Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #11
Today, Brett asked me why I’m never home anymore.
I couldn’t tell her the truth, no matter how much guilt I felt.
She just wouldn’t understand. How would she? She’s barely thirteen.
I have a meeting with Maverick the Phantom tonight—though I am a bit disappointed I had to cancel my plans with Hudson. He promised me it was important, and I have no reason to doubt him.
I’ll have more to write in the morning, I’m sure.
This is it. He’s finally going to tell me something about his organization. I try to school my expression, trying not to let on how interested I really am. “I know some things.” I shrug nonchalantly. “Most of the evidence has been lost or destroyed, though, so probably not much.”
Ghost nods, then turns his head toward the window, where he gazes out for a solid minute. “Yes, they do love their secrets…” He clears his throat, moving over to the bookcase and grabbing a small wooden box. He pries the lid open, pulling something small and silver out. The dog tag glints in the light as he stalks back to me, and I frown when he places it into my palm.
“This… it’s the same as the one you put in my apartment.”
He nods, manually closing my fingers around the thin piece of metal. “I wanted you to know something about me—I wanted you to understand my motives. I realize now you would have had no idea what to do with the information.”
He’s right. I’m more confused now than I was that morning. “What are you trying to tell me? What does this mean? ” I ask, gesturing to my closed palm.
Ghost sighs. “You are in possession of my identity. Where I come from, it is the highest form of treason. Especially because I willingly gave it to you.”
“Okayy… ”
He sucks his teeth, looking off to the side. “I wanted you to have something of mine—what few possessions I truly have. It was my way of telling you—of letting you know we are on the same side.”
This information shocks me to the core. “The same side? Of what?”
“Taking down the Sanctum, of course.”
I choke on my words, taking an involuntary step back, the dog tag clutched so tightly in my palm that my fingers turn white. “You— what? ”
“You heard me, darling.”
I blink wildly, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me. “I don’t understand…”
“All will be revealed in time,” he murmurs, closing the distance between us and placing his finger under my chin, pulling my gaze back to him. “For now, all you need to know is that you are safe. Here. With me.”
I shake my head, my eyes never leaving his face. “I don’t… why should I believe you? After everything you’ve done?—”
“The things I have done are a direct result of the organization. They were orders—nothing more.” He pulls away from me suddenly, his shoulders turning inward. “The things I have done… I regret. I wish to st op the same from happening to other young boys and girls.”
With his last word, my face pales. “ Girls? You mean, they…?”
He nods solemnly. “A few select ones are put into the Madam training program, and the rest…” He clenches his fist, body shaking with barely suppressed rage. “The rest, they sell off. I don’t think I need to detail what becomes of them.”
My stomach turns, and I fear I’m about to be physically ill. “I had no idea… I thought it was just high-profile assassinations. I had no idea about the…” I swallow, clutching my abdomen. “I had no idea about the children. ”
“There is no reason you would have. The Sanctum wants the FBI to think the worst they do is assassinate shitty politicians. And the bureau is so hung up on the how, they haven’t stopped to question why. Why the Sanctum targets these men, or why they would do it at all if there’s no profit in it.”
I take a shaky breath, my eyes wide as the pieces fall into place. “It’s a diversion. They’ve created a diversion from their real motives—money.”
He nods. “No doubt there’s some money in assassinations—enough pissed-off spouses and angry fathers who want to take out the scumbags and are willing to pay top dollar to have it done. But it pales in comparison to what the Sanctum makes from their trafficking operation.”
Ghost tilts his head as he takes in my expression. “Are you okay?”
“I think I need to sit down,” I breathe, my sight starting to tunnel. Ghost leads me over to the leather couches on the far side of the library, and I plop down a second before my knees give out.
“Thank you,” I murmur, reaching under my ass and attempting to move whatever’s poking me. I pull it out, frowning down at the neon green tennis ball in my palm. Its edges are frayed as if it's been chewed on, and when I close my hand around it, the ball compresses, accompanied by a squeaking noise. Does he own a dog? The thought is nearly too preposterous to believe, yet I’m looking at what is clearly a dog’s chew toy.
As I gaze at the tennis ball, another soul-crushing thought occurs. Venom. I don’t know where he is. Oh God, my poor sweet kitten. I’m the world’s worst cat mom in the universe. I was so concerned about getting out of this situation that I haven’t spared a thought for him. I have to find a way out of here. I have to ? —
“What’s the matter, darling? ”
I stand from the couch, fully prepared to die fighting this man to have a chance at getting to Venom. “I have to go.”
“I just told you, Brett. You are not leaving. You’re safe here with me.”
“It’s not about that!” I say, raising my cuffed hands over my shoulder like a bludgeon. “I have to protect Venom.”
Ghost tilts his head but makes no move to step forward and stop me. “You don’t need to worry about Venom.”
My heart sinks. No. No, no, no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
“What did you do to my cat, you sick motherfucker?” I snarl, the hatred in my voice surprising me. “If you laid a single finger on him, I swear to God I’ll?—”
“ Mew! ”
My eyes go wide as I glance over Ghost’s shoulder, noticing a giant white fluffy dog trotting into the room. And—more importantly—my sassy black fluffball hot on his heels.
“Venom!” I cry, unable to believe my eyes as I rush past Ghost toward the strange pair. “Venom, you’re okay!”
As soon as I’m within arm’s length, I crouch down and reach my cuffed hands toward Venom, nearly squealing in delight as he flops over and shows me his belly. He only does that when he’s really relaxed, meaning…
“Has he been taking good care of you, buddy?” I whisper, my smile widening as he purrs contentedly. After a few more scratches, he jumps up and takes off toward the couches. I shrug, turning my attention to the bear-sized dog sitting a few feet away from me.
Noticing my eyes on him, he trots over, his tongue lolling out of his mouth ever so slightly. Instinctually, I reach my hand out, running my fingers through his snow-white fur. He’s so soft. Almost as soft as Venom.
There’s a plop, and I look down in surprise to find the Great Pyrenees on his back, his legs hanging lazily in the air as he awaits belly scratches. I reach out cautiously, keeping my scratches light just in case he decides to change his tune and bite my face off. This guy could do it easily.
“What a traitor.”
I jerk my head up in surprise to find Ghost standing over us, his chest shaking lightly with a laugh. “It took me months to get him to do that for me. He must have good taste. ”
I blush, hanging my head to hide it from him. Focus, woman. Remember—he is a crazed, serial-killing sociopath.
Although, he did bring Venom to his home for me. He didn’t have to do that. If he wanted me to suffer, he would have left him at my apartment—or worse. Much, much worse. He can’t be that bad if he’s taken this good care of not one but two animals. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
“What’s his name?” I ask, continuing to run my fingernails across his chest.
“Rupert.”
I snort, thinking how much the name fits him. “Hey, Rupert,” I murmur, running my hands up his neck and behind his ears. Rupert opens his eyes lazily, and I notice the difference between them. He has one blue and one green eye, both equally as striking against his pure white coat.
“I like his eyes, too,” Ghost says, crouching down to join my efforts. “Though they are nowhere near as entrancing as yours.” Our hands brush for the briefest of moments, and even though his is gloved, I still blush.
I stand suddenly, the room spinning slightly from being so close to him. He even smells good. Slightly smoky with a hint of aftershave or possibly one of those made-up scents they’re always talking about in the romance books. Like sandalwood or cypress—whatever the fuck those are supposed to smell like.
Needing to get my emotions in check, I turn from him and walk toward the bookcase on the wall opposite of us. I stop a few feet from the towering shelves, pretending to inspect the section of anatomy textbooks at my eye level. Something gleaming catches the corner of my eye, and I turn my attention to a small gold-rimmed picture frame sitting on the shelf to my right. I reach for it, brushing my fingertips lightly along the gold-plated edges before palming it.
“You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”
I jump, nearly dropping the picture frame as Ghost’s mechanical voice rings out just above my right ear. “Shit! You scared me,” I huff, holding my hand to my chest while I place the frame back on the shelf.
Ghost reaches out, snatching the picture frame to his chest. “You may look, but please don’t touch,” he murmurs, placing it in the same spot it was before. After looking at it for a moment, he reaches out with an index finger, adjusting it ever so slightly so it’s at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Then he runs his gloved thumb gently over one of the glasses covering the portrait.
“I need some air. I’ll be back,” he mutters, gliding over to the archway after one last longing glance at the photo. “Don’t touch anything.”
I flinch as the scrape of a door makes its way to me, and I curl my arms around my torso as goose bumps rise along my skin. When I’m positive he’s not coming back, I step over to the bookcase and pick up the frame, careful not to make any noise as I pull the weathered photo from its frame. There’s a reason he didn’t want me handling it. I need to know why—what he’s hiding.
The worn photo pictures two boys—no older than ten years of age—with their arms wrapped around one another, matching grins spreading their cold-flushed cheeks. The one on the left holds a mischievous, all-knowing twinkle in his eye, with hair the color of the snow topping the mountain peaks in the background, his pale irises matching the gray skies above. The one on the right is his polar opposite, with an innocent smile and a smattering of freckles over his nose, which plays adorably with his bright baby blues and the carrot-red hair popping out from his hood .
I wonder why he’s held on to this for so long—who the boys in the photograph are. It clearly held some meaning to him. I just have to figure out what. After thinking for a moment, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I am in possession of the only known photo of the Phantom. The only problem is, I’m not sure which boy's face belongs to him. I’m assuming it’s not the one with carrot-red hair, but you never know.
I do know one thing, though.
I need to get out of here and show this photo to someone.
It takes me a good half an hour of searching the lair before I realize that Ghost has left the premises. I guess that scrape of stone I heard earlier meant he literally went to get some air. Which is good news for me because now I have time to figure a way out of this stone hell.
The first thing I try is the other two hallways branching off the main room. However, just like the library and computer room, I need one of Ghost wrist thingies to gain access. The next room I search is the basement, seeing as that door is still wide open, but there’s no exit there, either .
I’m just about to give up hope when I notice Rupert standing in front of the stone wall opposite the windows. He paws at the stone, and I frown, moving toward him slowly so as not to spook him.
“Do you know where the door is?” I ask. Rupert wags his tail slightly but does nothing else to indicate there is a door here.
And then I see it.
About four feet off the floor, there’s a slight divot in the stone, like something has touched that exact spot thousands of times. I look down at Rupert, who paws at the stone with a little whine. He shakes, causing his collar to jingle lightly, and my eyes catch the glint of his silver dog tag. Only, it doesn’t look like a regular name tag. It’s thicker—bulkier—as if there’s something inside it.
No. There’s no way.
Still, I reach down to Rupert's neck, unlocking his thick collar with slow, even movements. When he doesn’t try to maul me, I breathe a sigh of relief, and, to test it out, I press the tag to the place a keyhole would be on my handcuffs. To my immense surprise, the cuffs spring open as soon as the bone-shaped tag nears the metal. I straighten with a smile and press the dog tag to that divot in the stone.
I half expect nothing to happen—no one is that lucky. But I know I've done it when that telltale scrape of stone fills the air. I found a way out.
“Fuck yes!” I cheer, pumping my fist in the air while Rupert gives me a judging stare. I roll my eyes, turning from the door and racing to the library to find Venom. I scoop him into my arms, thanking the stars he remains calm as I race back to the exit.
Rupert cocks his head as I race out of the door, but he doesn’t try to follow. He almost looks sad, but I know that’s just a trick of the light. And anyway, I can’t think about that now. I have to get the fuck out of here before Ghost gets back.
Mindlessly, I race toward an opening in the tree line. The ground beneath me looks worn, and I quickly veer off the path in case he comes looking for me. It’s clear some kind of vehicle has traveled this way many times before, and as long as I stay off the actual road, I can follow it to civilization.
Hopefully, I remind myself, clutching Venom tight to my chest as I crash through the brush. Venom mews in fright, trying to squirm out of my grip, but I just hold him tighter as I continue racing through the woods. Branches and twigs snap at my face and bare arms, but I barrel through, numb to the pain. I have to get to the main road. If I can get there, I can flag down another car.
I’m not sure how long I keep going like that, but by the time I see the crest of a road in the distance, the sun is well past setting. I nearly trip over a root in my haste to reach the road, causing Venom to let out a distressed hiss. I console him while I run, watching my steps carefully until I’m only a few yards from the asphalt.
I look both ways down the two-lane highway, my heart thundering in my ears as I wait for a car to come around the bend. Please. Please, please, plea ? —
I race out into the road, holding Venom with one arm while I wave the other above my head like a madwoman. The rusted navy truck screeches to a halt a couple of yards away, and I race over to the driver’s side, probably looking like a crack addict.
“Please, I need help!” I cry, hoping they can hear me through the thick, tinted windows.
The man—no, boy—in the driver's seat rolls down the window, his brows pinched together in a frown. He can’t be more than sixteen, but I’ll take whatever help I can get.
“Is there a problem?”
“I’m Federal Agent Evangeline, and I need your help,” I whisper-shout, shooting a hurried look over my shoulder as if the masked Phantom will appear any moment. “Can you please take me into town? Or just give me your cell phone so I can call for backup.”
The boy drags his phone from his pocket, but instead of handing it to me, he shows me the screen with a shrug. “No service out here. I’m heading into town right now. You and your… friend are more than welcome to ride with if you?—”
Before he has the chance to finish, I yank open the door and hop into the passenger seat, strapping the seat belt around my waist firmly.
“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what I’ve been through,” I sigh, settling into my seat with Venom before smiling at the teenage boy. He’s a good-looking kid with jet-black hair and the most striking pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. However, the eerie smile playing on his mouth gives me the heebie-jeebies. But that could just be lingering paranoia from being fucking kidnapped.
“Looks like I came at just the right time, then,” he says, his face frozen in that creepy-ass smile. “Do you want to tell me what happened, Brett?”
“I honestly can’t disclose the details to civilians. But I will tell you—” I freeze, a horrifying realization hitting me. I didn’t tell him my first name.
“You took something that didn’t belong to you. Didn’t you?” he asks, that same eerie smile on his face.
The photograph is heavy in my pocket. “What did you say?”
“You really shouldn’t accept rides from strange men, especially in these parts,” the boy says, shooting me a smirk that has nothing but malice behind it. “Ghost doesn’t appreciate it when you disobey his orders, Brett.”
Something sharp pokes into the side of my neck, and then everything goes black.