forward and I’m close enough that if I lean forward, I could sink my teeth into the base of his neck, where his hair curls deliciously. I only have about an inch on him but he doesn’t move away from me, even though I’m sure he can feel my breath on his skin.
I hate that even now I can’t get a single reaction out of you.
If I lick you right now—
Nip your ear—
Drag my tongue along your skin—
Sink my teeth into your flesh—
Will you finally open your eyes to me?
Should I test what Ryan taught me earlier today?
Are you going to make me force your eyes open, estrellito?
... No.
I shouldn't treat you like that trash Ryan.
At least not yet.
I can be civil. For now.
My fingers close around his wrist gently, and I lean forward to whisper in his ear, “Then am I the only one of us who wants to be closer?”
He stiffens and the moment he does, my teeth nip the tip of his ear.
I could swear he stops breathing for a single moment, but there isn't a single indication he's felt anything at all.
.. even when the scent of him has already enveloped me and the exposed skin of his collar is making my mouth water.
I pass my tongue along the edge of his ear before closing my teeth around his earlobe and still, there isn't a single sound or movement.
What a tough cookie you are.
I can't say I care how long it'll take.
The only way our story ends is with me inside you.
I won't give you away to anyone.
I’m content with seeping into your defence slowly. Like a poison.
Until you become a monster like me.
I sink my teeth into the base of his neck and he shudders. My cock is so fucking hard in my pants and when I grind it against his ass, it's a shiver of pleasure zipping up my spine.
Do you want to run? Do you feel disgusted?
Even if you do, I'm sure your emotions are so fucking pretty.
“I don't care if you don't want me to see, or how far away you want me.” I lick the back of his neck before stepping back. “So keep running. Do your best.”
I brush past him, but the moment I take one step down the stairs, his fingers are closing around the hem of my shirt.
“Wait,” his voice sounds shaky. “What—what was that?”
“What was what?”
“That,” he sounds shaken. “Why... Why do you want to be close to me?”
I just shoved my dick against your ass and these are the types of questions you’re asking me? It’s a new irritation beneath my skin knowing how dense you really are. I turn with a half scowl, “You’re really asking that after—”
My words are stolen when I finally see his face.
My heartbeat falters and I can’t seem to move.
Christian averts his eyes like he usually does, but this time there’s a blush to his cheeks I’ve never seen before, “Explain it to me. You’re my boss. There should be distance—”
“Is this why you ran from me?” My eyes are pinned to his energy. Colours I swore would take me weeks to bring to the surface are already there, shining brightly.
Affection. Lust. Warm tones that don’t suffocate or blind me.
No. I tilt my head. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. There’s a chance I’m hallucinating from the stress.
His mouth snaps shut as he stares at the floor and this time there are more colours—doubt, anxiety. But still, those two are there in the background, like a wallpaper that won’t be scratched off, varying shades of purples and pinks.
“You’re my boss,” he repeats it as though he’s trying to convince himself and releases my shirt. I can already tell he’s trying to retreat, “There should be distance—”
The moment he’s stepped back I've swung my ankle behind his. He winces as he hits the ground. By the time he’s gathered his bearings, I’ve boxed him in on the floor, and his lips hover so close beneath mine, I could dart my tongue out and lick them.
“What are you doing?” He glowers but the heat in his eyes is unmistakeable.
“I have to make sure I'm not hallucinating.”
It’s such a pretty fucking colour.