“Enough daydreaming about your Mistress,” she spoke as if reading his mind. “Let’s get this case solved so you can get a good night’s sleep.” Her words only confirmed what he had been thinking and solidified in his mind how much she cared for him.
He pushed his dark, layered hair from his eyes and she spoke again, “you’re not getting it cut yet. Now, open the file. You should have had it open already but since you were busy daydreaming about me, I’ll let you off the hook,” she playfully smiled. He averted his eyes back down towards the tabletop so he didn’t become distracted with thoughts of their extracurricular activities.
Rene picked up the picture her partner tossed on the table of a little boy with tousled, blonde hair and troubled blue eyes and started looking through his file. “He was a beautiful, little boy. It’s no wonder the social worker had so much compassion for him. The boy had it rough; that’s for sure.”
Agent Turner interrupted her studies. “Okay, according to his paperwork, he lived in the projects we visited until his mother died from a prescription drug overdose, believed to be purposely self-induced. After that incident, he was shuffled in and out of foster care and group homes for a while. A foster family finally stepped in to take him permanently after the state changed his name in response to the harassment and death threats that previous families had borne the brunt of. Bingo! Our man, John Haze, is now Striker Malone.”
Agent Turner grabbed his phone and typed in the new name. A plethora of information popped up on the small screen. “Damn, truth is stranger than fiction. It seems our boy, John Haze, grew up to be a superstar in the world of MMA fighting—underground MMA fighting. It looks like you and I are headed to an underground fight and there just so happens to be one scheduled for tonight. Our man, Striker Malone, is the main attraction.
Claire
“I don’t give a shit if you’re scheduled to fight. I don’t want to see you around any of those people. This isn’t about me; it’s about you staying safe and alive. I saw what that asshole did to you when he opened that cage door and subjected you to a three on one beat down.”
He laughed, “Beat down? Look at little Miss High Society, talking like she’s all knowledgeable about street fighting.”
“It doesn’t take a fucking degree to see what those animals did to you. You agreed when you came to live here—no more cage fighting.”
He chuckled again, “No, you mandated. It’s one of the things I allowed you to insist upon. I think I’ve already told you—no, actually I’ve shown you—I’m not the type of man to be controlled by a woman. Don’t get shit twisted and think I’m going to go all soft and submissive because I’m in love with you.” He leaned in, getting right into her face and growled, “If anything, my hold on you will only intensify because my obsession sure has. Does your pussy get wet thinking about it? Because my cock sure as hell gets hard when I think about all the vile things I’m going to do to you. Take my cock out of my pants. Now!”
“Only if you won’t go tonight,” she countered with a face set in defiance and a threatening tone.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and cocked his face to the side, hissing through thin lips, “Don’t fuck with me, little girl. You’re way out of your league.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached up from where she was sitting and pulled his hard cock out from the confines of his sweatpants. The fact that he was standing in front of her had her at the perfect level to put his cock into her mouth.
“Now suck it like you mean business.” He tightened his grip on the handful of hair he held and forced his cock down into her throat deep enough to make her gag just to prove a point.
Her fingers clawed at his jeans in an effort to get air and he pulled her mouth off his cock with a popping noise. His eyes looked crazed as he spoke, “Don’t ever threaten me with an ultimatum. I make my own decisions and I have no intentions of doing any kind of business with a man who put my life in danger. Do you know why?”
She shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek. She was shocked when he took the pad of his thumb and tenderly wiped it off. “Because I’m not putting you in danger. I can’t protect you if I’m in the hospital or dead so I’m staying. Now, make it worth my while.”
She grabbed his cock, sucking it deeply into her mouth and back out as she languidly rolled her tongue around its swollen head.
“Oh fuck, girl. Oh, baby girl, don’t stop. Please, don’t ever fucking stop.”
The clenching of his hands in her hair and the vibration of his knees getting weak filled her with a sense of power. There was nothing she wanted right now more than to feel the warm spray of his seed at the back of her throat.
Her hand made its way up and started pumping his throbbing cock as her mouth worked its magic, alternating sucking and licking the man who brought the nasty, dirty side of her personality out.
If he wanted his cock sucked by some deep throating, dirty girl, then, damn it, that’s exactly what she would give him. His knees shook as his release overtook him and the taste she craved made its way down the back of her throat. He was bringing out a side of her that she never knew existed—a sexually submissive, dirty girl, his sexually submissive, dirty girl. Fuck society and their uptight rules. She liked what he was doing to her and she had every intention of keeping him around and enjoying his dominant nature to the fullest.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Agent Turner
“Get your ass in the bedroom and put on a pair of jeans, a white button-up shirt, and cowboy boots. Now!”
David knew not to argue with Rene when she got into Mistress mode like this but he didn’t hesitate to grumble about it as he dressed. “I don’t care anything about watching barbaric men beat the shit out of each other.” Though he grumbled, he made certain to wear exactly what she told him to.
He watched Rene finish dressing in tight jeans with a black corset. She paired it with a black leather jacket, that was very similar to something a biker chick might wear, and topped it off with stiletto, black, ankle boots. She tousled her long, auburn hair in a very sexy, bedhead look before she made her way back over to him. She lifted his chin with her forefinger and forced him to look into her stark green, sadistic eyes. “I like the thought of watching two men in the midst of a bloodbath and our suspect is supposed to be fighting tonight. You would do well to behave yourself tonight because I’m very likely to get turned on watching the spilling of blood. Now, be a good slave and be happy about escorting your Mistress or I just might collar your ass and take you into a very testosterone filled atmosphere wearing a leash.”
She chuckled at him when his eyes got big. It wasn’t like she would be putting him in danger if she did make good on her threat. David was trained in every form of fighting there was and that included hand-to-hand combat. The fact that he was sexually submissive to her in no way made him a wimp. He had taken down men twice his size on more than just one occasion. The FBI had spent a hell of a lot of money on training him and the payoff had been his uncanny ability to catch some of the most notorious serial killers in the country.
He looked up at her through thick, dark lashes and spoke, “You look beautiful, Mistress.”
“You’re such a good boy… such a precious, good boy.”
His face beamed as he followed her out the door. Maybe going to a bloodbath brawl wouldn’t be so bad with Mistress… as long as he got to be with her. Anything else was secondary in his mind.
The drive over was uneventful. Rene drove the deep burgundy colored Cadillac Escalade that he had bought her when she off-handedly remarked that she liked one she had seen as they were going down the road one day. She had insisted on a deep burgundy color because it looked so much like the blood she drew from him during their sessions. He guessed that was the reason it was her favorite color.
As they pulled to the front of the building in the less than desirable warehouse district of the Portland section of town, David’s face took on a serious expression. “I don’t w
ant you away from me in here, Rene.”
“Are you jealous or being protective?”
“Both,” he answered without hesitation.
“Such a sweet boy,” she commented as she lovingly reached out to stroke his face.
“I’m serious, Rene.” The look on his face let her know he would be anything but sweetly submissive if she got out of his sight. He had no intentions of her being around a prospective serial killer or a buff, testosterone filled male. The thought caused a surge of jealousy to course through him.
Rene just smiled at him and answered, “I have no desire for any other man but you, David. Now, let’s go solve this case.”
That appeased him and they made their way into the warehouse hand in hand. A very large doorman greeted them and informed them that their cover charge would be a fee of seventy-five dollars each. Though David had no problem with spending money, he did have a problem spending it for this. He would be putting in a voucher to the agency to get his money back; that was for sure.
Two hours of dealing with screaming, bloodthirsty fans and watching two men trying to beat each other to death, left him feeling very irritated with the fact that the man they had come to question was nowhere to be seen.
The agents made their way back towards the locker room in search of someone to give them some answers. Agent Turner made no attempt to hide the fact that he was an agent as he cornered one of the promoters and whipped out his badge to question him.
“Where is Striker Malone? We came here to see him fight.”
“Fuck if I know. The son of a bitch is a no show. If he wasn’t personal friends with Glazov, the boss who runs this operation, he would be in serious fucking trouble.”
“Know where we can find him?”
“Last I heard, he was shacked up with some real estate magnate in some ritzy ass River Hill Road neighborhood. “
“Got a name?”
“Claire Cooper, or Cooperman, something like that.”
Agent Turner retrieved a business card and handed it to him. “Call me if you hear from him.”
“Is he in trouble?”
“A relative of his died and we’re trying to inform him.” Even though the agent’s answer made no sense, the promoter seemed to brush it off. The only thing the agents heard as they walked away was, “Hey, tell him I don’t appreciate him leaving me hanging.”
“Might have something to do with the fact that you stuck him in the ring with three fighters,” Agent Turner answered as he walked away.
The promoter, unsurprisingly, had no answer for that.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Claire
“How long do you plan on making me work from home? I can’t hide out here forever.”
“Working from home isn’t a problem for you, Claire. You’re self-employed.”
“Well, I don’t like the idea that some maniac stalker is controlling my life.”
“You let me control it,” he chuckled good-naturedly, probably trying to lighten her bad mood.
“As you would say, don’t get this shit twisted. You may control my bedroom activities, but you sure as hell don’t control my life.”
“You keep thinking that,” was his only reply as he lazily made his way over to her desk and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll go make us some coffee and get breakfast ready while you start working. Appease me. Work from home today and we’ll see what happens. If there are no more deliveries, we’ll look at going into the office tomorrow.”
“I don’t think there is any appeasing you.” He was already headed towards the kitchen and all she heard was a chuckle signifying there was some truth in her statement.
The doorbell ringing interrupted her thoughts and she groaned, thinking that she probably wouldn’t be going into the office tomorrow after all. She readied herself for another ominous delivery and padded her way out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
She took a deep breath and psyched herself up for whoever or whatever was on the other side of the door. She was baffled when she opened the small peephole door and saw two people, each holding up a badge.
“What can I help you with officers?”
“Agents, FBI agents,” the man with dark hair corrected her. “We’re looking for Striker Malone.”
“What do you need,” she heard his voice answer as he came out of the kitchen.
“Your name came up in an investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?”
One of the agents looked down at the black kitten that was now purring and winding around Striker’s leg. “Nice cat. In fact, that cat went missing in one of the very cases we’re investigating.” Claire wasn’t stupid. Cats were cats and she knew there was no way Agent Turner could know just by looking at Little Bit that he was the same cat he was looking for.
She reached down to grab Little Bit as if she worried the agents might try to take him. “This cat is mine. Whoever sent him to me should have taken better care of him.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. May we come in and talk to you.”
Claire was tired of being afraid and thought maybe these agents could give her the answers she needed to get on with her life. “Yes, you may. Maybe you can help me find out who has been sending me bloody cats, dead flowers, a picture of a dead woman, and, of all things, tobacco leaves and a straight razor.”
She could see by the look in the agents’ eyes that they knew something. What it was, she didn’t know. At this point, she didn’t care because she just needed answers. She led them into the kitchen to get them some coffee as Striker finished up with breakfast and offered them some.
“Thanks, but no thanks. We went through a drive-thru on the way over,” the male agent replied. He removed a pen and prepared to write in a notebook he held in his hand. Claire assumed that was his not so subtle way of saying he was ready to get down to business.
“When did you receive the first threatening box?”
Claire still held Little Bit in her arms, stroking behind his ear as she spoke. “It was a couple of weeks ago. We got this little guy covered in blood. In fact, we thought he was hurt or dead until we got him washed up and saw it wasn’t his blood. Poor little thing was just lying in the box, completely still. There were a bunch of dead flowers in there with him along with a threatening note…”
“Do you still have it?”
“Thinking back on it, I should have kept everything but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Every time I looked at anything that had been sent, it just upset me.”
What the agent said next completely caught Claire off guard.
“Striker, I’m aware you changed your name due to the harassment you endured after your father was prosecuted and sentenced to death for serial murders.”
Claire looked at Striker in disbelief and though he never looked at her, she knew what he was saying was being directed towards her. “I was going to tell you.”
“Ma’am,” Rene cut in, “the man you’re dating has been through so much because of that case that he had to change his name. If it’s any consolation, we believe his father was wrongly convicted,” she hesitated before she made her next statement, “by your father.”
“Is that why you’re here? To make me pay for something my father did?” Claire shrieked. She eyed Striker, waiting for his answer, but all he did was shake his head and look down at the table.
“Ma’am, as upset as you are, you’re going to have to allow me to continue. You said you received a box with tobacco leaves in it. Do you know any tobacco farmers or distributers of tobacco products?”
“No!”
“Ma’am, I don’t know any other way to say this, but your life is in danger. Someone is trying to get to him,” he pointed towards Striker, “through you. Whoever is doing this has spent a lifetime trying to destroy this man’s family. Whoever the real Louisville Lacerate Killer is has spent decades trying to frame his family. It started with his father and now they have set their sights on him. Only you can decide on
whether or not you allow this man to stay in your home but know that if you kick him out, you’re putting both of your lives in even more danger. The real killer has already killed the cop who worked the case and an innocent woman. He won’t stop until he’s caught.” With that, the agents rose and placed a card on the table. “If you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me.”
In a haze of disbelief, Claire walked the agents to the door and bid them goodbye.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Striker
Striker couldn’t ever remember a time he had felt such an overwhelming wave of guilt and shame engulf him. He said nothing as the woman he loved beat on his chest, screaming out her hatred for him.
“I hate you, you fucking liar. All this time, you’ve been acting like you’re protecting me and you came here to get even with me. Did you fuck me to get even with my father? Did you send all that threatening shit to me?”
“I have no idea where to even get tobacco leaves, Claire, and though I can beat a man half to death, I would never do anything to harm an animal.”
“Well, I just feel all fucking warm and fuzzy now. Certainly, if you wouldn’t hurt a helpless kitten, you wouldn’t do anything to a woman you hate. What about that horrible picture? Did you send me that?”
“Fuck! Yes, fine… Yes, but that’s all I did, Claire, and I fucking regret it with everything I am. I didn’t do that horrible shit with Little Bit but I used your fear and played on it. I pulled a crime scene photo off the web and sent it to scare you but I was just trying to fuck with your head. I never planned on having feelings for you. Yes, I was a man bent on revenge. That was before I fell in love with you.”
“With love like that, who the fuck needs enemies? Get out of my house!” she screamed, outraged, as she pointed towards the door.
By now, his face was right in hers with a look of dangerous determination, clearly sending her the message that he had no intentions of going anywhere. “If you think I’m going anywhere and losing the one good thing that has ever happened to me, you are sorely mistaken. I will never leave you at the hands of a serial killer. I’m sorry, Claire, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to, but I warned you I would never let you go.”
Stray Page 12
