Chapter Eight #2
“I’m going to sue you and the department.”
Lula points down the empty street. “If you take this street another block down, you’ll see the department. Have a great day.” She gives him a big, bright smile—another item of hers that belongs to me—and walks away, her ponytail swaying from the saunter of her hips.
“That bitch.” He pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his jeans of any dirt.
I’m torn about what to do. Do I follow Lula? Or do I follow the man who just threatened my mate and touched her?
Growing more irritated by the second, I decide to follow him. From the looks of it, Lula can protect herself, which has me puffing out my chest with pride. I know I can protect her in every way, and that’s what I have been doing for us. I hope she will understand when she learns the truth.
But watching her handle herself like she just did makes me wonder how she will handle me—if she dares to try.
I come out of the tree line, holding my bag of bones in one hand and clenching my fist with the other. So many different ways to kill him are coming to mind.
Do I kill him with my bare hands? Torture him? Kill him by his greatest fear? Do I make it last? Or do I make it quick? The faster I’m done, the sooner I can go see Lula or kill another suspect from her case files.
I’ve been dying to make myself at home in the spare bedroom.
I wonder if she’s caught on to my plan that everyone in her life is a target.
Stepping out from the tree line, I follow behind him, my shadow growing next to me, waiting to engulf him in nightmares. I am curious what a man like him fears. His scent tells me he puts on a brave face, but really, he’s scared of everything.
Which only makes my mouth water for the taste of how strong his fear will be. I bet I’ll get drunk off his false bravado, swaying to the screams I’ll force from him.
The overcast of the clouds begins to rumble, the promise of more rain. I don’t know what it is about this little mountain town, but it rains more than usual.
I unzip the bag carrying Greta’s bones, wishing I had added part of Fireopal to my treasure chest. Maybe next time. I flick a few flesh-eating beetles from what used to be Greta’s award-winning smile and pry her mouth open to grab my pack of cigarettes.
Flipping open the top, I peel a smoke free by wrapping my lips around the orange filter. Tossing the pack into the bag, the beetles swarm it and tug the zipper to enclose Greta’s skull.
“Hey, man!” I shout at the guy who dared to put his hands on Lula. “Hey!”
The guy stops in his tracks, the fragrant scent of annoyance trickling in the air between the drops of rain.
“Yeah?” He turns his head, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.
“Do you have a light? I forgot mine.”
He pulls his hands free, and my gaze zeroes in on the one he touched my mate with.
All I can think about is ripping his entire arm from his body.
I roll my head over my shoulders, the deep huffs sound from my rhino, not liking that this man is still standing.
He should be bleeding on the horns of my head, begging to live another day.
“Actually, yeah. I do.” He pats his pockets, finally pulling a red lighter free. “Here you go, man.”
I snag the lighter and flick it, covering the flicker of fire from the rain as it burns the tobacco until the ash begins to show itself.
“Thanks.” I toss it back to him. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He begins to walk away, and I grab the back of his neck, forcing him to turn around and look me in the eye.
I deepen my voice. “It is a problem. You are a problem.”
“Fuck you. Let me go, or I’ll call the cops.”
I lift him off his feet, then tilt him back, his head resting on my shoulder. “What do you think the cops will do? I could bring that pretty detective back. Let’s see what she would think about me dragging you into an empty room to make sure you can’t demand anything from a woman ever again.”
I flip him around, catching him by his neck so he is forced to look into my eyes. “I want you to fight me, so you know what it’s like to be overpowered.”
“I don’t know what game you’re playing at.” He punches my wrist, so I let him go, but I can barely feel a thing. His strength is a show of weakness in itself. “But I have money. I can get you money. Any amount you want.”
A man can only be measured by how he treats a woman. “I don’t give a fuck about your money.” His eyes meet mine long enough to fall into my influence, his body going lax in my hold. “You’ll come with me.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “Whatever you want, man.”
I place him on his unsteady feet, his body swaying from the lack of control he has in his body now that I’m in charge of it.
“Follow me.” I walk across the street, taking a long drag of the cigarette and flicking the ash free.
My new friend drags his feet behind me, following my every step as he was told.
There’s an empty building nestled between an ice cream shop and a restaurant.
The windows are boarded up with plywood, and there’s a massive lock on the door handle.
I’ve seen these before. I’d have to enter a code to get the key to unlock the door.
Good thing I don’t give a fuck.
I ram the door with my shoulder, and it swings open easily enough. Closing it is another story, and I don’t give a fuck about that either. Let people come inside. Let them wander into the unknown.
I’ll kill them.
The natural sunlight peeks its way in. A few windows aren’t covered completely. Probably from others trying to break in. There’s the sound of dripping water in the distance, a large crack in the ceiling, and drywall crumbled onto the floor.
An old weather-ridden couch sits lopsided in the room to the left of us. Frames that hang on the wall are crooked, the art ruined by the dampness in the air or a thick grime covering the canvas. Whatever this place used to be, I bet it was lavish.
The floors are hardwood and beyond saving, which is a shame. There’s too much damage from years of being forgotten. This place went from being the first in someone’s life to nothing but a fleeting thought to a rundown building.
Oh, the stories this place could tell. I bet the walls themselves are haunted.
I scratch my claw along the mantle, engraving my own presence into the shambles of its history.
“Farington Place.”
Oh.
I forgot he was here.
“What?” I sneer, annoyed that he interrupted me.
I’m fascinated by this house. I like that it isn’t perfect. I like that it needs work. To be forgotten doesn’t necessarily mean it lasts forever; only until someone notices how special it is, and can breathe life into it again.
“This is Farington Place,” he says again, as if I am supposed to know what it means.
“And?”
“A brutal murder happened here. It was about fifty years ago, and the house has been empty ever since.”
“Murdered?” I chuckle at the irony. “What happened?”
“No one knows. It’s a cold case. They say it was murder suicide, and the only survivor was the son. He owns this house.”
I’ll have to visit this son. I want this house for me and Lula. I have enough money if I can figure out how to get it from my bank account. My assets might be frozen because of my being gone for so long.
Lula will love trying to solve the cold case, and I can feel right at home being in a house that has tasted blood.
It’s a match made in Hell.
“What’s your name?” I ask him, pointing to the ruined couch. “Sit.”
“Ricky.” He sits on the end that isn’t broken, the springs creaking from years of being unused. The color of the material that makes up the couch is hidden under dark brown stains.
Mildew hangs in the air, and the hardwood under my feet cracks from my weight, threatening to give way.
“Ricky.” In the blink of an eye, I’m in front of him, his eyes glazed by my will.
“How many women have you abused in your life? Do you know off the top of your head? And be honest.” I poke him in the middle of his forehead.
“Because I can scent your lies. And with every lie you tell, I’m breaking a finger. ”
He settles deeper into the couch, spreading his legs as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I don’t know, man. A couple dozen? Maybe. I don’t like it when they tell me no.”
I wish I could see inside his head. I wonder if his mind is rotten, coated in darkness like mine. I suppose I’m similar to him in a lot of ways, especially when it comes to Lula.
In the rancid unknown of pitch-black night, where wrongs live, Lula cannot be found. She’s better than the abyss of an empty, damned core. She is the light that has somehow penetrated the deepest depths of the broad ocean in my chest, in my mind.
Reaching for her light is what I fear.
I realize that now, while staring at Ricky, a man who didn’t appreciate the sun radiating from her skin.
I’m so damaged. I’m beyond repair. My humanity is gone. I do not care who I harm, who I kill, who I torture in the name of protecting what is mine.
And yet, what if all the reaching, all the craving for her light, what if I’m not strong enough to hold it? What if her light burns away the sin that made me? What would I be then?
I lean down, placing one hand on either side of his shoulders, caging him in. The green skin is bright against the discolored sofa. I don’t like that he can’t see the real me, the monster he should be afraid of. He will once I enter his mind, and I can’t wait much longer.
The terror he instills in women will finally be felt in him the moment his eyes land on my true form.
“I told you everything. Just let me go, and I promise, I won’t tell a soul—”
A root slithers down my arm, forcing his lips apart, and filling his mouth so he can no longer speak.
“Silence,” I hiss, flashing my long, sharp fangs that have been aching to slice into Lula’s neck. “Hearing you speak is like nails against my bones.”