Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  Her hands glided across his warm skin, to rest at his butt cheeks. It was an attempt to speed him up. But Wulf was meticulous at cherishing her.

  “Wulf,” she’d said until her throat was too tired. Her lungs were about to cave in. Each stroke of his cock caressed her swollen, sensitive sweetness until they shattered into each other’s arms.

  They lay there—her holding him in position, while he bore his weight on his forearms so he wouldn’t suffocate her. Mary Jane wouldn’t let him go. This was her habit. Wulf could be nurturing and concerned for her in or out of the bed, but only at this point was Mary Jane at her most vulnerable. Her lungs couldn’t catch a steady rhythm with his body crushing her. Wulf planted most of his weight on his forearms, but she still refused to let go.

  Her eyes closed. Their hearts slammed against each other, chest to chest. And then Mary Jane let go.

  Wulf sighed heavily, his body rested next to hers.

  A lazy grin tugged at the edges of her mouth. “So, are you going to read the newspaper this morning?”

  “Did that kid come by already?”

  “Oh, I hear a slight intonation when you say ‘kid.’ Are you jealous of my little boyfriend?” She grinned. Mary Jane paid ten-year-old Tito to bring newspapers in the morning.

  “I’m the one who says ‘slight intonation,’ not you,” Wulf corrected. “When I offer to take you deep sea snorkeling, for example.”

  She giggled. When it came to adventure, Mary Jane thought she’d be the outrageously fun one, but Wulf wanted to do all the barbaric slap-your-fists-against-your-chest stuff. She wanted simplicity. And they truly had it. Except for when it came to the news. Every morning, Tito came by with papers from the New York and Los Angeles Times. Wulf searched through each one religiously. He expected the Feds to drop some sort of information on Beasley and Peter’s dealings while Mary Jane had always been a skeptic. If those psychos were featured in an article, they’d make headlines even on the local news in a different country.

  Wulf kissed the top of her head. “I’ll read the paper later. But my offer to go deep sea snorkeling still stands.”

  She chortled. “You have better luck reading the paper and seeing the media outcry about brainwashing. Oh, but those Fed-fucks are covering up everything.”

  “Juarez and Robertson are probably not on the case anymore. North Korea would nuke us if they knew the States was aware of a program that frazzled people’s brains,” he said, giving her another forehead kiss.

  “Well, it’s a good reason we didn’t stick around.”

  “Something tells me that even if the Feds were transparent, you’d still prefer the incognito lifestyle. Remember what you did to my socks and cell phone over one measly call?”

  “I’m very sorry about your socks. Clean socks are near and dear to my heart, but you cut me deep.” She chuckled. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she felt sad for Hurricane, Sugarland, Diamond, and all of the women who’d died. They were just victims of a psychotic scientific experiment meant to exploit humans for money. She even thought about how the other survivors had meshed back into society. Mary Jane wondered if that was a trait from Mallory or just residuals of her wonky brain believing she was secret agent, Anya Randolph. You can’t save everyone, MJ. Not with this scenario. She took a deep breath and counted on the perfect life she’d made with Dylan Wulf.

  28

  One week later, the June sun bathed her caramel skin with warm kisses as Mary Jane sat back on a beach cot in a white bikini. She sipped on a mango margarita rimmed with salt, a tiny colorful umbrella poking out the top. She looked over at Wulf. The sun glowed on every inch of his exposed, muscular body.

  She felt like pulling off his trunks to straddle him, but people were around. Generosa wasn’t a vacation spot like the surrounding areas, but it had the best beaches gringos never visited.

  Instead of tantalizing Wulf, Mary Jane decided to screw with him. She plucked the umbrella from her drink and tossed it in the sand.

  On cue, Wulf spoke in that commanding voice she enjoyed, “Pick it up.”

  “Not gonna happen,” she retorted with a half grin. Even though he no longer worked, Wulf was the epitome of a Super Cop. “I’d like to think we were stranded on a secluded island. And being that it’s my island, I’d have to kick you off, if you don’t stop harassing me.”

  “You must love when I harass you,” he assured.

  Hiding a grin, she tossed back the rest of the drink. The slushy bits of liquid weren’t strong at all. With an unsatisfied smirk, she picked up the umbrella and placed it back into the glass before nudging the bottom of the glass into the sand.

  Mary Jane lay back and closed her eyes. Bright orange orbs highlighted against her eyelids due to the sunny day. As if a shade passed over, her skin didn’t feel as warm, and the brightness from over her eyelids faded. She opened her eyes. Ripples of tanned muscles were her first line of vision. Wulf stood there. “Dylan, you’re in my sun.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Okay, how does this sound? If you don’t move, I won’t help you get ‘em down.” She grinned, zeroing in on his swim trunks. He was rock hard.

  Wulf scooped her up caveman style, with her body draped over his massive shoulder, and he took her toward the shore.

  “Stop!” she squealed. Splashes of cool water prickled her face while he moved further into the sea.

  “Wulf, stop!”

  In one fluid motion, Wulf pulled her from over his shoulder until she was back in his arms again. He gave her bottom lip a little nibble. “Bad girls have to pay.”

  While laughing, Mary Jane licked at her lip, staving off the sting. Wulf tossed her into the crystal-clear water.

  She went under. Bubbles of air tickled her body, the current plunging her even lower. Mary Jane’s eyes opened slightly under the clear blue sea. Beneath the water was a man with reddish hair, a spray of matching freckles, and kind eyes. Mirroring the stranger’s smile came naturally.

  His next move came out of nowhere. He kissed her!

  She pushed away. Her feet touched the ocean floor, prickling on shells as little fish flitted by. She soared back up to the surface. Her body popped out of the water as another wave came crashing down. The water overtook Mary Jane. With a gulp full of salt water, Mary Jane flipped over. Water burned up her nostrils, and her lean arms and legs went to work. She swam toward shore. When Mary Jane emerged from the shallow water, she shoved her hair back.

  Wulf stood at the edge. His left eyebrow lifted when she didn’t try to slug him for tossing her in. The stranger consumed her mind. She turned around and waited for the redheaded guy to come out of the water. They would exchange words. She might even conjure up some of Mallory’s Hollywood kickboxing skills or Agent Anya Randolph’s even more outlandish combat coordination. When the freckled guy didn’t show himself, she ran back into the water, leaping over shallow waves and soaring into the water. Beneath the deep blue, her eyes opened wide as she took in the clear turquoise sea. A little boy was swimming toward the lagoon a few kilometers out. A Mexican couple was making out in the water.

  No gingers in sight. She swam back to shore.

  “What are you doing?” Wulf asked.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled. Eyes narrowed, she walked toward the lounger, plopped down, and tried not to think. After finding out that Peter Grienke had taken away her memories, she’d learned that her identity was either Mallory Portman-Grienke, his wife, or Megan Portman–her twin sister. That was the problem. Mallory had married Peter, but he’d bestowed Mary Jane with both sets of memories as a form of vengeance. She remembered the good life with Peter until the scientist got tired of her trying to save Megan from a life of drugs. Then again, Peter had said she was Megan after finding her in New Mexico on the run from Beasley. Instead of wiping away all of her memories, he gave her Megan’s too. Megan’s tragic, drug abusing life was hard to swallow.

  Mary Jane gazed at the water. Sunshine sprinkled like diamonds over the turquoise
waves. The sea was so expansive. A guy with cute red hair and freckles could only be a trick of the mind. Or a familiar ghost from the past?

  “MJ, you’re too quiet.” Wulf wasn’t staring at her like the object of his affection. Her beauty had become second to his concern. He came over and kneeled down beside her, rubbing a hand in her hair. “Talk to me.”

  Shit, I am gonna go crazy. I can’t have Wulf see me like this. After a moment, she pulled her gaze away from the ocean. “This place is so beautiful. Let’s go home. I want to get you alone for that stunt you just pulled.” She licked her lips, a sign that his punishment would satisfy both their desires.

  “Mary Jane.” Wulf stressed her name, not convinced that she wasn’t fighting her demons alone like usual. “Ever since you found out who you are, you’ve stared off into space. Talk to me. I’m not going to continue to ask. When we took this road trip here, last year, you told me everything. Now…you know who you are and you’re—”

  “Wulf, really it’s nothing.” She thought to try on a reassuring smile but knew her lips would tremble.

  Peter now rotted in jail—massive mauling scars and all. Grienke Pharmaceuticals had been conquered and divided by his board members. Everything else was under the radar. Nobody in the world—besides the Feds—knew about the other women. Not a single clue of where these confused women had gone afterward. Now she was about to hyperventilate.

  I’m aware of who I am, and I fucking hate it!

  “Okay, you’re right.” Mary Jane’s mouth tensed. She stood and gazed up at him. “I don’t like who I am.”

  “Who you were,” he corrected, caressing her cheek. “Okay, okay. Just talk to me about those feelings, because ultimately, you’ve chosen your destiny, Mary Jane.”

  The longing in his eyes compelled Mary Jane to speak. A part of her wanted to keep some of the horror at bay. Wulf knew the greater scheme of things, but he didn’t know it all. He couldn’t begin to fathom it all. No matter how much Mary Jane tried to change the facts, her reality, she knew that Peter had ruined her.

  “Talk to me,” Wulf barked.

  “I'm good.” She placed her hands on his thick biceps, rose to her tippy toes, and gave him a reassuring kiss.

  She couldn’t give him what he wanted, let alone what he needed. He’d ultimately asked her to return to reality. Mary Jane was incapable of such a thing, but she couldn’t leave Wulf alone. She hoped the taste of her lips was enough to keep him captivated. The rest of the world could work nine to five. Jake had given her enough money for her and Wulf to stay in paradise. It would break her if he ever decided to return to L.A.

  It was inevitable that he’d return one day for his family and work.

  Mary Jane refused to go.

  29

  Special Agent Ariel Juárez ran her hand through her shoulder-length hair, tying it into a hasty ponytail. She took the keys out of the ignition and got out of the unmarked SUV. In a stiff, navy-blue suit, she put on her game face. She wore a void expression as she stepped onto the cracked curb of a small community in the lowest parts of California. A few hours ago, Fed dispatch had picked up on a call about a homicide, including a “Mary Jane.”

  She and her partner, Robertson, were on cleanup duty. The women who were strippers and prostitutes for Beasley had all been given reparations straight from the honey pot, and Grienke had just about a never-ending honey pot. The selected tech team at the Federal Bureau of Investigations knew how to work Grienke’s brainwasher system, so they’d given each woman a clean slate. Clearing their minds of this innate alliance to Beasley, but the reworking of Grienke’s deception had just begun. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed.

  “Let’s see if the dynamics fit,” Robertson said glumly, rubbing a hand over his buzz cut before closing the passenger door. They’d already tied Jakob Woods to five deceased Mary Janes in the past four months.

  It took them ten days to learn more about Grienke’s dealings. After the computer forensics investigators bypassed Peter Grienke’s firewalls, they had concrete evidence regarding a billion-dollar a year industry. Rich people were selling their family members to Grienke because they didn’t want to have their wives, daughters, or friends murdered. Beasley was not provided all of the women. There were others all over the world.

  Ariel’s mother would douse holy water on her if she knew Ariel and the Feds were doing nothing about the women and young girls who were successfully sold into the international sex slave industry. Some less attractive women and children had become indentured servants to wealthy homes. Their “employers” had given Grienke a nominal fee instead of paying them monthly.

  They just couldn’t be saved.

  And domestically? Well, fathers of women like Bonnie Timms and Tiana Clement lived scot-free at this very instance because Grienke’s dubious dealings were not being brought out to the media.

  This was the president’s orders.

  Everything that the Feds actually had a hand in, such as reparations to Beasley’s freshly brainwashed girls, seemed to be tied up in a nice, little bow. Well, that’s how the president saw it after being debriefed. He’d given the ultimate order not to pursue those trafficked internationally.

  Yellow tape clashed with the paler shade of yellow roses around the scene, leading to a tiny entry way, made even tinier by more rose bushels. Ariel and Robertson flashed their badge to a uniformed cop standing at the front of the yard. His pupils widened, but then he nodded. Ariel stepped onto the porch of a very tiny house. Clay pottery lined the narrow porch, outlining an artistic clay sun at the top of the door. The all-too-familiar smell of death greeted them first.

  They entered the perimeter that the local police Crime Science Unit had constructed. The lab boys, the department’s Science Investigation Division, cased the tiny entry way. One, a latent-print expert, worked at the handrail of the tiny stairs.

  In the quaint living room, the team surrounded a spot right behind a lumpy loveseat. There had to be a coroner, most likely kneeling next to the body on the floor. And right on key, a male voice mumbled about the time of death, which Ariel already knew. The instant dispatch recorded a call about a homicide linked to the name Mary Jane, the agents were on their way.

  A short black woman in a black suit with braided hair glanced over. With a voice of authority, “What are the Feds doing here?”

  Ariel flashed a respectful smile, knowing the obstacles this detective had to surmount to become a detective. She wanted to tell her she empathized with her, knowing full well how hard it was as a female minority in a male-dominated workplace. “Special Agent Ariel Juarez, and this is my partner Robertson. We’d like to offer our–”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong.” The head detective placed a hand on her large hips that seemed to encompass the living room. “Isn’t a homicide a local affair?”

  Robertson and Ariel glanced at each other. The fleeting look spoke volumes. He told her not to chew out this head detective. She responded with a glimmer of a smile that indicated she’d try her best to play nice.

  “We believe your Mary Jane Aguayo may be the next victim of a serial killer.”

  The detective’s eyes glittered with interest. “How so?”

  The rest of the team gave their attention as well, and an Indian man stood up. Ariel figured he had to be the coroner who was just interrupted.

  “We’ve collected a few bodies, all of which had the given name, Mary Jane,” Robertson said. “If you would be so kind as to allow us a moment to view your MJ and the scene, we’d be glad to provide our expertise if this is Jakob Woods’ handiwork.”

  “Dispatch stated that the perp identified himself as Jake,” one of the detectives mumbled in disbelief. Apparently, he hadn’t heard the bomb drop.

  “The terrorist Jakob Woods?” The head detective arched her eyebrow. Even the photographer stopped taking photos. “He’s got a new skill?”

  “Yes,” Ariel confirmed.

  “Well,” the coroner took over. “I’ll
have more later, naturally. For now, I can say that your–our victim has been dead for about ten to twelve hours. From the type of stab wounds, the weapon was not a knife, but indicative of an ice pick or maybe even a power tool, screw driver, the likes. And then we have the repeated, blunt force trauma to the skull.”

  The coroner consulted with a small notebook as they stepped around the couch to see this Mary Jane.

  The woman’s long black hair was matted with blood. Her face was indistinguishable due to the brutal disfigurement of her face, brain matter and skull fragments exposed.

  “Given the amount of wounds, you’d expect more erratic movement, but no. The stab wounds are meticulous. None appear near vital organs or major arteries. The perp didn’t want her to die until he was ready.”

  As the coroner gave his expertise, Ariel took in the remainder of the scene. Her eyes stopped on a photo at the end table. Her heart sank.

  She pulled on her gloves and grabbed the picture frame at the edge and looked at the photo. With all of the other Mary Janes, Jake had smeared blood over their eyes as if the act blinded them from his sin.

  Jakob Woods had added another notch to his resume. He was a serial killer.

  She and Robertson took a step outside. He made the call. She took down her ponytail, forked a hand through her hair, and then redid it in a severe bun.

  Robertson ended the call. “Our team will be here stat.”

  “We can keep the lead detective on as liaison,” she said. “But ultimately, Robertson, this shit is going too far. The crew finding Mary Jane—Portman-Grienke, or whatever the fuck she wants to be called these days, needs to move it!”

  “They’re on it, Ariel. Breathe.”

  She wanted to smile. Her partner always kept her grounded, but this situation was spiraling out of control. “I’ll try, but when we get her in our grasps, she’s not to be out of our sights—and I mean, you or me, not the team, but us. We keep an eye on her, and we will force her to fix this mess Jake has caused.”