Curt nods are exchanged, then Turner turns his neutral but slightly narrowed gaze on me, asking, “And you are…?”
“Madonna. Madonna Mathews,” I say lightly, ignoring how Liam’s posture stiffens next to me and hoping they don’t notice.
“Ms. Mathews,” he says with a curt nod. “Agent David Turner.” With introductions out of the way, he addresses Liam. “Sorry you had to hear about this on the news before I could reach you. Before we could properly secure the scene, the reporter got a tip and did some snooping. When she confirmed the parking space was yours, there was no stopping her from going live with the information, considering your link to The Riddler.”
“Understood,” Liam replies, placing his arm around my shoulder.
Turner wastes no time beginning to question Liam. “Can you tell me why the hell the killer would leave a body in your parking space?”
Liam
“Agent, the last time I spoke to my brother he bragged about having a copycat. I didn’t take him seriously at the time, but I can only assume the man he was talking about may be responsible for all of this.”
“Did he give you a name?”
”No, he would never make it that easy. My brother enjoys mind games. Other than being interviewed by grad students, it’s one of the few things he has left to do with his time.”
“I take it you don’t have a close relationship with your brother?”
“No, I do not. My brother destroys everything he touches and I have no desire to be in the line of fire.”
Agent Turner takes notes, looking up from time to time.
“So you don’t visit him?”
“I didn’t say that. I said we’re not close.”
“I’m confused, Dr. Chambers…You don’t trust your brother and, forgive me for saying so, but it sounds like you don’t like him very much either. Yet you still feel the need to go and see him?”
“Call it survivor’s guilt, since our mother gave him up at birth and kept me. She was mentally ill and it appears my brother inherited that gene. Dr. Brinkley assures me he’s a sociopath. Lance is the kind of man who lives next door to you, shops where you shop, and even sits on the front pew at church on Sundays with you—yet all the while, he’s planning his next kill. I walk a fine line where he’s concerned.”
Though I’m talking to Turner calmly, a trace of apprehension tingles along my spine when the female agent asks Madonna if she can speak to her alone. This is not good—not good at all…
Madonna
“Can I speak with you over here for a moment?” Agent Murphy asks.
It’s the first time I’ve seen any emotion on her stoic face. Her smile reveals a row of perfectly straight, white teeth. She’s very attractive—for a cop.
I shrug my shoulders and nonchalantly answer with much more aplomb than I feel at the moment. She flashes her brilliant smile like we’re old friends catching up after a long separation. She isn’t fooling me one damn bit. The woman senses something’s amiss, that something doesn’t quite add up. I’ve got to throw her off the scent.
“So…How did you and the good doctor meet?”
“Here, at the hospital.”
“Visiting someone?”
“In a manner of speaking; I volunteer here. I read to patients.”
“That’s very good of you, I’m sure it’s appreciated. How often do you volunteer?”
“Once a week or so, although I’ve been busy recently so I haven’t been able to as often.” I smile patiently and wait for her to go in for the kill.
“I see. So, you and Dr. Chambers are dating?”
I can’t help but chuckle at that one. “We’re good friends.”
“With benefits?”
“Excuse me?” I say incredulously. Time to shut Agent Murphy down. Now.
“Are you sleeping together?”
“With all due respect, Agent, that’s none of your business,” I huff as I cross my arms over my chest.
“Mm-hmm. I couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable you seemed when we were questioning the doctor. Are you in any danger or in need of any assistance?”
Well…so much for the girlfriends catching up.
“I’m just a regular citizen who finds herself in the middle of a crime scene where a man was killed—unlike you, I’m not accustomed to seeing things like this. So excuse the hell out of me if I’m not my normal cheery self. If that’s all, then we’re done and I’m out of here. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
I don’t wait for an answer, just stride back over to Liam. I deliberately loop my arm through his and look up at him with what I hope is an entirely convincing, enamored gaze. Though his face doesn’t reveal anything, the tensing of his forearm under my hand is enough to let me know he’s anxious about my conversation with Agent Murphy. I’m sure he’ll conduct an interrogation of his own as soon as he gets me alone.
Chapter Forty Four
Liam
“Don’t even think about lying to me, Madonna,” I snarl.
Madonna’s back is against the wall as I hold her hands above her head. My other hand is busy stroking her pussy. So slick and wet. Looks like my Madonna gets turned on by my interrogation tactics. This girl is kinky as fuck—the body never lies.
“I’m glad you wore a dress. It makes it easier to interrogate you while I explore every inch of you. You are so fucking wet for me. I bet you had no idea you were this kinky, did you? Don’t even bother answering; anything but a ‘yes’ would be a lie and we both know it.”
“I swear I didn’t say anything to her. She even asked me if I was in danger or needed help. I shut her down and came straight back to you.”
“Law enforcement… You see, they’re suspicious by nature; a lot like me. I don’t believe a fucking word you’re saying. Now be a good girl and tell me what really happened.”
I slip the thin strap of her sexy cotton dress down her arm, just far enough for me to clamp my lips down on a nipple before roughly sucking it into my mouth. When I look up at her through hooded eyes, she bites her bottom lip. I nip at the puckered flesh with my teeth and say sternly, “I’m waiting.”
“She wanted to know how we met, if we’re sleeping together, and if I’m in any danger. She thought I seemed tense.”
“And I’m certain you told her you are perfectly safe,” I bite out as I slide my hand down her flat belly and into the wet, slick heat between her legs. “Maybe I should turn you over my knee and spank that tight ass of yours, hmm?”
“I swear I didn’t tell her anything,” she moans when I insert a finger inside, then stroke my slick fingertip around her clit.
“Don’t you dare come without my permission,” I declare, speaking to her in an unnecessarily harsh tone. I’m having fun just fucking with her. I haven’t decided yet if I want to push her body to orgasm just to make her disobey me, so I can spank that sweet little ass of hers. Hell, either way, I win.
“Liam, you can’t be serious! How am I supposed to not come when you touch me like that?” she purrs, throwing her head back and arching her hips into my hand.
“Mmmm,” is my only reply as I continue to suckle and nibble at her breasts, eventually sliding two fingers in and out of her soaking wet pussy. Between my relentless finger-fucking and teasing her clit with the pad of my thumb, she can’t possibly do anything but come. She can’t resist the oh-so-seductive freefall into pleasure that only I can give her.
“Please…I swear I didn’t tell her anything…oh, shit…I’m going to come. Can’t control it, Liam, it’s just so good. It’s…it’s too good...”
Begging, yeah, I like the sound of that. No sooner does she speak the words than I begin to stroke her clit in tight, firm circles. She comes apart, her body responding exactly as I had hoped with an earth-shattering release.
Madonna
I’ve never been with a man who makes me feel the way he does. The mixture of danger, anger, passion, and sensuality is more than I can take at times, so I just allow it to consume m
e. The same way my body gives in to him, my mind soars to another place whenever he touches me.
“So, so disobedient,” he purrs seductively. “This makes me think you want to be disciplined. Is that what you want?” He pulls me over to the couch and I stumble as he tosses me across his lap.
“What the—Wait, you can’t be serious?!?” I blurt out as I reach my hand back to protect my ass, which is barely covered by a lacy thong.
“Oh, I’m very serious,” he replies in a grave, overly serious voice.
I kick my legs desperately as he slides my underwear off and smooths a massive hand over my ass. His pinky slides through my slit even as he cups and squeezes my vulnerable backside. I still hold out hope that he won’t fulfill his threat -- until the palm of his hand connects with my ass, the sound reverberating against the walls and the sting causing me to cry out. My legs continue to kick in another unsuccessful bid to get free, but he simply locks a leg over both of mine to keep me still.
He alternates slapping the cheeks of my ass over and over, hard enough that I’m fighting tears. I reach down blindly for the carpet, digging and clawing like some feral animal. I try to get away, writhing and twisting to avoid his hand, even as my juices continue to stream down my thighs.
Then I’m arching my back and writhing on his lap, but now I’m not trying to get away; I’m thrusting my ass in the air and rolling my hips in a desperate bid for more contact, more pressure, any way he wants to touch me. He continues to spank first one cheek then the other, never letting up and always giving equal attention to the slick apex of my thighs, spanking the lips of my pussy too.
When my energy begins to wane, he appears to sense when I’m slipping in to subspace, that sexual nirvana that abandons coherent thought in favor of wave after wave of sensation. He slowly rubs and caresses the flesh he has reddened, then slides two, no three, fingers of his other hand inside me, curls his fingers at an angle and begins to pump forcefully in and out, in and out.
“So wet. I’ve always known your body would respond gloriously to rough handling. You have pleased me and should be rewarded. Let me show you,” he rasps as he slides his free hand down, down, through the crease between my cheeks to my swollen, soaked pussy. He gathers my juices and eases a slick finger into my tiny, puckered hole, pressing inside up to the knuckle in one smooth slide. I jerk in surprise as he begins pumping both my holes. He uses an aggressive rhythm that has me lifting my hips to meet his pace, thrust for thrust as he pants, “—need to be able to control you, like this. Just like this.”
I come apart beneath his intrusive touch, keening in pleasure and uttering mindless, animalistic sounds in a voice I barely recognize. I collapse, still whimpering as he withdraws his digits and plants an open mouthed kiss between my shoulder blades.
“We’re not done yet, I want more,” he says in an authoritative, clipped tone as he abruptly lifts me off his lap. He drapes my limp form over the arm of the couch, roughly spreading my legs even as he once again strokes and kneads the stinging flesh of my ass. As my hips instinctively thrust back into his hand, he chuckles softly and his pants drop around his ankles. Suddenly, the swollen head of his cock is there, sliding up and down my slit.
“You want this cock,” he growls as he squeezes my ass to pull me onto his hard length, groaning and circling his hips against me.
He’s filling me up with all that he has, all that he is. All the bitterness, all his repressed dominant urges, he’s taking them all out on me. I want him to use me. I want to be the one to give him what he needs.
“I can never want another woman after having you, Madonna.”
His thrusts, which had started out slow and steady, become more demanding, more forceful. I sob as I revel in this combination of pleasure and pain that is uniquely his. He reaches around to rub my clit and I know I’m going over the edge again.
“There it is. That’s it, baby…Come all over my cock. Do it…Go…” he groans as sweat rolls off him and onto my back. His hands lock onto my hip and shoulder to hold me in place while he pistons in and out of my body. The nerve endings at the base of my spine begin to tingle as a burst of pure pleasure takes over. He follows me over, his body shuddering before he collapses over me.
The epitome of a sated, well-pleasured male, he hums against my skin as he nuzzles the nape of my neck.
“Never gonna fucking let you go,” he gasps. “This is only the beginning of me making you mine.”
His words sound like a distant melody. The sound of fabric rustling is followed by strong arms wrapping around me as I’m carried across the room. Sounds and sensations flood my senses but I can’t think clearly enough to say a word.
“Get some rest, my love,” he whispers as his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Tomorrow you meet a serial killer.”
Chapter Forty Five
His Independence
“Yes ma’am,” I smile pleasantly at the receptionist as I hand her my driver’s license. Her face remains stoic, giving nothing away. Her sour demeanor isn’t enough to ruin my mood—not today. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy rubbing Lance’s face in my success.
After she goes through the motions of checking me in, I follow a guard to the room that’s been set aside for today’s visit. Once again, I have paid to have the privacy I need because there are things I need to say to this man who was once a god to me. I can tell by his smug expression that he knows I’ve been busy since our last visit.
He wastes no time starting in on me, his tone one of superiority, but this time I’m meeting it head on.
“I see you’ve been a very busy boy. Obviously, your pathetic attempts to take up where I left off have been somewhat successful.”
His chains clank as he lifts his hands and claps ever so slowly. Asshole.
“Somewhat successful? I don’t think so, Lance. What I do think is…I’m as good as you ever were. Even. Better.”
“No, I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken. I’m far more talented, gifted even, than you will ever be. I’m an FBI-certified serial killer. Med students come from miles around to interview me because they want the real thing. There are criteria that must be met before the feds bestow such a title. And you, my delusional friend, are simply out of your league. It really is pathetic to watch you try to be…me.” He continues with a careless shrug, “Here, I’ll give you some advice: get a life and stop coveting mine.”
“Stop it—you stop it right now!” Spittle flies from my mouth as I rage at my fallen idol. I can’t seem to stop the venom that’s rushing from my depths. “I’m just as good as you—in fact, I’m taking everything you did to another level. By the time I’m done, the world will forget all about you!” I can feel my face getting red and my voice sounds high-pitched, almost girlish, even to my own ears. The room is closing in on me. I can barely breathe. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
“Look at you,” he retorts in a scathing voice as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re no more than a juvenile throwing a fit because deep down inside you know you will never measure up.
“You fucked up when you decided to go solo. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me; I’m going to enjoy watching you crash and burn. Now be a good boy and get the fuck out of here. I’ve got no use for you. Guard! Get this piece of shit out of my sight.”
Madonna
“I’ll be fine, Liam, please stop worrying.”
We’re on our way to visit his brother and Liam’s been lecturing me for close to an hour. We’re stopped at a red light. When he turns and looks at me, his eyes cut through me and I feel the reprimand without him uttering a word.
“No. You won’t be alright. Trust me, you’ll never be the same.”
His calm tone and grim expression are enough to let me know that being face to face with his sociopath of a brother is going to mark me for life. I may be familiar with the pain of growing up alone but after today’s encounter, the reality of evil will be with me for the rest of
my life.
“Is that what happened to you when you learned your twin was a murderer? Did it change you, Liam?”
“Oh, my life changed, alright. I became the object of my brother’s contempt, little more than a reminder that our equally twisted mother threw him away like he was garbage.”
“Children are given up for adoption all the time but they don’t turn into serial killers because of it.” Even though I’m making more of a statement than asking a question, it throws me off when he ignores what I’ve said and elaborates on his warning.
“He’ll use you to get to me. He enjoys toying with people.” He takes a moment to look over at me, taking his eyes from the road for an instant in an effort to make me understand just how serious of an issue this is. I know he isn’t afraid of his brother but he damn sure doesn’t trust him. Though he may not fear him, he is wary of him.
“You don’t put anything past him, do you?”
“Exactly! The man is a walking posterchild for sociopaths—the definition personified.”
“So your mother suffered from mental illness too. Does it worry you that you share the same DNA as a sociopath?” I almost wish I could reach out and take back the words that escaped my lips before I had time to think about how negative they might sound. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound offended when he answers me, although he does carefully consider his answer before responding.
“I suppose in my own way I’m crazy, but aren’t we all in one way or another? But no, I’m not particularly concerned. Statistically speaking, half of all sociopaths usually have symptoms by age fourteen and seventy-five percent exhibit symptoms by age twenty-four. I’m happy to inform you that I did not inherit the sociopathic gene my mother passed on to my brother.” He taps his fingertip along his upper lip as we pull up to yet another red light before muttering, “My recent behavior aside, of course.”
“You took me to save me from a horrible death. I think he’s demonstrated that you had every reason to be concerned. A month ago, I wouldn’t have believed it if someone told me I’d feel this way, but…you did what you had to do.”
Cellar Door Page 13
