Fourteen
M A K O
I’M SEVERELY TEMPTED TO just kidnap the little wench.
I really thought she had made a breakthrough when she called me that night. Worst fucking night of my life. Hearing her small voice through the receiver, helpless and in pain—I had nearly lost my
mind.
I think I did lose my mind.
And then she disappeared on me. Ran right back into his fucking arms. So badly, I wanted to drive to his house and take her back. But I’ve seen this before. The push and pull. The mental manipulation. How he hurts them, and then woos them back into his arms.
He’s a master manipulator. He convinces them that it’s their fault that he beat them. How he does it, I have no idea.
I know I can’t even begin to understand the spell they’re put under. I had asked Alison over and over again how she keeps falling for the same old shit. There were so many times in the beginning where she raged at me, screaming at me that I will never understand what it’s like to be in that position. I just… didn’t get it.
Finally, she tried to explain it to me. The fear that grips you when you think about turning him in.
How many times he threatened to kill her, and then would nearly follow through. Not for one second did Ryan make it seem like an idle threat. And then the brainwashing. He would convince her that it’s her fault he treats her like that. As if she actually fucking deserved it. Gaslight her and make her feel crazy and dramatic. He would dehumanize her, strip away her identity and make her feel like no one else could love her except for him. That he’s doing her a service by loving her when no one else possibly could.
I know he’s doing the same thing to River.
Although I can’t personally understand it, I know it’s real. I know they’re in a serious situation and they feel incredibly helpless, even when they convince themselves they’re not. It took an incredible amount of strength for Alison to leave him. When she did, he had threatened her, then tried to woo her again, and eventually tried to attack her.
I had been there and stopped it.
Ryan had always hated me. I was the son that was never supposed to happen. He wanted to be the one and only and terrorized me our entire childhood together because of it. The Good Son looked like a Disney movie compared to Ryan. Countless times, he tried to hurt me. There were moments where I was positive he was going to go to the kitchen, grab a butcher knife and follow through with his darkest fantasy, but something always held him back. I could see it in his eyes, though. The desire to make me disappear for good.
That night, when I had stopped Ryan from hurting Alison—that’s when his hatred truly festered.
It bubbled into blisters and became permanent third degree burns over our relationship. I think if Ryan had the opportunity now, he would kill me.
And to be perfectly fucking honest, I feel the same about him.
After that, he had no choice but to let Alison slip away. I had witnessed his volatile reaction and intervened when he tried to attack her. He accused me of fucking Alison, and I let him believe it.
There wasn’t any way to come back from that.
Ryan would rather roll over and die than take back a girl he thinks I fucked. After that, she’s tainted. Ruined forever. Disgust twisted his features when he saw me protect her, and I knew him believing I had Alison too was the only way Ryan would truly let her go.
But that’s not what I want for River. She’s been accused of being a whore since she could talk, so the last thing River would allow anyone to think is that she had to sleep her way out of a relationship. She’s too prideful, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t respect her for it.
I left her alone for nearly two months because if I had seen her, I would’ve kidnapped her. And several times a week, I had to look Ryan in the face and not fucking murder him. My resistance is slowly fading, and I’m no longer scared of what I feel myself preparing to do.
For now, I’ll respect River and keep my mouth shut about our odd relationship. But she has another thing coming if she thinks I’ll ever let her forget that we have one.
“GHOST KILLER AT IT again,” I sigh, staring down at the dead body. Same fucking kill, just different bodies. It’s becoming tiresome. And I feel like it’s fucking personal. “And I can bet my life on the fact that there’s nothing new to see with this body.”
Redd grimly shakes his head, his lips tightened with disappointment.
“Same M.O. Plenty of DNA samples. I’ll test them, but I guarantee they will match sex workers and incarcerated criminals just like the last ten bodies.”
I crouch down, getting a better look at the dead man. The word ‘Ghost’ is carved into his chest just like every other victim. The words are as neat as they possibly could be when carving words into a live, squirming human being. A little bullet hole decorates the middle of his forehead. Same gun as before.
“Do we know who the vic is?” I ask Redd.
“Nineteen-year-old Sage Blomberg. Heavily involved in the gang that runs his neighborhood,” he answers, snapping another photo.
Being heavily involved in a gang translates to drug dealer. Kid more than likely has already been in jail for dealing and possession. Every single Ghost Killer victim has been in and out of jail for some type of drug charge. Not all of them are as young as Sage or Greg, but it’s disturbing to see that the majority are.
These kids could easily be rival gang members. But my gut tells me they’re not. The word carved into their chest is too personal, too telling of whatever they did to piss off the Ghost Killer.
And I can bet that the Ghost Killer’s motive is insubordination. The suspect is a gang leader or
drug lord. Someone that these victims answered to. I bet that he runs a very tight ship, as most gang leaders do. And if kids are anything these days, they’re convinced they have life all figured out.
The victims either lied, stole or betrayed the Ghost Killer in some way. Maybe some of them even challenged him, thinking they’re tough shit. Whatever the case, they acted against the wrong person and paid the price for it.
“Let me know who the DNA links to the minute you find out. I’m going to pay them a visit, even if they’re in another fucking state,” I say to Redd.
I turn away from the scene, Amar following behind me. Quiet as usual.
“What are you thinking?” Amar asks after a minute of letting me stew in silence.
“I’m going to find out what gang Sage belonged to, and then we’re staking out their hangout location. See who goes in and out.”
Amar doesn’t argue. It’s a dangerous stake-out, hanging out in the streets where crime happens in broad daylight without a care in the world. But that’s the point I’ve reached myself. I don’t give a fuck if it’s dangerous, I just want to catch the killer.
Whoever he is, he’s a cockroach. Crimes have ramped up eight percent since he started killing his Ghost’s a year ago. Overdoses increased by fourteen percent. Those are fucking massive numbers within a year’s time.
And to leave the victims out in the public for us to find shows his arrogance. He never actually leaves the bodies in Shallow Hill, but in the neighboring town where I live. He’s number one in his world. Bet he feels fucking untouchable. As if he’s a god.
I squeeze my fists until my knuckles turn white.
I can’t wait to show this fucker just how human he really is.
“Mako?” Amar barks, snapping me out of my violent musings. I look at him, stunned. Amar is staring back at me, his dark eyes filled with concern.
“What?”
“I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes. We’re just sitting here,” he says, gesturing towards the windshield, indicating we’re still in a very parked car.
I haven’t even put the keys in the ignition.
“Sorry, man,” I mumble, jamming the keys in the ignition and starting the car.
“Where’s your head at?” he questions, his eyes probing and too fucking observant.
A harsh breath punches out of my mouth. “I’ve been chasing this fucker for a year now, and I’m not any closer to finding him,” I grit out.
Saying it out loud makes me want to shove my fist through the steering wheel, rip out the air bag and wrap it around my own damn head. Fuck, this asshole gets me heated.
I don’t care that the Ghost Killer’s victims are criminals. They’re young, impressionable kids that chose the wrong path to walk. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have the chance to turn their lives around. That doesn’t mean they couldn’t have been saved.
The asshole is taunting me with them, I fucking know it. I feel it in my bones.
“You’re taking it too personal,” Amar observes next to me. Instead of answering, I lurch the car forward, heading back to the precinct. I have to find out who exactly Sage was involved with.
“You’re right, I am,” I admit.
“Maybe you should remove yourself,” he suggests quietly.
I grind my teeth together. Only Amar would feel secure enough to say shit like that to me. This case feels personal because it is personal.
“We both know he killed your real father, Mako. I haven’t told anyone else that, but I’m starting
to second-guess that decision.”
I slam on the breaks a tad too hard when I stop at a red light, bringing the car to a sudden stop.
The car behind me blares their horn, nearly rear-ending us from my dick move. If I were in a cop car right now, the car would’ve stayed silent. I’m not an asshole that needs to lord my badge over anyone so I ignore his anger.
“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, ripping a hand through my hair again. I’m just so fucking tired.
We fall into silence while I digest his veiled threat. It’s coming from a good place, I know that.
But doesn’t mean I don’t want to fucking strangle him for saying it. I’m not supposed to be on this case with my involvement with the Ghost Killer’s victims.
Matt and Julie adopted me when I was thirteen years old, after spending a year in the foster care system. For the first twelve years of my life, I grew up on the streets with a drug dealer for a father and a prostitute for a mother.
Johnny Lancaster was heavily involved with a gang called the Crucibles. He was a shit father, but yet there was a small part of him that cared enough about me to keep the dealings away from me as much as he could. My mother didn’t pay me the same courtesy on the nights she worked, but I’d rather have a sloppy man looking for pussy in the room next to me rather than a gang member loaded with guns and high off crack.
That is until I came home from school one night to find my father dead, in a pool of blood with ‘Ghost’ carved into his chest and a bullet hole in his head. This was before the Ghost Killer became the serial killer he is today. It was an M.O. no one had seen before and hadn’t seen until recently— just a year ago.
I assume my mother either found my father dead or witnessed it and fucked off. Or she could’ve died, too. Daria Lancaster was never to be seen again after that day, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me not knowing where she is.
And now, sixteen years later, I’m being haunted by the man that turned my father into a ghost.
I’M PRETTY FUCKING SURE I’m experiencing a heart attack for the first time in my life when I see her. I’m only twenty-eight years old but this girl is going to send me to an early grave.
She’s wearing baggy jeans and a thin strawberry red hoodie. It’s eighty degrees outside but she’s dressed like it’s winter in Michigan. Her hair is thrown into a messy bun and face bare from any makeup, showcasing her unnaturally pale face. Normally when I see River, she’s done up with nice clothing and her hair down. She looks just as beautiful now as she does any other time, but something about her appearance feels so unlike her.
She looks… blank. Like a white canvas.
My eyes catch a stark white cast on her hand. Last time I checked, her pinky was the only finger broken and that one has already healed. Now there’s a white cast on her pointer finger. I drop my
head back and count to—fuck it, I can’t even focus on numbers right now.
“That cast wasn’t around your finger two nights ago,” I say as I approach her from behind.
Darkness is threatening to creep in my voice. I do my best to keep it away. Scaring her or doing anything to push her away would be stupid. Not when I’m trying to pull her in and away from him.
She pauses at my voice, her shoulders inching up towards her ears as she tenses.
“Leave. Me. Alone.” Her words hurt. Not because I want her to want me, but because it means she’s no closer to wanting away from Ryan.
“Only when you’re safe.”
“Fine, I’ll go where I’m safe, then you leave me the fuck alone,” she huffs, storming off towards the sidewalk.
Her being temporarily safe wasn’t what I meant, but I don’t say anything. Not when she’s more than likely going to the library again—a spot where we can talk without having anyone seeing us. I follow her down the familiar route. One she took me on only a few months ago, when she was limping from a fall she didn’t cause. And now, she’s still bruised and healing. Just like last time. Except this time, the life is slowly seeping out of her.
Her steps are swift and angry, causing her hips to swing in a manner that’s so seductive—I’m forced to adjust myself like an asshole.
She pushes open the broken door to her abandoned library with a fierce shove. She stomps into the dusty, graffiti-filled building and marches through the empty shelves. I follow her into an aisle that must have been used for little kid books. The shelves are tick, waist-high and coated with dust.
And then she stops suddenly, forcing me to balance on the tips of my toes as to not plow down her little body. In a flash, she’s whipping around and smacking a hand straight across my face. A hand that has a hard-ass cast on it, and one she definitely shouldn’t be fucking using to hit people.
I take a deep breath and look away, licking my bloody lip as I try to reign in my rising temper. I don’t like being hit. I got a lot of that shit before I found myself in a nice family, it’s very rare I let anyone hit me without some type of consequence. I’d never hurt River—that’d defeat my entire purpose of trying to help her—but I’d certainly teach her lesson if she wasn’t devoted to another man.
A man I’d really like to murder with my bare hands.
My jaw ticks as she gets up in my face, her heaving chest pressed into mine. Our breaths are synced, both strife with adrenaline. Her sweet cinnamon smell invades my senses. All I want to do is take a bite out of her, just like I would a cinnamon apple. I’m distracted from my anger when I get a good look at her eyes. They’re the most unique color I’ve ever seen, the exact color of liquid gold with little flecks of brown mixed in and an outer ring of light brown.
Those are the type of eyes you can’t look away from, no matter how hard you try.
“I don’t need you to save me,” she snarls, snapping me away from my musings. “I’m not some damsel in fucking distress. I’m not a weak, little girl that needs your rescuing. I don’t need you, Mako.
The only fucking person I need is my goddamn self. Do you understand me?”
Her face is red with rage and her golden eyes are bright with a storm of hateful emotions. I’m not looking in the face of a girl. I’m looking into the face of a fierce lioness, her fangs pulled back and ready to rip my neck out with one wrong move or word.
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.
I nod my head, keeping quiet. I feel the urge building inside my chest. I have to tamp it down, I need to. Kissing her would be catastrophic.
“Do you want to fuck me, Mako?” she asks, derision coating her words. Apparently, I didn’t do a good job of keeping the lust out of my eyes.
Yes. “Not what I’m after,” I clip. The muscle in my jaw is going to burst with how hard I’m clenching my teeth.
She gives me a challenging look and my heart seizes. Her chin drops as she takes a big step back and peers up at me through hooded eyes. It looks like she wants to ride my cock as she slashes my throat. I’m not sure how to feel about that, but fuck if I don’t want to let her do it anyway.
She reaches her hands up and runs them down her curves. Her head tips back, exposing her slender throat. I could easily reach out and wrap my hand clear around her neck. I could squeeze until her face turns pink and she’s desperate for breath. Her eyes would dilate, and she’d beg for more.
A moan releases from her mouth, and my whole body turns to steel.
“Ryan!” she gasps around another moan. My eyes narrow into thin slits as anger rises in my chest. Her hands continue to explore her body as soft, melodic moans vibrate through her throat. A growl leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
“What are you doing, River?”
Her head falls forward, her eyes dark amber and swirling with rage and lust. My favorite fucking combination.
“Is this what you want, Mako?” she taunts, her voice low and breathy. “You want to touch my body, feel how wet my pussy is?” A smirk rises on her face and her eyes roll again. “Oh, Ryan!”
The skin around my knuckles is threating to rip apart from how tightly I’m clenching my fists.
The little bitch is mocking me. I’m three seconds from saying fuck it and pushing her up against one of these shelves and teaching her that lesson.
“Keep it up, River. You won’t be able to moan the wrong name when your mouth is full of my cock,” I threaten on a low growl.
Her hands drop from her body and mirth curls her lips up. From hot to cold in a span of seconds.
“You’ll never fucking have me, Mako. You’ll never get to lay a finger on me again.”
“Are you willing to promise me that? Because I will make a liar out of you, baby girl,” I challenge, my eyebrow cocking sardonically. I step into her space, pressing our chests back together.
“I think we both know Ryan doesn’t satisfy you the way you need to be.”
How quickly my good guy plan blew out the window, it’s actually comically pathetic. This girl brings something out of me no one else can. I don’t want to want her, but I don’t think I ever had a choice. She shouldn’t be with me, but I think I need her to be.
The darkness I tried so hard to hold back slips through. River knows how to push every single one of my fucking buttons. Especially when her head falls back once more, her eyes roll, and she lets out a long moan.
“Ohhh, Ryan,” she moans, dramatic but still sexy as hell. Without thinking, my hand shoots out and does exactly what I’ve been fantasizing about since she started this bullshit. I squeeze her throat, seeing red as she moans the wrong fucking name. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be begging for me to hurt her.
“Try again,” I snarl. My hand is barely squeezing. My grip is firm enough to make her pause, but nowhere near how tightly I really want to be squeezing. Enough to make her face turn pink and legs quiver with need. River’s face turns red from anger, and her eyes whip back toward me with wrath.
She leans into my hand. “Like I’d ever moan for you.”
“That’s what you’ve been doing this entire time. Don’t pretend like you’re not imagining my cock buried deep inside you.” My grip tightens a bit. “You wanted to play. Now try again,” I demand, my voice rising.
Her nostrils flare as she glares at me with defiance. I’m whipping her to the side and her back is
pressed against the shelves in two seconds. Her hands fling to my chest to steady herself. I don’t even think she’s realized that yet.
“What’s wrong, River? Not so brave now, are you? You like to hide from your truths. You’d rather lie to us both and pretend you love that piece of shit rather than admit you want someone better.
You think Ryan could take care of you the way I could, huh? You think he makes you feel like a queen when really he treats you like a fucking peasant.”
I step into her closer, my anger rising. She whimpers as her back digs into the shelves, the wood unforgiving. And just like I predicted, her eyes dilate with lust so potent, she doesn’t even understand what she’s feeling yet.
“You don’t like the way Ryan hurts you, River, not like you like the way I fucking do. His pain only brings you sorrow and agony while mine brings you a desire you don’t even know how to handle. Now. Try. Again.”
A breath bursts out of her through her constricted airways, and with it is a sound so fucking musical, it nearly makes me moan. My name. “Mako,” she pants.
She’s so turned on; she doesn’t even realize her pussy is humping my leg. If she wasn’t wearing jeans, I’d feel her juices leaking through my pants. Her entire plan backfired on her. This girl loves to ignore what’s right in front of her face.
Fuck it. I don’t want to save her. I want to fucking take her. I will steal her from my brother, right out from his tiny hands and keep her to myself. I will show her what it’s like to be with a real man. A man that truly does treat her like a queen. Someone that will cater to her every desire, treat her body like it’s my most prized possession, and show her a happiness she doesn’t know exists yet.
“I hate that I want you,” she whispers. I get the feeling she didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“Really? I happen to love it.” I love that I scare her. If it scares her, then it’s real. What we feel for each other is fucking real.
She shakes her head, as if she’s shaking away my words. The queen of avoidance.
“Mako,” she pleads. “We shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t cheat.” Her body grinds against my leg once more, contradicting her words the minute they leave her mouth. A wicked grin overtakes my face.
“I promise not to kiss or touch you then,” I say, smiling a little wider when disappointment flashes across her eyes. I don’t call her out though. Instead, I brush my lips lightly against her neck, the tender skin puckering into goosebumps. Her pulse vibrates against my lips. I feel the vibrations even as I slowly travel to her ear.
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t watch you touch yourself,” I whisper. A small gasp leaves her plush lips. She stops the little circles she’s been inadvertently moving her hips in. I take one step back, watching with fascination as a blush travels up to her neck.
So fucking pretty.
I wait. She’s battling with herself and I’m not going to push her into anything. That’s what River doesn’t understand yet. She has a choice with me. And even if it doesn’t seem like it, she’s the one always in control.
Her golden eyes finally raise to meet mine, twin pools of molten fire. When she lifts a hand and pops her button open, I feel another wicked smile pulling at my lips. Looks like she doesn’t mind being bad after all.
With patience I don’t possess, she pulls down the zipper to her jeans. Hooking her thumbs on the sides of her pants, she drags them down her smooth legs. Perfect. God, she’s perfect. Creamy skin fills my vision as she chucks off her pants and leans against the bookshelf. And with a lioness’s grace,
she plants both hands on the top of shelf and lifts herself up, widening her legs as she settles in. Black lacy panties cover her most intimate part.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from tearing the fabric away with my teeth and feasting on her.
“Do I get to watch you, too, or are you a selfish lover?”
It takes monumental effort to drag my gaze away from her panties and back up to her eyes. My dick is fucking granite and pressing against my zipper, like a prisoner desperate to escape their jail cell. I grin and mimic her initial reaction by popping open the button on my jeans. Her eyes flare and her little pink tongue darts out, wetting her lips in anticipation.
“Has someone thought about this?” I taunt, dragging down my zipper, giving me sweet relief as the pressure dissipates. She doesn’t glance away from my hand, even as she denies me.
“No.”
My grin widens, both of us aware of her blatant lie. I step back until I’m leaning against the bookshelf opposite her, stepping on the bottom to help stabilize it, otherwise my weight will send me crashing through the empty shelves.
She leans back on the arm that doesn't have a broken finger, and plants her feet on the edge of the shelf. Her other hand drifts over her pussy, her fingers trail across her panties, taunting me. Waiting to bare herself to me until I do. I have no problem making the first move. I pull down my jeans and briefs just enough for my dick to spring free. There’s too much pressure building. I squeeze it hard, gritting my teeth against the mix of pleasure and pain. Her eyes widen, and this time she does glance up at me.
Even if I had the strength to will the cocky smile from my face, I wouldn’t. Not when she’s looking at me like she can’t tell if she wants to come closer or run away. She swallows thickly, and ever so gently, pushes her panties to the side.
I close my eyes as my head falls back, a groan working its way out of my throat. The sight of her nearly has me on my knees.
So pink. So pretty. And glistening from how fucking drenched she is.
I squeeze my dick again, partly to help relieve the pressure, and partly to shock some control into me. My head lolls forward lazily. With hooded eyes, she parts her lips and dips her fingers inside. She drags the juices up to her clit, circling the bud slowly, a small moan escaping her lips.
My hand drags up and down my shaft in response, sharp pleasure travelling up my spine. She circles her fingers faster, occasionally plunging her fingers inside before continuing her ministrations.
I can’t take my eyes away from her, just like she can’t take hers away from me. The soft moans grow louder and bolder. Her body comes alive, as she spreads her legs wider, and circles her hips wantonly against her hand.
“Fuck, River,” I growl, my hand moving quicker. Briefly, her eyes close and her head rolls, but she quickly turns her eyes back to me, like she can’t stand to look away for more than a second.
“I’m going to come,” she whispers, her legs shaking and her brow furrowing.
“Then fucking do it,” I grit out, my own orgasm on the verge of consuming me. River goes completely still, even her voice as she reaches her crescendo. And then she’s falling, and my name is chant on her lips. The first syllable of my name is all need to hear before I’m toppling over the cliff with her. My eyes snap shut, and my knees threaten to give out as hot cum spurts from my dick.
“Fuuuuck, River,” I groan, the intense pleasure nearly blinding me. It wracks my body, battering my strength to pieces. I keep my eyes locked on River’s form. Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy and her uncontrolled, jerky movements as she rides out her orgasm.
The only regret I ever is that she’s grinding against her hand, when it should be my tongue. Even as I come down slowly, my entire body limp and buzzing from the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had, I want to lick her pussy until my tongue falls off.
Her own breathing is erratic. And she won’t meet my eyes. She’s sitting straight now, staring at the floor, her chest still heaving and her tiny fists clenched. I’ve no idea what’s going through her head right now, and I’m too much of a chicken shit to ask.
She slides of the shelf daintily, slides her jeans on and shoves her feet into her converse, the heels of her feet sticking out. I button myself up, steeling myself against whatever is going to come out of her mouth.
Her gold eyes slowly lift to meet mine. Something invisible but potent transfers between us. I don’t know what it is. I don’t what it means. But I want more of it. Without a word, she turns away and walks out of the building.
She’ll be back. As much as she wants to deny it, she’s as addicted to me as I am to her .
