A Dead Man's Pulse: Trident Security Omega Team Book 1

by Samantha A. Cole

  It was obvious the man wasn’t convinced, but he still nodded in Dev’s direction anyway as Parrish pointed at the female technician. “Any prints on the door?”

  She shook her head. “No . . . but it looks like someone was wearing gloves and smudged the ones that would normally be there. The lock’s been picked. It’s not obvious though. There’re no scratches on the surface here . . .” She indicated the brass surface plate of the deadbolt around the keyhole. “. . . but with the magnifying camera I can see some inside the lock, otherwise, I would have missed them.” Her last words were directed toward Tiny. She’d obviously overheard his guilt-ridden statements moments earlier and was trying to reassure him there was no way he could’ve spotted the damage to the lock. The only way she’d been able to see the scratch marks left by a lock pick set was by using a camera so small it could fit on the head of a ballpoint pen. “I’ll contact our list of locksmiths to make sure no one came here on a lockout call.”

  Twenty minutes later, there had been no more obvious evidence found although the techs were vacuuming and swabbing for trace evidence throughout the interior of the house. Devon volunteered to accompany Tiny to the FBI office where he’d be interviewed fully, so Ian could return to the compound and check on Angie. The eldest Sawyer brother was not looking forward to telling everyone, especially Boomer, that Georgia was missing. Before Kat Michaelson had come out of the Witness Protection Program, in desperate need of her now husband’s help—he hadn’t known she was alive after “dying” twelve years earlier—Boomer had played a few times with the pretty divorcee at The Covenant, and they were still friends.

  Stopping at the driver’s door to his truck, he glanced back up at the little house. Bile rose in his throat. During all these months the sick bastard had been kidnapping and killing submissives, Ian had sworn he’d be damned if one of The Covenant’s subs was taken. He’d made sure all the club members took every possible precaution. But it hadn’t been enough. They had approximately three days before Georgia Branneth’s tortured body was found posed somewhere public in or around Tampa.

  Opening the driver’s door, Ian climbed in and cranked the ignition, starting the engine. But instead of putting the vehicle in drive, he punched the dashboard, ignoring the pain shooting through his hand and arm. “Son of a fucking bitch. When we catch you, death will be too good for you.”

  C

  HAPTER 16

  “Come on, you wimp. You’ve got a few more in you.”

  Logan’s chest, shoulder, and arm muscles shook as he bench pressed the 220 pound bar. It was hard to concentrate on the weight when Dakota’s spandex-covered crotch was right above his forehead as she spotted him. Her hands followed the up and down motion of his, ready to grab the bar if he reached his maximum rep. For the past few days, she’d joined him in the Trident gym with its top-of-the-line equipment and he was enjoying working out with her, but damn, her toned body was a huge distraction at times like this.

  Growling, he pushed upward against the weight and gravity. Sweat coated his body and his muscles screamed for him to stop, but like Dakota had said, he had a few more in him. They had the place to themselves this morning after Angie and Kristen had finished their treadmill workouts while little JD had slept nearby in a playpen under the watchful eye of Beau. They’d welcomed Dakota into their territory and Kristen had given him a knowing wink. He’d thought he’d been doing a good job of disguising his attraction to her, but apparently Devon’s wife didn’t miss a thing when it came to physical chemistry between two people. And as far as Logan knew, that was all that was going on between him and Dakota. The only other person who knew the two of them had slept together for certain was Dakota’s roommate who had seen him sneaking out around 2:00 a.m. the other night. After his first night in Dakota’s bed, he hadn’t wanted to actually sleep with her, afraid he might hurt her when a nightmare struck him again. She hadn’t pushed, clearly figuring out his reluctance, and hadn’t argued when he kissed her goodbye before taking his leave.

  He was also glad she hadn’t asked what had caused his freak out that night. Trudy had warned him he might have an increase in his PTSD nightmares with his sessions with the two female Dommes, but she expected it to be temporary as his body and mind adjusted to the new meaning behind the whip. He was due to undergo another whipping tomorrow morning. They’d decided on once a week, so his body could recover, and in the meantime, he’d meet with one or the other Domme and train to be the one wielding the sadistic implement.

  Taking a deep breath, he faltered on his last press when the scent of Dakota’s arousal assailed him. Seeing him all pumped, hot, and sweaty was doing something for her, which in turn, did something for him. His cock twitched in his shorts as he roared, putting all his energy and strength into one final lift. Once he had it high above his head, Dakota grabbed the bar and helped him place it in its cradle. “Not bad, stud.”

  His eyebrows shot upward as he rolled to a sitting position on the bench. “Stud?”

  She circled around and handed him a towel to wipe his face with, before straddling his thighs. “Yup. Stud. You have to know you have an incredible body and every woman with a pulse wags her tongue when you walk by.”

  Barking out a disbelieving laugh, he tossed the towel onto his shoulder and grasped her hips, pulling her toward him. He kissed the silky bare skin between her black sports bra and spandex shorts, eliciting a moan from her as she placed her hands on his shoulders for balance. They really shouldn’t be doing this here where anyone could walk in on them, but he couldn’t help himself. And it wasn’t as if they were breaking any rules by sleeping together. In fact, he didn’t think anyone would be surprised if they found out. She was a hot, sexy woman, and he’d have to be dead not to want her. However, a part of him wanted more than that, but he had nothing to offer her. He was damaged goods and would never risk letting his guard down around her again. Sex? Great . . . amazing, in fact . . . but sleeping together again was out of the question.

  “Don’t move, baby. I’ve got you right where I want you,” he murmured against her skin. She tasted salty from her own exercise, as his lips and tongue brushed over her upper abdomen. Throwing caution to the wind, he brought a hand up between her legs and stroked her through the thin material.

  Dakota’s hands tightened on his shoulders, but she held herself still, enjoying his ministrations. “Oh, God, Sir! That feels so good! Mmmmm.”

  Lifting his head, he pulled down one side of her bra, exposing a gorgeous tit and its dusky rose peak. His mouth closed around the nipple and he teased it with his tongue and teeth. Dakota moaned louder and her hips began to move in time with the fingers at her pussy. Leaving that side of her bra tucked under her breast, he exposed the other one the same way, laving it with equal attention. He slowed then stopped when he heard male voices out in the parking lot. Pushing her back a step, he didn’t bother fixing her sports bra as he tugged her by the hand toward the women’s shower and changing room that had been added since women had been invading the Trident compound, grabbing his duffel bag on his way. His cock was harder than granite, and he couldn’t wait to take her again. Locking the door behind them, he strode over to the shower stall and turned on the water. It was obvious a lot of thought had gone into the showers in both the men’s and women’s rooms, as they were large enough for three people and had benches built into them. Logan doubted he and Dakota were the first ones to share a shower and some nookie in here. “Strip, Koko. I hope you’re not in the mood for slow, because this is going to be hard and fast.” Slow sex was for the bedroom. Adventurous sex was a whole different ballgame.

  “Whatever you want, Master Bellhop,” she countered with a saucy grin, shoving her shorts to the floor.

  His hand froze on the zipper of his duffel bag where he’d thrown in two boxes of condoms earlier after stopping at a convenience store. He arched an eyebrow at her as she shed her bra. “Little brat, you’ll pay for that.”

  “I sure as hell hope so, Sir.”
/>
  His gaze followed her as she sashayed into the shower, swaying her hips. If ever a woman wanted to be spanked, it was now. DeAngelis had gone through a demonstration followed by a “hands-on” practice session, so to speak, in their training class. While he’d spanked Dakota several times in class, with everyone else around, she’d been clothed. This was the first time he’d be spanking her with the intent to give her what she was clearly telling him she needed. Grabbing two condoms from a box, he followed her into the shower, and tossed them on the tiled bench. “Hands against the wall and present that fine ass for me, Koko. My brat deserves a spanking before I fuck her silly.”

  “If you insist, Sir.”

  Once she was in position, the multi-shower heads pelting them both with water, he ran his hands over both ass cheeks, squeezing and rubbing like he’d been taught to bring the blood to the surface. It would help prevent bruising in addition to being erotic as hell. One of these days, he was going to ask her about fucking her ass, but for today, her pussy would do just fine, as long as it was hers. He couldn’t get enough of this woman. “Ready, Koko?”

  “Oh, yes, Sir.”

  He was about to start, but remembered one more important question. “What’s your safeword, baby?”

  “Red, Sir.” Her tone was one of approval and it triggered something deep inside him. He was surprised how good it felt, knowing he’d done something that she would praise him for, as subtle as it was.

  “For a count of twenty.” Lifting his right hand, he smacked it against her flesh, and then held it there, letting the heat spread outward.

  “One, Sir.” followed a loud moan from her pretty, little mouth, making him impossibly hard.

  Logan moved his hand so he could see her skin. He’d hit her hard enough for the area to turn a little pink, but that would change as he continued, each strike a little harder than the last. In class, he’d been learning how to read his submissive’s body to know when she could handle more or if he needed to back off. He let the next smack land on her left ass cheek.

  “Two, Sir.”

  When he reached ten, Dakota was panting and moaning. Her skin was a beautiful shade of red along her buttocks and sit spots, and he was having a hard time controlling himself. He wanted nothing more than to impale her on his cock, but another thing he’d learned in class was to follow through with what he’d started, whether it was for punishment or pleasure. His submissive was trusting him to know what she needed and to ensure she got it. He’d get his physical satisfaction soon enough, but it meant more to him to give her what she wanted, what she craved. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t tease her a little along the way.

  His hand slid down between her legs and he found her soaked, but not from the shower. Her body was reacting to his discipline and readying itself for when he would take her. He thrust two fingers in her tight channel and she clenched her inner muscles around him. “Oh, God, yes! Please, Sir!”

  “Not yet, Koko. You have ten more to go and then I’m going to fuck you from behind, until you shatter around my cock, screaming my name. I love how you scream my name when you cum.” Pulling his fingers from her core, he brought them to his mouth, licking her sweet cream from them. “Delicious, baby. Ready for your next ten?”

  “I’m green, Sir. Yes, I’m ready. Please!”

  The sound of flesh impacting wet flesh bounced off the tiled walls as steam swirled around them. He had no idea if anyone had come into the gym and could hear them, but he doubted it wasn’t anything they hadn’t heard before, especially with all the Doms and subs running around this place, and right now he didn’t care. All that mattered was him giving Dakota what she needed before they both found their release.

  “Nineteen, Sir!”

  “Last one, Koko.” Before giving her the final slap, he reached down and grabbed one of the condom packages, putting it between his teeth and ripping the foil open. His other hand lifted and fell right over the crack of her ass which was now glowing a beautiful shade of red. Quickly donning the latex barrier, he lined his cock up with her pussy. “Fast and furious, baby. I’m not going to be able to hold back. Get ready.”

  “Please! Yes!”

  He pushed forward, her heat enveloping and scorching him. With a swift thrust, he was buried to the hilt. Her gasps and moans filled the air and her tight walls were already starting to quiver around him. It wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge. Reaching around, his fingers found her clit and stroked it as he pumped his hips harder and faster, his pelvis bouncing off her tender ass. Her muscles seized as the orgasm hit her. It felt like the tightest fist had him in its grasp as he neared his own climax. When her keening lessened, he clutched both her hips and plunged deep over and over. “Fuck, baby! So tight! So fucking good! Ahhhhhhhh . . . fuuuuuccccckkkkkk!”

  His legs shook as he emptied his seed into the condom. Black and white spots danced in front of his closed eyelids, and he never wanted to leave her body. Damn, he was in trouble. He was falling for her—hard. But she hadn’t given him any indication this was anything more than just sex between them. She’d told him the other night she’d never slept with any of her partners before, and he believed her. However, they both knew he was only a temporary partner. When they caught the Kink Killer, she would go back to her job and a new case, and he would be sent on Trident’s next mission anywhere around the globe. Would that be the end of this . . . this relationship . . . or whatever it was? God, he hoped not—he wasn’t ready to let her go yet, and wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

  A thousand bees buzzed in Georgia’s head as she floated back to consciousness. Damn, she had to get a new bed. When had her mattress gotten so freaking hard? And where was her pillow? Blinking her eyelids, she tried to turn onto her side—she rarely slept on her back—but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Licking her dry lips, she tried again, but when her arms and legs stopped short, her eyes flew open. She was naked and in unfamiliar surroundings. Yanking harder on the restraints at her wrists and ankles, panic set in. Her heart raced in fear. Where the hell am I? What the fuck?

  Her gaze darted around the room she found herself in, as she tried to figure out where she was, how the hell she got there, along with a who, why, and what. The first thing she realized was she was alone in a concrete structure. There were no windows and only one closed door. Aside from the hospital-type bed she was tied to, there were a few wood cabinets to her left and a large leather and wood St. Andrew’s cross to her right. The floor, ceiling and wall around it were stained in brownish splatter and it wasn’t hard to figure out it was dry blood.

  Oh God! No! No! No! It couldn’t be! She’d been careful—well, careful enough—hadn’t she? There was no explanation she could think of other than she was in the lair of the Kink Killer. Maybe it’s a dream. Close your eyes and when you open them again you’ll see it’s nothing but a dream. Georgia knew her hopeful subconscious was wrong but she tried it anyway. When she opened her eyes again, bile rose to the back of her throat. Nope. It hadn’t made a difference. You’re in so much fucking trouble. Think. There’s got to be a way out of here . . . think!

  Georgia was about to scream for help, but without knowing if her abductor was outside waiting for her to wake up, she couldn’t risk drawing attention to that fact. Pausing to listen, the only thing she heard was the sound of rain, pouring from the sky. She tried to recall the last thing she’d been aware of before she’d found herself in this horrible nightmare. I was at the club . . . for . . . for Colleen’s birthday. I drove home . . . no, my car wouldn’t start. Master Devon was going to have his mechanics look at it. Tiny! Tiny drove me home. And she was almost positive he’d walked her to her door. After that, it was all a blur. Had Tiny done this? Was he the Kink Killer? No. Absolutely not. Besides, he’d driven away after you locked the door, hadn’t he? No, it wasn’t Tiny. Someone else had been inside the house. An image teased her mind, but she couldn’t bring it to the surface. Does it really fucking matter right now who it was? Figure out how to ge
t out of here and then worry about the details.

  Twisting her head to the left, she eyed the leather strap around her wrist. It was attached to a chain which snaked down behind the mattress. Pulling on it, she tried to twist her hand out to no avail. She couldn’t even make her two hands reach to try and use her fingers to release the buckle of the restraint. Glancing down, she yanked on the leather and chains connected to her ankles. If she could get her feet free, she might be able to move further up on the bed and give the arm restraints more slack to work with, but it was no use. Turning her attention to her right wrist, she tried to slide her hand out. While the leather was still snug, she felt it give a little more than the left one had. Twisting and pulling, she ignored the pain of her skin abrading, her mind focused on nothing else but getting the hell out of there before . . . before whoever had kidnapped her came back. She’d heard rumors of what the Kink Killer had done to his victims, and if she had to bite off her arm to prevent from being his next victim, then that’s what she was going to do.

  She hissed as the leather worked its way into her tender skin and blood began to ooze out. It hurt like hell, but the wetness was making it easier for her to move the restraint further down her wrist where the heel of her hand stopped it again. Having dislocated her thumb numerous times over her childhood years in gymnastics, popping it out of its socket was something she did when she wanted to gross people out. Of course, she hadn’t done it in a few years, but it wasn’t hard to do. Scooting up as far as the chains at her feet would allow, she angled her hand to hit the top of the short headboard. She had just enough slack to slam her hand against it. Once. Twice. The pop and pain that followed were nothing she hadn’t experienced before and she quickly went back to work, trying to slide her hand through the loosening leather. Her skin ripped more as she maneuvered her hand back and forth, pulling evenly instead of yanking.