Insanity, p.3
Insanity, page 3
I shut that shit down.
Raymond suggested that Ellie start seeing a therapist, and I nearly busted a nut laughing so hard. What the hell could she talk to a therapist about? POP? The Divine One? Her harem of lovers? Ryker’s fake death? Landon’s stabbing?
Or maybe the fact that Ellie murdered not one person but several?
Now, I wonder if Raymond was right. She’s been bottling up her emotions for way too damn long, and any second now, they’re going to burst out of her in an explosive geyser.
What will happen when they do?
The three of us hurry to catch up with Zane and Ryker, the latter of whom already jimmied the door open.
Darkness and silence greet us on the other side.
The office closed hours ago, but according to our research, the judge has remained behind to finish paperwork. He always does on Fridays, so he won’t have to work on the weekends.
Beckett pulls his phone out, all traces of levity stripped away. He taps at something quickly, his lips firming, and then says, “Security system is now off.”
“Perfect!” Zane rubs his hands together like a psychopath and then skips toward the staircase. Literally skips. I half expect him to start throwing rose petals in a happy glee, like a flower girl walking down the aisle at a wedding.
“Stay between us,” I tell Ellie, though this has been drilled into her head one thousand times before. It was my only condition for allowing her to come.
Ellie nods seriously, for once not arguing, and the five of us move as one. One shadow. One entity. One being.
One heart.
Up the stairs, across the hall, and toward the wooden door with light spilling from the bottom. The blinds on the windows are shut, though I can see the pale pink and white flicker of what appears to be a screen on the other side.
The moans reach us first.
“Ohhh. Oh yes. Harder, baby. Harder.”
“OHHHH!”
Ellie meets my gaze and rolls her eyes.
I place a finger in my mouth and pantomime gagging, eliciting a tiny smile from her. A fleeting smile, yes, but a smile all the same.
The sight makes my chest puff out, masculine pride swelling inside me.
I fucking love it when she smiles.
“We need to be quiet. Cautious,” Ryker begins, his voice a low rasp. “We can’t—”
Zane kicks the door open with a cheerful, “DING DONG, THE BITCH IS DEAD!”
I facepalm, Beckett rolls his eyes, and Ryker looks two seconds away from having an aneurysm.
But Ellie? She giggles. Actually fucking giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. It makes me want to kill Zane less than I did before. Slightly less.
Marginally less.
The judge is an older man, with a receding hairline and white wisps that resemble cumulus clouds on the top of his head. His pudgy belly strains against his shirt, and his cock is out, his hand wrapped tight around it.
On the screen, a woman is getting railed by a man who looks eerily similar to him in size and stature, though the face is completely different.
I have no idea if this porn is a product of POP—and the participants are unwilling—but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to die either way.
He signed his death warrant the second he purchased Ellie.
“W-what? Who the fuck are you?” His eyes bulge out of their sockets as they volley from face to face. We discussed wearing masks to this little meet-and-greet before deciding against it.
We want him to see our faces before he dies. To look the Grim Reaper in the face and tremble in fear.
Then his eyes slide to Ellie, and the shock is replaced by something else, something I can’t read. Avarice, maybe. Greed. Or maybe it’s a desire so pungent I actually start to gag.
Either way, the sight has anger blazing up my spine in ropes of fire. I shift slightly so I’m standing protectively in front of Ellie, shielding her from sight.
Not that it deters her. The stubborn girl simply shifts to the right, so she has a better view of our victim.
“You know her,” Zane says with feigned casualness, though no one can miss the malevolent undercurrent in his voice. It laces each and every word, imbuing them with poison. “You recognize her.”
“I…I don’t know what you mean.” The judge moves to stand, desperately searching for a sympathetic face, but he won’t find one.
Everyone here hungers for his death.
“You know exactly what he means,” Ellie says, taking a single step forward. I fucking hate that she’s even speaking to this scum, but I can’t help but be proud of her. There’s not an ounce of fear in her eyes, not a single quiver in her smoky voice. Sheer determination reflects in her gray-blue eyes behind her glasses. “You bought me.”
The judge releases a strangled sound. “What the hell are you going on about? Kids, get out of my office before I—”
“Before you what?” Ryker materializes behind the judge, an insidious grin stretching his lips. His ice-blue eyes glimmer ruthlessly through the darkness of his hood. “Sit the fuck down, you ugly cunt.”
Ryker doesn’t give the judge time to comply.
He simply reaches forward and pushes at the judge’s shoulders, forcing him back into his seat.
“You don’t want to do this.” Some of the judge’s bravado returns, his chest puffing out even as his cheeks turn blotchy, stained red with anger. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“A sick pervert who buys people online?” Beckett moves toward the judge’s computer and twists it so he can type on it. His eyebrows lower in concentration as his fingers dance across the keys. After a few moments, he pulls back, triumphant, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Found it.”
“Found what?” The judge begins to sputter, the red on his cheeks morphing into an unhealthy shade of purple. “What the hell are you going on about?” And then all that color drains from his face when Beckett twists the computer toward him once more—no doubt to show him the website the judge used to purchase Ellie. “I don’t know what that is.”
“You don’t, huh?” I tap my chin in mock contemplation. “So it must’ve been someone else who used your computer to purchase my girlfriend?”
I notice, somewhat belatedly, that both Ryker and Ellie flinch at that term. Ryker, because he’s a possessive bastard who still hasn’t wrapped his head around the fact we all love Ellie.
And Ellie because…
Well…
Guilt is a funny thing. It can consume you, if you let it, eating away at you like a million moths nibbling on an old quilt. It starts with a single hole, and then that thread begins to deteriorate, until the entire creation is nothing but string and pained memories.
My heart pinches, but I shove the emotion to the side, knowing I need to focus.
“Why’d you do it?” Ryker asks darkly, still hovering behind the judge’s chair, his hand deep in his hoodie’s pocket, no doubt resting on the hilt of his dagger.
“What the hell are you going to do? Kill me?” The judge chuckles, though there’s a desperate edge to it. He must see something in our eyes—perhaps the inevitability of his own demise—because he’s not nearly as cocky as he was moments before.
“Kill you… Torture you… Make you eat your own cock…” Zane shrugs, a grin unfurling on his lips. “We’ll have to see what the muse decides.”
“And who is this mysterious muse?” Ellie pipes in.
“You, of course.” Zane looks affronted that she even had to ask.
“Oh.” She thinks about it. “Then your muse says, have him eat his own dick.”
Zane’s smile stretches farther, his face now resembling a demented joker. “Perfect.”
Unease swirls in my gut, and I glance back at Ellie, noting the tightness in her face, the clenching of her hands.
“El, you don’t need to be here for this. You can wait in the hall,” I tell her gently. I don’t want to treat her like a spooked rabbit, but in some ways, that’s exactly what she is. She found herself caught in the hunter’s snare. Now, all she can do is run, hide, and pray that the wolves surrounding her can take out the enemy before it catches up with her.
Ellie’s lips compress, and she takes another step forward until she’s standing directly beside me.
“No. I want to stay.” Her eyes don’t leave the judge’s face. “I need to stay.”
“This won’t end with me.” The judge levels us all with his best attempt at a glare—though it’s hard to take him seriously with his flaccid cock dangling between his legs like a tiny Vienna sausage. “Even if you kill me, someone else will just buy the dumb bitch.” His lips stretch at the corners. “The Divine One seems determined to take your pretty girlfriend out of the picture. Our esteemed leader was the one who told me about the listing in the first place,” he continues, reaffirming what we all already suspected. Aria truly is a twisted bitch. “You know, perhaps we can make a deal. If you let me have one night with the little cunt, then maybe I’ll—”
He never finishes his vulgar threat.
Ryker slams his dagger into the judge’s shoulder at the same moment Zane lunges for him.
The judge’s agonized screams echo through the office.
Days later, a newspaper will arrive at the half-completed hotel—where we’ve been hiding out—and detail the gruesome murder of a highly respected and loved judge. They’ll compare his death to others that have been popping up around town.
Keep your children inside, it says.
Report any suspicious activity.
Oak Grove officially has a serial killer in its midst.
3
LANDON
TWO MONTHS LATER
Getting stabbed sucks.
Sure, there are some perks to almost dying, like having Ellie waiting on me hand and foot. But still…it sucks.
The last two months have been a series of surgeries, physical therapy appointments, and resting. Goddamn resting. If I have to listen to my brothers scream at me to sit my ass down and let them handle things one more time, I’ll go insane.
I think the worst of it all is the fact that, legally, I’m dead.
Just like Ryker.
We decided unanimously that the best course of action was faking my death and taking another pawn off the board. Then, when The Divine One isn’t looking, we’ll surround her. The queen may not be the most important piece on a chessboard, but she is in this game.
Taking her out won’t obliterate the entire organization, though. No, that will have to be done with…finesse. Planning. Scheming.
The Paragons of Prosperity will fall, and when it does, I’ll throw an “I’m alive” party in the ashes of their remains.
A knot tightens in my throat.
God, I didn’t even witness my funeral, but I know it was brutal. Ellie arrived back here in tears, and my brothers were in an incredibly foul mood for weeks after.
I’ve never been overly close to my parents. They’re both successful politicians who are away more often than not, leaving me alone with an endless supply of nannies.
But, according to Dom, they…cried. A lot. My mother sobbed and told the entire room of grievers that she fucked up. That she didn’t care for me the way she should have. My father remained silent, solemn, but Dom claimed a single tear fell from the corner of his eye as he stared blindly ahead.
Though I know why we had to do it, why it was crucial we faked my death, pain still rakes its claws down my spine.
How much more of this can any of us take? Two of us are “dead,” and everyone else is desperate to pick up the pieces, to arrange them into something that is semi-coherent and tangible.
Beckett was able to unlock the phone of the asshole who attacked us the night everything went to shit. We were right in our initial assessment—he was a guard who managed to catch a glimpse of one of us without our mask (probably Zane, who claimed the mask made it hard for him to breathe), then followed us here with the intent to kill us. Shortly before he could implement his plan, he received a notification from a high-profile POP member with information about Ellie, including her school photo, date of birth, and other important information. Apparently, The Divine One notified all of her staff about Ellie’s sale and promised a hefty payout if Ellie was found and delivered to whomever bought her. Fortunately, it appeared as if the prick was acting rogue—there was no indication whatsoever that he’d contacted anyone about our location—so we should be safe where we are for now. And since no other assholes have arrived, hoping for a payout…
Maybe The Divine One has finally given up. Raymond seems to believe the bitch has been toying with us this entire time and never had any intention of actually selling Ellie.
I digress.
Someone out there believes they’re owed my girl, and I imagine they won’t be satisfied until POP delivers what they promised.
School has come and gone. Ellie, Dom, Beckett, and Zane all got their diploma, though they skipped out on the graduation ceremony. None of them have been back at the academy since we first discovered Ellie was listed for sale on the black market.
Our professors thought the four of them were grieving, so they gave them online coursework to complete in order to graduate. And since I had nothing better to do, I did it all for them.
Easy peasy.
I suppose you can say I graduated four times over.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Ellie’s curt voice—rife with worry—brings a tentative smile to my lips.
I freeze where I’m standing, one hand flush against the wall for support, and wait for her to catch up.
Morning sunlight gilds one side of her face, creating golden highlights in her brown hair. She looks fucking gorgeous.
She looks like…mine.
I don’t bother to tamp down the explosive, possessive reaction I have at seeing her.
She pauses when she reaches me, her hands balling into fists by her sides, and I know she’s quelling the urge to touch me. Caress me. Assure herself that I’m okay. I want to tell her that she’s allowed to touch me, that I relish the feel of her fingers caressing my skin, but I can’t push her too far.
There are shadows in her eyes, demons that can’t be vanquished back to hell, no matter how hard we all try. They’ve been there for years but have only become more prominent with time. Watching me get stabbed…it broke something in her.
The first few weeks after the incident, I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault. However, my words did very little to assuage the guilt swarming in her gray-blue eyes. If anything, it only seemed to exacerbate it, like just hearing about my injury sent her spiraling into a pitch-black abyss.
“You shouldn’t be walking around,” Ellie insists. Her brows bank together, forming a knot. “Come on, Landon. Let me walk you back to bed.”
If it were anyone else, I would refuse on principle. I’ve been cooped up for way too damn long. Besides, I barely feel the wound in my stomach, though the skin surrounding it does pull with every step I take, making it hard to walk without support.
But this is Ellie, and I can never resist her. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
With an elongated sigh, I allow her to place her palm on the small of my back and guide me in the direction of my borrowed room. Energy fires up my spine at her touch in a series of sporadic explosions, fireworks bursting through me.
She hasn’t touched me—or anyone else, for that matter—in a way that wasn’t clinical. For weeks, we’ve all been toeing the line we not only already crossed months before but absolutely decimated.
I want to pull her into my arms. Hold her. Run my nose down the length of her neck. Tangle my fingers in that gorgeous brown hair. Kiss those plump, swollen lips.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Not yet.
“I’m going goddamn stir crazy, you know,” I tell her, trying my damnedest not to pout like a petulant toddler.
Her lips twitch slightly, a smile begging to be set free. “Maybe next time you can avoid getting stabbed,” she quips.
I dramatically clutch at my chest. “Wow. Blaming the victim. Real mature.”
“It’s not like we’re doing a lot on our end.” A hint of bitterness seeps into her tone.
I may not be actively involved in the day-to-day operations currently, but I still know what’s going on.
After the guys and Ellie disposed of her buyer, another one immediately took his place. This one was a teacher at the local elementary school. Mania took care of him, and almost immediately, a third buyer popped up. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. Raymond instructed us to stop killing them for the time being. After all, one of these buyers could be nothing but a trap, designed to lure us straight to The Divine One and her minions, though I have a feeling that’s not the case; otherwise Mania would’ve been captured or killed long ago.
The Divine One isn’t stupid. She has to know what we’re doing and why, yet the conniving bitch doesn’t seem to care. A part of me wonders if she’s targeting the ad toward specific POP members, hoping we’ll take them out once they purchase Ellie.
Crazy bitch.
Yet, even suspecting that, I don’t want to stop murdering these fuckers. I can’t.
It’s driving me fucking insane knowing that some asshole believes he owns Ellie, but there’s nothing that can be done at the moment. Raymond’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. This entire operation is nothing but a Hydra—cut off one head, and two will take its place.
The guys spent the last couple of weeks looking into The Divine One and her underground clubs. We know their locations, but once again, Raymond insists we need to be patient. Gather evidence. Find a way to destroy the entire organization instead of a single building or its leader.
But how? Raymond has contacts in the FBI, yes, but what good will they do? Despite an abundance of evidence, nothing has been done yet. No arrests have been made. And for all we know, Raymond is setting us up, compiling extensive evidence of all our crimes to get us sent away. I don’t trust the fucker, but he’s our best hope of defeating the Paragons of Prosperity once and for all.
