Page 9 of Little Horrors & Deceptions

“Find anything under there?” A smooth voice met my ears. Liam. I glanced up from his nice, polished shoes, and he was in a suit that fit him like sin, leaning against the wall, green eyes alight with something feral. Did he like seeing me on my knees in front of him? Fuck, the thought did things to me it shouldn’t.

“N-no,” I met his gaze. But maybe if I looked hard enough, I could find my dignity. His eyes roved over me, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Nice suit,” I added as he leaned down and handed me a lipstick that had rolled next to his shoe and offered me a hand to help me up.

“Thanks, figured I’d dress as a businessman for once,” he replied, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Right. Well, duty calls,” I said, stepping around him, wanting to get out of here as quickly as I could. I was acutely aware of his gaze tracing the curve of my hips as I walked away. The air felt charged, my skin tingling with the weight of his stare. This game seemed dangerous. But it excited me. What was the point of being undercover if I couldn’t have a little fun doing it?

My bedroom was dim as I grabbed my phone from the rickety, empty cardboard box that served as my temporary sidetable. A yawn crept up, stretching my jaw wide. I quickly dialed Johnathan.

“Hey,” he answered.

“Got a minute?” I asked, my thumb hovering over the image that had started this mess.

“Always for you. What’s up?”

“What did you get on the Croix man I took pictures of this morning?”

“Ah, hold on.” Papers shuffled on his end, his keyboard tapping. “Here we go… Marco Croix. Staying at The Marlowe downtown, looks like a business trip.”

“Are there any connections between him and the haunted house or with Liam O’Connor? I saw him leaving this morning.”

“Hard to tell.” His tone dropped a notch, becoming more serious. “Liam seems to have a squeaky-clean record. But this Croix guy is no saint.” Not surprising, none of them were.

“Give me the deets.”

“Fraud, embezzlement, sexual assault. He slips right out of handcuffs every time like a modern Houdini.”

“You know the drill, sounds just like a Croix,” I muttered, the words sour on my tongue. “Thanks, Johnathan.” I rubbed my tired eyes with the heel of my hand. “I’m going to get to bed.”

“Sure thing,” he replied. “Keep me updated.”

“Of course.” I clicked off the phone and let it clatter onto the cardboard nightstand.

My thoughts churned, Marco Croix’s smug face behind my eyelids. I moved to flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The bed creaked under my weight as I turned over and closed my eyes again. Mind whirring, I drifted toward oblivion with one last thought—the executioner… Maybe justice did sometimes need a little nudge from the shadows.

Chapter 7

Olivia Bennett

The week had passed in a blur of learning the routine. But tonight, the old place transformed into a den of decadence for a spooky cocktail party hosted by some clients. I pushed through the throng of people, their laughter and chatter a living thing against the backdrop of all the eerie decor.

I caught sight of the tray first, a moving beacon of orange, white, and yellow. The candy corn cocktails. Anticipation surged through me. I had been looking forward to these from the moment I’d seen the drink menu. I sidestepped a couple locked in an intense debate over the best horror flick and reached for a glass. It was a layered masterpiece, mimicking the iconic Halloween treat, finished with a cloud of whipped cream and a sprinkle of candies on top.

I took my first sip, and the sweetness hit me, my childhood nostalgia wrapped in a velvet punch of alcohol. What more could a girl ask for? The crowd melted away for just a moment, it wasjust me and this perfect concoction. I knew it was going to be a holiday favorite.

“Here’s to one hell of a night,” I muttered under my breath, raising the glass to no one in particular before the creamy top tickled my nose and the spiked sweetness danced on my tongue as I took down the rest of the drink in one gulp.

My eyes lifted from the now empty glass and locked with Liam’s. A smirk played at the corner of his lips, as he ignored the conversations around him. His attention was like a tangible touch against my skin.

“Care for a dance?” The question came from a guest behind me. I turned, breaking the silent exchange with Liam, to face the gentleman who had approached me. He offered a hand with a confident smile, and against my better judgment, I accepted.

As the night unfolded, the tempo of music and laughter blended into a heady mix. Dance after dance, drink after drink—I lost count. I was caught in the buzz, yet through the thrumming crowd, Liam’s presence lingered. I could feel his eyes on me like a magnetic pull I couldn’t shake off. Then I was spinning into the arms of another man, one who swayed with the overconfidence of liquor. I giggled, acting normal, but my body was more rigid, and then Liam stepped in, making his silent claim.

“Mind if I cut in?” There was no room for refusal in his tone. The guy just nodded and let him take me. Thank fuck… but also, dancing with Liam probably wasn’t the best for me either for entirely different reasons.

I found myself suddenly in Liam’s embrace, the slow song wrapping around us. His hand pressed against my back, fingertips grazing the dip of my spine—a very deliberate and possessive touch. His body heat mingled with mine, the subtle scent of his cologne enveloping me, intoxicating me even more than the drinks that had come before.

“Jade,” he murmured, voice low, “you look… breathtaking.”

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