Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2)

by Steele, Suzanne

  My hands pinch and pull at her nipples through her clothing. I want to hurt her, to make her pay for giving someone else such a sacred gift as her fear.

  “I’m sorry; you’re right. I trust you to protect me. My fear, my trepidation, my anguish—it all belongs to you.”

  I unzip the jeans constricting my hard cock with one hand and guide her head down with the other, watching as she pulls me into her mouth. She knows what I want. My hands fist her hair as I groan. Laying my head back against the headrest, I give myself over to the pleasure her warm mouth provides. The thought of using her out here in the open excites me so much that I quickly unload. I hold her head down, forcing her to take everything I give her. I love this woman. She’s my obsession, and I will never get enough of her. When it comes to my wife, I will never be satisfied and cannot be sated. She’s an addiction that I will take to the grave.

  Chapter Ten

  Charles

  My wife sleeps soundly in the adjoining master bedroom while I sit at my desk and try to get some work done. We’d been successful the night before, but it hadn’t been due to our late night out spying. No, it was all because a killer had revealed his intentions. I find myself no longer second-guessing Evelyn’s involvement. I hate to think what could have happened to Lisa if she hadn’t walked in. Also, because she works so closely with my wife, she was able to inform us about Richard’s presence at the hospital. If we can manage to keep her at arm’s length, Evelyn will be a useful resource. It will be a balancing act; she needs to be close enough to help us yet far enough to not realize we are serial killers. It will take some skillful maneuvering, but it’s doable.

  I have a lot of experience living a double life, so it isn’t like this is anything new for me. Even during the years I stopped killing for the sake of my family, in a sense, I still lived a double life. I may not have been wielding the knife anymore, but the craving for blood still remained. It’s an addiction no different than a drug, constantly calling to me from the dark recesses of my mind.

  I am looking forward to working with my wife. There will be no more secrets, no more hiding, and no more having to suppress the craving for blood I long to spill. For so many years, I’ve held my addiction in check. Now, I’ll finally be able to let go with no threat of losing my wife in doing so.

  Killing isn’t something I do; it’s who I am. It isn’t like I can cut out that part of my personality. I was born a predator, and I will die one.

  I look up to see my wife shuffling in, wearing a robe and carrying two cups of coffee. Setting one in front of me, she kisses my cheek before taking the seat beside me. She sits with one knee bent and her foot on the chair as she looks over at the screen where I am working.

  “Have you found out anything new on Richard?”

  “Well, after the little stunt he pulled last night, I felt compelled to quickly get more information on him.”

  “Yeah, trying to kill someone in a hospital bed is pretty damn bold.”

  “I think so too. It makes me think he has something to hide. He must be desperate if he’s sneaking inside a hospital to kill a woman. I’m convinced now she’s telling the truth, and he was trying to kill off the only potential witness to his crimes. Men like him will do anything to keep their sparkling reputation intact.”

  “Did you think she was lying about it?”

  “No, not intentionally. I believed her; what I was concerned about was her recollection of the details. Sometimes when a person is traumatized, the mind can build walls. It’s a defense mechanism that protects us from going crazy. If a memory is too painful to bring to consciousness, it will force us to forget. I have to make sure every one of her memories was processed correctly so I know the details of the crime committed. The last thing we want to do is kill an innocent person. When you’re dealing with vengeance, the judicial principle, innocent until proven guilty, is a necessary evil.”

  “I agree with what you’re saying, but in my mind, trying to kill someone is a pretty blatant sign of bad intentions.”

  She’s obviously being facetious. Perhaps sarcasm is her way of handling the fact that we’re planning something others would find reprehensible.

  “Even though I’m inclined to believe Richard Roundtree is guilty, we still don’t have proof he tried to kill her, Melanie. Your friend Evelyn admitted his body was blocking her view, and you and I both know she has a penchant for the dramatic. She takes being a drama queen to a whole new level.”

  “I have to agree, but in all her years of spreading gossip, I’ve never known her to outright lie. It would be pretty slanderous to accuse a man of attempted murder. She’s also changed since she went through the embarrassment of being engaged to a necrophiliac serial killer.”

  “Well, that would be enough to humble anybody. On another note, that’s why I’m researching the timetable of the deaths; I’m trying to collect more solid proof against Richard.”

  “What? Like seeing if he had speaking engagements in the same towns at the times of the other women’s deaths?”

  “Exactly. I also want to look for things like how long the women were held in captivity before he killed them.”

  “How will you know?”

  “Well, this particular killer places the bodies out where they can easily be found. Some killers enjoy taunting the authorities, though I doubt he realizes he’s playing with fire in garnering David and Rene’s attention.”

  “David and Rene? Those are the FBI agents, right?”

  Though answering all my wife’s questions can be tedious, I don’t mind because it’s coming from a good place. She wants to learn, so I continue to teach.

  “Yes, they’re the FBI agents assigned to the case for these women, and they’re very good at what they do. Underestimating them would be a grave mistake.”

  “Those are the same ones who are investigating you, aren’t they?”

  Once again, she’s asking me something I feel like she should already know, but I don’t mind. What I would be troubled by is if she assumed things to be true. You can’t double check facts enough when you’re talking about taking someone’s life. Once they’re dead, you can’t undo it. If you make a mistake, all you have is regret and insecurity about your next kill.

  “Yes, and staying one step ahead of them won’t be an easy feat.”

  “I wonder if they’ve linked all of Richard Roundtree’s victims yet—if they at least know the women were all killed by the same man.”

  “Melanie, again, we don’t have proof it was Richard. That’s an excellent question though, and I’m sure the media will be all too willing to answer it for us in time. Speaking of the media, use them to your advantage to find out information, but don’t always believe everything you hear. The FBI will sometimes plant false information on the chance the killer is watching the news. It’s not uncommon for serial killers to insert themselves into investigations; they get a thrill from it. Not all serial killers fly under the radar like I do. Some get a thrill off pulling one over on law enforcement or bask in the glory of all the media attention. A good profiler knows this about serial killers, and at times, will use the media to their advantage.”

  “Well, please continue to do so… fly under the radar, I mean. I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to be visiting you in prison, only able to look at you through a glass partition.”

  Smiling, I give her a quick nod before turning my attention back to the screen where I’m comparing timelines. After careful study, my suspicions are confirmed. Richard Roundtree has been in every location where the women have disappeared, but not during the time their bodies were discovered. Of course, that doesn’t exonerate him of guilt. It just means he was smart enough to get the hell out of dodge before the bodies were found and the FBI could put two and two together to equal him in the equation. He’s managed to convince the community he’s a philanthropist; the last thing Richard would want is for the authorities to discover he’s really a cold-blooded, sadistic killer.


  I look at the pictures of the women’s corpses, and it’s quite clear I’m dealing with a man given to sadistic tendencies. After all, a sadist knows another sadist. Personally, I tend to operate more in the realm of mind fucks, and when it comes to sexual sadism, my play is always consensual and only with my wife. I enjoy exploring the corridors of her mind, and it never ceases to amaze me the things I discover there. However, when it comes to mind fucks that aren’t sexual in nature, it’s open season. One of my favorite forms of entertainment is toying with the heads of my victims. I go into the game pissed off at them for their atrocious behavior, so I make them pay with more than just their lives. Nothing pleases me more than watching them lose their confidence, bit by bit, as I chip away at it with my manipulation. Let’s just say that if karma’s a bitch, then I’m her bastard of a brother. Once I set my sights on a bully, it’s game on. If they happen to go crazy during the process of me bringing them down, then as far as I’m concerned, they got what they deserved.

  The pictures I am looking at reveal a vicious man who gets off on not only inflicting pain on his victims, but torturing them as well. Each body displays different wounds. Some professionals might profile them as different signatures, but I see them as the mark of the same sadist escalating.

  For the average person, looking at the horrendous pictures on my screen’s display would be unbearable. For me, though, it’s a necessary evil to study the marks each body bears. It will give me a look into the psyche of the man we’re dealing with. I believe he is the one inflicting the pain, and then he’s issuing the order for the other men to rape the women. The pain is a form of physical sadism, and watching the rape satisfies his mental sadism. This also gives him control over a group of people. It’s hard enough to exercise control over just one person, but to achieve manipulation over an entire group says something about Richard Roundtree’s charismatic personality. As sick and depraved as he is, he’s also smart. Immoral and intelligent is a very dangerous combination.

  I’ll need to outwit a man who enjoys playing puppeteer with those around him. It’s just a diversion to him, and the people are nothing but pawns in his twisted game of cruelty. I can’t help but wonder if he has something on the men he’s manipulating. It’s possible, but it’s also just as likely that he found a group of sick sons of bitches that enjoy rape. Rape is all about control, and even though Richard is ultimately the one in charge, they would all get a taste of that control when assaulting their unwilling victims.

  One of the women in the pictures has scars on her back that are unmistakable; she has been mercilessly beaten with a whip, possibly a cat o’ nine tails. The marks are wide and deep, the skin raised in such a way that suggests scars over scars. She’s obviously a woman who has been beaten not just once, but numerous times. There’s no mistaking the signs of this type of abuse if you know what to look for, and I do.

  Another body bears the distinct markings of cigarette burns. Literally hundreds of them cover her body, including her face. There’s not a single square inch of her skin that was spared the torturous burn.

  Judging from the evidence shown in these pictures, it looks like this group of men abducts a woman and then tortures her until she’s on the brink of death. At some point, their victim stops fighting the abuse, or they get bored with her, and I imagine that’s when they decide to kill her. Guys like this get off on resistance and would enjoy hearing the horrendous screams of a woman in pain. Once the women are broken and compliant, their sick form of entertainment is no longer any fun. At that point, it would be time to find their next victim.

  I also note that each woman has been killed in a different manner. Once again, this doesn’t make me think there are different serial killers at large. The different MOs only solidify my belief that we’re looking for a group of killers—a group with one ringleader calling all the shots.

  What kind of power does Richard Roundtree hold over these men to make them kill for him? Why would someone risk a lifetime of incarceration just for another man’s morbid entertainment? It has to be an enormous power high to not only control the women, but to also have the men do his bidding. Clearly, Richard is getting off on it, but what are the men getting out of it? Maybe he does have something he’s holding over their heads.

  I look at the descriptions of how each woman was killed. There was one by strangulation, another had her throat slit, and for one, they went so far as to let her starve to death. It’s like they’re playing some macabre game, trying to think up cruel ways to eliminate the women once they’re done terrorizing them. Despite my show of uncertainty with Melanie, I’m certain it’s Richard who’s issuing the sadistic mandates. The simple fact that he didn’t send in one of his cronies to kill Lisa at the hospital tells me he’s the one who has the most to lose. He’s also the one willing to take the biggest risk; the bigger the risk, the better the adrenaline high is.

  One thing’s for sure, he isn’t going to stop until he’s six feet under. I am going to make sure that’s exactly where my new partner in crime and I put him. He has to be stopped, and I need to catch him before the police get to him. Rehabilitation isn’t an option because it’s nothing more than an illusion for those in society who want to continue submitting to the false sense of security it engenders.

  I’m a realist. I believe in leveling the playing field for those who have no one to protect them. I am going to enjoy not only killing this dirtbag, but also making him suffer before he draws his last breath.

  Chapter Eleven

  Melanie

  My phone rings, pulling me away from my research with Charles. If I thought looking at the pictures of Richard’s victims was hard, it didn’t compare with trying to talk Evelyn down. I barely got in a hello before she started babbling. Now that she’d slept on it, she seems even more upset today than when she actually walked in on a killer. Convinced she’s going to be the next victim, my coworker continues to work herself into a full-blown state of panic, no matter how hard I try to allay her fear.

  “Evelyn, Charles and I aren’t going to permit anything bad to happen to you. Besides, let’s look at it logically… If Richard went after you, it would be akin to admitting he was attempting to kill Lisa. Right now, it’s all speculation.”

  “I know what I saw; he was getting ready to smother the poor girl with that pillow. The only thing that saved her was me walking in and catching him in the act.”

  “Well, the only thing you can do is continue monitoring her room. If we place an officer at her door, we’ll be going against her wishes to not involve law enforcement. Don’t you think this girl should be afforded some modicum of control over her life, especially given all this craziness she’s had to endure?”

  Though my true motivation is to keep Evelyn from involving the police, there is an element of truth to my words. The last thing I want to do is get into a race against the clock, trying to kill these guys before the police apprehend them.

  Of course, I can’t divulge the real reason I don’t want law enforcement involved. Having Richard locked up and protected behind bars where we can’t get to him would severely complicate things. Out here, not only can we kill him when the time comes, but before then, we can monitor his actions so no one else gets hurt. These senseless killings have to be stopped. The women are innocent victims with no hero, and we are their unconventional saviors.

  “You need to calm down, Evelyn. You have to keep your wits about you. Just be smart. Set your alarm, and bring your dog inside. If you have a gun, then keep it on the nightstand while you sleep. I’ll check in on you, and if you need me, you can always call. You’re not in this alone. Just keep that patient safe, and don’t breathe a word about what’s going on to anyone.”

  I finally calm her down and get off the phone. Charles and I have another stake out planned, but we won’t be spying on Kimberly Regis tonight. This time, it will be none other than Richard Roundtree himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Killer

  Standing
around the corner, I listen as the nurse who almost caught me suffocating one of her patients talks on the phone. I can hear the fear in her voice, and instead of the excitement I would normally feel at provoking a woman’s terror, I am preoccupied with finding out who’s on the other end of that line.

  The fact that she’s spilling her guts to someone and telling them about me isn’t putting my mind at ease. I’d planned on coming here and finding out who she was and where she lived. It was supposed to be a simple reconnaissance trip so I could do away with her at a later date. I’d intended to kill her off before she had a chance to run her mouth. Since it’s too late for that, my only hope is that the nurse didn’t recognize me. It’s a hope that shatters when I hear her next statement.

  I’m certain it was him. It was Richard Roundtree, the guy on TV.

  This isn’t going well. I continue listening from my spot around the corner, resolving to get my hands on that phone so I can take a look at her call history. I’m not overly worried about her talking to someone. After all, it would take a lot more than that to tarnish my sparkling reputation. When it comes down to it, it’s her word against mine. A woman in a dimly lit room, who thought she might have seen a man behaving suspiciously, won’t be enough to bring me down. Logically, I know all this, but my gut is still screaming that this bitch is going to be trouble. I need to get my hands on that phone.

  The opportunity arises quicker than I believed possible when she hangs up and then leaves the phone unattended in the pocket of her lab coat—the lab coat she takes off and leaves behind the nurse’s station before making her way to the bathroom. I waste no time going behind the counter and pulling up her recent calls. I use a memory stick to quickly copy the rest of her data and then calmly walk out of the hospital.

  I’m on the right path to remove anyone who might possibly have any information about the patient I tried to kill. This is escalating into much more of a problem than I’d anticipated. I need to get things under control before it becomes any more of a threat, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.