Lovely Violent Things: A Dark Romance (Hollow’s Row 2)

KALLUM

As dusk settles over the town, I spin the silver ring around my thumb one…two…three times.

It’s an impulse more than a compulsion, the desire to feel complete, whole. As everything that comes in threes is perfect in its entirety.

Omne trium perfectum.

A truth I’ve believed without fail until my sexy little sprite.

There is no number that would equate complete and utter satisfaction when it comes to Halen. I can twist my ring into infinity and I’d still be left craving more.

As evident in last night’s torture session.

Oh, but what sweet, delicious pain.

Whatever self-control I drew on to leave her room was the damn willpower of the gods. She made me a feral beast, dangerously close to breaking my word and taking her over and over until we were both ruined in perfect, fucking depraved bliss.

The image of her spread wide, touching herself, hair as wild as her lust as she gave in to our passion is seared into my damned soul. I would have traded whatever remains of that soul to the devil himself to taste her in that moment.

But as she held me trapped in the intensity of her gaze, invoking a power only she can wield, I was goddamn subservient to her every command. I once told Halen she had no idea how much power she possessed, and last night, she peeled back a corner of her arsenal.

Now, the yearning to see her completely unleashed is clawing at my cartilage and flesh from the inside.

As a consequence, I’ve been distracted, off my game. After Halen convinced Alister to issue a team of agents in her quest to process the gothic mansion, the full search of Landry’s library commenced, which only uncovered his fingerprints and DNA for the task force, and nothing more than the same tired connections that confirm Landry was an accomplice and pawn for the offender.

I know what Halen is searching for. At the ravine, she danced around the theory that the missing locals never really went missing. Finding evidence to support this theory will prove difficult without the victims themselves.

The expedition was monitored by more agents than necessary, I think, to keep a safe barrier between us, not trusting herself to be alone with me. A risk she took that accrued Alister’s wrath at the wasted man hours. As a result, Halen’s request to question the families of the victims was denied.

At some point, every pursuit, whether external or internal, is met with what feels like a dead end. A point where the quest stalls, no more answers are provided, and we’re forced to either accept defeat, or be consumed by our obsession.

But this is also the point at which great breakthroughs occur.

While all eyes are narrowly focused on the search for the thirty-two victims, no one is looking at the offender’s pursuit itself.

This person has an agenda, one that’s been stalled for days, and I can sense the anxious energy surrounding the town as we coast through the timeworn streets.

The Overman is ready to force their own breakthrough.

Every day that stretches on, this person is an increasing threat to Halen and her secret—the secret I’ve sacrificed my fucking freedom to keep buried.

Since I can’t allow the perpetrator to be caught and arrested with this knowledge, the only option is to make sure they’re not. To do what Halen is not yet prepared to do.

It’s time for the Overman to ascend and meet their maker.

For her, I can be the villain.

From the passenger seat, Halen expels an audible breath as she looks at her phone, lighting the screen to illuminate the interior of the SUV.

Daring to break the silence between us, I say, “Bad news?”

She hesitates a few seconds before she relents. “Agent Alister denied my request for the bite cast comparison for the deer remains in the ravine.”

Out of character, Agent Hernandez speaks up. “You don’t need his permission. You’re with the locals. You can issue your own lab requests to them.”

Shocked at his sudden suggestion, Halen stares at the agent. “Thank you, Agent Hernandez, but that’s not the whole of the problem. The lab is backed up, only processing urgent, time-sensitive evidence. Agent Alister is the authority on that, unfortunately.”

I sit forward to be closer to her. “It might not be a setback. You should push to get an outside lab to run the tests anyway.”

She shifts in her seat to look at me, her delicate features creased at the implication. I felt her wariness at the ravine; I know she’s questioning more than just the victims.

“There hasn’t been any evidence to suggest the perp is in law enforcement,” she says outright.

“But it is someone in this town,” Hernandez offers, continuing to be helpful.

I hike an eyebrow, amused. “He’s right, and it’s an ideal place to hide in a small town.”

“It’s also one of the most obvious for that reason,” she rebounds. “This is a close-knit community. You heard what Devyn said about her brother. If anyone suspected one of their own, they’d be the first to act.” She casts a weary look out the window of the moving vehicle. “They wouldn’t let the pain go on.”

I hear the tender truth beneath her words, her own experience with that pain bleeding through to taint her perspective. She’s more attuned than anyone on the case, and she has her suspects in mind, but she won’t give them up. Especially to me. I’m still too much of an unknown variable.

“With small communities,” Hernandez says, “the perp doesn’t necessarily need to be in law enforcement to have access to the department. A spouse, sibling, another relative or friend… Small towns trust each other.”

As I watch Halen’s reflection in the passenger-side window, I see the deep crease form between her brows. Something else is festering in her thoughts. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I just… I gave the lab something to run. I should probably get it back.” Her gaze locks with mine in the reflection.

The kernel of guilt I register in her eyes gives her away. Halen gave them the evidence from the ritual. She doesn’t need to say it; the way she tugs at her bottom lip confirms this.

I sit back and lace my hands behind my head, getting comfortable. “Well, if it is someone who has access to the lab, then there’s an abundance of my DNA at their disposal.”

That carving knife should be turning up soon.

“I won’t let that happen,” Halen says, tone resolute.

I tilt my head, for the first damn time at a loss for words. Little Halen, defending her devil. I think hell just froze over.

My dismal smile feels genuine. “I’m not worried for myself, sweetness.”

She tears her gaze away from mine in the window.

Regardless of who the perpetrator is or their access level, I won’t be roaming free for long. As I’ve likely been painted as the sorcerer from the allegory, I’m a threat to the Overman. But instead of the threat of turning the higher men against Zarathustra like in the parable, I’m a threat to turn Halen against the suspect. This person wants her to mistrust me so they can isolate her.

This person is also persistent. They have endless patience and years of practice trying to obtain an ancient philosophy.

And failing.

A whole ravine filled with their decaying efforts.

Then little Halen arrives, all pure grief and heightened emotions, her beautiful suffering a siren’s song to the Rausch. Utterly transcendent ecstasy.

I should know—I experienced her divinity for myself.

The Overman wants her. I’m an obstacle in the way.

Too bad for them, my obsession runs so much deeper.

Agent Hernandez steers the SUV into the parking lot of the police department, making Halen glance up from her phone. “Why are we here?”

The agent expels a breath, weary of his chauffeur duty. “The press conference.”

“Shit,” Halen mutters. “I forgot about that.”

“Agent Alister said to remind you not to make a scene.” Hernandez parks the vehicle, then sends her a measured look in warning. “You don’t have to answer any questions.”

“Did he give you the same order for me?” I say.

He directs a glance to the backseat, delivering his best intimidating agent face. “He said to keep the sociopath contained.”

My smile doesn’t meet my hard eyes. “Duly noted.”

Halen pulls her hair over her shoulder and works the thick hank into a braid, securing the end with her hairband. “Let’s get this over with.”

I trail behind Halen as she weaves between news vans and police cruisers toward the building. At the entrance, I reach over her shoulder and take hold of the handle, trapping her between my body and the glass door. “You can’t avoid what happened last night forever,” I whisper near her ear.

She places her hand right over mine and pulls the door open. “Oh, but I will try.”

A derisive smile curls my lips. Avoidance is a weak tactic when our defenses fracture.

My little Halen is cracking.

The sound of muffled voices guides us toward the double doors of the conference room. Halen slips through quietly, trying to be unnoticed as she locates a place along the back wall.

Agent Alister is seated on a metal chair at the front of the room, accompanied by two of his lead agents, and Detective Riddick to represent the local department, presenting a joint effort on the case for the media.

The room is congested with too many bodies. The muggy press of body heat requires the window fans to run at full blast. The whip of blades blends with the shutter click of digital cameras.

Even from the far back, I see the sad, despondent faces peppered throughout the crowd. The red, teary eyes. The wisp of hope on trembling lips posed for the cameras. The exaggerated sniffles and whimpers staged for the soundbites.

The sight pulls at some dark thread within me, and a plume of resentment wafts up like the noxious fumes from the ravine.

What Hernandez said in the SUV circles my thoughts as I absorb the saturated stench of the conference room.

Here’s the thing: sociopathy and shallow affect are not a recipe for sinister nature. The melodramatic fucks who weep uncontrollably are the more troubling concern. Behind closed doors, their empathetic feelings suddenly disappear. Poof. All a show to garner sympathy for selfish reasons.

Those people are far more dangerous than your average sociopath.

I might not shed a tear at your funeral, but that’s because I understand we’re born to die. This is a purpose, the only purpose, we all share. What’s the use in mourning an inevitable outcome? To be saddened by this is ridiculous, and frankly, contrived.

Maybe that in itself makes me a sociopath. I can’t be bothered by the labels.

But I’m also not the one who’s going to use your death as an online funding program so I can buy a ticket for a cruise.

A high-pitched screech of feedback emits from the speakers, and Alister taps the microphone. Once he concludes the task force updates, he opens up the room for questions from the press.

A journalist in the front row kicks off the show. “Special Agent Alister, it’s been rumored that the criminologist who was attacked at one of the crime scenes was fired. Can you confirm this?”

Next to me, Halen bristles with unease. Alister looks even less inclined to allow this line of questioning, but he delivers a direct statement. “Dr. St. James was released from her position at CrimeTech for reasons unknown to the FBI.”

The same journalist follows up. “But Dr. St. James is still working the case, is this correct?”

Alister rubs the back of his neck before he answers, first glancing at Detective Riddick. “The local department has retained her expert services as a consultant.”

Another hand goes up, and Alister calls on the reporter. “Is Dr. St. James here to answer questions regarding the attack?”

I dip my head near Halen. “You’re legendary, sweetness.”

“I signed a nondisclosure agreement,” she whispers.

“So don’t disclose anything.”

She releases an annoyed breath. “I’m not as practiced as some in the art of cryptic obscurity.”

I cover my mouth with my hand to conceal a smirk.

Alister tries to deflect the question. “The details of the attack on Dr. St. James are confidential at the moment.” He points to a reporter to move the questions along.

This young, eager reporter goes right to the source. He turns toward the back of the room and singles out Halen. “Dr. St. James, was the man who attacked you into occult practices?”

She looks around as all eyes fall on her. “I apologize, but I’m unable to answer questions about the attack or my attacker.”

Her rebuff doesn’t deter the reporter. “Can you speak up, please? Also, can you offer any insight into what you and your partner have discovered about the perpetrators of the crimes?”

Halen pushes off the block wall and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For the record, Professor Locke and I are not partners,” she corrects.

“But you are working closely together?”

She glances back at me, and I arch an eyebrow. “We’re both working as tirelessly as all the professionals are on this case,” she answers. “It’s a team effort.”

“Very diplomatic,” I say in a low tone.

Another reporter stands, bypassing Agent Alister to speak to Halen. “Dr. St. James, were you brought on by the local department because of the previous Harbinger killer cases you’ve worked?”

She hesitates, then: “I was already on-site, so it was a matter of convenience to acquire my services. The task force requires all the resources it can get.”

“Are the limited resources the reason why the FBI hasn’t been able to apprehend the perpetrators?”

Halen blinks against the rapid-fire camera flashes. “No, that’s not—”

“What can you tell us about the Harbinger crime scene? Is this the same killer?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case,” she says simply.

The same deflection she once used with me. Effective, but the hard divot between Alister’s furrowed brows conveys he’s not impressed.

“We’re leaving.” I grab her wrist and tow her toward the doors as the relentless questions follow.

“Dr. St. James, can you give us any update on what the task force recently discovered at a crime scene?” a woman asks. “What this new evidence might mean?”

Halen’s steps falter, and her gaze snaps to Alister at the front of the room. “I haven’t been made aware of any discovered evidence at the newest scene.”

“Are you confirming there is a new crime scene, then? Has there been another murder?”

Alister makes an attempt to throttle the questions. “Dr. St. James is a psychologist and can only speak in a capacity relating to behavioral theories, not facts on the case.”

No one buys that line of bullshit. Especially not Halen as her eyes narrow on the agent.

A bold reporter cuts right through the murky tension. “Agent Alister, then what are the characteristics you’re looking at for the Hollow’s Row Mangler? What areas are you searching for leads on the suspect?”

Alister waves his hand. “Any leads are confidential, and so are any suspect profiles.”

That same reporter pivots to Halen. “Dr. St. James, it’s been rumored the town’s missing locals are being looked at as suspects. Are the victims being included in the profiles?”

Alister stares at Halen through the round of camera flashes that capture the animosity between the two task force members.

Halen gives the reporter an answer. “At the moment, the task force is only looking at the missing locals in connection to the suspect. Learning as much as we can about the victims may lead us to a suspect they were all connected to, that’s all.”

Despite her attempt to redirect the assumption, the reporters latch on to the juicy thread, pitching more questions in the same vein.

The squeak of Alister’s chair emits through the speakers, drawing the attention of the room as he stands. “The FBI are looking into every possible lead, and considering every angle in order to apprehend the perpetrators and find the victims. Thank you for your time. This concludes the meeting.”

As press reporters and journalists continue to demand answers, Halen ignores their barrage of questions and starts toward the other side of the room, Alister in her sights.

I circle an arm around her waist and pull her to a stop. “Not happening here.”

“He’s keeping information from us,” she says.

“We’ll get it soon enough.”

Agent Hernandez uses his girth to cut a path through the crush of bodies, and I guide Halen behind him until we exit into the hallway. I direct us farther down to escape the trailing members of press.

Halen pulls free of my hold. “Where are we going?”

I look at Hernandez. “What is it that you want?” I demand. “Recognition? Praise? Name in the papers?”

His features draw together, but he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “I want to work the case,” he says. “I want to know what you guys know about the crime scenes.”

I nod slowly. “You stop anyone from entering this room—” I point to the interrogation room “—and you have a deal.”

Halen forces a derisive laugh. “Be careful of making deals with the devil, agent.”

After I get the agent’s confirmation in a firm head nod, I say to him, “Call around to your fed friends and find out what this confidential evidence is.” Then I grab hold of my little muse and drag her into the room.

Halen tries to pull away, but I don’t let her escape.

Once I have the door closed, my hands are on her, trapping her face and pressing her against the wall where I claim her mouth with mine. I swallow her cries of protest, kissing her with the hunger eviscerating the burning pit of my stomach. I kiss her until she’s breathless, until the taste of her fear weakens beneath her yearning.

Breaking away, I say, “You need to steer clear of Alister.”

She drags in a breath, chest heaving. “But we need to know—”

“We do know,” I say, cutting her off. “In less than five minutes, Agent Hernandez is going to knock on that door and tell us the carving knife was recovered.”

Her swallow drags along her throat. The anxious flare of her hazel eyes reveals she knows this is the truth. Soon as they pull the prints and DNA from that knife, they’ll come for me.

“So in the five minutes I have with you,” I say, coiling the lock of white around my finger, “I’m not wasting a single one talking.”

“You’re breaking your word…” She trails off.

I lick my lips and smile. “I said I wouldn’t enter your room. I made no promises about entering anywhere else.” My gaze roams down her body to make my point.

She presses her palms to my chest. “I can’t let you do this to me.” The pain etched in her face is so beautiful, my chest pangs. “Not yet…”

I clasp her cheeks between my hands and angle her face up to me. “The longer you deny us, the more pain you inflict.” My words fall to her lips in heated assertion. “It’s the balance of two powers, the union of Apollo and Dionysus. It’s cruel and torturous to separate them, and only serves to make us suffer.” I brush my lips over hers in tender beckoning, earning a seductive shiver. “Give in to us, Halen. Let me show you how.”

Her breaths tremble past her lips, her anguish scorching my throat. “I’m terrified.”

In the confines of the dimly lit interrogation room, I bring her braided hair over her shoulder and slip off the hair tie. I push the woven band into her pocket before I grip her waist and lift her into my arms. Then I have her mouth captured in a sensual kiss.

Her throaty little moans vibrate through me, setting me ablaze and making me fucking insane as she threads her fingers into my hair. I crush her harder to me, unhinged at the feel of her deepening the kiss, her tongue slipping over mine to claim her territory, her thighs locked around my hips.

I drink in her fear and heartache and surrender, a fiend demanding more.

Carrying her to the center table, I seat myself on the edge, allowing Halen to straddle me, her arms linked around my neck.

“Fuck. I need to taste you.” I drag the collar of her shirt off her shoulder and trail my mouth over her skin, kissing a needy path to the bite mark I branded in her flesh.

“I don’t want to want you,” she confesses, her voice raw.

“I know,” I say, and press my forehead to hers, our breathing tangled between us. With urgent conviction, I kiss her until I’m feral with desire, until I can no longer feel her confliction in the kiss. “Hate me later. Hell, I’ll even let you punch my face. But right now, I want you sitting on it.”

Holding her to me, I deny her any further debate. I flip her around and place her back to the table surface, where I hover above her. I reach between us and unfasten the clasp of her jeans, rewarded with a seductive flinch from her belly.

She pulls me to her and seals her mouth over mine in a brutal kiss. Goddamn, she gives in so hard, she damn near sucks my soul through her kiss. She bites into my lip, drawing a hint of blood that melds into a mix of pleasure and pain so lovely, I’m lost to her as our movements become frantic, the need unbearable.

Our planets finally fucking align, the conjunction of two heavenly bodies connect, and that rare feeling of harmony is transcendent.

I grip the band on either side at her soft hips and tow her jeans down her thighs. With a grunt, I raise up and yank them the rest of the way down her legs, then grasp the thin fabric of her panties and tear through them, baring her to me. I push her knees into the air and spread her thighs to position her where I want her.

Her body racks with shivers as I lower myself between her thighs, worshipful, savage, and unable to stop as I catch sight of her glistening arousal.

“Te adoro deam.”

“What are you saying?” she asks, voice unsteady.

A sly smile crooks my mouth. “It’s Latin for…” I bite into the fleshy mound above her sweet pussy before I lift my gaze to hers. “I’m going to eat you all up.” Then I claim what’s mine, licking a hard seam up the slit of her slick lips.

I waste no time devouring my muse and suck her clit into the hollow of my mouth, loving the breathy exhales that escape her, the way her belly flutters uncontrollably. I wrap my forearms around her legs and clasp her inner thighs as my tongue delves into the warm center of her perfect pussy.

I savor the sweet taste of her. The feel of the raised sigil hot beneath my fingers. The way she arches her back, hands in my hair. I lavish her clit with my tongue, nip at her soft lips, my hunger stirring at the slight trace of metallic blood that still lingers.

“Break for me,” I whisper over her flesh.

The need to be deep inside her and seal the connection is a demon raking claws over my bones. Her nails tear across my scalp, the pain satisfying as I feel her lose control. I close my mouth over her and revel in her pleasure as she comes. Her orgasm rips through her body and elicits a soft cry.

I reach up and cover her mouth, a curse bit through my clenched jaw as her teeth sink into the web of my hand.

Three quick raps sound at the door, and I growl in protest.

“Oh, god…” Halen latches on to my hand, her nails digging into the back.

With strained effort, I break away and hover above her. “Next time, I won’t stop until it’s my name you scream, sweetness.”

I clamp my hands around her waist and haul her off the table, where I lower to my haunches and slide her jeans up her legs, then stand to drop a tender kiss to her lips. “Time’s up.”

Her gaze fuses to mine. “You have an alibi,” she says.

She’s not talking about the weak alibi I orchestrated the night of the ritual by leaving my ankle monitor in the hotel room.

I cock my head, realizing she’s willing to confess that we were together. “Not for the entire night,” I say.

And there in the depths of her wide, hazel eyes is the glimmer of doubt.

The knock sounds again, followed by Agent Hernandez announcing his entrance. He regards us quickly and clears his throat. “A knife was recovered in the bed of deer remains. That’s what Agent Alister is trying to keep out of the press until it’s been processed. He doesn’t want to spook the perpetrator.”

I comb my fingers through my disheveled hair from where Halen clawed her little nails.

I don’t have to say aloud what Halen and I both know.

There’s no chance the offender will be scared away. The discovery of the knife was every bit the design of the Overman.

“There’s more,” Hernandez says. “The antlers that were removed from the vic at the hunting grounds crime scene? They also turned up in the ravine.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” I say.

Halen pushes past me. “Thank you, Agent Hernandez.” Paused at the door, she glances back once. “We need to leave.”

We pass officers stationed at posts along the corridors as they keep loitering members of the press contained in one area of the building. A thick veil of silence descends as we enter the parking lot. The sky has darkened, the tranquil evening deceptively concealing the chaos that will ensue come light.

As Hernandez unlocks the SUV, Halen stops short of the vehicle. “Dammit,” she breathes. “I forgot something in the interrogation room.”

I lean down close to her ear. “I have your panties in my pocket.”

The incredulous look she sends me is cute. “My phone, Kallum. It must have fallen out of my jeans.”

I glance back at the building. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” She holds up a hand. “Just… I’ll be quicker on my own if you’re not tempted to get…sidetracked.” A pretty flush tints her cheeks. “Wait here with Agent Hernandez.”

I watch Halen walk away from me, her steps hurried, the impression of her phone outlined in her back pocket.

I spin the ring around my thumb. One…two…three times.

Three is the divine number. It’s why the Overman references this number in rituals. Three pairs of thirty-three eyes on three trees. Three symbols for the path to ascension. Three tributes to master and obtain their goal.

It’s always three.

Yet the obvious flaw in their design is the first symbol, the philosopher’s stone—the one that stands apart.

One is a conundrum. Strong in its singularity, yet vulnerable for the very same reason.

Just as my little Halen is right now.

Hernandez sidles up beside me, his arms crossed in mirrored stature. “You’re not going to listen to her, are you.”

I slide a look at the agent. “What do you think.”