Page 6 of Avidian
But we never really got to explore it. Not long after our first kiss was the day of the accident.
I’ve never tried to contact Cade’s spirit, or my parents’ for that matter. For a long time, I was in denial and didn’t think it was even possible. By the time I realized I could do it, I was too afraid of the pain that seeing them would bring. Or, if I’m being honest, too terrified of what they might say.
They must hate me for the accident. And that’s a weight my heart can’t bear. Obliviousness is easier to swallow.
“And Katja…” Zane’s voice sends a jolt through me, I hadn’t heard him approach the door again—God, I’m on edge today.
“Yes?”
“Dress warm and pack enough for a couple of weeks.”
Weeks. My heart skips. That can only mean one thing—a case. And not just any case. A murder.
Chapter Three
RULE 3 OF THE NEW ORDER: THE DEAD LINGER WHERE REGRET FESTERS—KNOW THEIR HAUNTS AND USE THEIR GRUDGES.
“Don’t look so worried,my little demon. You know I would never let anything happen to you,” Marco says, lounging across from me in the plane.
His little demon.
He’s called me that since the day we met. According to him, seeing the dead is the devil’s work, so I must be one of his creatures.
I have no idea where we’re headed. I went from packing to being hauled into the aircraft. Marco owns several planes and helicopters, but this one is reserved for his closest comrades—a dubious honor, if you ask me.
To my right sits Orin, one of Marco’s sons. His cologne assaults my senses almost as much as his attitude. He lives for the work—or more specifically for the parts that get messy. If there’s torturing to be done, Orin’s the first choice.
To my left is Zane, quiet but no less dangerous, and across from me on either side of Marco sits Banks and Gary, who’s the more level-headed of Marco’s sons.
“I’m not worried,” I reply, my face an effortless mask of calm. “I don’t like to fly.”
“I think you’ll enjoy this trip. I don’t believe you’ve ever been to the Eastern District,” Marco says. I start to gnaw on the inside of my cheek.
The Eastern District—run by Marco’s twin brother. Rumor has it the twins despise each other, which is one of the reasons they rule on opposite sides of the country.
This should be interesting.
“No, I haven’t,” I murmur as my gaze drifts past him to the window. The sun is beginning to set, its warm hues casting shadows over the horizon.
“Why don’t you get some rest? I’m going to need you fresh when we get there in a few hours,” Marco says, nodding to a small bedroom at the back of the plane.
It isn’t a request, so I rise from my seat and ignore the way Orin leers at me—his light-blue eyes always teetering between lust and something far more disturbing. I can never quite tell if he wants my body for his pleasure or my pain. Either way, I’m used to it.
I step into the bedroom and close the door behind me. Lying down on the bed, I close my eyes, but my focus sharpens on the conversation happening through the thin wall.
“I don’t know why you always insist on keeping her so close,” Gary mutters, sounding irritated. “She gives me the creeps.”
I roll my eyes. Creeps, huh? Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.
“Yeah, Dad, what else does she do for you behind closed doors?” Orin sneers, his laughter grating.
“Enough,” Marco snaps, cutting off the sound with one simple word. I silently thank him for it. Marco has never laid a hand on me—Orin is sick in the head, always looking for ways to twist the world into something uglier.
I already know why Marco keeps me close, and it’s something he keeps from the others. Marco once had a wife and daughter. They both died before I came along, but I’ve always believed that loss is why he sought me out in the first place—why he purchased me. He missed them. Needed to know they were okay on the other side.
Sometimes, he still has me contact them. The conversations are brief, full of raw, quiet grief that I don’t think he shares with anyone else. It’s the only way he keeps himself moving forward in the hollow life he’s built.
I may hate Marco and wish him dead for the simple fact that he owns me, controls my life, and dictates my every move, but there’s a twisted sick part of me that loves him too—because, in many ways, he saved me.
