12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Naomi
I slide down the dark oak door until I’m sitting on my ass. I put my face in my hands and pull my knees up.
What the fuck is happening to me?
How am I now feeling sympathy for the asshole who kidnapped me? Am I understanding why he kills? I fucking can’t! I scream out in my head as the tears start spilling. He’s the one who killed my mother. I just know it. But then why wasn’t there a trophy from that night? I touch the white gold necklace. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper. “I want to avenge you, but I feel so lost!”
My mother was brutally murdered after a long shift one night when her car broke down. She was chased and tortured for hours. I usually went to sleep before she came home, knowing that if there was an emergency I could go next door.
I open my eyes sleepily and start to stretch, wondering what time it is. Mom usually wakes me up for school. Maybe she slept in? It's rare, but it does happen. It was probably a rough shift, I guess I should give her a break. But Mrs. Potts said I’d get detention the next time I’m late.
I softly tiptoe to her bedroom, wanting to scare her awake with a grin on my face. When I get there though, my grin turns into a frown—her bed’s made. That’s weird.
Maybe she’s getting ready? I head to the bathroom, but the door is wide open with no one inside. “Mom!” I scream out, but there’s no response. That’s when I notice how quiet the house is. My heart starts beating out of my chest at this point. I start wildly searching from one room to the next, screaming, “Mommy!”
She’s not here. Where could she be? I pause to look at the clock. In bright red numbers it says 9:17 AM. Something must have happened, she’d never leave me alone like this. With tears running down my cheeks, I run to the front door so I can go talk to the neighbor. This has to be an emergency.
When I open the door, I find a police officer—hand in mid-air as if he was about to knock. He has a sad smile on his face as he looks down at me. “Hi, sweetie. Is your dad home?” he asks.
“I don’t have a dad,” I say, choking back tears. “Where’s my mom?”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says.
Our neighbor opens the door at that moment. “Naomi? What’s going on?” she asks.
I shove past the officer and cling to her waist. “Where’s my mom, Becca? I lost my mom. Or maybe Mom got lost?” She puts her hand around my back to comfort me. Turning to look at the officers, but refusing to let go of her, I ask, “Can you help find my mom?”
A female officer comes toward me and kneels to be the same height as me. “Naomi, I’m sorry, but your mom’s not coming.”
“No! No! No! Where is she!?” I start screaming and sobbing.
Becca’s hand goes to cover her mouth as she chokes back tears. “What happened?”
“I’m the social worker. We can only share with the next of kin,” the woman wearing normal clothes next to the officers says.
“She has no other family, it’s . . . it was just her mother,” Becca says as she continues to rub my back.
Someone starts to whisper to Becca, “Some hikers found her this morning—”
Everything fades to black as my world shatters into a million pieces.
It took me years to find out the details of what happened, and even longer to figure out who did it. While the police tried their best, they were overworked and couldn’t allocate the manpower to look into it long term. They tried for months because the female officer took a liking to me. The only evidence found was a bloodied handkerchief with an M stitched on it. We thought we had something, hoping my mom made her assailant bleed. Sadly, the DNA match was for her. The last time I saw that officer was when she gave me my mom’s necklace, which I’ve never taken off since. It’s a simple heart locket with a picture of both of us inside.
The Adams family took me in and gave me a home in Long Island, but it was miles from where I grew up. My mother and I lived above the crazy hustle and bustle of New York City in a small, slightly rundown apartment. I appreciate everything they did for me, even though I was a nightmare to them when I first got to their home. They put me in therapy and paid for all the best schools. I got my act together, not for me but for my mom. She would want better for me.
But I don’t think she’d like who I turned into—a killer. I had to be as ruthless as I could be to find who hurt her and bring justice once and for all. Quinnly’s grandfather asked us when I was twenty-seven and she was twenty-six if we wanted to join the Mortes Ostium. He knew how hard I worked to find my mother’s killer, and he thought being part of it could help. Paps wasn’t wrong, because a year after being nominated I started piecing it all together. That’s why I said yes and joined. But a structured society with rules was not Quinnly’s vibe. She said no so she’d be able to do whatever she wanted.
“Why do you think Paps waited so long to ask us, Quinn?”
Quinnly shrugs her shoulders as she continues to stare into her closet, picking out what to wear to the New Year’s Eve party. “Maybe he didn’t think we were ready yet.”
The door creaks open. “Actually, I did.”
“Paps!” we both shout, startled.
“Naomi, my sweet child, you lost so much of your childhood in loss and grief. I wanted some of your young adulthood to be more normal.”
“That wasn’t your choi—” I start to say, but see the pure love and thoughtfulness in his eyes.
“I sure enjoyed it,” Quinnly says as she finally picks a handful of outfits to try on from her closet.
I roll my eyes smiling. “So did I. Thanks, Paps.”
Paps smiles at me warmly. “And now you can take some time to find your answers. Both are important, Naomi. The truth of those old mysteries, but also the need to live for your present. Never forget that.”
Whoever killed my mother used the Society to bury the crime. But piece by piece it started to point in the direction of the Morel family, and finally Killian. The DNA was never my mother’s, but a cover-up. The Society was able to give me DNA evidence from the crime because it was a kill used to qualify for an invitation to the Mortes Ostium Ball. I was surprised they gave me the evidence, considering it was one of our own. But, I used one of the three unconditional requests I am able to make of the Mortes Ostium after initiation, so they didn’t have much choice. For my mother, I would’ve bargained away all three.
Before I wasn’t even a blip on Killian’s radar, I was the one stalking him—with the help of Quinnly of course. We stalked him in every way we could and quickly realized that he’s smarter than he seems. To the world, he’s a playboy rich kid who got handed everything in life. But none of that’s true. While he does sleep around and indulge in some vices, he earned everything he has by building his family's tech company back from nothing after his parents' passing. His uncle never had the right mindset for business and let the whole thing crumble.
Even though he’s at the top of his game, it became clear that he’s lonely. That’s when Quinnly knew that we had to use me as bait. He needed someone to share all of it. We concocted the plan, but it needed to look like he found me and not the other way around. In the process of trying to figure out what he likes, I realized he’s so similar to the side of me I always hide from the world, my darker side. Killian intrigued me because even from afar I could tell there was more to him than meets the eye.
We waited to make our move so we could build up the paper trail of this “darker me” all over my life, so when the time came he would find me. And then I would be the one he couldn’t resist looking into—stalking. I knew he was watching me, and I knew with time he would come. But it all needed to look like he was in control and that when he came for me it was a surprise.
“Ooooo, he’s cute,” Quinnly says.
I take in the photo of Killian Morel in an online magazine, talking about how influential the billionaire tech mogul is. He was able to rebuild his family's previously thriving million-dollar business into a billion-dollar corporation with their hands saturated in the market. You can’t go anywhere without hearing about the Morels, they're a household name.
Killian has tan skin, with dark brown hair and deep green eyes. While I’m not short by any means, he should be at least half a foot taller than me. His eyes are piercing into my soul even though it's only a magazine cover. “He’s alright, nothing special,” I say, as I throw the magazine in the back of the car.
“Mhmmm.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes at her. “Look over there. He’s coming out with his posse.”
Killian is surrounded by a small group of celebrities and a pretty blonde draped all over him. It sets a twinge of something through me—I can’t tell what. She’s all wrong for him though. “Looks like he’s having a good night. Maybe that’s what you need! To get laid. You’ve been a bit crabby.”
“I’m not crabby,” I whine. “And I got laid two weeks ago!”
“See? That’s a long time!” She twirls a switchblade in her hands.
While we were distracted by my sex life, he got the blonde latched on to some other guy and is now walking in the opposite direction. All the people he was with climb into a limousine.
“Guess he didn’t want to get laid either, Mi. Looks like you have a lot in common.”
A girl stumbles out of the bar and groans as she falls down. “Fuck!” It catches not only our attention, but also Killian’s.
“Fuck! He won’t be able to walk away from an opportunity like this,” I say, staring between him and the girl. She looks so much like my mother. Dark hair, light skin. Just his type. “I don’t know if I can watch.”
He turns around and walks back over to her. “Are you okay, miss?” he asks as he helps her get up.
“Yeah, I just had one too many and my keys slipped and I fell trying to catch them. I’m just a—” she rambles until she sees him. “Oh!”
Killian gives her the biggest grin as she recognizes him.
“I’m gonna have to intervene if he tries something.”
“Let me help you,” he says, as he takes his phone and quickly dials a number. “Change of plans, pick me up at the bar. Yeah. Thanks.”
“Mi, wait!” Quinnly grabs my hand as the other grabs the door handle.
“Do you come here often? I would think this bar is beneath you,” the girl asks.
Killian laughs. “Never believe everything you read.”
“Does that mean I shouldn’t believe that you're single too?” She licks her bottom lip.
“Barf,” I say as I let go of the door handle.
A Honda rolls up right then, and Killian opens the back door. “It would take a lot for a man like me to settle.”
She gets into the car. “Then how about just some fun?”
“Have a good night. Axel, please take her home.” He smiles—a breathtaking, reassuring smile— and gently closes the door before the girl can say another word.
“Guess he doesn’t always go for the kill,” Quinnly says as we see him walking away.
I shrug, but I’m confused as to why he let her go. She was prime for the taking. “That’s unusual in sociopaths . . .”
It seems that there’s more to Killian Morel than meets the eye.
We planted seeds throughout my life until we set up the meet-cute. And it all worked like a charm until the moment he kidnapped me, kicking us into the final phase of the plan. We assumed he’d want to strike at some point before the societal ball. He’s very traditional in some ways, and we figured he’d want me to attend with him as a last-minute initiate. Little does he know, I’m already a member. We were getting a bit antsy the closer we got to the date, but here I am in his home and more conflicted with my emotions than I ever thought. It’s not as black and white as it seemed.
“What the heck is Shameless Securities?” Quinnly asks me.
I narrow my eyes, thinking.
“That sounds interesting,” I say as I lean closer to her computer screen. We’re both researching more on Killian. There’s a website pulled up for some kind of not-for-profit called Shameless Securities.
“It looks like it’s security services for those who can’t afford it and live in impoverished neighborhoods,” she says, scrolling through the website.
“Stop,” I request. Reading the mission statement on the screen, it says: “Affordable security services for those shamed due to their uncontrollable circumstances. Poverty should not equate to a lack of safety.”
“Wow, I never expected him to do such a saintly thing,” Quinnly remarks.
I smile quizzically. “Not at all. If anything, I thought he’d maybe do something like this as a publicity stunt. This is under a shell company of his right?”
“Yup,” she says, popping the P. “Looks like it.”
“It’s interesting he doesn’t want any credit.” I gnaw at my inner cheek. This conflicts with the image I have in my head of him being a completely violent, rich asshole. “They even have free services for those who really need it, but can’t afford even the lowest payments.”
“Are we sure he’s your guy?” she asks.
“I-I think so.” I shake my head. “No, I know so,” I say, determined. But the more I learn, the more conflicted I feel. This version of Killian Morel could be someone I’d actually like. Cold hard evidence doesn’t lie though, right?
What I didn’t expect was to enjoy his company. To like talking to Axel. To enjoy the comforting darkness that surrounds all of us—it being a solace instead of gloom. I always scoff it off, but Killian wasn’t wrong, there’s this cosmic thread pulling us together that I can’t seem to control.
Now that he’s shown me that stupid fucking dungeon of his, I’m even more confused. He doesn't kill without reason. But what was his reason for my mom? There wasn’t any evidence of her in his trophy room. So what the hell is going on? Did the Mortes Ostium steer me wrong? The DNA and financial paper trail made sense. All the payments that were made from shell companies to the dirty cops. No matter how many different connections they made to hide the link, I saw it. It all links back to the Morels.
Mom, help me. Show me a sign of what to do. I plead in my head. Catching my reflection in the mirror from across the room, I gasp. I look disheveled and distraught—all the things I want to hide from the world. It’s what I imagine my mom felt when she was being chased.
“Fuck,” I say as I realize.
Am I the ultimate trophy?