“Oh boy,” she muttered. “Is this where you ask something inappropriate, and I break both of your legs and feed them to you?” she asked in warning.
He found that amusing.
“I was thinking more like coffee and breakfast.”
She relaxed.
If that was the cost, it was a small price to pay. She’d feed the man if he was so inclined. It was the least she could do.
“Okay, what do you want? I can bring you something to eat if you’re going to bump our victim and take care of business for us.”
That’s when he struck.
“This weekend, you, me, and a date. I’m off, so you can make some time, right?”
And there it was.
Inappropriate came a-knockin', and Cordy wasn’t playing that game. Men…they weren’t her thing. She could count on one hand how many attracted her.
She liked her job, her life, and being single. It was far less of a potential disaster that way.
Boone was smiling.
Would his partner cave?
“Cher?” he asked.
“I guess we can wait the day for the autopsy,” she stated, not backing down. “She’s not going anywhere.”
Boone laughed.
There was his tough as nails partner, standing her ground. He wouldn’t have her any other way.
“I’m not being blackmailed into a date,” she stated, pointing at her partner. “In fact, you’re enjoying this a little too much. I’m calling your wife.”
Boone stared at her.
“You wouldn’t, cher. That’s mean. You aren’t a mean person, are you?”
She smiled, pulling out her phone.
“Don’t piss off my partner, Doc. She’s cranky at this time of the morning.”
The ME laughed.
“A guy has to try.”
“I’ll have breakfast with you, Doctor,” he offered, trying to save his bacon. Boone didn’t need a riled-up wife. Merry was hyper enough.
The man laughed.
“Bring me some chicory and beignets. We’ll call it even. One day, Cordy, you’ll cave.”
“I won’t, and I really hate that nickname. Say it with me. COR-DEL-IA.”
He snorted.
“It’s sexy when you get all phonetic spelling on me,” Nikolas stated.
She gave up.
It was a lost cause.
Honestly, she didn’t mind the nickname. She just minded when men hit on her like she was…her mother.
They placed the woman on the stretcher and rolled her to the van.
Now, she could focus.
“If you don’t stop trying to hook me up with him…,” she warned her partner, “I’m going to make your life Hell on Earth,” Cordy promised.
He patted her back.
“I just want you to get laid so you calm the hell down. You’re running yourself into the ground, cher. Take a day off once in a while. Get a pedicure.”
“For your information, I did just that two days ago, so I’m good to go, but thanks for being worried about my feet.”
He lifted a brow.
“Hey, now…”
“Boone has a foot fetish,” she chanted, loud enough for the techs on the scene to hear her.
“You’re mean.”
Oh, she could be.
“What I meant is pace yourself, cher. You don’t have to prove anything to the world.”
She snorted.
It was funny that he was preaching to his own damn choir. The only detective she knew who worked more than her…
HIM.
“Oh, that’s priceless, Mr. Voodoo.”
He laughed.
“Well, when in N’awlins, do what you gotta do,” he drawled.
She totally got that, and what they had to do was figure out who killed Charlotte Shaw.
“What’s our plan?” she asked. “I know you have something going on in that crazy Injun skull of yours.”
He snorted.
She was the ONLY person he let call him Injun. Partners had that connection, and he busted her ass plenty.
“Well, princess, I say we head to her house, and we sit there. We are a few days behind, but she said someone had to be moved. Let’s see what falls out of the tree when we just drink coffee and watch it. Then, we search it. It’s lucky we found her address and driver’s license. The spirits are on our side.”
Honestly, this time, she was good with that.
They needed a little intervention from someone on their damn sides.
It was a long shot, but she could do some research while she waited.
“Maybe someone could call in a favor and get some intel on Charlotte Shaw,” she suggested, testing him.
Yeah, she was still curious about the man, him leaving the squad, only to come back. She wasn’t one to buy into rumors, but they said FBI, and her curiosity was piqued.
He stared at her as they headed toward their ride.
“Cher, I don’t like to use up all my Fed favors. They are rare. Why use one on her?” he asked.
“Well, I have a feeling in my gut.”
That was enough said.
Boone got that. He tucked his straight hair behind his ears and sent his wife a text. It was going to be a late night, and they knew it. Someone wasn’t coming home anytime soon. It was the nature of the beast in their line of work.
Merry would get it.
He hoped.
“I’ll think about it,” Boone stated. “If we get stuck, I’ll make a call.”
“If you really know Elizabeth Blackhawk…”
He lifted a brow.
It never ceased to amaze him that no one believed that he and his wife were her friends. She called his wife weekly to check-in, and when they headed back North, they had dinner together.
It wasn’t that odd.
They were people too.
“Oh, I know her, cher, and you don’t want to tangle with her. She’s a viper.”
“They say I’m one too,” she pointed out. “We’d get along just fine.”
He laughed and kept laughing.
“What?”
“Oh, you’re a pussycat compared to her. Trust me on this. She would eat you alive and then regurgitate you back up to feed you to her offspring. Don’t let appearances deceive you. Elizabeth is pretty but vicious.”
She shrugged.
“Whatever.”
It wasn’t like their paths would ever cross, right? Elizabeth Blackhawk to the local law in N’awlins was nothing more than an enigma.
“Just think about it.”
Oh, he would.
Boone would think long and hard before he burned that one favor he had. Would Elizabeth keep count of them?
Likely not.
Still…
He didn’t use them lightly.
She tossed him the keys and hopped into the passenger’s seat. “I want to research Miss Shaw while you navigate us out of this creepy, Godforsaken shithole,” she stated.
“Now you sound like the doctor.”
Well, maybe.
It was damn hard not to in this situation.
The hair on the back of her neck was standing, and this place gave her the willies. The dead woman was lucky a gator didn’t find her and drag her back to its nest.
The picture in her head was gross.
“Crazies of a feather, flock together,” she stated.
Yeah, they really did.
“What happened?” she asked focused on her laptop, as she was rhetorically talking to the deceased Charlotte Shaw. “Who killed you?”
He let her do her thing, and he did his.
All Boone knew was someone had to be up to no good to find themselves out here and wearing a nine-millimeter in their throat.
It wasn’t a coincidence.
In N’awlins, nothing was.
* * * H U N T E R * * *
The French Quarter
Wealthy Man’s Home
She was a prisoner, and the days of her captivity ne
ver seemed to end. Storm St. Clair was angry at the world, and when she wasn’t drugged up, being raped, and scared, she was promising revenge.
Where the hell was the FBI?
Where the hell were the people who should have had her back?
How did they not only let her be taken but also let her stay a victim to this man’s depravity?
She knew it was going to be dangerous when she went undercover in the operation, but she didn’t realize that if she was taken, they’d forget about her.
What happened to loyalty?
What happened to having her back?
What happened to her backup?
Now, she was locked in that room, told to behave, and forced to pleasure a man she hated.
She wanted to cut his balls off.
Storm wanted to cut him to pieces just to watch him bleed. The things he did to her…
They were so close to breaking her.
Storm knew she didn’t have much time left. She was losing hope, faith, and strength.
Her will to fight was coming to an end.
Only, she knew what would happen if she didn’t make him happy. If she didn’t do as he asked, he’d kill her.
He was evil.
She could see it.
With the months as his captive, she’d seen the depravity first hand, and it was horrible. She’d never be the same.
Part of her wished he’d kill her.
Part of her wished she’d die.
Only, she wasn’t that lucky.
Now, for the time being, she was biding her time. She’d made a weapon out of a piece of metal she’d whittled off part of the bed frame. It had taken months to do it. The camera in the room was always watching. The few times there were storms and the power went out, she’d gotten to work.
Now, it was ready.
When he let down his guard, she’d cut his throat, and then remove his sick, disgusting dick.
Storm would get her chance.
It was her only hope.
Only, that hope, too, was diminishing. At that moment, she wasn’t chained near the shank. She was chained to the bottom of the large bed. She was lucid, and that meant he would be coming soon.
When he came, he’d drug her.
A part of her prayed for someone to save her, but she knew she was on her own. The FBI had left her behind, and she was erased.
She was forgotten.
Time went by and she didn’t even know how long she’d been there.
It felt like forever.
It felt like years.
He’d forced her to have an abortion early in her captivity, and she was glad for that. There was no way she wanted a child with this sick fuck.
Still, that damaged her as she was forced to watch it happen. He’d stood there, and he’d smiled the entire time as she was strapped down, and life was ended.
He was perverse.
He was the sickest man she’d ever met.
Since then, she was given pills, shots, and he even used rubbers. Storm was grateful for that.
At least she was alive.
For now.
Honestly, he liked her for her looks and how she fought him. He loved when she put up a fight. The part of her that knew she was dead if he got bored kept pushing her to do that battle. He raped her every day—sometimes twice.
She fought every day.
It was all she had to stay alive.
In fact, she could hear the clock chiming somewhere upstairs. Storm counted the bells.
One.
Two.
Three.
When it got to six, she knew what was coming.
It was time.
The tears came, as she heard the footsteps heading down the concrete stairs. He’d dress her up after he drugged her. She’d barely be coherent as he abused her body and raped her.
She began struggling against the bonds, bloodying her own wrists to get to that shank.
It was the only way to save herself.
It was her only salvation, and it was so damn far away.
Yeah, the fighting wasn’t an act. She really wanted to escape.
That was getting further and further away too.
When he came in, he was wearing all leather, and he was holding a whip.
The hysteria won out.
She began sobbing as she tried to move off of the bed. The big bed was her prison, and she knew it.
“Oh, pretty girl, I see you know what time it is. I love how you anticipate what’s coming.”
She gasped as he pulled out the syringe and waved it where she could see it.
It was time.
She wanted to be sick.
“I can’t let you out unless you let me drug you. We both know you’ll never be broken. You’re too strong-willed, and that, in this case, is a good thing. I will be getting off a few times tonight.”
She could see the bulge in his leather pants. She knew he wasn’t kidding. Whenever he came in that riled up, the rape was particularly bad.
Yeah, she knew that outfit.
He was taking her to a party.
Upstairs.
With people.
One would think someone there would have some compassion and save her, but it had been an endless parade of parties, and with each one, the men just abused her, raped her, and laughed while doing it.
She was their plaything.
She was his, and he liked to share her.
“Time to get you ready for the fuck of all fucks,” he said, sliding his fingers up her leg, across her bare body, and right into her.
She gasped at the invasion.
It still hurt.
Everything hurt.
Mind.
Body.
Soul.
“You’ll love it tonight, my little love. I have the good stuff for you,” he said, shaking the syringe.
She’d fought him once or twice before a party. All it got her was having to do it not drugged up.
That was bad.
VERY bad.
The horror came back, and all she wanted was to be free. She wanted to stab him in the throat and end him.
She wanted to protect herself.
“Come here, pet,” he ordered.
Tears poured down her cheeks. If she disobeyed, it would be a million times worse. He’d get his friends to come down, and they’d carry her up. The multiple rapes would be brutal.
Did she really want to be coherent for them?
NO.
She moved closer to the end of the bed, and he grinned.
“Oh, pet, you’re getting better. You want my cock, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded and sobbed at the same time.
Storm remembered when she had power and a badge. She remembered when she had mattered.
Now, she was forgotten.
Invisible.
FUCK the FBI.
Fuck them for what they’d done. They’d let her be taken, and they never came for her.
This was her life.
This was her hell.
This was how she’d die.
“Well, pet? You know I need you to say it for me first, so go ahead.”
It took everything she had.
It wasn’t easy to do it either.
“Yes, I want your cock.”
He roughly kissed her, and she fought. It was the only way to survive. He grabbed her, threw her on the bed, and pinned her beneath him.
She was weak.
She was emaciated.
She was prey.
“Oh, sexy little pet, I love touching you. I think I’ll have an appetizer before the party,” he whispered in her ear. “I think I’ll take a little taste of my pretty caged bird.”
She sobbed as she felt him rubbing against her.
“Please let me go,” she begged. “Please.”
He laughed, and it turned him on even more that she was begging him. It was the only reason he let her live. She amused him as a trapped animal, and he got off on it.
&nbs
p; This was his favorite part.
Well, that and her body was a sexy playground. She looked like she was barely eighteen, and that got him off. In fact, it got all of his guests off—multiple times.
Or it would.
“Oh, pet, you’re mine. I’ll kill you if you escape. I have the money and resources to hunt you down. I will make sure you’re mine for the rest of your life. When I’m done with you, I’ll be the one who decides your death. Be grateful. I let you live.”
She whimpered as he untied the leather that held him in his pants. Storm could feel his skin now touching her bare body. He’d prep her for his ‘party’ as soon as she was drugged. Storm knew she’d wake-up covered in bites, marks, and semen.
She knew what was coming.
She prayed she couldn’t feel any of it.
“Open your legs, little one.”
She didn’t.
On purpose.
“I’ll drug you,” he muttered. “I’ll make you so drugged up that you won’t feel when we torture you.”
She opened her legs and felt the nudge as he forced himself into her.
She went numb.
All the while, he whispered so much profanity into her ear. He promised her unmentionable torture at the hands of other depraved men.
She was his slave, and he told her it many times.
“Tell me you like it,” he muttered.
She whimpered.
Then he fucked her even harder.
He held her down, he drove himself into her so roughly that she knew she’d be bruised. Storm knew she’d never be the same again.
“Oh, pet!” he moaned, as he got off on her fighting. As she scratched and bit him, trying to get free, he shoved the hypodermic needle into her neck.
She whimpered.
“Oh, tonight, just enough to make you quiet,” he stated. “You’ll feel it all. This is your last party, pet. I’m getting a new girl,” he bragged.
Storm fought to go under.
He’d given her very little.
She’d feel it all.
Just like she was feeling the rape. When he pulled out of her, flipped her over, and drove himself home again, she wanted to forget.
“Please,” she begged. “Please let me sleep.”
He laughed as he took her.
When he came, he pulled out and left evidence all over her. He left proof of who owned her. She was his, and he’d do whatever he wanted.
“Crawl behind me,” he said, degrading her further as he tied the leash he kept in the drawer around her neck.
Absolution: The Hunter Mercenary Series (Book Two) Page 3
