Copyright 2019 © N. Isabelle Blanco & Dee Garcia
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.
All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the reader of this ebook ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Cover Image: © Adobe Stock
Cover Design © Dee Garcia with Black Widow Designs
Editing: © N. Isabelle Blanco with Black Widow Designs
Formatting: © Dee Garcia with Black Widow Designs
Contents
Recap
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Sneak Peek
About N. Isabelle
About Dee
In the last installment of the St. Cecilia Series…
My pounding steps echo the click-clack of her high-heels. I keep waiting to hear her burst through the doorway onto another floor.
It registers in my mind we were on the third-floor. There’s only two floors above she can escape to. And if not those . . .
The fucking rooftop.
The thought sends a burst of energy through me and I pick up the pace. Above, I can make out the gleaming light reflecting off her latex suit. Below me? Drops of her victim’s blood.
All I can think about is that she’s the killer. The one I’ve been chasing.
Is she a copycat or the one from eight years ago?
One thing’s for sure: she’s the one that’s been watching me closely enough to know about the crucifix hanging around my neck.
She’s the present danger to myself and my family, depending how deep she’s stalked me.
Mind twisting at the thought, I turn to take another set of stairs—
And finally hear a door bursting open.
I just passed the one leading to the fifth-floor so that can only mean one thing: she’s escaping to the fucking roof.
Furious at the thought, I slam my shoulder into the door and am met with a slap of air to the face. Fifteen-feet ahead, I see her sleek, perfect form somehow managing to run at defying-speeds in giant heels. “Boston P.D. Stop right there!”
As if the command will actually be obeyed. If there’s anything I’ve learned during all my years on the force, it’s that not even a gun aimed to the back makes criminals stop in their tracks.
Still.
Ripping my gun out of the holster, I follow after her. “Police! Stop where you are and put your hands in the air!”
Her response? She takes a sharp right behind a metallic radiator, disappearing from my sight.
Cursing, I aim my gun straight ahead and run even faster. When I make the same turn she did, I find nothing but emptiness.
She’s gone.
More drops of blood are splattered on the ground near my feet, dark and shimmering like her latex outfit.
The same outfit encasing that killer body, those luscious curves . . .
Loathing myself, I shake my head to dispel the image. “I’m warning you! I already called for back-up!”
A whisper of a laugh travels through the air.
The only indication I have she’s still up here with me.
Whirling, I narrow my eyes to focus on any of the shadows. “Show yourself! There’s no escaping!”
A second whisper/laugh from somewhere on my left. Closer to the edge.
Veins pounding with fury—with this sick, irrational lust—I jog in that direction. Is there a fire escape on this side? Could she possibly have taken it and is currently making her way down to street level, laughing at me the entire way?
More anger. More determination. I get to the ledge, peering over the waist-high parapet.
Nothing. No fire escape. No fucking sign of her.
What the fuck?
She must be somewhere else up here. Either that or I’m going truly mad, hearing shit that isn’t there.
Rising my gun, I turn—
That smile is the first thing I notice, a grin so beautiful. So perfect. So utterly misplaced highlighted by that sea of gleaming black. Beneath her lips, a beauty mark graces the left side of her chin.
Her proximity eradicates years of training, years of vigilance. Like a newbie, I nearly jump in the air, my gun flying from my hand.
That smile widens.
I can’t move at the sight of her. Time seems to stop. The air around me vanishes. Instinct shouts at me to move. To apprehend her.
To fucking protect myself.
The woman slams her hands into my chest, pushing me into the parapet . . .
Before dropping to her knees in front of me.
Face level with my crotch.
Elegant, latex-covered fingers fly to my belt, making quick work of it. Brushing along my undying erection.
“Wha—wait—” And that’s as far as I get, watching as the leftover blood on her hands is transferred over to the dark material of my slacks as she pops the button open . . . lowers my zipper . . .
What the fuck are you doing?!
What are you letting her do?!
Stop her.
DO SOMETHING.
My cock all but springs free on its own, throbbing, stretching towards her. The masked face, obscured by shiny latex, tilts up to me, that breath-taking, happy smile.
Then, it’s her breath gliding along my wet tip. Her lips ghosting along the same path.
Don’t know if it’s the adrenaline. The arousal. The mindfuck. Or maybe it’s the darkness in my soul I can never eradicate. Either way it’s an instant mental shut down, my head snapping back as currents of hellish pleasure skyrocket through every nerve.
The night sky greets my vision, but I barely register it. That mouth slides open along my tip, dragging me into the searing, silky heat—
It’s wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Forcing myself to look down at her—the fucking killer—I’m greeted by the sight of that latex covered face bobbing along my length, the only part visible her mouth stretched tight to accommodate my thick length.
And it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Even sexier than Kiera’s pussy taking my dick.
The thought of her is another dose of panic. Of wrongness. Yet the heat pulsing in my groin seems to expand, my cock jerking harder in this woman’s mouth.
She hums, the sound vibrating into my flesh.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, hips flexing against my will. The move drives me in deeper, until I’m hitting the back of her throat.
It convulses around me; one of the most perfect things I’ve ever felt.
Groaning under my breath, I slide one hand along the smooth surface of the top of her head, around it.
Another mental trip.
Shit. This latex suit is seriously fucking hot.
Common sense continues to abandon me. Her sa
liva coats me, thick, messy, making each glide even better.
My thighs tremble with the effort of holding back. Commands are shouting through my brain. Remnants of rationality demanding to know why the fuck I’m letting this happen.
Why am I letting a murderer dressed like this work my dick in this way?
Her tongue flicks along the underside, rolling my eyes upwards, back arching along the parapet.
Lord, help me, please help me. Give me strength . . .
But it feels too damn good to stop her.
I should, I know I fucking should—but I can’t.
She sucks me like we’ve done this a-million-and-one times before, like she knows exactly what I like. How hard, with a little bit of teeth, wet and sloppy.
Loud.
“Goddamn,” I groan, falling lax against the ledge. I’m as merciless to her as I was with Kiera.
Possessed.
Manic.
Completely fucking senseless.
My hips continue moving of their own accord. Slowly at first, then faster and faster until I’m holding onto her head once more, face-fucking her into what feels like another dimension. The sounds of her gagging around me eggs me on. Compels me to push both of our limits.
She has to be suffocating, growing light-headed from the loss of air filtering through her lungs, but even that doesn’t stop me.
She doesn’t stop me, taking every last bit of my brutality as though she’s living for it.
And apparently, she is. Moan after strangled moan bubbles in her throat, reverberating against me harder and more intensely with each wave.
“Such a bad girl.” I still and hold her on my dick.
Three seconds.
Five.
Ten.
Relishing the way her throat contracts, how she struggles to breathe—like some sick fuck, a sadist discovering the dark depths of his depravity.
A light slap to her shielded face and I’m jackhammering in her mouth again.
“Such a bad-fucking-girl. You killed him, didn’t you? You killed him before putting this dick in your mouth?” I question roughly.
I’m not expecting an answer, not even a twitch of her head, but to my surprise, she lets out another little moan and nods, the corners of her lips tilting upwards in a smirk.
In the back of my mind, I’m wondering if I can get her to talk—or at the very least hum—her answers this way, but all too quickly, the workings of a monster orgasm start building at the base of my spine.
Words fail me as my vision clouds.
Muscles tense.
Balls seizing a little more with every passing second.
I didn’t think I could come harder than I did with Kiera but what’s unfolding inside me right now . . . shit.
The load of all loads is what it feels like.
I’m almost tempted to come all over her face, see the stark contrast of my milky cum coating her ebony suit.
Just the thought of that image opens the floodgates. I explode turbulently, around a ferocious growl that echoes in the night. Hot and thick, she swallows every drop, moaning in satisfaction, death-gripping my throbbing cock as I clutch the ledge for support.
In the distance, I hear the sirens, the calvary closing in to aid me in my pursuit. Guilt plagues me for sheer seconds before another wave rips a toe-curling hiss from deep within.
Eyes rolling back.
Arms losing strength.
I collapse in bliss, my back hitting the rough brickwork, cock enveloped from base to tip in her mouth.
Until suddenly, it’s not.
And she’s gone.
“His mouth is full of lies and threats; trouble and evil are under his tongue.” - Psalm 10:7
She’s on her feet, dashing away from me faster than I can process.
Each step is a death-defying stunt in those heels, but as she approaches the ledge, it becomes clear she’s planning something much worse.
An insane escape.
One that might put her life at risk.
Can barely breathe, head still spinning from that orgasm, but I open my mouth, preparing to shout for her to stop—
Hands slamming flat along the top of the parapet, she flips into the air, legs over head, and right over the side of the roof, in a graceful move so coordinated, so mind-boggling, that I almost can’t believe I saw it.
The words slam into my throat.
My heart lurches in my chest.
I push away from my perch, only to realize my ankles are constrained by my fucking pants, and I almost trip onto the ground. Air caresses my bare thighs—my bare dick.
The one I just let that killer suck.
The one that just exploded for her in a way that was so similar to being with Kiera . . . yet utterly different from anything I’ve ever experienced before.
The dick I fucked that killer’s mouth with right before letting her fucking get away.
But where the hell could she possibly go? She simply vaulted over the edge of the roof.
The answer is brutally obvious, yet in my current mental state all I can think about is catching her. Not letting her evade my grasp.
I jerk my pants back into place, running in the direction she went. When I get to the same spot she leapt off, I see the only place she could’ve possibly landed:
The lower rooftop right next to this building’s.
A frustrated, short shout leaves me as I realize she’s gone, no sight of her. She might’ve landed on that roof, but she’s disappeared by now. Either onto one of the other roofs nearby, or into the building itself.
I could give chase, yet I doubt I’d fucking catch her.
The police sirens grow closer, a ghastly sound that punctuates the magnitude of my fuck-up. I can hear the cruisers screeching to a halt in front of the building, the voices of my colleagues as they run to demand entry inside.
Panic initiates another slow down of time around me. For a few seconds, I can do nothing but stare out into the night, in the direction she went, the repercussions of my mistake blaring like horns in the air.
This is it. The end of my career. The end of my hunt for the killer . . . the end of my hunt for her. Even if she isn’t the same murderer from nearly nine years ago, she’s definitely the one doing the killing now.
The one stalking me. Watching me.
And she’s gotten close enough to know what’s hanging around my neck.
No. Much closer, you moron.
Once they realize what I’ve done, I won’t just lose my job. I’ll lose my ability to investigate this case.
Shit. I might be facing legal problems for . . . what, exactly? Letting the killer suck my dick?
Yeah, and letting her get away from the scene of the crime after.
Sonofabitch.
Disciplinary action is the least of my worries at this point. I’ve ruined my life past the point of fixing this time. What the hell am I going to do?
The solution comes to me with startling clarity, one that guarantees even more perdition for my damaged soul.
They can’t find out.
I have to hide this from everyone.
Possibly even my priest.
Make up for it by getting my head on straight and catching her before she can murder anyone else.
Buckling my pants, I tug my blazer into place, hoping it’s enough to hide the blood stains along the waistband. They’re navy blue, so it should suffice. Running back the way I originally came, it takes me mere seconds to make my return to the third floor.
There’s chaos in the circular, foyer-like area I first saw the killer in. All the red doors are open, baring the different rooms inside. A woman dressed in a maid’s outfit is standing feet from the door the killer exited, sobbing hysterically. I can’t tell if she’s an actual maid or an employee simply dressed as such for the sake of pleasing the clientele. People surround her and I know the body has been discovered.
The body the woman you just let suck you off left behind.
I push th
e thought aside, refusing to lose my shit about this now.
The man I spoke to earlier is also amidst the crowd, skin paperwhite and eyes dilated.
Wilbur Benton sees me coming at him, his face drawn tight from the pandemonium surrounding him.
“I need the fucking security feeds.”
He stutters at my demand, backing away. “I—I can’t—”
Don’t have time for this crap. Grabbing him by the lapels, I push him into the wall. “You just had a fucking crime committed here. Give me the goddamned security feeds!”
He struggles in my grip, face flushed. “I explained to you! There’s no security cameras! We can’t have those here!”
Which means it’s the perfect place to commit a murder. Something I’m sure the killer knew prior to coming here and doing the deed.
Pounding steps head our way. “Boston P.D. Who’s in charge here?”
That booming voice jerks me away from Wilbur Benton with more force than anything else could.
Nathaniel-fucking-Blackstone waltzes onto the crime scene in full peacock glory, chest puffed out with importance.
Another reminder I need to get my fucking shit together.
Now.
On his heels is his partner, Jared Lee, and following up the rear is my partner, Ruby.
Shit, they called her in on this.
The three of them catch sight of me as another round of P.Os flood inside. Schooling my expression, I meet them halfway.
“You discovered the body?” Blackstone inquires, jaw rigid, and I know it’s irking him to think I might get any glory from this.
Idiot. If he only knew the truth. How fucking close I am to ruining my entire life. “Haven’t seen the body yet. I was here investigating Dr. Woodward’s habits when I heard the murder taking place.”
“You heard it?” Ruby gasps.
I’m already leading them to the open doorway the female in the suit exited from. “Yeah. Then saw the killer exit and gave chase.”
Corrupted: Saint Cecilia Slayings Book Two Page 1
