Jewels and Panties (Book, Six): Puppet Master

by Brooke Kinsley

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book Five

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Puppet Master

  Jewels And Panties Series

  Book Six

  Brooke Kinsley

  © 2017 All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  "Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand...”-Brooke Kinsley

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  Contents

  Description

  Chapter One LINCOLN

  Chapter Two ETTA

  Chapter Three PHAEDRA

  Chapter Four LINCOLN

  Chapter Five ETTA

  Chapter Six PHAEDRA

  Chapter Seven ETTA

  Chapter Eight PHAEDRA

  Chapter Nine ETTA

  Chapter Ten JUDGE KENNEDY

  Chapter Eleven ETTA

  About The Author

  Description

  ETTA

  We’ve been captured but there’s no sign of Lincoln anywhere!

  I need him to tell me everything will be okay.

  I need to know he’s okay!

  But something in my gut is telling me that something terrible has happened to him.

  Held hostage in a motel, it looks as though things can’t get any worse for me.

  Then one of my captors decides he wants to have some fun…

  Somehow I’ve got to escape before it’s too late.

  Somehow, I’ve got to discover if Lincoln is still alive!

  PHAEDRA

  It’s all coming to an end.

  I can feel it in my bones.

  I’ve had enough of all the pain and I’m too old to carry on.

  And I’m damn well sure that Judge Kennedy is going to pay for what he’s done.

  Tonight will be the last night that bastard lives.

  But I’m going to need a little help…

  Chapter One

  lincoln

  "You're fucking crazy if you think you can get away with this. Don't you know who I am!"

  "We know exactly who you are. That's why you're here."

  Judge Kennedy paced back and forth in front of me with the chief as his sidekick enjoying every moment of watching me bound up like a prisoner of war. My legs were crossed and tied at the ankles which were pressing into the cold concrete.

  My arms were twisted behind my back with my wrists bound together at such an unnatural angle, it felt as though my shoulder blades were about to catch fire.

  I tried to breathe through the pain but found it was even getting too much for me. It was then that the realization hit me. This wasn't too different to what my victims felt in the moments before their death. The only difference was that I knew people would be looking for me.

  "Where's Etta?" I gasped through the agony, a long stream of saliva dripping from my lower lip.

  Berger was still unconscious across the other side of the room. I narrowed my eyes in an effort to make out if he was breathing but he appeared to be unmoving.

  "Your little dolly girl is doing fine," said the chief as he stepped forward, his polished boots squeaking as he knelt down. "She's somewhere real nice. Somewhere I chose myself."

  His voice sent a shiver down the back of my neck.

  "If you've touched her..." I said, my eyes rabid with rage.

  Both the chief and the judge chuckled at my threat that now seemed so vacant. In this position, there was nothing I could do and they knew it.

  "If we've touched her... What?" asked Kennedy. "What will you do? Take us down into that medieval laboratory of yours and slaughter us like the others. Before taking us out for a boat ride and leaving us to rot amongst the fish."

  He knew...

  As I grasped what he said, I felt my mouth turn dry. I tried to swallow but nothing happened. My throat was blocked up with anger.

  "You knew!" I bellowed.

  He flung his head back and laughed.

  "All of us have been keeping tabs on you for a long while. The panties you bought from the girls... you sick son of a bitch. The volunteering at the house so you could get closer to them. Just so you could murder them in cold blood."

  "You have the nerve talking about cold blood," I seethed. "The things you make the women in that house do... to children. And what for, judge? For the money or your own amusement?"

  He flinched, angry.

  "Besides, you know I killed those girls but what can you so about it? Why not get your chief here to arrest me? Oh, wait... You couldn't do that because I have more money than the entire police force. Not I would incriminate the both of you if it ever went to court."

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  "So you had to resort to your sly underhanded tactics. Kidnap... You fucking kidnapped me and one of your own men!"

  The chief glanced over his shoulder to where Berger lay like a pile of old dark rags in the corner.

  "Collateral damage," he said with a shrug. "He was always a livewire anyway."

  Beneath my restraints, I began to tremble. I needed out of here. Needed to show these sons of bitches who was boss.

  I needed to find Etta!

  "You look a little flustered there, Mr. Bosworth."

  The judge crouched down in front of my until I could smell his brandy scented breath.

  "You look like you need to relax," he said. "I know a mighty good way to relax..."

  The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. In that very second, with his face only inches away from mine and his acrid breath hot on my skin, I knew just how dirty he was, just how repulsive and dangerous.

  Unable to move and still struggling against the rope that was burning my wrists, I snorted up all the mucus in the back of my dried out throat and spat it into his face.

  I was disgusted at myself for acting so wild, so feral but I
wasn't as revolted as he was. For a second, he lingered in front me with a slight twitch fluttering beneath his eye. Then he reached for a handkerchief and wiped his face clean.

  "You'll pay for what you did to my girls," he said. "You can't get away with this. No matter how rich you are."

  He stood up and walked toward the door. Stopping mid stride, he stopped as though he'd remembered something.

  "Tell me," he said. "The red spiral tattoos. What was the point? What did they mean? Or did they mean nothing at all?"

  He'd have to kill me before I told him.

  "It's symbolic," was all I said. "You wouldn't understand."

  Again, there was that angry flinch of his and the twitch below his eye was becoming more rapid. If it had been anyone else I would have assumed the man was close to having a stroke.

  "Symbolic?" he guffawed and forced out an insincere laugh. "So not only are you a doctor, inventor, and billionaire. You're' also some sort of master theologian."

  The chief looked down at his shoes, obviously out of his depth with the prospect of thinking beyond dry police statistics and barking orders.

  "Maybe I am," I replied. "Why does it bother you?"

  Kennedy raised an eyebrow.

  "Bother me?"

  "The red spiral..."

  There was pure curiosity in his eyes as he waited for me to reveal my secret. Like a cunning fox becoming privy to a delicious secret stash of hidden hens, he licked his lips and moved closer.

  "Tell me what it means," he demanded.

  "Why should I?"

  In the moment, it was the only piece of power I had over him, the only thing that kept him hanging on. He was a man just as thirsty for knowledge as I was. No doubt the red spiral with all its mystery had confused him as much as it had the police.

  "I bet it keeps you up at night," I said. "I bet you've drawn it over and over again as you try to figure out what it means."

  He sucked on his teeth and cocked his head to the side.

  "You'll never guess," I said. "Never..."

  He pivoted on his heel and made his way toward the door.

  "Have it your way," he said. "You'll squeal like a pig and tell us everything sooner or later."

  I laughed although I felt like crying, screaming out until my throat burned.

  "I'll never tell you a thing."

  He nodded toward the chief and ripped open the steel fire door. I could see through the silhouette of his body that it opened out into the street where the rain was falling almost sideways through the faint illumination of the street lamps.

  "Wait," I croaked.

  He walked on.

  "Wait!"

  He froze and turned back, thinking I was finally going to give in and tell him what it all meant. He smirked and closed the door back over.

  "I need to know something," I said, grimacing with the pain as my blood pooled into my fingers. "I need to know why you're so angry. Is it because I killed your girls and know I can get away with it? Or it is because I could expose your vile pedophile ring and bring this entire city to its knees?"

  He stared into my eyes, his face as rigid and cold as stone.

  "Well? What hurts you more? Knowing that I’ve been taking your sordid group out member by member and there's nothing you can do to stop me? Or knowing that you can't murder me? I bet it hurts like hell knowing you can't simply murder a billionaire. Especially one that keeps the economy of this whole town out of the red. What would this place do without me, eh?"

  Still, his face was icy and unmoving except for the twitch below his eye.

  "Fuck you," he said and strode toward the door. "O'Neil! Make sure that bastard doesn't go anywhere."

  "With pleasure," said the chief.

  We both watched as the judge let the door slam shut as he disappeared out into the rain.

  "So, are you in his pocket or the other way around?" I asked and O'Neil glowered at me.

  "Keep your mouth shut," he said. "You'll stay conscious longer that way."

  I struggled against my restraints one last time but knew it was useless. A moment later, the chief approached with a blade in his hand and sliced the ropes free from my wrists.

  "Don't get used to it," he said. "He'll be back sooner or later and I’ll have to truss you up like a turkey again."

  The blood ran back into my limbs in a shower of pins and needles. It felt so good to stretch and stand up, to feel the pain dissolve from my fingers.

  "So you're in his pocket," I presumed.

  He said nothing. But he didn't need to.

  Chapter Two

  ETTA

  "Where's Lincoln?"

  They both stared at me.

  "Hello? I waved an arm in front of their faces.

  Still, there was no answer.

  It was like being trapped in a room with two robots. Their large, uniformed bodies swamped the cheap wicker chairs and made the room look like a miniature doll set. I wondered if they could talk at all or whether the police department was only hiring deaf and dumb meatheads these days.

  "With all the judge's money I would have at least expected I could have been kept in a decent hotel instead of this... this freakin' piece of shit Bates Motel hell hole."

  They both continued to stare at me in silence.

  All I could do was stare back and at least be grateful that I wasn't hurt or in handcuffs. As I sat on the edge of the bed, I squinted to see through the blinds out to the parking lot. The only vehicle was the black police van, large and sinister like the men sitting across from me with their assault rifles laying across their laps like briefcases.

  "If you two refuse to talk to me can we at least turn the television on?"

  One of them nodded and adjusted the scarf that was around his mouth and nose. With the heat on it felt as though it was about a hundred degrees. The guys must have been baking under their bulletproof vests.

  Not that I cared too much about them. I had other things to worry about. After we were bundled into the van, I watched as Lincoln and Berger were ripped out and dragged toward a warehouse in an area I didn't recognize.

  After that, I was driven here but I didn't know exactly where that was. The place kinda looked familiar in a way that all of these places do.

  I'd been sitting with my two captors ever since, staring at the walls in silence as they oozed with the charm and confidence of an android.

  "Any preferences?" I asked as I reached for the TV's remote although I knew I wouldn't get an answer.

  Both of them looked as though they had turned to stone.

  "Old movies it is then."

  I flicked through the channels until I found my favorite station. It was the one that played vintage movies from my grandmother's childhood on repeat. As the voice of Bette Davis drifted across the room, I began to feel safe. Well, in only the way you could ever feel safe while being kidnapped.

  Lying back against the bed, I watched the silver scenes unfold. All melodramatic facial expressions and fast talking schemesters. It reminded me of being sick and off school with my grandma looking after me and bringing me glasses of homemade orange juice as we watched her favorite movies.

  What I would do to see her now.

  And I would do just about anything to see my mom!

  I wondered if she ever did make it out on her sailing trip and I thought about what life would have been like if she decided on never going. I would be living with her instead of staying in the house with Phaedra. I would never have grown close to Lincoln. I wouldn't be in this room!

  Beside me, one of the cops stirred and yawned. Rubbing his eyes, he jumped up and for the first time since we arrived, he spoke.

  "I gotta get a soda," he said to the other guy. "You want one?"

  "Sure."

  I sat up and turned down the television.

  "Woah. You can actually talk."

  "You stay there," he said. "And keep your mouth shut."

  He handed his rifle to his friend before disappearing out the doo
r.

  Then we were back to excruciating silence as the android left behind stared straight into my head, into my brain, into my soul.

  "I guess you're not worried I'll call the police," I said.

  His eyes burned into me.

  "So... Is this like regular police protocol? Kidnapping and holding people hostage. Or am I just having a really unlucky day?"

  He pulled down his scarf and revealed his face. It was handsome in a boyish way, chiseled with purposely grown stubble and a square jaw that looked as though it could take a punch. He pulled down the blinds to see where his buddy was before sauntering over to me.

  "You're actually the lucky one," he said, his voice low and throaty.

  "I am?"

  "We were under orders not to hurt you," he explained. "Unlike that rich prick boyfriend of yours."

  "Lincoln! You know where he is?"

  He smiled and placed down his gun.

  "I wouldn't tell you if I did."

  "Bastard! You can't do this. Are you arresting us or not? You can't just hold us hostage like this! It doesn't matter that you're in a uniform or not. You can't do this!"

  He licked his lips and placed a hand on my shoulder. It was heavy and hot and pulsing with strength.

  "I think you'll find we can do whatever we want."

  "But hurt me," I reminded him.

  "Not unless you want me to."

  What did that mean?

  He took a step forward until his crotch was in my face. He was hard, his length visible as it pressed against the inside of his thigh.

  I recoiled back and scrambled up toward the top of the bed. He laughed as he gripped my ankle and yanked me back down.

  "You can't get away so easily."

  "You can't do this!"

  It was something I'd been screaming since we'd been captured. I'd yelled it until it felt like my throat was bleeding. Repeated it a hundred times. Now, it just felt like hollow words. Just like he said, they could do whatever they wanted. He was proving that right now.