Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3 (33 page)

I walk over and inspect the pool. There it is. One shade lighter than the rest. A clear impression. A slight touch of the hand to sample the kill.

Only someone taking a life for the first time would be this riveted, this careless.

And he’s not the UNSUB.

I
f one is
to understand himself, one must consider the nature, that is, the essence of humankind in general. It’s an undertaking into the study of philosophical anthropology. Granted, I’ve earned a degree in order to work among peers in my field, to earn a living—but it was merely a requirement, a burden placed upon me by society.

I pride myself in the fact that I’m an autodidact, and have amassed most of my knowledge and mastery in the human condition through years of arduous study and research.

I’ve analyzed myself as much as I’ve placed others under the microscope.

And what I’ve discovered is that people—as a whole—are easily manipulated.

We yearn so desperately to make a connection, to know that we are not alone, that there is another in this world who feels what we feel. Who thinks how we think. Who accepts us wholly, unconditionally, and whom we can build companionship with so that we do not suffer this lonely existence in solitude, that we will do almost anything—
anything
—to avoid it.

When you understand that fundamental necessity, then it’s only a matter of pulling the right strings—the heartstrings.

The most difficult moment of my study was in realizing that I’m not above this human condition, this affliction. However, there is liberation in stripping ones self of all misconceptions and lies to find true self discovery. It’s a painful process, but then pain, as I’ve come to realize, is the purest method.

Most seek to ignore this yearning. They don’t want to admit they are weak, would rather live in denial and leach off others to feed their needs. It’s a selfish way to exist. And ultimately, we are a selfish species.

Why is it so difficult to admit our limitations, and in turn, strive to fulfill our desires? At any cost? Is there ever too high a price for absolute ecstasy?

After all, by doing so, we gain strength. He who controls his world commands the weak souls around him.

And every fucking one of them is weak.

I run the cane across Avery’s back, reveling in the tremble of her racked body. She’s hardly a weakling; so full of vibrant rebellion when she first arrived. But the beauty in understanding the human condition is in knowing how to break that character.

It’s all just a matter of time and pressure. Much like with a rock. Water cascades over the rock, weathering away the stone, sending tiny fragments downstream as they break further apart. Just like that process, people can be eroded.

Leaning in close, I whisper, “Let’s give our Sadie a show, shall we?”

She flinches, making the chains above rattle. Even now, after hours of weathering her stone surface away, she still believes in the lie. That she is strong enough on her own to overcome any hardship.

She’s fighting against the current, her own nature, but she can only withstand so much force before she breaks. It’s just a matter of time and pressure.

I wrap my arms around her tenderly as I twirl her to face the camera. Giving her what she so stubbornly denies she needs: connection.

“We must keep the world updated,” I say, sliding the tip of the cane up her thigh. “Their utterly boring lives are invested in us. We should always please our audience. And Sadie needs this, even more than you do.”

Oh, Sadie needs it terribly. She’s like a diamond—hardest substance in the world. Chipping away Sadie’s stone surface will take far less time with the help of breaking Avery.

It will send my love to her knees…then right into my arms.

Where she belongs.

A smile pulls at my mouth as I raise the cane, and I can’t help but look directly into the camera lens. As if Sadie is watching me right now. Me. Her inevitability.

Avery’s feet kick, trying to find purchase to push her away. Her cries swell into a forlorn tune, reaching only my ears. I brace my arm, but her sweet screams fade into the background as I pick up on the newscast. Annoyed, I turn toward the overhead screen.

A reporter stands before the hospital, giving viewers an update on the Arlington Slasher case, as a woman is wheeled in through the front doors on a gurney. Unable to reveal the victim’s identity, the reporter does say the victim is a survivor of what’s believed to be a related attack connected to the spree of serial killings.

Red covers my vision. Pulsing, blinding. A pure bolt of anger fires through my veins, and white-hot fury scorches my blood. In a moment of uncontrollable rage, I release a roar, choking the room of sound. A crackle fills my ears, then a deafening ringing.

I feel something warm trickle over my knuckles. I look down, see the cane splintered and my blood dripping to the plastic-covered floor. Little dots of bright red, mocking me.

I crick my neck, turning to face my pet. Avery’s eyes—those orbs of chocolate brown—have become as pale as her ashen skin. Her fear tickles my senses, and I inhale the scent of urine. It streams down her leg.

That almost makes up for that amateur’s fuck-up. Almost.

As always, I think as I slink toward my shivering pet, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Time’s run out. The tick tock of the clock just stopped for that one weak soul.

“Brace yourself, pet,” I whisper into her ear. “It’s time for your transformation into a Monarch.”

I smile into the camera as Avery’s screams drown my disappointment.

W
hen we were kids
, Julian had a hiding spot in the woods. Whenever he’d get caught cheating on a test, or brought home a failing grade, or raised some other discontent he didn’t want to deal with, he’d hide out in his fort until our parents were out of their minds with worry. Then he’d stumble in, dehydrated and filthy, and they were just so happy he was home that all was forgotten.

My brother is the quintessential Machiavellian. His manipulative behavior hasn’t changed any over the years. Whenever he runs into an uncomfortable situation that he doesn’t want to confront, he finds refuge in his hiding place until it’s safe to show his face again.

Only now, instead of a child’s hand-built fort, Julian boasts a two-story log cabin along the Potomac River.

“How do you know he’s here?” Carson asks, shutting the door to his Crown Vic.

I enter in a code on the gate, and the wrought iron bars grind and screech open. “Because,” I say, walking through to the pebbled driveway, “he’s not answering my calls. He’s off the grid.”

“If he doesn’t want to be found, wouldn’t he go somewhere that you don’t know about?”

I shrug. “I don’t come here.” In other words, I don’t chase after my brother.

Julian and I have an understanding on that. Just like I knew to leave him alone during his funks when we were kids, he knows not to push my buttons. We’re good at giving each other a wide berth, and plenty of space when we need it.

Except for now. I’m breaking that unspoken rule between us. All bets are off when it comes to Sadie.

“This place wasn’t listed on any of Julian’s financial reports.” Carson’s expression darkens as he takes in the sweeping terrace overlooking the river. “Can’t see how I could’ve missed
this
.”

“Not all detectives are cut out for the job.” I cut a sharp glance his way, and he returns my glare. Truth is, this place wouldn’t be on any financial statement. This is what a whole lot of bribery and cash under the table gets you.

Carson smirks. “Looks like the perfect place to conduct sordid affairs…of the kidnapping and torture kind.”

My smile drops. I march up the stairs toward the entrance, wanting to get this part over with. My brother might be a lot of questionable things, but a serial killer isn’t one of them.

The sooner I prove that to Carson, the sooner I get back to Sadie. Her last update has me on edge. I can feel her panic and desperation in every message, and even though she’s strong, I know everyone has a breaking point. I never want to see hers.

I don’t knock. I go right through the front door, tripping the alarm. To the right, a panel flashes red. Carson radios in some report about the alarm, while I stare at the panel, trying to get inside my brother’s degenerate head.

A painful ache twinges beneath my rib cage as it comes to me. Steadying my hand, I enter in Marni’s birthday on the keypad. The alarm shuts off.

“I thought you never came here,” Carson says.

He doesn’t get a response on this one. When he had me in that interrogation room, dredging up painful memories of Marni, reminding me of choices I can never take back—I was there. At
my
breaking point. I won’t give him any more ammunition.

“You’d think a loud-ass alarm system would alert the dead,” he says, glancing around. “Your brother is either a heavy sleeper, piss drunk, or not here.” He stops at the end of the foyer, turns around. “Unless he’s somewhere else on the property. Like a basement…or a torture chamber. A nice, isolated spot where he can muffle the screams of tortured women.”

I reach into my pocket and grip my rope. Needing just one measure of restraint to ground me. I close my eyes, breathe, open them. More in control.

Julian’s seen my calls coming through. He knows I’m on the hunt for him, and I’m sure he knows it was me who tripped the alarm. I’m the only one who could’ve guessed that code.
Where the fuck is he
?

I take off up the stairs with Carson close on my heels. If Julian isn’t here, then that means he’s in deeper trouble than I thought. Our conversation about him wanting me to take over the club comes back to me. I honestly believed him—that he was giving up the lifestyle to get married.

I should’ve known better. Julian’s too selfish to give anything up for another person.

He’s hiding. But I don’t know from whom or what. Who has he pissed off? Which one of his cash cows got tired of being blackmailed?

Even all these years later, after learning his tricks, he’s still able to play me.

The second story of the cabin is one large, open loft. Equipped with just about every electronic, a gaming section with a pool table, and a playroom in the far corner, it’s the ultimate man cave. That is, if your ideal haven includes bondage. I doubt his fiancé has ever been here—this is Julian’s secret. Even—or especially—from her.

As Carson checks out the wall of bondage gear, I head toward Julian’s computer area. “I’m calling in a sweep,” he says. “All of this shit needs to be tested. You can’t tell me your sick brother didn’t bring Avery here. Or other vics. I’ll bet my left nut that we’ll find Avery’s DNA…” He trails off. “Holy shit.”

He’s putting in a call before I can process what I’m seeing.

I stand frozen, every muscle corded tight, looking down at my brother’s mutilated body. The word
corpse
hits me hard and fast, knocking the breath from my lungs.

His black suit is shredded, dried blood staining the expensive material from slashes across his chest. Throat sliced so deeply, his head is nearly severed from his body. As I take in the carnage, the only thought circling my mind is how he would hate to be seen like this. His face bruised. That perfect suit, ruined.

“Don’t touch anything,” Carson instructs. And it’s like his order finally gives me permission to move.

I drop down and feel for a pulse. His skin is cold. Not ice-cold, the way you’d assume death would feel. But rather a chilly, air-conditioned temperature. As if he’s become just another inanimate object in the room. His glassy blue eyes stare wide and vacant right into mine.

“I said, not to touch anything.” Carson says something else into his phone, then steps beside me. “Mother fucker. Julian was just a slimy piece of business shit, after all. I guess this proves he’s not the perp.”

In two moves, I’m off the floor and have Carson jacked up by his shirt collar. I back him against the wall where my fist drives into his face. “This proves it?” I shout, sending another punch into his stomach. He tries to double over, but I keep him held upright. “All this time, you could’ve been investigating the real killer, but you had it in for my brother. Satisfied now?”

He sucks in a breath and manages to knock my arm away. He takes a swing and lands a strong right hook to my jaw. My vision explodes with white. His arms reach around my middle and he drives me backward.

My feet fail to push back against his momentum, and I fall, leaving a huffing Carson looking down at me. “Yeah. He’s cleared. But what about you?” he grates. “There’s still a matter of the evidence. Rope—just like yours—being used at a damn crime scene.”

Pushing to my knees, I deliver a punch to his gut. Then land another to his face when he buckles. I look straight into his eyes as I get up and grab his neck. “You think I killed my own brother? You twisted fuck.” I punch him in the stomach. “I was with Sadie last night. Then I was with your ass all day. What about you? What’s your alibi?”

He coughs, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. A slow smile curls his mouth. “If I was going to get rid of him, I wouldn’t do it now. Not when I was so close to nailing him.”

I shake my head, anger ripping through every muscle. My knuckles throb, my hand fisted so tight…just looking for the next place to stick Carson. Shoving him back, I say, “You’re not worth it. Get out.”

“Not happening. This is a closed crime scene now.” He motions around the room. “Don’t you think it’s just a little too convenient that the owner of The Lair winds up dead? What about the missing footage from last night and this morning? Why would the UNSUB need to knock off Julian? What’s your brother’s part in all this?” His gaze sharpens on me. “Just because he’s not the perp, doesn’t mean he’s not connected.”

“His death could have nothing to do with this case at all.” Given the number of enemies my brother’s made over the years, that’s not a complete stretch.

His eyes widen. “Really? I admit he doesn’t fit the victimology. Unless he’s hiding a vag beneath those slacks, he’s not really the UNSUB’s type. But he’s linked to this, Colton. You know it. Give up what you’re hiding.”

As I turn my back to him, he clocks me hard across the back of my head. Blind fury rips loose, blocking the pain, and I unleash a growl as I tackle him to the floor. I wail on his face until a loud beeping breaks through the adrenaline haze.

I stumble off Carson and look around the room, recognizing the emergency signal. “Where is that coming from?”

Carson rolls to his side and spits blood into his hand. “Fucking hell. We just trampled and bled all over this crime scene.” He winces as he pulls his phone from his coat pocket. “Quinn’s going to fucking bench me for sure this time.”

“What’s coming from your phone?” My adrenaline is still pumping, my limbs quaking as the sudden concern for Sadie overtakes my need to pulverize Carson.

He shakes his head. “It’s a video. I don’t know—” He squints at the screen, his eye already starting to swell. “Shit. It’s a video of Avery.”

I get to my feet and stand behind Carson, my brother and this whole fucked-up room forgotten when I see the scene playing out on the screen. My stomach bottoms out.

Last night, Sadie whispered her secrets to me in the dark. In my arms, safe and sheltered, she told me about the physical dungeon that held her captive for days when she was young. About the man who stole her childhood. Who abducted and tortured her—the reason she fears chains, and touch…and herself.

She bared that secret in such descriptive detail, as if she was reliving every second. She trusted me so implicitly, that I listened—sick with fury—as she uncoiled every detail from her memory. I listened, unable
not
to see her words through my own eyes.

Now, looking at Carson’s phone, it’s as if I’m watching her memories play out. Hearing her pain all over again in surround sound as Avery’s screams bleed from the speakers.

The woman on the screen—Avery—is dressed in a pink tank top. Just like Sadie wore all those years ago. Her legs are naked and battered. Just the way Sadie was found. Even Avery’s hair is the same shade as Sadie’s dark tresses.

And the cane connecting with Avery’s back…

I shut my eyes against the image.

It’s nothing like what Sadie and I shared last night, as I endeavored to drive her demons away, giving her a piece of me and accepting her in turn. This is something evil. Vile. Pure and sinister. The abuse Avery’s suffering in that video is just that. Abuse. And her captor is the only one receiving.

I hear Carson scramble to stand. “Jesus Christ. Is this being sent to everyone?”

And like that, my eyes fly open and I’m grabbing the device out of his hand.

The fight still hasn’t left him, and he takes a wild swing, but I block his arm. “We’re done!” I shout.

“That’s fucking evidence! And it’s mine,” he says.

I know it’s wrong…but I can’t stomach the thought of Carson watching. I know what the UNSUB is recreating with this video. The scene he’s methodically orchestrated to depict Sadie’s torture. Having Carson witness something this personal to her…watching a moment in time when she was so vulnerable…

I squeeze the phone until I hear a
crack
.

Bringing myself back to my senses, I release the device. “Here,” I say, shoving it against Carson’s chest. “Find out if everyone in the department saw that, or if it was just us.”

But truthfully, I already know the answer. That scene was staged just for Sadie, whether or not the UNSUB meant for it to get to me, he wanted her to witness his act. I know she watched it. I can damn near feel her fear traveling right to me, this second. I whip out my phone and hit her number. Desperate, needing to hear her voice.

It goes to a generic voicemail recording.

“Fuck!”

Carson looks at me, then at my dead brother. “Shit, man. You’re having a bad day.”

It should sound as smug as his face—but I can actually hear empathy in his voice.

Scrubbing a hand through my hair, I look down at the floor. “Stay if you want, but I have somewhere to be.”

Sadie’s promise won’t mean shit after this video.

But I’m keeping mine.

I take off down the stairs, hating myself for ever letting her out of my sight.