by V. F. Mason
“And nothing else?” He catches my gaze as we stop at a traffic light. “You’ll be able to look at me and not think about that night?” he asks, and instantly a flashback hits me, as vivid images dance in front of me.
Biting a pillow to muffle my screams, I close my eyes, my back lifting as Kierian scoots me closer to the edge of the bed, his fingers digging painfully into my ass, probably leaving marks that will last for days.
He opens me up for his assault, sucking on my inner thigh and sending ripples of pleasure through me as his whiskers scratch my skin.
He breathes me in, before asking, “Have you ever been properly fucked by a man’s tongue, Ella?” But he doesn’t care for my answer, as his tongue pushes into my opening, licking me deep, at once making me aware of every single breath and sensation in my body.
He slides his tongue from one lip to the other then growls against my core, causing a vibration that spreads fire through my entire system.
A moan tears from my throat as I throw the pillow to the side and lace my hand into his hair, pressing him closer to my center, seeking the pleasure he’s promised me.
Shaking my head from the memory, I lean back on the seat, my cheeks flushing and heart beating rapidly against my ribcage. I long to gulp air, but I can’t with him so close to me.
He chuckles, although it lacks humor, as he speeds up on the road. “That’s what I thought, darling.” He changes gears and flashes me a determined look. “We are far from over.”
As I discovered during our night, Kierian is very good at keeping his promises.
God, what am I going to do now?
Psychopath
Unfamiliar emotions swirl through me—although, I’m not sure a euphoric rush of adrenaline at remembering her fear-filled voice could be considered an emotion.
But what brought even more anticipation?
Her mind.
Her desire to catch me is so strong. She sees outside the box and digs into details other people might never notice.
How can I not enjoy playing a game with her?
She would have been a great asset to the team helping catch the likes of me.
Too bad my case will be the first and last she’ll ever have.
Ella
“Kierian, you look too smug for your own good,” Andrea muses while pouring herself a cup of coffee and sending us a smile as the rest of the team hangs around her table, sitting silently deep in thought.
Kierian winks at her, placing his hand on his chest as he sighs dreamily. “Why now, Andrea, is that a compliment? Flattered.” She punches him in the stomach, and he lets her, quietly laughing as his gaze catches mine, but I quickly evade his drilling stare.
After our conversation in the car ended, I put on my headphones and blasted music on high so he wouldn’t bother me anymore with conversations that confused me.
He didn’t push though, just kept whistling under his breath, and I don’t know why, but it pissed me off.
No matter how much my body craves him, or how much we have in common, I’ve learned that nothing but a one-night stand works out in my life. So why does he insist on trying to make things complicated?
My head should be busy with our unsub, not men. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long for a distraction.
“So what do we have so far?” Noah fires a question, drumming his fingers on the desk while looking at the pictures spread before him.
“Not much besides the two dead bodies, with the same MO and nothing connecting them. Both hidden in the same spot.”
“Similar crimes outside the state?”
Preston clacks with his tongue. “Nothing.”
“The autopsy showed the unsub most likely used scalpels and knives in certain places to torture. Like the liver, stomach, back, and neck. Based on the criminalist’s report, they wouldn’t lose much blood, but the pain would have been unbearable. Their ribs were broken. He also detected serum in their system.” Jacob reads the last part, sliding it to Noah.
“Awake for the torture,” he states. “So we’re dealing with a sadist?”
“Except—” I snap my mouth shut, not knowing if I should continue my thought, but since everyone looks at me expectantly, I elaborate. “I don’t think he’s a sadist.”
“He is inflicting pain on their bodies. And then lets animals eat the remains. Clearly, he wants them to suffer even after death,” Andrea states.
“Or he is punishing them.” Preston blinks at my words. “It’s like he is getting revenge on something. Both bodies have similar marks. Both male. But they are not connected. What if it’s not them he is punishing?”
She rubs her chin. “Surrogates for someone else?”
“Most probably his father.” Usually all traumas came from childhood, especially such violence.
“Then both the victims have something in common that reminds him of his father,” Kierian supplies, and I nod, but Jacob just curses.
“It still gives us nothing. Not even a hint of where to begin this investigation or create a profile.”
Noah scans the board from side to side and then points at me. “Ella, speak with Mary Parker. Maybe she can clue us in on her husband. Andrea, talk with the other family. If we know more about the victims, we will know more about the unsub.” Then he shifts to the guys. “Preston, dig deeper, maybe there were cases of similar body dumping? He could have developed a stronger MO over the years.”
True. Serial killers learn as they gain experience. Their very first victims rarely undergo the same torture as everyone after them. They try to play with firsts, exploring what answers their desires.
“Jacob, you, Kierian, and I will investigate their workplaces.”
Everyone spurs into action, but his defeated expression nags on my mind.
So before he can exit, I call his name, and he turns to me. “What happens if we find nothing?”
“Police will still investigate. Unfortunately, the case for us will be closed. There is only so much we can do.”
It can’t happen.
It means evil wins, and I didn’t come here to let monsters ruin innocent lives.
I will find him.
One hour later
Ella
Entering the common room, I notice a beautiful young woman sitting on the couch, drinking water as she holds a small baby sleeping in her arms.
She licks her lips while breathing heavily, and her shoe taps the floor in a nervous manner, like she doesn’t know what to expect.
Oddly enough, I don’t see sadness or pain in her features; they’re usually present during this kind of meeting.
I speak as gently and quietly as possible, not wanting to wake the baby. “Mrs. Parker? Hi. I’m Agent Ella Gadot.”
She freezes as she looks at my extended hand, seeming lost for what to do next. She eventually nods and sips a bit more of her water. I’ve seen many women in my line of work, and her hesitation to take my hand unsettles me. I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it’ll ease her a little bit.
“Do you want to put the baby in the stroller?”
She shakes her head, bringing her son closer to her chest. “No, I prefer to hold him.” Exhaustion laces her voice, but also fear. Why is she afraid of this? Surely she doesn’t think we have her under investigation?
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
She rocks the baby from side to side, as she finally asks, “He’s really dead?”
There is no easy way to say it to loved ones. I still remember how an agent delivered the news to me and how it shook me to my core.
A monster killed her husband, the father of their child. He’ll never get the chance to see his baby. How can anyone do that?
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat and clear my throat. “It’s him.” She blinks and looks to the side, avoiding my gaze.
Maybe she doesn’t want me to see the tears in her eyes? I hate to continue this conversation with a woman who probably still had hope her husband would come back, but work is work. The fa
ster we catch the unsub, the fewer families who will fall to his monstrous ways. “Mrs. Parker, was he acting differently before he was kidnapped? Any weird phone calls? Friendships?”
“No. We’d just moved to the neighborhood. He didn’t have time to talk with anyone much. He had no friends here.” She pauses, something flashing in her eyes but quickly disappearing. “He just started a new job. He was a lawyer.” She pats the baby. “Our son was about to be born. Everything was normal.”
“Did he have any changes in temperament? More nervous, aggressive? Any anger issues?” Sometimes great fear in the wake of something provokes aggressive behavior, so maybe he just hid his problems from her.
And based on our records, he didn’t have a job, so he must have lied to his wife. Why?
Self-disgust crosses her face, but she replies steadily, “No, he was the same.”
Something isn’t adding up here, but I see Noah motioning for me to finish it. Clearly the wife doesn’t know much, so keeping her here with a child is useless.
“Thank you, I guess there are no other questions.” I stand up, but she is still glued to her couch as she raises her brown eyes to me, filled with curiosity.
“Do you know who did this?”
I wish I had an answer to her question; it’s the most valid one when this kind of tragedy strikes.
Who and why, and in most cases why isn’t satisfying or fair, but you learn to live with it.
“No, but I promise we will do our best to catch him.”
She turns around to pick up her diaper bag and her shirt tugs on the side, exposing a little of her back. I blink in surprise, noticing several faint scars under the harsh light. Once she is done, she gives me a weak smile. “Thank you for telling me.” With that, she leaves, and for a second, I wonder if I’ve imagined the relief coming from her.
That’s not possible, right?
“You all right?” Andrea joins me inside, holding her mug of coffee and offering me mine.
“There is something fishy about this situation.”
She pauses with her mug midway to her mouth. “The wife couldn’t have killed him.”
“No, it’s not about that. It’s like she wasn’t even sad.”
“She is probably in shock.”
“Or doesn’t mourn him much,” I mutter, the bitter taste in my mouth staying while I think about this more. “How about Ken’s wife?”
“Surprisingly, she stayed calm, just kept repeating that it was over. She seemed relieved actually, but I think it’s easier to know for sure he is dead, instead of spending her life with what ifs.”
Or when you don’t really feel bad for someone killing your husband and can’t hide it very well.
I go back to the case, studying the different body parts, but still they have no answers for me.
Why would a wife not mourn the loss of her husband?
What could he possibly do?
What?
And more importantly… did the unsub know?
Psychopath
Sitting on the school bleachers, I rest my back on the seat behind me as I watch the football practice in full swing. Young guys scream at each other, some pushing and flexing muscles while others keep all their attention on the game, running back and forth even though they don’t know the plays yet.
Cheerleaders giggle as guys wink at them, and they murmur things to each other, while stretching and bouncing in place.
A loud whistle erupts and their coach, a muscled man, joins them on the field while waving at everyone.
Instantly, all activity ceases, and the football players stand straight as he watches them approvingly. Especially his son, the captain of the team, who hides from his gaze yet puffs up his chest proudly for people to see.
He is the best on field; his nickname is “machine.” He’s already gotten several scholarship offers, while his father posed in all the photos with him, preaching that hard work and discipline helps you achieve success.
Kids look at him with adoration and respect. After all, what’s there not to like about the guy?
Two kids. Long-lasting marriage. Favorite coach of the year twice and works at the local shelter once a month to help those in need. The community values him deeply and no one gets on the team without his approval. He loves his team dearly, giving them the best, and always protects them.
“All right, kids. Stop staring at the girls and keep your mind on the game.” Little snickers echo through the team as he clasps his hands. “We have the most important game coming up. Let’s show them who’s the best.” He swings his gaze through them. “I don’t hear your support.”
The roar erupts, and everyone jumps to do their stuff as the coach calls to one of the girls who happens to be his daughter.
“Lina, come here.” He murmurs something to her, and because they are too fucking busy with their lives, most people won’t notice as fear enters her eyes and she winces nervously, her shoulders sagging with each word.
Adjusting my sunglasses better on my nose, I make a decision as a smile spreads across my face.
He’ll be perfect.
I don’t usually kill so fast, preferring to take my time between victims. I get more of a high from anticipation, and besides, my mentor taught me better. They’ll probably close the case since there is nothing connecting my killings on the surface and move on to another one. That’s how profiling procedures work. But if I give them more bodies, they’ll have no choice but to work on them.
How can I refuse to create one more case for Ella to find the truth faster?
When she finally figures it out, she’ll be at my mercy.
I can't fucking wait for that.
Ella
Yawning loudly, I stretch my arms while sighing heavily. No clues pop up no matter how many times I read through all the files.
We’ve spent the rest of the day studying cases that could fit the unsub but come up blank. The guys didn’t get much information from coworkers or other people either, only that they were great, all-around men and everyone felt sorry someone killed them.
On the surface, it seems the unsub doesn’t have clear preferences when it comes to victims, since one victim was a young man in his thirties and the other was a man in his fifties.
I’m so deep in thought that a voice next to me startles me and my coffee almost spills on the table. “The workday is over.” I look up to see Kierian, his gaze sweeping over me.
Only then does it register we are alone in the office, most of the people gone. Normally when the team travels all over the country, they work on the case twenty-four seven until it’s solved, but when you work in your own local area, you can go home and regroup.
“I’ve got nothing.”
“Staying here won’t solve the problem.” He motions to the door with his head. “A fresh perspective in the morning will be better.”
It’s hard to argue with that statement.
“You’re right.” I stand up, shut off my laptop, and scoop all the paperwork into my bag. “Crap!” I exclaim, searching for my phone in my pocket. “I need to grab a cab home. My car is in for repair; the thing had to break down today of all days,” I mutter, and blink in surprise as his hand halts my movement.
“I’ll drop you at home.” If it came from any other person, I would gladly agree, but in this case, it’s too weird.
Especially with his earlier statement.
“I don’t think—”
“Let’s go, Ella. It’s not safe wandering around the city. I promise you this wolf doesn’t bite.” I lift my brows, and he chuckles. “At least not outside the bedroom.”
“I don’t remember much biting.” I groan inwardly. Why did I have to go there? I shouldn’t encourage his playful behavior. “And for your information, I’ve been on my own for a long time. I don’t need a protector.” He doesn’t appear impressed with my words; he just holds the door for me, and I quickly slide in and press the elevator button, feeling exhaustion run through me.
“Tired?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Finally, the doors open, we step inside and ride down, and then he leads me to his car.
“I’d offer dinner, but I suspect my offer would be met with a refusal.”
Hilarious.
“Definitely.” He chuckles again and we hop inside. A few minutes later, we’re heading in the direction of my house, which is located around thirty minutes from the office.
Then it dawns on me.
“You didn’t ask where I live.” My brows furrow, uneasiness washing over me. I don’t think he is dangerous per se, but a girl can get ideas.
“It’s in your file, Ella. Relax.” He makes a hard turn, and I sway to the side, bumping shoulders with him. Instantly, electricity sizzles between us, but I quickly lean back, avoiding the touch.
He doesn’t comment on it, just squeezes the steering wheel tighter.
Topic. We desperately need a topic that can distract us from the sexual tension running high in this freaking Jeep!
“So how long have you been working here?”
“Around three years. I was on the police force before that.”
“What made you choose criminal psychology?”
He shrugs and stops at a traffic light, shifting his attention to me, and once again, I’m on the receiving end of his silver eyes. “Because I felt this way I could stop criminals before they did more damage. It felt right at the time.”
The way he says this confuses me, so I ask, “It doesn’t anymore?”
“There is always frustration when we can’t solve a case or someone dies while trying to solve it, even though we are doing all we can. The constant guilt. But then again, I think everyone in law enforcement has the same frustration, one way or the other.”
True.
“Any family?”
He flashes me a grin. “Why? Suddenly curious about my life, sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap, because I hate all this shit. God knows how many women guys call that name, and I feel like when you address someone, it should be a nickname designed specifically for them.
I can hear Chloe laughing in my ear as she called me an idiot while Simone nodded in agreement. They didn’t understand my little quirks like that.
