Chapter 9
Damien
Earlier that day.
“Pretty sure it’s her. Haven’t spotted her yet, but I think it’s her.”
Vincent’s words echo in my mind as I drive into the tiny town my possession has chosen for her new life.
It’s a pretty good hiding place, I must say.
Nestled away in the mountains, the cell network spotty at best, the internet connection non-existent.
It’s not by any large highway, so the people who stop here must not do so on purpose, and their one desire is probably to find their way back out, as soon as possible.
In short, it’s the kind of place someone with a secret might feel safe in. Except my pet will never be safe from me.
It may have taken me eight months, but I’ve found her. At last.
Well, if what Vincent says is true.
I park a little bit outside of the hamlet and walk in, keeping a sharp lookout as I head down the dusty small road toward the main attraction in town: the diner. I don’t want her to see me. Not yet.
I enter the place and nearly hurl as the smell of old grease invades my nostrils. Not the kind of smell I want to experience at six in the morning.
A few regulars are clustered at the counter. Some of them are still nursing last night’s beer, others are gulping down black coffee. I sit a few stools down, waiting for the waitress to take my order.
She turns around, assaulting my vision with her flame-red hair that perfectly matches her over-drawn lips and long nails.
“Yeah?” she asks in a gravelly tone that tells me she smokes far too many cigarettes.
I train my eyes toward the plastic nametag pinned to her bosom. Wendy.
The name makes my chest constrict, reminding me of my pet and her favorite story. She once told me she liked to pretend I was the Peter Pan to her Wendy. But it was all a lie, I now realize, as I push away the cruel memory.
“Hi, Wendy,” I say, my cold voice trying to conform to a polite, informal way of speaking that won’t arouse suspicion. “I’ll have a coffee, please.”
She raises an eyebrow, and I see that I probably overshot my mark. The people who frequent the diner appear to be mostly truckers.
“Anything else?” she asks.
“Nope,” I grunt, and her features relax.
“Sure thing. Here you are, hon.”
She takes a pot of coffee and fills up a crusty cup with black, sludgy liquid.
I bristle at the term hon. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before. But I brush it off, narrowing my eyes at the filthy cup she sets before me.
“Whatcha doin’ in town?” she asks distractedly as she drags a moist rag over the countertop.
This is the opening I’ve been waiting for. I lean in confidentially.
“Looking for someone. Actually, perhaps you can help me.”
“Oh?” She stops cleaning and perks up, clearly interested.
I have a feeling she’s the kind of woman who spends her nights binging Law and Order.
“You a cop?” she questions.
My mouth twists into a slight smirk. “Something like that.”
She’s all ears now. She leans her elbows on the counter and stares at me. “Knew you weren’t from around here. You stick out like a sore thumb, hon. So, who’re you hunting for? What’s he like?”
“It’s a she,” I correct her. But she’s right about the hunting part. I definitely am hunting my pet.
Her eyes widen. “Damn. A criminal chick? What’d she do?”
As she gazes at me, breathless, I realize I’m going to have to give her something. She seems to be one of those people who feeds on gossip. After all, there isn’t much else to do in this three-house town in the middle of nowhere.
“She killed two men,” I state, taking a swig of my coffee and immediately regretting it.
Her mouth hangs open. “Two men? Ohhh, damn. And you think she’s hidin’ out here?”
“I don’t think. I know.” I choke another gulp of coffee down. “Any girls come to live around here in the past year?”
Her eyebrows furrow, and I can tell she knows exactly who I’m talking about, but is hesitating to answer. I’m going to have to throw her another bone.
“Long black hair, very skinny. You’d be doing the FBI a big service…”
“The… the FBI?” she gapes. “You an FBI guy?”
I don’t answer, merely gulping down more bitter coffee.
“Don’t you folks have a badge or something?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Sure,” I say easily. “But I told you. This is strictly confidential.”
“Hm.” She stares at me for a few moments, and I curse the TV show that’s clearly made her far too wary. But she seems to find what she was looking for in my eyes, and she relaxes. “Yeah, a chick came less than a year ago. Took a job at old Bill Henson’s gas station.”
“Bill Henson?” I repeat, my ears perking up at the sound of a man’s name.
Not that I could possibly expect my girl to have lived a fully man-free life since moving here. Still, the confirmation that she’s not only been around men but working in close proximity to one, roils my blood.
Especially when I hear her next statement.
“Now, that’s a pervert if I ever saw one. Always looking up women’s skirts. They say he’s got a secret camera hidden in the gas station bathroom. All us girls know not to go pee there.”
“Do they?” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. “The new girl knows it too?”
“Well…” She hesitates, drumming her long acrylic nails on the wooden countertop. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure. The thing is, none of us actually speaks to her.”
“Really? Why is that?”
Her eyes narrow once more as she takes me in suspiciously. “Well, she’s mute. Figured you’d know that, since you’ve been on her trail and everything.”
I drain the last bit of my coffee, a new wave of nausea rising in my throat as I accidentally swallow a few solid lumps of something along with it. “Mute, huh? Guess that’s her, all right.”
I force down the pang of pity that threatens to overthrow all my plans for punishing her. When I’d first met her, she didn’t speak much. But she did speak. And during the months we spent together, she really opened up.
She must have suffered a great deal to shut down so completely. Still, however much she’s suffered, I’ve suffered more. And I’m going to make her pay.
But first, someone else will pay. The guy next door. Bill motherfucking Henson.
“Thanks,” I say, leaving a 100-dollar bill on the table. “That’s for your discretion.”
She stares at the money in shock, then quickly grabs it and stuffs her in her bosom.
Snorting, I leave the diner and return to my car.
I’m parked on the side of the one road that leads into the hamlet.
Of course, I have her house address, but I prefer to stay back for the time being and observe.
If she works at the gas station, she must take this path every morning.
I recline on my seat, careful to shield my face from the view of passersby, although I doubt there will be many, and my windows are tinted anyway.
I take out a book and flit through the pages impatiently.
No cell network means no checking emails or dealing with the Devil bullshit that usually takes up my free time.
While I ordinarily like reading, I can’t get into it today.
All my attention is focused on the thought that at any time, my pet will come walking down the road.
The girl who’s responsible for the worst moments of my life, when I believed her dead. And for that, she will pay.
Clenching my jaw, I keep my eye fixed on my watch. Six thirty… seven… I wish I’d thought to ask that waitress what time she started her shift.
It’s eight a.m. when I finally see her walking down the street.
Seraphina. My girl with the violet eyes.
My breath seems to leave my body. I know she’s alive. I’ve known it for eight months. Eight months of relentless hunting.
But to see her materialize like that, in front of me… it does something to me.
A lot of things.
Waves of emotion crash down on me, strangling my chest, my throat. What we had was perfect. Beautiful. And she ruined it all. She fucking ruined it all.
It’s all I can do not to jump out of the car, throw her to the ground, sink my cock in her, remind her who owns her.
Because that fucking girl has clearly forgotten it.
And then, wrap her up in my arms, breathe in the sweet scent of her curly black hair, feel her lithe form tremble in my strong arms…
No. Never again. Nothing but pain for her from now on.
It’s all I can do to hold on to my anger. Sometimes, it’s all-consuming. Other times, a different kind of emotion springs up, and I have to crush it back down. I like to think of myself as a righteous man. I don’t let emotion get in the way. I dish out what is deserved.
And this girl deserves fucking hell.
It takes me a moment to calm down, for the anger and the pain and the new, overwhelming sense of lost that chokes me to ebb.
Yes, the loss. Because seeing her here, alive, living a life she’s created without me… it feels like I’ve lost her all over again.
Her heart may not belong to me anymore, but I sure as fuck will own the rest of her.
Taking in gulps of oxygen, I steady my hands and my thoughts, and look at her again.
Now that the thick veil of fury has dissolved somewhat, I manage to study her.
Her hair is pulled back behind her ears, but she’s made no attempt to subdue the kinks and curls. They look wilder than ever, especially on her stick-thin body.
I frown as I take in her appearance. She’s far too thin, and her eyes are sunken in, surrounded by deep purple shadows.
She’s lost a lot of weight, and she hasn’t been sleeping much.
Another little pang of worry bubbles up in my lower stomach, but I push it down again, willing anything that isn’t anger to disappear from my body forever.
She may be suffering from the choices she’s made, but that won’t save her from suffering at my hands.
There will be no forgiveness for her, not in this lifetime.
She walks slowly toward the gas station, her violet eyes clearly far away. I wonder what she’s dreaming of. Again, I have to restrain myself so I don’t jump out of the car right then and there, grab her and have my way with her.