Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
GHOST
The Code: Rule #3
Remove yourself from all worldly attachments. (To disobey this rule is to welcome misery and misfortune upon yourself and others).
I tap my wrist against the wall, listening to the telltale scrape of the heavy stone as my door slides open. I flick on the entry light, squeezing my eyes against the change from the shadows. There's a rustling noise, then the familiar scrape of nails against stone before something large and fluffy barrels into my chest.
I step back to steady myself, a smile tipping my lips as Rupert, my Great Pyrenees, happily laps at my mask. Technically, I’m not supposed to own any animals—or show affection to any living thing. But the Sanctum can fuck right off with that rule.
They weren’t the ones who came across the pitiful pup, half dead in a dirty puddle on the side of the road. They didn’t see what it was like when he was strong enough to lift his head, and the first thing he did was lick my ungloved hand in thanks. I would take every one of them down before I let them take Rupert from me, and he knows it. He loves me for it.
How do I know? He does this every single time I come back. It’s the damnedest thing—it doesn't matter if it’s two minutes or two hours. He is always this happy to see my ugly mug.
“Hey, buddy,” I cheer, pulling off my gloves and giving him some of his beloved head pats. I run my fingers through his thick white fur, wishing I could feel the texture. Rupert has a beautiful coat, and Orion always says it’s soft.
“Soft…” I murmur, rubbing the long white strands between my thumb and forefinger. I like soft. It’s a much nicer word than sharp or coarse.
After licking every inch of my face, Rupert pushes off me, letting out a little boof noise and taking off in the direction of the kitchen. I follow dutifully, cocking my head as he proceeds to stand next to his empty food bowl.
“Boof!” Rupert chuffs, fixing those two different colored eyes on me. “Boof, boof!”
I cross my arms. “I know for a damn fact that Orion fed you. You can’t pull that shit on me.”
Rupert huffs, plopping his massive derriere onto the floor with a look that screams fuck you, Dad.
I roll my eyes, grabbing a few treats from the container on the counter. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” Rupert’s mouth spreads into a dopey smile, his tail moving a mile an hour as I offer the bacon-wrapped morsel to him. Snatching it from my palm, he runs off to the living room to devour his prey on his dog bed in peace.
“You’re welcome!” I call after him, laughing as he lets out another disgruntled huff before promptly ignoring me. With a sigh, I make my way to my computer lab, sitting down with a huff as I click open my folder on Brett. It's not the first time I’ve looked over her files, but this is the first time I actually feel my heart stutter as I pore over the gruesome details. Reading about her fucked-up childhood always sends a swell of rage through my veins, and I end up having to stop minutes later when the urge to send my computer flying becomes too much to bear.
Taking a steadying breath, I focus, reminding myself that reacquainting myself with my obsession is necessary. When I’m sure my will is fortified, I let my eyes move across notes in her files. The first time Brett appears in the system is a month shy of her thirteenth birthday, when her mother mysteriously disappeared from the face of the earth. After a few months of trying to find her with no leads, social services knew they had to find someplace permanent for Brett to live.
Her father, Bill “Billy” Thorpe, died in a trucking accident when Brett was just an infant, and neither her parents had any relatives fit enough to take in a young child, so the foster system was the only viable option left for her. After being bounced around group homes for a few months, she finally landed with a family who seemed like they were serious about adoption. Things were fine for a year or so, but as soon as Brett entered high school, her perfect record finally started to muddy. Fights at school. Suspension after suspension, followed by bi-weekly behavioral therapist appointments. These appeared to help her for a while, but after a few months, the fights began again.
Instead of outright expelling Brett, her foster parents agreed to pull her out of school and enroll her in an online program so as not to tarnish her future reputation or hinder her access to colleges. Which seems like a fine solution—on the surface.
Delving into the records of her therapist sessions told otherwise. Even though Brett no longer had a school-appointed one, her foster mother thought she should continue with the family’s private therapist. Although she wasn’t getting into fights at school anymore, Brett found a myriad of other ways to behave badly. Getting caught sneaking in the house at all hours of the night, her eyes bloodshot and breath reeking of alcohol. Stealing money from her foster father’s wallet, getting into screaming matches with them and having a tantrum about practically every little thing—or so Nancy and Craig Porter alleged.
Based on Brett’s statements—which the therapist and Nancy stupidly wrote off—her foster father was a pedophiliac monster. Craig had been grooming her for years, waiting for the day Brett let her guard down enough to fill his sickest desires.
He never got that chance, though. Shortly after Brett’s sixteenth birthday, Craig Porter had an unfortunate hiking accident. When Craig failed to reappear after his usual Saturday hike, a missing person alert was issued. An entire search party combed the hiking trails of Moriton forest, desperately searching for Craig Porter, but after two days of nothing, the fire to find him was smothered by the knowledge that they were likely searching for a corpse.
Weeks later, an unlucky hiker came across the body on one of the main trails near the edge of the forest—despite the fact that very area had been combed over hundreds of times in the search for Craig. The police report states his body had been mangled in such a way that suggested this man endured the worst possible pain before he died. When they performed the autopsy, they found his balls in his stomach, his cock stuck down his windpipe, cutting off all oxygen—and, ultimately, the ruled cause of death.
Asphyxiation by dick. What a terrible way to go.
I skim over the rest of the files, seeing how she filed for emancipation at sixteen, found a shack in the poverty-stricken portion of Moriton with scraps she had been saving, got her GED and pulled her act together enough in community college to finish the last two years of her degree at Kantor University, the leading institution in criminal justice. A few years after graduation, she got snapped up by the Moriton branch and put under the direct guidance of Jim Peterson. A few months later, and boom… she’s assigned to one of the most restricted cases in the history of the bureau. She’s clearly capable and brilliant, but these cases usually require years of politicking and crafty brownnosing before being awarded.
Strange. Very strange…
“Ghost?”
“Hm?” I turn in my seat, Brett’s files forgotten as I eye the fresh claw marks along Orion’s forearms. “What are those from?”
“What are what from?” He tucks his arms behind his back, trying to look innocent. No attitude today… he must want something.
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me I have to get you another rabies shot.”
“What? No! Of course not… well, probably not. The point is?—”
“ Orion.”
“What?” His lips tip in a sheepish grin. “Listen, I just came to ask if you’d know where to find any live worms.”
“Every time we have a conversation, I think it’s finally going to end normally. Silly me,” I groan, holding my head in my gloved palms. “What do you need worms for?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I suppose not,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Try the Night Market. I sent my friend there once who was on a similar quest for pigeon food.”
“Thanks a million!” Orion turns, racing down the hall before I have a chance to question him any further on it. I just have to hope he hasn’t wrangled a vulture or something else equally riddled with disease.
A minute later, I hear the hatch slam closed, and I turn back to my computer, pulling up my feed on Brett’s apartment. The black-haired beauty is lazing in bed, a bag of greasy Chinese food lying on her nightside table and a book in her palms. Her brave attack cat is at the foot of the bed, staring directly at the place I’ve hidden the camera like he knows I’m watching. He rarely blinks, and those big yellow eyes are full of pure, unadulterated hatred.
What a little asshole.
I chuckle to myself, bringing my eyes back to my pretty little obsession. With her eyes trained on the page, she reaches into the bag and pulls out a fortune cookie. A few seconds go by before she dogears the page and turns her attention to the treat. She greedily rips the plastic, a little smile playing at her lips as she breaks the cookie in half. She pops the first half into her mouth as she pulls out the paper note, reading over her fortune carefully. I’m not sure what it said, but it must be something good because as soon as she’s done, she smiles and eats the second half.
Brett breaks into a little dance as she picks her book back up, and my chest squeezes with an emotion I haven’t felt in years—no, decades.
She’s going to ruin my fucking life, isn’t she?
I don’t have time to think about it because as soon as the thought forms, Brett does something even more adorable—she starts kicking her feet. Whatever she just read has her reverting to a childlike state, and I mentally kick myself for not adding audio surveillance—because dear God, I think she’s giggling.
So. Fucking. Cute.
I pull the phone within an inch of my nose, desperately trying to make out the title of this book. I have to know what she just read that made her react like that. I need to know.
The cover is innocent enough with pretty little pink and blue flowers. A romance book? I squint, trying again to read the title. The Best… Week? Seems in nocent enough. With a shrug, I close out of her feed and dial Orion.
It rings a few times before the call finally clicks through, and I’m met with a slightly murderous tone. “What do you need?”
Well, that good mood lasted longer than I thought it would. “So testy,” I say with a chuckle. “I need you to get something for me, since you’re already out purchasing your… worms.”
A sigh is the only response I get.
“Fantastic. So I need you to go to that twenty-four-hour bookstore and?—”
“Wait. You called me up because you need a fucking book? Just order it online.”
I sigh, clenching my hand tighter around the phone. “Not just any book. The Best Week. It’s a romance, I think. And I need it tonight. It’s very important.”
Silence. “Orion?”
“Yeah. I heard you. Just debating whether it’s time to put you to pasture.”
I roll my eyes, starting to lose my patience. Fucking teenagers. “Just… get the book.”
“Yeah, whatever. Be there soon.” The line goes dead, and I roll my eyes again.
Fucking. Teenagers.
A few hours later, the scrape of the front door alerts me to Orion’s arrival. I jump up from my workbench, setting down my tools lightly before heading out to meet him. The first thing I notice is Orion’s bright red face. The second is the way he’s holding the book—pinched between a thumb and forefinger as if he expects it to come to life and bite him.
“Orion?”
Orion throws the book down on the small table by the door, casting an accusatory finger at the pretty flowery novel. “Why— why would you send me out to buy that?”
I tilt my head curiously. “It’s just a romance book, Orion.”
He shakes his head, his eyes going wide. “No, man. It’s not. It’s like… fucked-up shit in there.”
“Did something happen at the bookstore?”
Orion shakes his head, refusing to look at me. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He shuffles off, his cheeks still a bright shade of red as he mumbles something about the bookstore workers laughing at him.
I stare after him, my brows coming together. What the hell is in that book? I palm the floral cover, running my gloved thumb over one of the peonies on the corner. I bet this is… smooth. No, not smooth. Silky.
I nod proudly as I pry the book apart at the center. My eyes take in the very first passage, and I immediately snap it closed. Holy. Fuck. This is… this is sick. Out of curiosity, I open it to another chapter, only to find another passage with some depraved scenario.
Grinning, I snap the book closed and pull out my phone, tapping into Brett’s feed. I watch the book in her palms, gauging which chapter she’s on before flipping through my own copy to the same one. My eyes take in the passage greedily, my smile growing. Brett, darling… you’re a freak, aren't you?
Suddenly, she places the book down beside her and reaches into her bedside drawer, pulling out the thick pink vibrator. My heart leaps at the sight of my release caked to the walls, knowing exactly where it’s about to end up.
With one hand, she brings the vibrator below the covers, and I hiss under my breath, my grip tightening around the device as her eyes roll back. If there was ever a time for X-ray vision…
I’m frozen as I watch Brett pleasure herself, memorizing every gentle twitch of her mouth as she brings herself closer to release. Her body wiggles beneath the covers, and adrenaline rushes through my veins as I picture my bare hands on her skin.
I bet she feels sublime. Only the best-sounding sensations—silky and soft all at once.
My free hand twitches, and I bring it down to adjust my growing cock. From experience, I know if I leave it like it is, I might damage it against the zipper of my jeans.
I continue watching Brett, wishing I could experience her. Wishing I could shove my cock deep inside her and bring out those expressions myself.
Suddenly, Brett arches back into the mattress, her mouth open wide in a silent scream as her entire body quakes. I hiss, releasing the button and zipper on my jeans as the thrumming in my veins becomes too much. I palm my cock, running my hand across the length as Brett’s orgasm peaks. Though I can’t feel my hand stroking, a phantom pressure builds in my lower half, and with a few more passes, I explode all over the screen.
“Fuck,” I curse, dropping the softening organ and zipping it back into my pants. Now that the fog is clearing, I focus back on Brett, who’s lying spent staring at the ceiling, a euphoric little smile tipping the corner of her mouth. “So beautiful,” I murmur, running my thumb lovingly over the cum-smeared screen. “Such a beautiful, ferocious little thing.”
Brett swings her arm over lazily, throwing the vibrator back into its drawer before snapping the light off. The night vision switches on, and I watch the green-tinted screen with greedy eyes. Brett rolls back and forth frustratedly for half an hour before switching the light back on and reaching back into her bedside drawer. My heart jumps with anticipation, then quickly falls as she draws out a small white pill bottle. Ripping the cap off, Brett pops one in her mouth before flicking the light off, flopping back against her pillow with what looks to be a huff.
I cock my head, wondering how I missed the bottle when I was in her apartment earlier. Just the lingering scent of her in her apartment was enough to throw me off my game. Not good. Very not good.
I continue watching her like the demented fucker I am, that tightening sensation growing in my lower abdomen. She tosses for a good half hour before finally going still—so still. The kind of stillness only achieved from a powerful sedative.
Darling Brett takes sleeping pills. How convenient.
I stalk into my bedroom with a smile growing on my face, the romance book gripped tightly at my side. Flopping onto the bed, I place my phone gently onto the pillow to my right.
It’s almost like… like she’s sleeping next to me now.
I’m not sure whether that thought is depressing as fuck or just plain fucked, but I’m not spending any more time thinking about it. Keeping the phone where it is, I pry open the cover of the novel. My brows come together as I’m greeted with a list of words—words like somnophilia, bondage, and breath play.
I slam the book closed, staring hard at its innocent floral cover. Well, that’s a case for false advertisement.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I flip to a third of the way through, letting my eyes pore over the passage of dirty words and fucked-up scenarios that have me wishing I had a string of pearls to clutch.
Good God. This is fucking porn. This is porn, right?
I flip a few more pages and find myself deep in the woes of a couple on the cusp of a devastating breakup. Whoa—where the fuck did the horses come from? And now there’s a crew of bandits kidnapping her?
I flip some more, finding my smile growing the more insight I’m getting into Brett.
Darling Brett has a thing for the villain, I see …
I promptly flip back to the first page, pressing a button on the side of my mask that will make it easier to read in the dusk. The clock on my phone tells me it’s two in the morning, which is just enough time to finish this dense thing before Brett wakes to get ready for work.
And I certainly don’t want to miss shower time.
With a contented sigh, I remove my gloves, pressing one bare fingertip to the part of the screen where Brett lies. For the rest of the night, we stay like that.
Just two fucked-up peas in a pod. Reading the same fucked-up romance book.
That’s got to count for something, right?