Page 39 of The Phantom's Vice

He lowers his head, a nasty smile on his mouth showcasing the bloodied stumps he has left of his teeth. “It’s because ofyou,Phantom.” He spits—again, missing me entirely. “She thinks you care for her, that she’s a distraction. Madam wants her gone, even if you won’t do it.Especiallyif you won’t do it.”

My shoulders tense.I should have realized. Why didn’t—why didn’t I notice this sooner? Of course she didn’t buy my act at our last meeting. I questioned a direct order from the Madam. No, it's worse than that. Idisobeyed.

The Disposer cackles like he can read my mind. “So it’s true? You do care for her. God, that’s fucking pathetic.”

“Don’t you fucking say that,” I whisper, taking a step closer. “Don’t youdarefucking say that.”

“Why?” he mocks. “It is. You think she’s going to love you back? You think she’s going to letyouof all people come near her?Touchher?” He hacks another laugh. “I’ve heard stories about you, Phantom. How your skin looks like melted candle wax from all the times youaccidentallyhurt yourself. How your eyes and hair are white like some Phantomfreak.” Xander grins his toothless smile, what’s visible of his eyes taunting me. “She’s going to take one look at you and scream. Or, better yet, shoot you in the fuckingface. I bet you’d look better like that if the stories are t?—”

I don’t realize I’ve slit Xander’s jugular until his head falls onto his chest and that awful red pours from the deep gash in the side of his neck.

Fuck.

I sigh, wiping the blade on Xander’s pants leg before pocketing it. I wanted to get a few more answers out of him before I did that, but I suppose now is as good a time as any. After all, he told me the main thing I needed to know.

That Brett is in danger. Horrible, awful danger.

A growl sounds deep in my chest as I storm from the room, taking the steps two at a time to get back to the main level of the house. Orion gives me a strange look as I pass by where he’s seated at the kitchen island but otherwise says nothing. As angry as Orion can get, he’s got nothing on my lifetime of hurt and anguish.

I’ve already had enough taken from me. I won’t let them have Brett.

With that thought, I jump into the truck and peel off into the mouth of the forest. Toward Brett Evangeline’s apartment.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BRETT

Jane Evangeline: Entry #9

Hudson is alive! Thank God—that’s the only thought running through my mind all day. We have another meeting tonight at his apartment, and I’m contemplating telling him how I feel. I know, I know—I should be keeping things professional. But I can’t help it. And after all my worrying, it’s clear my feelings for him have slipped far past platonic.

God, I’m an idiot. How would that even work? How could I ever trust him around Brett?

On second thought, I may be keeping my feelings to myself tonight…

I waketo a gentle pressure on my thighs. Assuming it’s Venom getting comfortable,I reach my arms out, loosing a massive yawn with my eyes squeezed shut tight.I’m exhausted. I could sleep for another three weeks?—

“Well, that’s fucking adorable.”

“WHAT THE FUCK!” I screech, sitting straight up and nearly knocking the breakfast tray all over the bed. I would have if a pair of gloved hands hadn't grabbed it just before it toppled over.

I look straight at the masked face—a face I’ve spent countless hours staring at in a grainy image. And now he’s here.In my bedroom.

“I see that look on your face. I don't want to hear any of this ‘how did you get in my apartment?’ bullshit. The proper response when someone makes you breakfast is ‘thank you.’”

I’m dreaming, right? This has to be some fucked-up, prescription-induced hallucination.

“W-Why are you here?” I ask, cursing the way my voice trembles ever so slightly.In my defense, I didn’t expect to wake up with a serial killer at the foot of my bed.

With my heart hammering, I inch my way toward my nightstand drawer—where my loaded weapon waits for me.

The masked killer sighs as if my question irritates him. “No one has any manners anymore.”

“I’d say breaking into someone’s house is pretty bad fucking manners,” I quip, forgetting my survival instincts for a moment.

A strange, mechanical laugh answers me. “You’re mean. I like it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s easy when a psychotic killer is sitting at the foot of your bed.”Almost there. Just a little farther…

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