CHAPTER 12 - Deimos
My morning is unpleasantly disturbed the moment I glance at my monitor to see Madeline pacing her apartment like a caged animal.
Yes, after our little night hunt in the woods, I had cameras installed in her home too. I’m far too gone from sanity after tasting her on my tongue; I almost fucking lost it right there and came in my pants at the sight of her bare pussy.
I stopped myself once before in the mortuary, back when she was so obediently on her knees, and I don't think my cock softened for a single second since. It doesn't matter. I’ll gladly wait for her.
She was still fighting her own nature even as I was devouring her, but I’ll wait until she’s the one begging for me.
My poor girl looks stressed, and I already know why. It’s not because of our night together, and it’s not because of her best friend, though that woman is testing my nerves and my patience.
It’s because some anonymous motherfucker tipped off a private detective who’s now digging through the files of Jake’s murder. I spent the whole night trying to figure out who I’m going to kill first as a fucking dessert, but for the life of me, I couldn't find a single trace of the informant.
I considered the possibility of Lucy, but the thought left my mind as quickly as it came.
She wouldn't do that to Madeline. She wants me behind the bars, not her dear best friend. Either way, she’s sticking her nose in my business.
Until she sticks to my warning, I’ll let her be. She’s only alive because of Mali.
I don’t care about anyone else, but killing her best friend isn't exactly the right next step for our relationship. I just hope she behaves.
Madeline glances at her phone. Once. Twice. She's biting her nails nervously. Then, my phone rings. I can’t help but smile. I let it ring a few extra times for my own satisfaction.
ME: “And a good morning to you too, baby. Already calling your admirer? Are you?”
My tone is amused and cocky. I love to provoke my woman more than anything in this world.
MADELINE: “Someone tipped me off.”
Her voice is shaking, and something in my chest tightens, the arrogance leaving me immediately. I hate hearing her break. I want to be the one who breaks her, not some faceless rat.
ME: “I know.”
MADELINE: “Was it you?”
She sounds almost certain. I nearly chuckle at that absurdity.
ME: “If I wanted you arrested, Madeline… you wouldn’t have made it to work that morning.”
She lets out a long sigh. Not relieved. More desperate. She’s spiraling, and I need her sharp. I need her to be the cold, calculating forensic pathologist I first met, not this trembling mess.
MADELINE: “I’m the only suspect. And even though I hate calling you voluntarily. I need your help. The detective told me I have to visit the station for my report and alibi.”
Her voice betrays her about her lie. She wanted to call me. She needed to.
ME: “I know, and you're going to give it to them, but not alone.”
I hear her breath hitch on the other end of the line.
MADELINE: “Are you out of your mind? You can’t come with me, Deimos. If they see you—”
ME: “Check your front door, Madeline. Right now.”
I watch through the hidden camera in her hallway as she moves, her hand trembling as she unlocks the deadbolt.
On her doorstep sits a small, nondescript black box. She picks it up, bringing it inside and opening it to reveal a tiny, flesh-colored earpiece. The kind used by Elite security teams.
ME: “Put it in. It’s custom-molded; they won’t see it even if they look closely.
I’ll be in your ear the entire time. I’ll hear what the detective asks, and I’ll tell you exactly how to answer.
You are going to tell them the truth about everything, except for me.
I’m handling the evidence. I’m handling the tip. ”
She holds the small device in her palm as if it were a live coal, her eyes darting around the living room.
She’s looking for the cameras now. She’s finally realizing that her sanctuary isn't a sanctuary at all. It’s a glass box, and I’m the one looking through the glass.
MADELINE: “You’re going to watch me? Even there?”
ME: “I’m always watching you. But today, I’m your lifeline. Go to the station. Walk in there like you have nothing to hide. Because as long as you hear my voice, you’re untouchable.”
I watch her on the screen as she moves toward the hallway mirror.
She’s pale, her fingers ghosting over the earpiece as she tucks it deep into her ear canal, hiding it behind a lock of her hair.
She looks fragile, yet there’s a flicker of something new in her eyes.
Not just fear. It’s an alliance. A dark, unspoken pact with the devil she knows.
"Look at me, Mali," I whisper to the empty room, leaning closer to the monitor.
As if she heard me, she glances toward the bookshelf where the lens is hidden. For a second, our eyes meet through the digital void.
I can almost feel the heat of her skin, the way her pulse is jumping in the hollow of her throat. I want to be there. I want to be the one adjusting her collar, leaning down to whisper those instructions against her lips instead of through a stupid frequency.
The ache in my groin sharpens, a relentless reminder of how much of a grip she has over my sanity.
ME: “Good. Now, go to your bedroom. Put on that charcoal blazer I like. Look professional. Look innocent. But keep your chin up. I want them to see a woman who has nothing to hide.”
I watch her walk into her bedroom to change. I don't turn the camera away. I watch the way she sheds her clothes, her movements stiff and mechanical, as if she’s trying to pretend she’s alone.
She’s mesmerizing in her vulnerability, the bruises I left on her hip in the forest are blooming like dark violets against her porcelain skin. My mark. A reminder of who owned her last night. I feel a sharp pull in my gut, a hunger that no amount of blood can satisfy.
She pulls on a dark charcoal blazer and slacks, smoothing the fabric over her trembling frame. She’s trying to build an armor out of wool and silk, but we both know it won't be enough.
ME: “I see every bruise. I see the way your skin shivers. Remember that feeling when you’re sitting across from the detective. Remember that you belong to me, and as long as you do, no one else can touch you.”
She stops, her back to the camera, her shoulders shaking slightly. She’s still terrified, but also tethered to me. And that’s exactly where I want her.
ME: “Leave now. My car is already waiting two blocks away. Not a taxi, not yours. Take the black sedan. The driver knows where to go.”
She grabs her bag, her knuckles white as she grips the strap. Before she leaves, she stops at the door, her hand hovering over the handle.
MADELINE: “If this goes wrong... if they don't believe me...”
ME: “They’ll believe you because I’ll give them someone else to believe in. Now go. And Madeline? Don’t let your heart rate get too high. I’ll be right here. In your head. In your ear. Always.”
I hang up, the penthouse falling into a heavy silence. I switch the audio feed to the earpiece. Then, I hear the rustle of her jacket, and then her shallow, rhythmic breathing.
I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled in front of my face. The game is changing. She’s no longer just a witness. She’s my finest weapon. And I’m going to make sure no one else gets to break her.
She’s halfway to the glass door of her apartment building, her hand gripping the strap of her bag, when the sharp, intrusive trill of her phone breaks the silence. Madeline freezes. I watch her pull the phone from her pocket, and the name on the screen makes my jaw lock instantly.
Lucy.
ME: “Don’t answer it,” I growl into the mic, my voice vibrating with a sudden, sharp irritation.
Madeline ignores me. Or perhaps she’s just so desperate for a lifeline that isn't wrapped in shadows that she can’t help herself. She slides her thumb across the screen and presses the phone to her ear.
MADELINE: “Lu? Hey.”
LUCY: “Mali! Thank God. I’ve been up all night. I... I did some digging. I found new informations about him.”
Her voice is thin, brittle.
I feel a surge of cold fury. Digging. I told her to stay in her lane. I told her to go to sleep.
She’s going to get Madeline killed before I even have the chance to save her. Who the hell does she think she is, poking around in my world?
MADELINE: “Lucy, please, not now. I’m heading out. I have to go to the station.”
LUCY: “The station? Why? Mali, listen to me. I have a contact, someone who says there's a leak in the precinct. You can't trust anyone there. Just stay home, I'm coming over—”
ME: “Tell her to shut up, Madeline,” I hiss through the earpiece.
The sound of Lucy’s voice, so sure of herself, so righteous, is like glass under my skin. She’s a parasite, feeding Madeline’s useless hope.
ME: “Tell her you’re fine and hang up. Now.”
Madeline winces at the volume of my voice in her ear. She’s caught between two worlds, and the strain is written in the frantic line of her brow.
MADELINE: “I can’t, Lucy. I have to do this. I’m... I’m fine. Really. Just stay away from it. Please. For me.”
LUCY: “Mali, you’re not fine. You sound weird. Is he there? Is he with you right now?”
I smile, a dark, humorless thing. If only she knew how close I actually was.
MADELINE: “No. I’m alone. I have to go. I’ll call you when I’m out.”
She cuts the call before Lucy can protest further.
Madeline stands there for a moment, her eyes closed, trembling. I can hear her heart hammering against the earpiece like a drum.
ME: “Your friend is going to be the death of you, Madeline,”
I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous, silky whisper.
ME: “She’s playing with fire, and I’m losing my patience. If she calls you again while you’re inside that station, you ignore her. Do you understand? I won't have her noise distracting you when Miller starts digging.”
Madeline doesn't answer. She just nods. A submissive, broken gesture that feeds the monster inside me.
ME: “Good girl. Now, move. The car is waiting.”
I watch her finally step out of the apartment building as I switch my focus to the street-level cameras, tracking the black sedan as it pulls up to the curb.
My irritation with Lucy lingers, a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. She’s a complication I didn't plan for, a bug that needs to be squashed, but for now, she's just a nuisance that I'll deal with later.
I lean back, adjusting my headset. The audio from the precinct is already humming in my other ear, the sound of phones ringing, the mumble of officers, and the heavy footsteps of Detective Miller.
"Showtime, baby," I whisper, watching her disappear into the back of the sedan.