The Catacombs (Cult Book 2) Read online

  The Catacombs

  Cult #2

  Penelope Sky

  Hartwick Publishing

  Hartwick Publishing

  The Catacombs

  Copyright © 2021 by Penelope Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  One

  Constance

  The butter sizzled as the pancakes cooked in the pan, a dusting of cinnamon across each one, my little addition to the recipe. When raindrops the size of golf balls struck the windowpane, I jumped nearly a foot into the air. My eyes squeezed tightly together, and I released a painful sigh.

  “Is breakfast ready?” Claire’s sweet voice came from behind me, a ray of sunshine in this rainstorm.

  “Almost.” My eyes glanced at the clock on the microwave, hoping that Benton would walk through the door any minute.

  Claire climbed onto the chair at the dining table and sipped her orange juice.

  “Should we drive today?” I scooped the pancakes out of the pan and onto the plate.

  “I like the rain.”

  I chuckled. “Of course you do.” Just when I turned around with the food, the front door opened. I stopped in my tracks at the sound, my heart in my throat, a tremor in my hand. The relief wouldn’t dissolve into my blood until I heard his voice or saw his face.

  His heavy footsteps grew louder as he moved all the way down the hallway. Then he emerged a moment later, in a gray long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, his blue eyes tired from a long night doing…whatever he did. They locked on to mine, reading my expression like subtitles on a TV screen.

  The breath left my lungs, removed the anxiety, and then my entire body relaxed.

  He was home.

  His eyes settled on me for a while, as if he knew every single thought as it streaked across my mind, even before he rounded the corner.

  I made it the rest of the way and set the platter on the table.

  Claire grabbed a pancake with her bare hand and took a bite. “Constance and I are going to walk in the rain.”

  He came to her and kissed her on the head. “Don’t want you to get sick, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He gave her a quick rub on the head before he walked into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. Even if he was tired and ready for bed, he couldn’t resist a hot cup of coffee with his breakfast. He took a seat next to Claire across from me and ate his pancakes and roasted potatoes.

  The slightest sound nearly gave me a heart attack. All night, I listened for the door, waiting for Benton to come home, afraid it would be someone else. Once upon a time, I had been a different person. Carefree. Easygoing. Unafraid. But now I was a scared chickenshit…and I hated it. The only time I could enjoy being alive was when this man was here.

  He stared at me as he ate, elbows on the table, his hair slightly damp from being in the elements. The stare had been intimidating at one point, but now it brought me the most comfort. He was the only person in the world who could stare at me like that and not receive a snide remark as a consequence.

  “Want to come with us?”

  He put a bite of food into his mouth, chewed, and gave a slight nod in response.

  I tried not to appear so desperate for his companionship, but it was inevitable. I felt the held breath slowly leave my lungs.

  “Daddy, can we walk?”

  His stare was so focused on my face that he didn’t hear the question. His thoughts consumed him, drowned him so deep under the surface that he tuned out everything around him.

  Claire was all that mattered to him. So…what could make him forget her, even just for a split second?

  He would probably never tell me—even if I asked.

  Benton put the vehicle in park at the drop-off line and walked around the front in the pouring rain to get Claire out of the back. He opened her pink umbrella then held it out to her so she could be covered from the heavy raindrops. He helped her get her backpack on, gave her a kiss, and then said goodbye. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

  “Bye, Daddy.” She walked to the building, purposely splashing in the puddles with her boots.

  Benton got back into the car and took off before the parent behind him could honk their horn. We were back on the road, the tires splashing the pools of rain along the way. Few people were on the sidewalk, and the ones who were all held large umbrellas over their heads.

  I’d never been in the company of someone where silence was the preferred choice of communication. He hardly said anything, and I never felt responsible for filling the awkward quiet because it wasn’t awkward at all.

  The music was off. He drove with one hand on the wheel. As if I wasn’t there, he lived in his own world.

  “Christmas is coming up…”

  He gave me a side look.

  “Do you guys do anything special for the holiday?”

  His eyes returned to the road, and he pulled up to a stoplight. He hit the blinker, ready to turn left once the light turned green. “No.”

  “No tree or anything?”

  “Yes, there’s a tree. And gifts from Santa.”

  “You do the Santa thing?” I asked, slightly surprised he would allow a fictitious fairy tale inside the household.

  “Yes.” He turned to give me a look, as if he dared me to make a jab.

  “That’s cute.”

  He looked forward again, his eyes reflecting the red light.

  “Claire goes on Christmas break soon, so should I get a tree?”

  “You’ll never be able to do that by yourself.”

  “I’m a lot more capable than you think.”

  The light turned green, and he made the turn, pulling onto our street. “We’ll go together when Claire gets home. She likes to pick out the tree.”

  “Oh, that’s great.”

  He pulled up to the back of his apartment and tucked his Range Rover into the garage. We entered the apartment, shielded from the pouring rain, the heated floors making it the coziest place I’d ever been.

  His shoulders were drenched with water spots because he’d exposed himself to the rain, his hair a little flat because it was damp too. But he never seemed to mind physical discomfort. Whether it was going outside nearly naked and barefoot in the freezing cold to look for an intruder or helping his daughter in the pouring rain. “I’m going to bed.”

  “How was last night?”

  He stilled at the question, his eyes piercing my face like small daggers.

  “I’m not prying. Just…want to know how things are going.”

  He never gave an answer before he walked down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “Benton?”

  He stilled without turning around, his enormous mass blocking out most of the hallway. He turned his body slightly but never turned around entirely. The side of his face was visible, his jawline hard, his neck thick with veins.

  “I didn’t sleep well last night…”

  His head finally turned my way, his stare fixed on me, and he gave a subtle nod in the direction of his bedroom.

  The rain never let up.

  I slept for hours by his side, and when I woke up, the rain was still loud against the windows, even audible against the roof on the second story, a floor above us. My clothes were on the floor, and I was in my underwear beside him. Nothing physical happened because he seemed more interested in sleep than sex.

  I was wide awake now, but the house didn’t require my attention. Leftovers were on the menu for dinner tonight, and the laundry was done. There was nowhere else for me to be, so I lingered, comfortable in the warm sheets, safe with this man beside me.

  When he was asleep, his face was different. The sternness of his jawline was altered, relaxed. His shoulders weren’t so rigid, and he wasn’t tense in preparation for a provocation. He was at his kindest.

  Hours later, he grew restless, his large mass changing positions more often. He turned on his side and came closer to me, his arm instinctively reaching out and landing around my waist.

  I didn’t mind.

  Our heads were close together now, on the same pillow, his manly smell right in my face.

  I studied his hard cheekbones, his chiseled jawline, his massive shoulders that poked out from underneath the sheets.

  It was hard to believe he was the same man from the theatre, that our relationship started there and ended up here. We were both touched by the camp—just in very different ways.

  His sleepy eyes opened and immediately focused on my face. It seemed to take a few seconds for him to digest his sight. A deep breath was pulled into his lungs, and his arm slowly withdrew, his hand stopping at my hip.

  The rain continued to pour, louder than it’d ever been. The thunder started, far away at first, but almost deafening as it drew near. The natural sounds of the apartment no longer disturbed me. I didn’t jolt when the heater kicked on, when the floorboards creaked from the change in temperature, when Claire’s open door shut once the air pushed it closed. This man gave me peace—and I was addicted.

  After a long stare, he turned over and reached into his nightstand.

  I pushed off my panties and left them on the sheets at my feet.

  After he was ready to go, he rolled back over, his massive body getting on top of mine, one arm hooked b
ehind a knee. There was no preamble, not even a kiss. He was inside me with a thrust and a moan, and then his massive body worked me and the mattress to make his headboard tap against the wall at the pace of a galloping horse.

  I clung to him and enjoyed it, nails digging into his hard flesh, moaning against his jawline. It was so damn good, the union between our bodies, the inherent security it provided. It was an ascension, but one I actually enjoyed.

  He didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything, but he always made sure I got my fix before he had his. He made sure my toes curled until they cramped, made sure my body tightened around him so hard it must have hurt. He gave me every reason to draw blood with my nails, as if he liked the pain.

  He finished, his hard eyes on mine, his handsome face slightly flushed with arousal. The tense muscles started to relax, and he withdrew and cleaned off. His heavy body returned to the mattress beside me, one arm behind his head, his eyes turned toward the curtain-covered window where it continued to pour.

  I rolled onto my side, so relaxed that I never wanted this moment to end. The stress was gone from the very insides of my muscles, from the lining of all my organs, from every place where it was tucked.

  It was as if Hell had never happened.

  He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and scrolled through his messages before he hit the button and returned the screen to darkness. He was bare-chested with the sheets around his waist, his hard body concrete with lines carved by the edge of a knife. He lay there, his eyes on the ceiling. “I assumed the rain would be gone by now.”

  “We’ll get the tree tomorrow. I can do your shopping for you if you give me a list of what you want.”

  “She’s hard to shop for—because I buy her whatever she wants.”

  “I noticed.” I gave a smile as I pulled the sheets farther up my shoulder. “Never seen a little girl with so many stuffed ponies…and real ponies.”

  His eyes turned to the window. “Before she was born, I told myself I wouldn’t spoil her. I would discipline her. I wouldn’t let her believe in princesses and Prince Charming and all that bullshit that doesn’t exist.”

  “I believe in those things…”

  “How?” His head turned to me, his eyes hard. “You’ve seen the real world. The nightmares. The monsters. The evil.”

  “Well, Claire feels like a real princess to me.”

  His hard eyes instantly released.

  “And you’re her Prince Charming who came to save her.”

  He looked at the ceiling again.

  “So yes, I still believe in that stuff.”

  He had closed off entirely, invisible walls all around his mind and body.

  “Are your parents still around?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His open eyes stared, focused on the ceiling like it was more than just a simple wall.

  “How was your night last night?”

  “You already asked me that.”

  “I thought you were just too tired to answer.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not trying to pry—”

  “I don’t do pillow talk, alright?” He propped himself up on his elbow as he rolled over and looked down at me, his gaze fierce. “You want to fuck me to make yourself feel better? That’s fine with me. But I’m not doing all the other shit that comes along with it. Got it?”

  I stilled at the outburst, the calm haze shattered.

  He threw the sheets off then sat upright, his legs over the edge, his strong back to me. He inhaled a slow and deep breath, his eyes on the window hidden behind the closed curtains. A nearly empty glass with a drop of scotch was on his nightstand, along with a gun that he had pulled out of the back of his jeans when he stepped inside.

  “It’s not pillow talk, Benton.” I sat up, my body against the headboard, my naked skin cold the moment he was gone. “It’s called friendship…but you obviously don’t know what that is.”

  Two

  Benton

  “Dad, I like this one.” The horrid rain had finally come to an end, but the streets and pavement still reflected the lampposts like mirrors. Claire’s pink rain boots hit a puddle, and she splashed right through on the way to the tree that caught her eye.

  I looked it up and down, its short stature, its dying branches that were turning brown and bald at the ends. It was offered at half the price—which was still too expensive for this piece of shit.

  Constance walked over, in a gray pea coat with a gold necklace, her arms folded over her chest, black gloves on her fingers. She looked at Claire and gave a slight chuckle. “It’s…nice.”

  It was a dead tree with a price tag. “Pick another one, Claire.”

  “But I want this one—”

  “No.” I flashed my stare on her, telling her not to argue with me in a public setting. I’d rarely had to spank her as a child, and it only happened a few times for the obedience to settle in. She was too old for that now, but time-outs were still on the table.

  She kicked a rock before she moved to the next tree.

  Constance watched her go before she turned her stare on me. Green eyes full of intelligence speared me. She never regarded me with a look of longing like the others, like she wanted to sink her claws into my flesh and attach me to her permanently. It was a different look entirely. Couldn’t explain it.

  After the contact had lasted a while, she followed Claire. “This one’s beautiful. I love the smell of pine needles this time of year.”

  “Yeah…” Claire tugged on one of the branches and watched it bounce, drops of water spraying everywhere.

  “Let’s get this one.”

  “Whatever…”

  Constance stood beside her, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “Why do you want the other tree?”

  “Because no one else is going to buy it.”

  My daughter had a big heart, would take any charity case that showed up on our doorstep. Anytime we saw a stray animal, she wanted to keep it, but I was in no position to raise my daughter and take care of a pet, so I had to find them homes and listen to her cry every time I gave them away.

  Constance turned her head to watch Claire. “But if we don’t get this tree, someone else might not choose it either.”

  Claire gave a shrug. “I just feel bad for him.”

  Constance gave a smile before placing her arms around my daughter’s shoulders, a look in her eyes that was completely genuine. The affection was real. The love unquestioned. I couldn’t remember a time when Beatrice wore a look remotely similar. “Baby, that’s so sweet.” She rubbed her arms as she hugged her close. “How about this? We get this beautiful Douglas fir to put in the living room by the fire, and we get the other one to put in your bedroom?”

  When Claire looked up at her, there were fireworks in her eyes. “Really?”

  “It’ll be my Christmas gift to you.” She pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Thanks, Constance.” Claire gave her a squeeze then ran off to the emaciated tree that belonged in the chipper.

  Constance watched her go before her eyes turned back to me. The smile faded. Her gaze hardened, as if she expected me to challenge her.

  I didn’t.

  I carried the bigger tree inside to the left of the fireplace. There were just a few inches from the top of the tree to the ceiling, enough room for Claire to hang up the star when we decorated.

  The other was put in Claire’s room near the door, pine needles dropping everywhere because the thing had been dead a while. It would only last a week before it was a skeleton of dead branches.

  But Claire was happy, so it didn’t matter.

  “Can we decorate the tree now?” Claire asked.

  “It’s time for bed.”

  “Pleeeaassse.”

  My eyes narrowed, and that was all I needed to do.

  She dropped her head and headed off to bed.

  “Tomorrow, sweetheart.” After she brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas, I tucked her in for the night, the dead tree casting shadows that looked like long, lifeless fingers. I stroked her hair and gave her a kiss.

  “Can we decorate this tree too?”