“Nope. Not gonna happen. That video’s going straight to the vault. C’mon, Iris, you have to see the irony. You don’t bat an eye at fighting three ghouls at once, but you get ambushed by a two-pound Chihuahua. Fucking gold,” he chuckles out and shakes his head before sliding his phone back into the front pocket of his pants.
“Vault? What vault?”
All the levity in the air evaporates as Noah’s expression turns serious. “Well, I have all these videos of us, of you…from before I left.” He pauses, lines forming at the corners of his mouth,a haunted look in his eyes. “There were some moments when watching those was the only thing that got me through the day. It cost me a fortune to get them back when my phone broke. But it was all worth it to have a little piece of you with me. Of what we had.”
“Oh,” I mumble and look down to escape the intensity in Noah’s mercurial gaze. Maybe his words would have meant more if I hadn’t fallen for a certain Elite demon. Instead, they only make my skin itch because I now have something to compare our past relationship to. And what we shared doesn’t even hold a candle to what I feel—felt Iris, felt—for Kaiden.
I clear my throat, unable to withstand the awkwardness blanketing the air anymore. “’Mkay, well, we better get to it. Where would you hide something if, say, you were a serial killer?” Turning on my heel, I traverse the corridor to my right, where the portion of a bed covered by a pink polka dot comforter is visible through the crack in the door. “I’ll take the bedroom. Will you look through the living room?” We could search together, but I need some space.
Noah heaves a weighted sigh. “Sure.”
15
Iris
How many shoes does one person need? No, seriously. I’ve been in this damn dressing room for over an hour, and I still haven’t gotten through all the shoe boxes, ninety-nine percent of them filled with sky-high stilettoes. When does Britney even wear these? I haven’t seen her wear anything other than her sneakers at the compound. Maybe she collects them as a hobby. What the fuck do I know?
Not like I imagine Erik would hide his murder trophies in Britney’s shoe boxes, but I have to check, just in case. Besides, I’ve already looked everywhere I could think of: under the mattress and bed, in the air vents, under the picture frames, in his socks and underwear drawers. Not only that, but I also dug through the soil in their potted plants. Hell, I even checkedthe floorboards to see if one would move. And I still came out empty. Looking from the outside, you would think Erik’s life was picture-perfect. However, I know it was only a façade. I just need to find the cracks.
“Anything?” Noah asks as he props his hip in the door frame.
“Other than Britney’s unhealthy shoe obsession?” I shake my head and blow out a frustrated breath, making the tendrils of hair that escaped my braid dance. Then I flick my gaze to him after closing the last shoe box. “You?”
“Nope. But there’s still the office. I figured we could look there together. I’ve already checked the kitchen and the living room.”
“Even under the smoke alarm?”
“Yeah.”
Damn it.
When we’re done ensuring everything looks how we found it, hours have passed. Good thing Noah is here. We then make our way to the office. Like the rest of the apartment, this room doesn’t say serial killer in the slightest—light gray painted walls, minimalist desk, black leather executive chair, a walnut bookshelf, and a love seat next to it in the corner. Judging by the lack of pink, I don’t think Britney spends much time in here.
The only things that stand out are the three paintings perched on the wall behind the desk, which seem to tell a story. The first depicts a scantily clad woman riding a red beast that has seven heads with horns. She’s surrounded by a hoard of demons as though she commands them. The story changes in the second—seven men wearing crowns appear amongst the demons. They’re kneeling before her. The third is the most gruesome: an archangel holds the head of the now dead woman, her blood gushing in a crimson river over the slain beast, while the demons run for their lives. Tendrils of light touch the foreheads of the seven kings, who are standing with their heads tilted skyward as if thanking divinity.
It’s an allegory told through the strokes of a brush. The message is loud and clear: good conquers evil. However, it leaves me with an oily feeling because it is one portrait of millions that only serve to perpetuate the patriarchal society we live in. That if a woman is not the perfect Stepford wife and dares to embrace her sexuality, she’s the portrayal of evil—the whore who commits spiritual adultery with the beast/demon and uses her body to manipulate. To bring men to their knees. And there is nothing worse than that. After all, lust is a cardinal sin.
I know others wouldn’t catch the subtle meaning, but tome, these images scream of Erik’s deep hate of women. I wonder if, in his fucked-up head of his, he was excusing every murder by doing God’s work. His words ring inside my head,“Stay still! I need to cleanse that demon from your body.”Surely, his lightborn blood made him some sort of righteous savior in his mind—like the archangel in the painting. But who knows? It’s too late to ask him now, anyway.
Ripping my gaze away, I stride toward the desk to sit down on the chair. The leather creaks softly under my weight. “Do you think Timothy already went through Erik’s computer?”
“Knowing Grayson, it’s a pretty big possibility. I don’t think he would leave any stone unturned.”
I ponder his words before powering the PC. “Yeah, you’re right, but if Timothy did look, it surely was for signs of someone having the intention to hurt Erik, not the other way around.”
But any hope I had fizzles out when I see that the computer isn’t even password protected. You would think it’s a good thing, but why would someone with something to hide leave his computer unprotected? If Erik was a serial killer, we won’t find anything incriminatory in there, that’s for sure. So, I don’t even bother looking. It’s a waste of time, and we have little left of that anyway because Britney should be back from her hellseeker shift soon.
“I’ll take the drawers. Will you look through the bookshelf?”
Noah nods before rifling through the dusty books in the corner.Not much of a reader, eh, Erik?
“So, how come you’re staying at the compound? I imagined you would be more comfortable living in your old house.” I’m not proud to admit how I know Noah held on to his parents’ house: I frequently checked online real estate property records over the five years he was gone to see if he’d sold it or not. If he still held on to it, it meant he had a reason to come back. Yeah, trust me, I’m aware of how lame I sound.
He could have made a lot of money from it since his parents were filthy rich. Though, you couldn’t tell by looking at Noah because he always dressed off the rack, and he was never a snob or made me feel inferior. Moreover, he could have had any car he wanted, but he chose to save his hellseeker salary for over a year to buy Betsy—his beat-up Kia. That’s one of the many reasons I fell so easily for him.
“When I landed in Ashville, I took a cab straight to the house. You remember Robert, our butler?”
“Yeah.”
