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  Seeing as I’m not getting anywhere, I fall silent. He’s not leaving until he has his say, and I’m struggling to hide that I’m falling apart on the inside.

  Detective Brooks looks around, noting the half-rolled mattress, the battered suitcase, and the backpack beside it. Lastly, his eyes linger on the bottles of liquor on the kitchen counter.

  I cross my arms over my breasts, recalling that I’m barely clothed. Why the hell hadn’t I just faced my fear of the darkness and fled when I’d had the chance?

  “He’s killing again.”

  My lips flatten, refusing to reply.

  “He’s leaving a message for you with each victim,” he reveals in a quiet voice.

  Fear clenches like a tight fist around my chest. “W-what?”

  His expression hardens as he gazes at me. “He leaves their pinkie finger at the scene of the abduction along with a photo—your photo. A school portrait, always the same.”

  My stomach rolls, and I’m caught in an instant flashback. I’m once more in that horribly cold cage as I watch my father butcher that innocent woman.

  Her screams are so loud that my eardrums feel like they’re going to burst, and even then, I can still hear the blade slicing bone and tendons.

  My eyes are focused on what’s happening across the room, unable to look away as if someone has hijacked my body. She’s bound to the table, naked and screaming horrible animalistic sounds as he takes the blade to her lower leg, sawing back and forth as blood spurts and splatters. He’d told me earlier that the blade isn’t as sharp as it should be, which draws out the process and the victim’s agony.

  The smell—metallic mixed with raw meat—makes my nostrils twitch as tears fall steadily down my cheeks.

  I manage to tear myself from the memory as I blindly spin on my heel and race to the bathroom, slamming the door closed. Vomit spews from my mouth, and I just barely manage to lean over the toilet in time. I grip the porcelain rim as my stomach rejects everything I’d drank last night. It’s painful as my stomach continues to heave, and it seems to take forever for it to end. By the time I’m finished, you’d think I’d be smelling the sour scent of all the liquor I’d thrown up, but instead, I swear the odor of raw meat is lingering in the air.

  The corners of my vision darken, and I fall back onto my ass, drawing my knees up to my chest. I desperately struggle to hold onto my sanity as the memories tug at the vulnerability of my wounded mind. They want to drag me back to that cage in the basement of the cabin. They want me to remember all the horrible acts I had to witness when I was sixteen.

  “I’m not there, I’m not there, I’m not there,” I mutter to myself over and over as I rock back and forth, concentrating on my voice. Tears are stinging the backs of my eyes, and I quickly think of the detective waiting in the other room.

  He can’t see me like this.

  I draw in a shuddering breath and focus on regaining control of my mind. Knowing it helps to direct my attention on something—anything, I scramble to my knees and yank open the cupboard beneath the sink, pulling out the scented aerosol. The scent of clean linen and summer days begins to permeate the small room, erasing the sour scent of vomit and the lingering scent of blood and gore.

  Inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale.

  I’m okay.

  Slowly, I rise to my feet and turn on the faucet, running icy water over my shaking hands. As I begin to calm, anger stirs within me. He’s the reason I’d just nearly spiraled down into the darkness that I am so desperate to avoid, and I resent him for it.

  He needs to leave.

  I glance at my reflection in the mirror. I’m pale, but my blue eyes are now blazing angrily back at me—good. My gaze drops to the thin white tank, and I wince. I can see the pink of my nipples, and although the apartment is warm, the fabric clings to the small buds. I should at least slip on a tee or sweatshirt when I enter the main room since I have nothing of use in the bathroom, but then he might get the impression that I’m self-conscious.

  Screw that.

  This is my place, and he’d forced his way in.

  With that thought on my mind, I yank open the door and enter the room. He’s patiently standing where I’d left him, his expression unreadable as his eyes snap back to me. There is no doubt that I’m probably under intense scrutiny, but his expression reveals nothing.

  “I can’t help you,” I say with a sharp bite to my tone.

  His expression remains unyielding. “He wants you.”

  I skewer him with a look. No shit. “I’m aware.”

  Even as his face remains impassive, his eyes are scorching mine with their intensity. “The only way to stop him is through you.”

  I shake my head, planting my hands on my hips. “I’ve worked hard to stay one step ahead of him.”

  “You’ve succeeded, and he’s doing the only thing he can to gain your attention.”

  “He wants to kill me for betraying him,” I say without emotion.

  Detective Brooks takes a step forward, encouraging me to listen to him. “I won’t let that happen.”

  I hold up a hand to ward him off, not wanting him to come any closer. “That’s an empty promise, Detective.”

  “He’s going to keep killing, Serenity.”

  The sound of my full name has me flinching. His use of it is deliberate, and I hate him for making me face emotions that I’ve been desperately avoiding.

  His lips press into a flat line, and he pulls out a photo from his pocket, holding it out to me. “This is Rebecca Williamson, age sixteen. She was his first victim four months ago.”

  I back away as if he’s burned me, my entire body stumbling into the nearest wall. I flatten myself against it, refusing to look at the photo of the pretty blonde as my eyes remain locked on his. “Don’t!” I say sharply as my heart thunders in my ears.

  “It’s different when you can see their faces, isn’t it?” he asks in a soft, measured voice.

  “You bastard!” I hiss.

  His expression remains unwavering. “You know what he’s doing to them. You’ve seen it.”

  “I can’t,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “You mean you won’t,” he corrects, his eyes blazing with frustration.

  “Get out!”

  “So that’s it? You’re just going to turn your back on those girls? You’re just going to let it happen?” he asks with calculation.

  Shame and guilt claw at my insides over the memory of helping my father lure women to their fate when I was nothing more than a child. Somehow, through the pain of knowing I’d participated even though I was too young to understand, I manage to glare at him. “I was a child!” I spat.

  “That’s right, you were,” he says levelly. “Your mind was innocent, and you couldn’t comprehend what was happening, but you’re not a child now. He wants you, and until he believes you’re playing his game, he’s going to continue killing. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

  “I am not responsible for his actions,” I tell him, but my voice breaks.

  “Wrong. You could help end this. You could give those girls’ families peace. You’d be saving lives.” He pulls out his wallet and plucks out a business card, holding it out to me. When I don’t take it, he allows it to flutter to the floor where it encounters my bare toes. “When you’re done allowing fear to control you, call me.”

  His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer before he turns and calmly walks to the door. A second later, he’s gone, quietly closing the door behind him.

  My knees buckle, and I sit on the floor, my chest aching as my eyes fill with tears. I hate him for throwing my past at me. I hate myself more for not understanding as a child that I was luring the women to their deaths. Furthermore, I loathe myself for burying the memory and not recalling it until I was sixteen—when I’d inadvertently stepped into this living nightmare that I hadn’t seen coming. So many years of not realizing what was happening…

  It's starting all over again, and lives depe
nd on my actions.

  I can’t.

  I can’t do it again.

  I’m broken into so many pieces that I’ll never be able to put those pieces back together.

  * * *

  She’s so pretty.

  I like how her shoes glitter in the moonlight, and her hair is so long. She looks like a princess from one of my favorite TV shows. I miss my mommy, I wish she was going to be my new mommy. Maybe this time we get to keep her?

  I remember that I’m supposed to get the pretty lady’s attention, and I step away from the van and into the middle of the sidewalk, clutching my dolly as I stick my lower lip out just as Daddy told me.

  The lady is walking by herself, and she looks startled when she sees me. Her face softens, and she quickly hurries over, squatting before me. “Sweetie, where’s your parents? You shouldn’t be out here, it’s late.”

  “My daddy said he’d be back,” I tell her with solemn eyes.

  She frowns, her eyes moving around the street. “How did you get here?”

  I turn and point to the dark van a few feet away. Knowing she’ll follow, I skip towards the back of the van. “I didn’t want to wait inside no more,” I call over my shoulder.

  Daddy’s waiting, and as the woman quickly hurries after me, he’s there and ready. She blinks with confusion, and Daddy quickly covers her face with a white handkerchief. She struggles momentarily before she becomes sleepy. Daddy sets her in the back of the van, his eyes darting around the area to make certain no one’s watching.

  “Get back in the van, Serenity,” he orders.

  I nod and hurriedly go to the passenger door. He’s there in an instant and opens the door for me. I climb into my car seat, and he helps me buckle up before closing the door. I try to peer over my shoulder to see the lady in the back, but the seats are in the way.

  When the van starts, I turn back around and clutch my dolly to my chest. “Do we get to keep her this time, Daddy? I want someone to play with.”

  “Not this time, Pumpkin. Remember, we’re taking her to where she can meet her prince charming. Don’t you want that for her?”

  I wake with a start, soaked with sweat.

  My heart is hammering inside my chest, and the light overhead blinds me as I scramble off the air mattress and stumble towards the door. Through squinting eyes, I spy the chair still secured beneath the doorknob.

  I’m safe.

  After drawing in a deep breath and exhaling, I walk back to the mattress and sit down, huddling on it. I should have drunk more earlier, but I thought it’d be enough to stop the nightmares. What I should have done was leave San Diego so that Detective Brooks can’t approach me a second time, but I hadn’t been in any condition to drive after he’d shattered the life I’d carefully built here.

  Besides, if I thought running would get me out of this mess, I’d do it in a heartbeat. It’s too late now. Running wouldn’t do any good. I could put a country between myself and my father, but it wouldn’t stop the killings. Not only that, the guilt would eat away at me until there was nothing left. I’m already just a shell of the woman I should have been, but I have more left to lose—like my sanity. I’m already messed-up in ways that I never could have imagined, but at least I’m holding onto my sanity—barely.

  Now, Detective Brooks has shown up on my doorstep and is asking me to give up everything—possibly my life. He’s a fool if he thinks he can prevent my death. It’s the very reason I’ve been running for five years. My father wants me dead, and one way or another, he’ll get his hands on me.

  I’m a dead woman walking.

  Four

  Holden

  The fact that she hasn’t bailed is a promising sign, but I feel like a complete bastard. As I watch the apartment building, my gritty eyes focused on her windows, guilt nudges at my conscience. I’d basically thrown it in her face that she’d aided her father with the murders when she was younger. Christ, she was only five years old. She didn’t know any better, and she certainly isn’t to blame—though many others think otherwise.

  I rub my brow as I recall all the information I’d gathered on the Donahue murders back in Chicago. People had conveniently forgotten that she’d suppressed the dark memories of her childhood until she had no choice but to face them. She too was a victim.

  She was sixteen when she became suspicious of what her father was up to when he would go to their family cabin without her. Her mother had disappeared when she was only three years old, likely thanks to her father, Carl Donahue. It’s suspected that Carlita had found out about her husband’s sinister hobbies, and he’d silenced her permanently to keep his secrets intact. At the time, it had looked like Carlita had run off with a mystery man, no doubt due to planted evidence by Donahue who knew his way around the law.

  From the outside perspective of the public eye, Donahue was your average police officer who happened to be a single father raising a daughter. No one would have ever suspected him to be a sociopath—not with how normal his life appeared. He was a doting father, spoiling Serenity with gifts and small vacations. He’d brought pictures of her to the police department to proudly show others. On all accounts, he was known to always put her above his own needs, or so everyone had thought.

  Evidently, Donahue had given up his murderous hobby once he’d felt Serenity was getting too old and might retain memories. For more than ten years he’d reformed himself, but then he couldn’t help it and had resumed feeding his sinister hunger for death.

  Serenity was sixteen when she became suspicious of his nightly outings. During her interview after her ordeal, she’d shared that she’d thought her father was having an affair, and she’d wanted to know why he was keeping it from her. Whenever she’d inquired about the supposed affair, he’d told her it wasn’t anything serious and that was why he hadn’t wanted to make introductions. Out of sheer teenage curiosity, she’d driven to the family cabin, located an hour outside of Chicago. Much to her horror, she’d found her father at the cabin all right, and he’d been with one of his victims. I can’t imagine how she’d felt learning the truth.

  Surprisingly enough, Donahue hadn’t wanted to silence his daughter like he had his wife. Sociopaths usually don’t develop attachments for others, though they are extremely good at pretending otherwise. Instead of killing Serenity, he’d kept her at the cabin, locked in the basement in a makeshift jail cell. During the day, he would go back to work and make excuses for Serenity’s disappearance, explaining that she was staying out of town with a relative for a few weeks.

  When he’d reappear at the cabin, he’d work on steadily trying to brainwash Serenity into accepting his behavior and what he was doing. In his mind, if she accepted him, she could live—and for some reason, he was reluctant to end her life. For twenty-one long days he’d focused on preventing her from betraying him. She’d had to watch the rapes, the mutilation, killings, and dismemberment of two female victims. Somehow, she’d kept her sanity and had the wherewithal to earn his full trust, knowing it was the only way she’d ever be able to walk out of the cabin alive.

  When he’d finally trusted her to keep quiet, they’d gone back to Chicago, and she’d waited until he was at work before she’d gone to the department with the truth.

  As if surviving a traumatic event and betraying her father wasn’t enough, the public had castigated her. She’d spent twenty-one days in hell, regaining suppressed memories with her world crumbling around her. But instead of pitying her, they’d called her an accomplice. This was especially the case with the victims’ families. They’d needed someone to blame since Donahue had gotten wind of Serenity’s betrayal and had disappeared before he could be apprehended. As a cop, he’d known exactly what to do and what to avoid. Though he’d gotten rid of all the evidence before bringing Serenity back home, he hadn’t been able to take down the jail cell in the basement or move the bodies. After getting a warrant to dig up the property, over a dozen bodies had been found, confirming Serenity’s story.

  The
second that Serenity turned eighteen, she’d left town abruptly and hadn’t ever looked back. Since then, she’s wisely kept moving from place to place, hiding from her father and anyone that sought her out over the murders.

  The murders had originally taken place an hour outside of Chicago, though the victims had been all taken from the City. The women had been either homeless or prostitutes, which explains why the disappearances had gone unnoticed. Now, the killings are starting again, but this time they’re in Little Rock, Arkansas. This time is different, he’s leaving a pinkie finger of the victim behind and a school photo of Serenity—the one taken only two months before she’d betrayed him. If he can’t find her, he’s going to force her out of hiding.

  And damned if we aren’t aiding his plan.

  We don’t have a choice, though. It was either track down Donahue’s daughter or keep chasing false leads as Donahue continues killing innocent teenage girls. She’s the key to taking him down, but it comes with great risk, just as she’d pointed out. I can’t promise her safety, because Donahue is a smart, slippery bastard that knows how to avoid getting caught. His career in law enforcement is certainly working against us.

  I stifle a yawn and rake a hand through my hair. As the newest member of the Major Crimes Division, and because of my undercover experience as a DEA agent back in New York, I’d been given the task of bringing Serenity back to Little Rock—hopefully a willing participant of the task force assembled to take down Donahue.

  Two detectives have come out from Chicago to help with our team. They’d worked the case when Serenity was sixteen, but from what they’d relayed, she hadn’t formed any connections with anyone during the investigation.

  Lieutenant Martinez is head of the task force with plenty of higher-ups at the precinct breathing down his neck, which has him currently breathing down mine. We’re hoping to catch Donahue without bringing in the FBI. Since it’s likely Serenity would shut out Detectives Bruggs and Cadara, I’d been chosen to be the one to approach her.