28. LEADING LADY

28

LEADING LADY

RYDEN

M illicent gave a begrudging nod. “Play it again.” Her eyes sharpened as she listened to it. “There. Stop right there,” she said, hitting the table with a frown.

“What?”

“She said something about two contradicting lies can’t build a truth,” Millicent said, her dark brown eyes fixated on the recorder. “Play it again.”

I played it once again.

“Yes. It must be her. Kasey Thompson. She was seventeen. Smart, too. Brown hair. Mousy. Some men don’t care about how ugly they are. Only how young they are, and she was.” The cruelty in her eyes made me almost flinch. And I knew death, worse. I had seen evil in its eyes, and this woman here was pure evil.

I wanted to grab something sharp and plunge it into her larynx—that would stop her from talking. She continued, unaffected by the fury in my eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. They all needed money, and I gave them a way to live and not die. It’s not wrong. I’m not a motherfucking killer.” Millicent scoffed, slamming her palm against the metal table.

“She says otherwise,” I said, thinking about K.Y. Wolff.

“I don’t care what she says or what anyone says. I did not kill Victor. I was very fond of him. Find who killed him, and then get me the hell out of this rotten place,” she said, turning to glare at Flemming. “Or I’ll be looking for a new lawyer.” Flemming coughed.

“Do you know where she lives? Lived?”

“She was from Delray. I don’t keep accounts of their lives after they leave.”

“Your time’s up,” the officer pulled Millicent from her seat before she gave me a small nod.

“So, now that you know who this woman is… do you think she is the killer? This Kasey Thompson?” Flemming asked, looking at me with inquisitive eyes.

“No. She’s not the killer.”

“Then what the hell are we doing here?” Flemming growled as we walked out of the prison.

“Well.” Shrugging, I opened my car.

“You’re not going to tell me anything? You freaking—”

I rolled the window down, and with a wave to him, drove away.

Reah, my trusty computer genius, lived in a rundown apartment the size of a matchbox with her gadgets and computer. She was a tall woman with a sharp smile and even sharper words.

“Hey, Reah.”

“Ryden,” she said, opening the door wide, her neon green hair a mess on her head.

The naked woman on her bed flushed and pulled the blanket up her body, and Reah let out a chuckle. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Sinclair?” She motioned me to follow into a smaller kitchen.

“I need to find someone.”

“Your Wolff? She’s practically a ghost. There’s no trace of her anywhere. Even her most ardent fans don’t know anything about her. She is so fucking good. If you ever find that girl, I want to meet her.” Reah’s eyes twinkled.

“Not Wolff. This one is a woman who might lead me to Wolff,” I said, sitting down on the three-and-a-half-legged chair. She was my unofficial partner. But she only knew the things she should know, and she always assumed that the things I asked for were for the journalist side of my life.

“Well. How much are you paying me?”

“Find her, and I’ll pay you whatever you ask for.”

“That’s such a wrong thing to say, considering how well you know me.” She chuckled and walked to the only room that didn’t look like it was being hit by a hurricane.

She sat in front of her laptop. “Who are we finding?”

“Kasey Thompson. She must be around twenty-five or something. Lived in Delray. Brown hair. That is all I have.”

“That’s more than enough.”

Tap. Tap. Reah’s fingers flew over her keyboard with practiced ease. Even though I had watched her work for years, it was still mesmerizing.

After a few minutes, Reah looked at me with a frown. “There are a few named Kasey Thompson from Delray, but nothing sounds like our girl. I’m going to break into the DMV records.”

“I owe you one.”

“You already owe me one million.” She laughed. “Ah, I think this is the one,” Reah said, clapping her hands. “Brown hair. Haunted eyes. Kasey Thompson from Delray. She still lives there.”

Quickly scribbling the address on her notepad, she ripped the paper and handed it to me.

“Happy hunting the Wolff.”

Smiling, I walked out of her apartment. Melissa had already dressed and was now sitting with a magazine. She gave me a shy smile when I walked out, and I could hear Reah saying, “Why do you bother? Now I’m going to have to take your clothes off again.”

I drove to Delray and parked my car in front of the apartment building, which looked like small square boxes stacked atop each other without any care for basic structural elements.

With a wince, I stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment. There was no security, and when I pushed the door open, it creaked and groaned on its hinges before coming apart.

Shaking my head, I took the stairs because the elevator looked like it would bring me straight to hell.

Apartment 401.

“Who is it?” A weary voice asked when I knocked. The door creaked open slightly, revealing tired eyes. She narrowed her eyes before moving to shut the door.

“Kasey Thompson, please. It’s about Millicent Wark.”

That stopped her. She quickly scanned me up and down, her eyes suspicious. “Who are you?”

“My name is Ryden Sinclair. I’m a journalist at the Detroit Daily Explorer. I’m here to talk with you about K.Y. Wolff,” I said, giving her my card.

“You said Millicent Wark.” She took the card from me, studying it for a few seconds before looking up at me. The hostility in her eyes was real. She didn’t want to talk about K.Y. Wolff at all—she would rather drink poison and die. “I don’t know anything about K.Y. Wolff.”

“You do,” I said. “I’m trying to find her to corroborate her story about Millicent Wark. I want Wark to rot in prison,” I said, and Kasey’s stiff back relaxed. Sighing, she motioned me inside.

“I don’t know much about K.Y. Wolff. She found me. I was more than willing to talk about Millicent Wark. Millicent was a predator, and so were the men who frequented her.”

“I know. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but can you tell me more about K.Y. Wolff?”

Kasey shook her head, a frown on her face. “Like I said, I don’t know much. She was in a hoodie. Long blonde hair.”

“Is that all?” I asked.

Kasey nodded, her gaze contemplative. “Yes. I don’t even remember her face. She was wearing sunglasses. It was as if she didn’t want me to… you know, really see her or identify her. I didn’t care about any of that, though.”

“How did she contact you?” I asked. “Where did she find you?”

“She called me.”

My ears perked as I leaned closer to her. “Do you—have her number?”

Kasey tugged at the end of her sleeves on the table, her eyes flickering from my face to her phone, before she nodded. I dug my fingers into my thigh as I waited, waited as seconds passed.

“Here.”

Oh, finally! My whole body went lax.

“Thanks, Kasey. If you remember more, can you please give me a call?” She nodded, and I handed her my card. “Thank you.”

“You know, she also gave me money. I didn’t want to take it, but she insisted that I use it. It was…kinda a lot,” Kasey said, looking hesitant.

“How much?”

“Three thousand bucks, but I was sure she would have given me more if she didn’t think I would be uncomfortable.”

Thanking Kasey once again for her help, I walked to my car. The first thing I did was call the number, but it was unavailable, as I had thought. Must be a burner.

I sent Reah a message with the number and got a reply within a few minutes.

R: Burner. Switched off. I’ll keep you posted.

Me: Thank you, Reah. Keep an eye on it.

Placing my phone down, I drove to the funeral home. Enzo opened the door with a confused look in my direction as he stared at me.

“You have no guests, right?” He looked at my empty hands.

“No guests today. I found more about K.Y. Wolff,” I said, pushing past him.

“What did you find?”

“She must be from the orphanage. Also, I talked to Kasey Thompson, and now I know K.Y. is rich, she likes blonde wigs, and she has a burner phone,” I said, sitting on the long wooden bench pressed up against the mourning hall.

“Who the hell is Kasey Thompson?”

“Kasey was one of the women who was used by Millicent Wark. I went to see her about Wolff, but Kasey said she was hiding herself behind sunglasses.”

“Ah, smart,” Enzo said as he grabbed a bottle of beer from his small fridge. “Do you want one?”

“Something stronger. Whiskey, please,” I said, pressing my hand against my forehead.

Enzo handed me the glass of whiskey, pulling me out of the entangled thoughts in my head.

“So, you’re still where you were days ago.”

“Yes.”

“With everything?” he asked, looking amused.

“With every fucking thing. Sofia and Nikki’s killer is still a ghost and still waiting for God knows what to kill again. K.Y. Wolff is… a pain in my ass, and…” I trailed off, biting my words back.

“Have you seen Doctor Death again?” Enzo asked, understanding my silence.

Groaning, I banged my head against the wall with a frown, and Enzo laughed, looking delighted by my conundrum.

“I’m not here to talk about Doctor Death—shit, man… I mean, Yara. That woman is insane.”

“You calling her insane is the best joke of the century,” Enzo said as he emptied his beer. Another sip of my whiskey soothed the fire inside me.

“That should tell you something.” Emptying my whiskey, I poured another glass.

He grinned. “I want to meet her. You know, to see the woman who has the power to… make you lose control. She’s slowly breaking the part of you that has always been unbreakable. She might be some kind of superwoman. Yara and K.Y. Wolff too. Man…”

I gritted my teeth. He was clearly enjoying this. Fucker.

“Oh, I have something for you,” Enzo said as he walked toward the skeleton crow, and that was when I noticed another addition next to it. This one was a dead stag, but it was contorted and twisted in such a way its horns were cutting through its flesh. Blood pooled around it, and its guts were spilling out of its torn stomach.

“Is it by the same artist?” I asked, wincing at the stag, and he nodded.

“She’s talented, man. Really.”

“That is… twisted,” I said, studying the stag and its eyes… empty, broken eyes filled with accusation. The details were so perfect, and the pain in the stag’s eyes—this must be a woman haunted by the shadows of her own.

Enzo handed me an invite. “What’s this invite for?”

“You know… the gallery I visited. They’re hosting a charity gala slash art exhibit showcasing various artists. The theme is life and death. I know you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’ll try to come. Does your artist, the one who drew the crow… would she be there as well?” I asked, studying my friend and the way his smile exploded.

“I don’t know. I’m hoping she’ll be there,” Enzo said. “She needs more exposure.”

I looked at Enzo thoughtfully, wondering if my friend was falling for a woman.

“Are you… you know—” I asked, and he frowned. I had never seen him with anyone, not as long as I had known him. He told me he had a girlfriend once, but it all went to shit after Hanna’s death. “Are you attracted to this woman in the tweed jacket?”

“I don’t know.” Enzo shrugged as I stood up.

“Will you ever know?” I asked, and he let out a long breath, his eyes empty.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you know, then?” I studied him with a frown.

“That you’re going to give in to Doctor Death sooner or later,” he said with a wink in my direction. “You’re too distracted, and I know you hate being distracted. You’ll eventually lose this game. It’ll be better if you just give in now. Why go through all that suffering to…”

I was fucking trying to do the right thing.

I don’t want to do the right thing. I only want to do her…

“Fuck you, man.”

“No, thank you. I would rather you fuck Doctor Death.”

Cursing him, I walked to my car and drove home. It was a long day, and I wanted my bed. I wanted to sleep.

I was getting ready for bed when my phone flashed with a message.

Little Killer: I have my toy inside my pussy—I would rather it was you inside me now, but… do you want to make me come? Please?

Little Killer: I’m being a good girl for you, Ryden. I even said please. Come on. Don’t make me beg on my knees. But I beg so good…

My fingers trembled, and my body burned. My breath came out in a heated gasp as the image of her on her knees overtook my head.

“Fucking no way. You can’t torture me like this. I’m already losing all my convictions to stay the fuck away from you, Yara,” I whispered, gripping the pillow tighter. I couldn’t lose this game. I knew I couldn’t.

Little Killer: You don’t want to? Then I think it’s time I give up.

“Yes. Give up. Fucking do. Why are you so stubborn, Yara? I can’t stop if you push me further.”

Little Killer: And call Josh.

“Who the fuck is Josh? I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him,” I grunted, quickly opening that little tempting app flashing with pink letters. My finger went to the play button, and I hesitated for a minute. With a growl, I pushed it and groaned. I could almost envision her… moaning, writhing, begging for me. Why was it so difficult to do the right thing?

I waited a few seconds before increasing the vibe speed. My cock twitched, begging for attention. With my other hand, I freed my cock and started to stroke it in rhythm to the pulse of the vibrator.

“I wish I could hear you scream…” My fingers tightened around my cock at the same time I increased the speed further, then slowed it down before pushing it up again.

I got another message soon enough, and this one was an audio file of her screaming my name out as she came. “ Oh, oh, Ryden… OH!”

And I came hard when I heard her. My body convulsed as cum spurted out of my cock, making a fucking mess everywhere. I wished it was her mouth that took it all in. She would take it like a good fucking girl, too.

It was physically painful to stay right here after that, but I did. Now that I knew she wouldn’t call Josh—I made a mental note to find this fucker and break his cock.

I could stay put. For now. But I knew it wouldn’t last long.

There was only so much of this torture I could bear until I finally snapped.