by Chiah Wilder
“This would be a good gig,” Isla said in his ear.
“You guys should do it.”
“Maybe I’ll talk to the band about it. I think I’d be a little freaked out with so many people around. I mean, I’d feel vulnerable. I still don’t know who’s sending me those letters.”
“I’d be there to protect you,” he said, her hand in his. “Have you received any more letters?”
“No. It seems to be working now that your guards are always around.” She shivered and pressed her body against him. “I don’t want to think about anything but having a good time. Deal?”
“Deal.” She felt warm and soft against his arm, and he made a deal with himself right at that moment: Think of Isla only as his childhood friend, not as a sexy, beautiful woman.
They strolled around the area, checking out the booths, eating cheeseburgers and caramel corn, and laughing a hell of a lot. As they walked toward the bandstand, a woman bumped into them, her soda spilling all over Isla.
“Shit!” Isla yelled as she jumped backward.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, handing her some napkins. “I didn’t see you.”
“Let me get you some paper towels,” Sangre said before rushing to one of the food stalls. He came back in seconds and handed her the paper towels. The front of her camisole was soaked through and he could see her sheer bra. Knowing he should divert his attention, he tried, but he couldn’t. He was mesmerized by her perfectly cupped breasts and their pebbled nipples. All he wanted to do at that moment was slip her soiled top over her head, release her round tits from the bra, and draw one of her nipples in his mouth as he pinched and flicked the other. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
“Does it look all right?” she asked him, throwing her shoulders back which pushed her chest out.
“They look great,” he answered.
“I meant my top,” she said softly.
Dragging his eyes away from her tits, he looked at her. “The top looks good too.”
She shook her head, giggling. “You’re too much.”
“I’ll pay for a new top if you can’t get the stain out. I’m just so sorry,” the woman said, bringing his and Isla’s attention back to her.
“That’s okay. Stuff like this happens when there are so many people.”
“Jordan? Is that you? It’s me, Lexi. Oh my God. I didn’t recognize you at first. How’ve you been? It’s been like forever.”
Isla gave one of those smiles that said she was only being polite. “Lexi. Wow … it’s been years.”
“Are you here on vacay or did you move back?”
“I’m just visiting. It was nice seeing you.” She gripped Sangre’s arm and started to walk.
He could see she was not all that thrilled with this Lexi chick.
“Do you remember me, Steve? I know that’s not your name ever since you joined that biker club.”
He ran his gaze over her face. No spark of recognition lit inside his mind. “I don’t. We gotta go.”
She reached out and placed her hand on his. “Lexi Strobe. I was in Jordan’s class.”
A blank. “Nope.” He pulled his hand away.
“Jordan?”
“Her name’s Isla, and I don’t think she wants to go down memory lane with you.” Sangre gave her a hard look that seemed to dampen some of her enthusiasm.
“I know we weren’t the best of friends in high school, but I didn’t know you changed your name,” she said to Isla.
“Now, you do,” Sangre said at the same time Isla responded, “No worries.”
They started to walk away when Lexi clasped Isla’s arm. “I did hear you were in a band. Is that true?”
“Yes. Iris Blue.”
“That’s so awesome. I’d love to talk to you about it and just catch up. Are you open to going for lunch? It’s on me.”
“I’m not sure what my schedule is, but you can message me on Facebook. My name is Isla Rose.”
Tired of Lexi’s annoying prattle, Sangre pulled Isla away and guided her toward a booth that sold T-shirts.
“You didn’t look like you were too thrilled to run into that chick.”
“I’m surprised she was so friendly. When we were in high school together, she was a real witch. She went out of her way to try and make me feel insecure. I can’t believe you don’t remember her. I complained about her to you many times. Lexi belonged to the popular group.”
“I sorta recall the bitch now. I’m surprised you told her to message you.”
“That was a long time ago. I’ve so moved on from all the high school drama. Anyway, people change.” Pointing at a couple next to the cotton candy stand, Isla smiled. “They’re my next door neighbors. Do you want to meet them?”
Sangre jerked his head back. “No. Why would I?” She laughed as he tugged her in the opposite direction.
Later that night, as they sat on a bench watching the fireworks, the burst of lights in the sky brought him back to the summer before his senior year. It’d been a hot as hell summer that year. His family and Isla’s had met up at the Fourth of July picnic in Liberty Park. For the first time in weeks, there’d been a light breeze rustling through the trees, delaying the firework display by over an hour.
Isla’s mother had asked her to go to the car to bring the extra cooler, and he’d volunteered to help her. She’d had an open bottle of water in her hand, and as they walked to the car, he’d started teasing her about something—he couldn’t quite remember what it was. For whatever reason it had irked her, or at least she’d pretended it did, and she poured the bottle of water on him and ran away. He’d run after her and snagged her around the waist, both of them toppling onto the soft grass. Hovering over her, he watched as she giggled and tried to get away.
He bent his head lower and kissed her glossy lips: feathery soft at first, then hard. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and when she parted her lips, he slipped inside. Soon their tongues twisted together, darting in and out of their mouths. He placed a hand over her breast and squeezed it. It’d felt so soft and round, and he had to grind his hip into her to take some of the pressure off his hard dick.
She must’ve felt his hardness because she pushed him away and he fell on his back on the grass. She jumped up and headed toward the parking lot. He’d been ready to go after her, to apologize for touching her breast, but his friend, Jay, intercepted and said her mom wanted to know what was taking so long to get the cooler.
Without even a backward glance at him, she’d wrapped her arm around Jay and they sauntered away. Rising to his feet, he watched them fade into the shadows of the trees as the first burst of light lit up the sky. That was the summer she’d left without even saying goodbye to him.
“I know it sounds corny, but I love fireworks.” Isla’s voice brought him back to the present. She waved her hand outward. “I love all of this. The sense of community. I remember all the times we went to community events. LA is so big. So impersonal. You could die and your neighbors wouldn’t know for months. It can be so lonely in a city of millions. Crazy.”
With the memory fresh in his mind, the heat of her body pressing close against him, and the enticing scent of her perfume, he put his fingers under her chin and gently turned her face toward him. “Do you remember the Fourth of July in Liberty Park?”
She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Yeah. They were all fun. The fireworks were always my favorite part.”
Taking her hair in his hands, he moved it over her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. “I’m talking about the summer you left.” He felt her shiver against him, and it made him glad that he’d caused it.
She turned her head sideways and their lips almost touched. They were that close. “That time we kissed? I’ve never forgotten it.”
“What the fuck!” a male voice boomed.
Isla jerked away from Sangre. His head snapped toward a tall man with angry eyes. He recognized him as one of the band members.
&nbs
p; “I thought you told me you were going to stay in tonight. Not fuckin’ cool, Isla.” Glaring at Sangre, he pointed. “Who the hell is he?”
Sangre stood up and heat flushed through his body as it tensed. “You point your fuckin’ finger at me again, and I’ll break it.”
Benz’s eyes widened and he stepped back. Looking at Isla, he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
She pulled out of his grip. “Hold on. Sangre’s an old friend.” She turned to him. “Sangre this is Benz. He’s the drummer in the band.”
“And her boyfriend,” he said, his arm curling around her shoulders.
Sangre cracked his knuckles then flexed his arm muscles and stared at the asshole.
Isla slipped away from Benz and stood off to the side, her arms folded across her chest. “It’s too damn loud to talk. Why don’t we all finish watching the fireworks?” She sat back down on the bench, and Sangre sat to the left of her and Benz to the right.
All he could see was red. Crimson red. Blood red as in Benz’s blood. And all he could think about was how he was going to hurt this jerk who thought he was hot shit because he played the damn drums. He had no idea what the hell Isla even saw in him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wannabe rock star glancing at him on and off, and if Isla hadn’t been there, Benz would be sprawled on his back with Sangre straddling him as he rearranged the asshole’s face.
After the show was over, people started heading out of the square toward the large parking lot. Isla looked at both men and smiled. “That was good.”
“Let’s go,” Benz said in a hard voice.
“I wanted to tell you about how Sangre and I got back in contact, but it was too loud before. Anyway, his company is the one watching over me. I had no idea, but it turns out that Sangre is Steve. I’ve mentioned him to you, remember? It’s such a small world. So Sangre is on duty tonight.”
“And you decided to hang out with your bodyguard at a public place where there are a ton of people and any wacko could off you? Smart.” He tapped against her temple. “Real smart.”
Sangre growled. “No one’s gonna hurt her when I’m around.”
“Isla. You forgot to mention that you have Superman guarding you. Bullets and shit can bounce off him.”
In less than a second, Sangre had the front of Benz’s T-shirt crumpled in his fist, as he shook the pale drummer hard. “I don’t go for any fucker disrespecting me, especially sniveling pansy asses like you.”
“Sangre! Let him go. He didn’t mean anything, I promise. Benz has a caustic tongue sometimes.”
“I don’t like it, ass wipe. Next time, think before you fuckin’ speak, or I’ll rip that caustic tongue right outta your big mouth. Got it?” He threw Benz on the ground, and Isla bent down next to him, taking his hand and helping him up. “Keith will take over my shift.” He whipped out his phone and called him, then looked at her. “I’ll drive to your house and leave when Keith shows up.”
Wiping off the dust from his jeans, Benz shook his head. “She’s coming to the hotel with me. I’ll watch her.”
“What the hell did I just warn you about opening your mouth? I don’t give a shit what you have to say.” He turned to Isla. “This is your call.”
Looking at the ground, she shrugged. “I’m going home.”
Benz pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m going with you.”
His pulse sped and he bared his teeth, but Benz avoided looking at him.
“Whatever,” Isla muttered and began to walk toward his Harley.
“I have the rental car. You’re going with me.”
Sangre followed them as they drove to her house. When Isla opened the front door, she smiled at him, and he lifted his chin at her. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he was madder than shit at her. He wanted nothing more than to drag the ass wipe out of her house and send him on his way. I’m acting like a damn pussy. She’s dated this asshole for a while. Why shouldn’t he be with her? Why the fuck does it piss me off so much that he is? Grrr! He pounded his fist on his handlebars, anxious for Keith to come and take over.
The living room curtains moved, and he saw Isla peeking out, her nose placed against the glass. Ignoring her, he looked up into the inky darkness covered in sparkling stars. The rumble of an engine focused his attention behind him, and he saw Keith’s blue Suburban driving toward him.
Sangre shook hands with Keith then jumped on his bike. The roar of the engine garnered another peek from behind the curtain. Pulling away from the curb to make a U-turn, he glanced at the window, but she was gone.
Chapter Nine
Sheriff Wexler looked at the crime scene photographs of Sharla Davidson, Lizbeth Kelly, and Taylor Prentice, a sick feeling coursing through his body. All three women had been viciously attacked—their throats slashed; and were former students from Jefferson High. The same person did these killings. “Dammit!” he said aloud. This was the last thing he needed, especially with the election coming up. There’d been an undercurrent of fear throughout the town when Taylor Prentice had been murdered and then Lizbeth Kelly, but with the recent killing of Sharla Davidson, full on terror had spread over Alina. The citizens clamored for news and were impatient with the time it was taking the sheriff’s department to solve the crimes. Wexler and his staff understood the concern, and they assured the townsfolk that they were working hard to solve the killings, but the truth was—they didn’t have a whole lot of forensics to go on. There was a clump of hair found in Sharla Davidson’s fist, but DNA results came back showing it was her own hair. The sheriff surmised that she must’ve pulled out some of her hair when she’d fought for her life.
Hearing a soft knock on the door, he looked up and saw one of his deputies. “Come on in, Miles.” The lanky twenty-eight-year old walked in and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”
“Not much. I was just checking in to see if there’ve been any new developments with the Davidson murder.” The deputy had taken a leave for three days to attend the funeral of his grandmother in Durango.
The sheriff pushed the photos to Deputy Carmody then leaned back in his chair. “The results from the hair in Davidson’s hand turned out to be hers. It was a damn blow to the investigation. I’d hoped it would’ve given us a suspect, but now, we got nothing. The few leads we have are drying up.”
Glancing at the set of pictures, Miles shook his head. “The killer had to have known these women. This was definitely personal.”
“We’re on the same wavelength here. These women were murdered by the same person. He knew them or had some connection to them. If we don’t find him soon, I’m afraid he’ll kill again.”
“Maybe he was just aiming for these three for some reason.”
Shaking his head, he took the photos back. “He’s not stopping. Someone who kills with this intensity enjoys it. There’s a rage inside him that has to be sated. No way will the killings stop. We gotta put an end to him to make sure no one else is murdered.”
“Are we sure it’s a man? There was no sexual assault even though the women were nude from the waist down. Could’ve been a red herring, like the person wanted us to believe it was sexually motivated,” Carmody said.
“True. It could be a woman, but it doesn’t strike me that way. Even so, we have to keep all the possibilities open.”
“I was just thinking that since there wasn’t any sexual assault, and whoever did this went out of their way to make us believe these crimes may have been sexually motivated, that it could have been a woman or a younger person.”
“We can’t rule out anything.” Wexler reached for his mug then took a sip of the strong, lukewarm coffee.
Deputy Jeffers walked in and sat on the chair next to Carmody. He glanced at the photos on the desk in front of Wexler then averted his gaze to the sheriff. Jeffers didn’t say anything; he just sat and stared.
Sheriff Wexler had hired Nick Jeffers six months before, thinking he’d be a good fit with the department, bu
t he’d been doubting that decision ever since. The biggest problem was that Jeffers was not a team player, which was essential in order to be effective in law enforcement. The deputy’s probationary period was ending in a couple of months, and unless Wexler saw a change in the way he conducted himself, he’d have to let him go.
Frowning, he rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you want, Jeffers?”
“Just wanted to let you know I arrested the two teens who’ve been spraying shit on those buildings off Highway 57.”
“The abandoned ones?” Carmody asked.
The deputy’s nostrils flared, and he gave Carmody a cold hard stare. “It’s still a fucking crime.”
Miles put up his hands and laughed. “I didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just that we’ve got three murders on our hands.”
The vein in Jeffers’ temple pulsed. “So that makes it open season on crime?”
From the way the tension was building between his two deputies, Wexler was sure they’d be punching each other in a matter of seconds. “Good work, Jeffers. When kids start shit on abandoned buildings, it’s just a matter of time before they move to other things.” He saw Carmody roll his eyes. “And Carmody’s right about focusing attention on the three murders. We gotta find this sicko before he strikes again, and my gut tells me he will.”
“Didn’t you go to Jefferson High?” Carmody asked Jeffers.
The deputy slammed his fist on the desk, knocking over the picture of Wexler’s grandchildren. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? What’re you saying?”
Taken aback by the outburst, Wexler’s muscles tightened in preparation of an altercation. “Calm the hell down, Jeffers. Carmody was asking a legit question. We’re working to solve these damn murders. Now did you go to Jefferson High or not?”
Redness colored the deputy’s face as he looked down at the ground. “I did. So what?”
“Did you know the three murder victims?”
