Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
GHOST
The Code: Rule #8
A Mask’s one true loyalty lies with the Sanctum.
There’s a twinge in my upper rib cage as I watch the violent temptress toss and turn in bed, unable to sleep despite the double dose of sleeping medication I saw her take. After, of course, she combed every inch of her apartment. Twice.
It’s a good thing the cameras aren’t visible to the human eye. Otherwise, darling Brett surely would have found them and removed my ability to watch her. And that would not do at all.
Another hour goes by before her brain finally gives in to the powerful sedative coursing through her bloodstream. What a stubborn little thing .
I chuckle, reaching up and tapping the side of my mask, causing the lower half to slide up, revealing my mouth and jaw. Keeping my eyes trained on Brett’s sleeping form, I slide a meticulously wrapped joint between my lips and light the end, filling my lungs with the noxious smoke.
A veil of quiet almost immediately falls over my mind, alleviating the nagging restlessness I’ve become accustomed to. My thoughts—typically so calculated and controlled—are a mess. A spiraling staircase of racing images, thoughts, and patterns—all of which lead right back to her.
“Fuck me,” I curse, letting out another puff as I check the time on the clock. I shouldn’t want her. But it's two o’clock, and I’m lonely. God, I’m worse than that. I’m aching—desperate for a taste of her. A touch.
I groan at the ceiling, unwinding my fingers from behind my head and pulling my phone from my pocket. I tap the screen, pulling up the live feed of Brett’s bedroom. The beautiful little thing is sound asleep in bed, her pretty pink lips twitching ever so slightly.
With a snarl, I stand from the bed, pocketing the device as I storm from the room. Watching her is not enough. I need to see her. Breathe the same air as her .
My mind is made up before I realize I’m at the door. Rupert raises his head from his dog bed in the hallway, his big lazy eyes wondering where the hell I’m going at this time of night. And why I have the nerve to wake him from his slumber.
“Be back soon, Rupert,” I murmur, grabbing a treat from the little table and tossing it his way. And suddenly, the old boy can’t care less about where I’m heading.
I shake my head as I grab the keys to my bike, swiftly making it out of the house and down the stairs to my bike.
Time to pay my darling a little visit.
I stand at the foot of Brett Evangeline’s bed, my body as still as a statue. A creepy, mentally unstable statue.
“You look so sad all the time. Why?” I murmur, my voice too low to wake her, even without the sleeping pills. I stalk around to the head of the bed and kneel so I’m at eye level with her.
There’s a faint scratching at the door where Venom is trying to get in, and I frown .
Little porker must have finished the whole bowl of cat food already.
I watch Brett's face closely, making sure the sound isn’t enough to wake her. She doesn’t so much as twitch, even when Venom lets out an angry little hiss. I shake my head with a little chuckle, sitting back on my heels and continuing to watch Brett. She’s so beautiful. Her face makes me want to fucking die.
Suddenly, her mouth moves downward, and frightened moans tumble from her parted lips. I tilt my head, curious. I’ve seen her nightmares unfold so many times from the screen of my phone, but this will be my first time in person.
It’s so much more… intense.
Her whimpers grow in volume as big wet tears seep from her partially closed lids, the uneven tracks shining from the gentle cast of moonlight pouring in from the skylight.
Giving my mask a gentle tap, the bottom slides up, and I lean toward her face, breathing in the subtle scent of her strawberry shampoo. Before I realize it, my tongue darts out, catching one of the salty tears before it joins the others on her pillow. I draw it back in slowly, savoring the way Brett coats my tastebuds .
This… this is better than any drug I’ve experienced. I want more. Need more.
Like the junkie I am, I reach into my jacket and pull out the small vial of Rebound that lives there. Only, it’s not the drug I need anymore. I step into the bathroom, quickly flushing the vial down the sink and cleaning it out before returning to Brett’s bedside, crouching with the bottle outstretched toward her face.
Then carefully—oh, so carefully—I fill the bottle with her tears. When it’s almost to the top, I pull back, licking any excess off the rim of the bottle before stuffing the cork in. My pupils blow as the salty taste of her coats my tongue, and I have to fight the urge to take the whole thing back like a shot.
She tastes so good. Just as good as she smells.
Pocketing the bottle of tears, I reach into my pocket and pull out my dagger, running the edge lovingly across her perfect, soft cheek. There’s something else I’m dying to taste… but I’ll have to leave that for another day.
Grabbing a thick band of hair from the back of her head, I redirect the dagger’s course, swiping its edge along the thick black strands. With a shhhck, the patch of raven hair comes loose, and I take a huge sniff of it before stuffing it into my pocket along with the bottle of tears.
I can see her, hear her, smell her, taste her… there’s just that one last sensation, and I could be filled with her. Complete. Whole.
My eyelids lower dejectedly, the desire to feel her overwhelming me. There’s a weight on my shoulders. A sinking, terrible need thrumming through my veins with every beat of my heart. I look down at my gloved hand, wishing.
If only… I start to take my glove off before I realize what I’m doing. With a sarcastic huff, I shake my head. Stupid, wretched, hopeful heart. How you always betray me. How you let me down time and time again.
I turn and step up to the door, wrapping my hand around the handle but unable to turn it. I can’t shake this—this indescribable thing inside me that’s screaming for her. It has far surpassed plain desire and even obsession. No, it’s something deeper.
I know it’s useless, I know it’s stupid, and that nothing has changed, but I still walk back to that bed, removing the glove of my left hand as I near her sleeping form. Holding my breath, I reach that disgusting, mutilated hand toward her cheek, the difference between her beauty and my monstrosity so stark that it nearly causes me to gasp.
But it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop if I want to. I have to know for sure.
I watch as my fingertip makes contact with her cheek, and I nearly scream in frustration. Nothing. Fucking NOTHING. Again.
My throat feels hot as I drop my hand from her face, a strange pressure building behind my eyes. I reach under my mask, pressing on the orbs in an attempt to offer some relief. It does nothing, and when I pull my hand out, something shiny coats them.
I tilt my head, noticing how similar the liquid is to Brett’s tears earlier. But… that can’t be. That’s impossible.
I shake my head angrily, letting out a soft scoff as I start to turn in the direction of the door. And that’s when it happens.
ZAP!
I jerk backward, my movements so flurried that I nearly trip and fall to the floor. What in the flying fuck was that? I look down at my hand—still ungloved from earlier. Then I look at the bed, where Brett’s arm is still outstretched, her fingers curling in and out in a grabbing motion, as if she’s looking for me.
Did she… did she touch me? More importantly, did I feel it?
Inching closer to that waiting hand, I allow her fingers to curl around the mutilated flesh on my palm.
ZAP!
My eyes widen in wonderment as I watch her little fingers twist with mine, the electricity flowing from her body to mine, breathing life into my long dead nerve endings. It feels… it feels…
I feel her. I look down at the hand snugly fit with mine. I really, really feel her.
I frown, unsure what to call the sensation of her hand in mine, yet desperate to give it a name. Euphoric seems far too dull for the feelings it drags out of the dark chasm of my soul .
There’s no doubt about it now. Brett Evangeline will ruin my fucking life.