“If I tell you he’ll kill me,” it rasped, breathless and afraid.
I chuckled. The sound was dark and dangerous and a little comforting. This was who I was. This was my life. I bent low and whispered in the man’s ear. “I’m the one you need to worry about. What he’ll do to you would be merciful compared to what I’ll do if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”
A frantic nod. “I don’t have a human name—only an address. Fifty-fifth and Aberdeen. Number 882.”
Its fear wafted up to meet me. It drifted all around, permeating the air and filling the monster inside. I savored the feeling—a twisted euphoria I loved and despised—as a shudder of contentment ran through my body. This was huge. I knew there wouldn’t always be a demon on hand to feed on—before this all went down, I’d only ever run into two or three in passing—but knowing I had the option eased some of my guilt.
“Please, man. I told you what you wanted. Let me go.”
Let him go?
“Okay.” A single, tight-fisted blow to the man’s jaw. I let his body fall to the floor. I left him alive because the risk of someone recognizing me, then finding the body, was too great. Time to pay Sam’s stalker a visit.
As I approached the door of the apartment, my cell rang again. Sam again. She’d called four times now. I killed the ringer and stuffed the phone back into my pocket. The demon flashed an image of danger. Something about this place made it nervous and even though I hated the thing, it had never steered me wrong before. Letting the demon rise closer to the surface, I listened at the door, allowing it to heighten my senses. There was a strange smell coming from inside. Something faint that, without the demon’s help, I’d never have picked up. A fetid scent mixed with something spicy. Something rotting. There was someone inside the apartment—but they weren’t alive.
Grabbing the handle, I gave a single twist. The knob rattled, then fell to the ground with a clatter. With one last look down the hall to be sure there were no prying eyes, I retrieved the knob and slipped inside.
The smell that hit me upon entering was ten times more potent than in the hall. Hand clamped tight across my nose and mouth, I moved past the entryway and into the living room. The building itself was nice—not swag really, but certainly not the run-down shitholes I’d been living in over the last few years. There was a mirrored ceiling and two matching walls, in addition to glass end tables and a large, empty floor-to-ceiling fish tank. An assortment of architecture magazines fanned across the coffee table, while paintings of uniquely shaped buildings adorned the walls. It looked like the kind of place I’d expect Chase to live. A bachelor pad designed with homemade porn movies in mind.
Other than the furniture, there wasn’t much else in the apartment. In fact, there was nothing. I pulled open several of the kitchen cabinets and drawers to find them bare. There were two used wineglasses on the counter sitting next to an empty bottle, but when I opened the fridge, it was just like the rest of the apartment. Nothing. On closer inspection, all the shelves in the living room were empty. There wasn’t even a television.
I moved through the place, randomly opening closet doors and drawers, and following the strange smell. Each step toward the back of the apartment brought me closer to the source. When I reached the end of the hall and rounded the corner on what appeared to be the master bedroom, I stopped to take a deep breath. Yeah. It was definitely strongest in here.
I walked to the closet and pulled open the door. It was the only thing in the apartment, other than the wineglasses, that appeared to have been used. At first, everything looked normal. A row of shoes. From brand-new sneakers to shiny dress loafers—all obviously never worn and strictly for show. The clothing rod was strung with hangers draped by suits, most still with the tags attached, several pairs of jeans, and a leather jacket. There were boxes stacked neatly on the top shelf, but when I reached for one, I found it empty. They all were.
My nose itched and my eyes watered as I fought against my gag reflex. The longer I stayed here, the more the smell bothered me. With the demon so close to the surface, everything was amped. I tried pushing it back to dull my senses, but it wouldn’t be moved.
I gave up and held my breath, bending down to push aside the shoes. The floor beneath them was a slight shade darker than the rest of the closet. It paid off. There was a trap door hidden in the floor. It didn’t take much to pry it open because there was no lock, which struck me as odd. Beyond the door was a narrow set of concrete stairs leading into blackness.
Leading into death.
The scent of sulfur permeated the air. I couldn’t discern how many, but there were multiple variations. This place didn’t belong to one demon. It belonged to several.
I climbed down one step at a time, readying myself for anything.
It looked just like any other storage space. Rows of boxes, a few pieces of old furniture… And three women. All naked.
All dead.
I’d seen a lot of bloodshed in my life. Hell, I’d been the cause of most of it, but what I found at the bottom of those stairs was enough to turn my stomach five times over. They were stacked on top of each other. Piled like garbage in various states of decay.
Next to them was a pile of hair. No. Not hair. Entire scalps. Demon trophies. I let out a breath and sucked another in, holding it. I was a monster in every sense of the word, but this… I backed away slowly, unable to tear my eyes from the gruesome sight. Even my own demon, who was usually excited by the sight and smell of death, was quiet.
I started backing toward the staircase, eager to get out into the fresh air, but something on the table in the corner caught my eye. A small bracelet. It was a tiny red-and-black dream catcher attached to a double black leather band. There were two small charms. Leaves.
I remembered the first time I’d seen it. I was fourteen and at the county fair. The woman at the booth explained how dream catchers were believed to siphon the bad dreams away. It’d been the perfect gift for Sam.
She’d been wearing it the night I left town. When I arrived home a few days ago, I noticed its absence, but simply assumed Sam removed it when I never came home. But obviously I’d been wrong. She must have been wearing it the night she was attacked on the Huntington campus.
I’d missed it. The attacker on campus had been a demon. But why? It made no sense. What could demons possibly want with Sam?
Chapter Twelve
Sam
Pacing. A nervous habit that drove Aunt Kelly nuts, I couldn’t stop doing it. From the kitchen to the front door. Front door to bedroom. Bedroom back to kitchen again. Pretty soon there would be a rut in the floor a mile deep. I’d tried Jax’s cell phone five times since Chase dropped me off but there was no answer. It was almost 6:00 a.m.
The weight of what had happened last night—or, what almost happened—was starting to settle, and if I stopped moving, I was sure I’d go into shock. It made sense to think the person who attacked me would want to silence me if he thought there was a chance I saw his face. Had he dragged in a friend to help?
I stopped in the middle of the living room and let out a scream of frustration. Childish? Sure. But it helped. At least, a little.
Grabbing my coat, I headed toward the door. Pacing the room wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I needed to find out who this wacko was. Maybe one of the security cameras at the club had gotten the license plate of the car by the Dumpster. Or maybe someone had seen something funny while my car was parked out in front of McCarthy’s the other day. Big-girl boots on and laced, I reached for the door, determined to get some answers.