52

There is a reason true crime is so popular. Dramatics aside, at its heart is truth. Real people whose lives are irrevocably changed by a horrible event. That is what separates fictional monsters and immortal serial killers from the guy next door with a cage in his basement.

Both are scary. Only one has the ability to crack your foundation and swallow you whole.

Victoria shifted as she heard the telltale sign of life on the other end of the line. X’s breathing was harsh and shallow, and when he spoke, his voice distorted and mechanical, déjà vu hit her hard. The red room at the Gala. Warren’s hideous mask.

And the executioner.

“Good girl,” he said. “You take directions well for someone who claims to be a leader.”

“Didn’t leave much of a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” X said matter-of-factly. “What you do once the options are presented is entirely up to you.”

“Technicalities; we both know that’s not true. Why don’t you come out so we can have this discussion in person? We’re overdue a heart-to-heart, don’t you think?”

X chuckled. “There she is, trying to take the reins when the cart’s not even attached. Let me tell you something, Victoria: You have choices. What you lack is the discipline to execute.”

Execute. “I’ve never had a complaint about my performance.”

“How’s your stamina?”

“Better than yours, I assure you.”

Another robotic chuckle. X wanted her to think he was enjoying this—that he was carefree and fully in control. Maybe he was. The confidence ploy. She used it herself.

And damn it, it was working.

“Enough with the foreplay,” X said, laughter abruptly tucked away. “Check your phone.”

Victoria’s phone vibrated before he finished speaking. A link from a blocked number flashed on the screen. “More torture porn?” she asked.

“Open it.”

“If I say no?”

“Don’t.”

She considered being difficult, throwing the phones out altogether, but ultimately, X still had the advantage. He knew what he wanted to happen. He knew Victoria wouldn’t say no. Didn’t mean she had to make it easy.

“You want me to get a virus? Because this is how you get viruses.”

“I’m patient, Victoria, but I am not a saint.”

“A sinner, if I remember correctly. No way the executioner mask was a Gala Good Guy.”

“Open the link.”

Curiosity won out over defiance. Victoria tapped the link. A new window opened in the browser, loading slowly as she listened to the faint rasp of X’s breath.

“Do we need the pomp and circumstance?” Victoria asked. “Can’t we sit down and hash out whatever grievance you ha—”

The page finished loading, revealing a crisp shot of the basement. A time stamp ticked in the corner. Victoria turned toward the source of the video as the image on-screen moved with her, the effect dizzying.

“Do I have your attention now?” X asked.

Warren’s movie posters hung along the far wall, framed stills of his favorites. Cinderella Man. The Shawshank Redemption. Rocky. Every man had a Rocky poster. Light reflected off the glass in spidery bursts. She could probably find the camera, but it would take time.

“What do you want?”

The screen flicked to the foyer. Another camera.

“Go upstairs,” he said.

With leaden feet, Victoria lumbered up the stairs, leaving the remnants of Warren’s life behind. She watched herself come into the shot, imagining X doing the same. “Okay.”

“Keep going. The bedroom.”

The screen flipped to an aerial view of her room, then a view from a side angle by the door, and then from the far window. X had multiple cameras set up, broadcasting the bloody mess.

She continued to the bedroom, not bothering to check for intruders this time. Real life or not, this was a game, her own personal Jigsaw, and distracting Victoria with jump scares didn’t seem like X’s style. Emotional terrorism, however . . .

The smell permeated the thin material of her shirt, but she covered her mouth anyway. “I’m here, but you already know that. What’s next, Simon?”

The laugh came again, curdling in her veins. “Always trying to be the man, Victoria. Whiskey-swilling, pants-wearing, take-no-bullshit Victoria. Cratering relationships and cutting ties to anything or anyone stupid enough to get in your way. Warren tried to stifle you, though, didn’t he? Smothering you like a campfire that’s burned for too long, gotten too close to the brush. He could see that in you—the flames. Knew you were dangerous. Hubris, however, wasn’t a good look for him.”

“Wow, look at you putting that word-of-the-day calendar to good use.”

X ignored her quip. “Pride goes before a fall. He was too proud of his plan—so sure you’d go along with it. How many children do you think he would’ve demanded of you before you voluntarily gave up the ghost? Each birth breaking off a tiny piece of you until there was nothing left. A shell. A void. My guess was three, but we’ll never know, will we? I made sure of that.”

She couldn’t breathe.

X spoke, laying bare Victoria’s darkest secret. The wall she’d built around the truth crumbled. “H-how—” she fumbled, clearing emotion from her throat. “How did you know?”

“The how doesn’t matter; not even the why concerns you. Growth requires reflection, Victoria, and I am your mirror.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” The screen split into four, showing live shots of the basement, foyer, kitchen, and bedroom. “You once asked what any of this had to do with you. Why didn’t I disappear with Warren’s ashes? Have you considered that eliminating Warren wasn’t my core objective—that my interests are more varied and complex than his continued existence?”

Her hand trembled as she readjusted her grip on the phone against her ear. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

“You fool yourself with sarcasm, but I see what that mask hides. I see your doubt, your fear, how hard you fight against it. Admirable. By now you’ve come to your own conclusions, tried to find me, and asked yourself: Who is X? Where is X? Not knowing makes you look at everyone in your life through a different lens, doesn’t it? You’ve begun to evaluate the people who surround you and found reasons to distrust them all when only a few are deserving of your scrutiny. Let me take some of the guesswork out of it. I want you, Victoria. At my mercy, one way or another. So, here’s how this is going to go. I give you a task. You complete the task. If you are successful, then we meet, and I will tell you everything.”

“What do you want me to do?”

X’s voice was soft but firm. “Clean it up.”

“I’m sorry?” Victoria asked.

“Clean. It. Up.”

“I don’t—”

“You built your career on the belief that you can handle everything on your own. Independence is a good place to call home, but a house would be nothing without a solid foundation. An unshakeable core. Show me that’s you. Prove it. Clean the room. You have two hours.”

Victoria surveyed the mess. “Wait, you want me to get rid of this in two hours?”

“If the room isn’t back to its original neat-freak glory before the last second strikes, I will notify the police. The footage—from the Gala, from tonight, from the little private moments I’ve captured when you thought no one was watching—your search histories, Warren’s search histories, GPS data, purchases—every piece of damning evidence will go straight to Detective Meyers. They won’t have you with a smoking gun over Warren’s body, but they’ll have enough breadcrumbs to follow the trail, which will undoubtedly end with you in a jail cell.”

“There’s nothing to give to the police!” she shrieked. “I didn’t kill Warren, I didn’t kill Betty, I didn’t do . . . whatever the hell happened here.”

“That’s the fun part,” X said, a smile clear in his voice.

“Can’t we skip all this and go straight to our meeting?”

“Life’s about balance, Victoria. All work and no play never went well for anyone.”

“Seems to be coming up aces for you.”

The smile was evident. “And I intend to keep it that way. There are rules, but they are simple. One: This has to be done alone. You can’t ask for help from anyone. Two: Don’t get caught. Goes without saying how important that is. I’d hate for this to end prematurely because one of your nosy neighbors needs to borrow a cup of sugar when you’re knee-deep in body scraps.”

“What if I refuse?”

“I thought the whole Detective Meyers angle would be enough to convince you of how serious I am, but, sure, plan B. That’s where the cameras come in. If you refuse, I’ll not only involve the cops, I’ll go live and immediately alert the media. You thought Warren’s memorial was bad? Everyone in your life will get a front-row seat to this bloodbath, Lady Macbeth. I won’t ruin the surprise and disclose exactly how I made the masterpiece that is your Olympus just yet. You might be able to survive an investigation, but would you want to? Livingston would oust you faster than your own father did. Who’d be left when the stone cracks and your castle falls?”

Defiance threaded her nerves, but Victoria was already mentally mapping out the logistics of what it would take to accomplish the task in time. There was a lot of blood. “Most of your leverage hinges on the cameras, but you’re not actually here, are you?”

“I’m close.”

If she located the source of the feed, there was a chance she could knock everything offline. It wouldn’t solve all her problems, but it would give Victoria the advantage she needed to make a move against X.

X, however, was on the same wavelength. “This isn’t Speed, and you aren’t Keanu. Attempt to disable the cameras, tamper with the footage, call for help, or alert Meyers, and I will end you. Social media, police, the entire world will know you’re a murderer. You have two hours. I’ll be watching. Good luck.”

The line disconnected. Powering down Warren’s phone, Victoria tossed it on the bed. Hopefully Meyers hadn’t figured out that it had been active. Hopefully she was only working against one clock.

She stared at the security footage playing on her phone a little longer, tempted to throw up a middle finger and go to Meyers anyway. Call X’s bluff. He didn’t have evidence because she didn’t kill Warren.

Teagan’s words echoed through her mind, though. How quickly would Kent Wood condemn her if a stranger offered them proof with a pretty shine?

“Fuck,” she spat, leaning the phone against the mirror of her vanity.

Hands on her hips, Victoria evaluated the challenge. Floors. Walls. Furniture.

So much blood.

It was time to get to work.