“I never intended it to be.”
My back squeaks through the cooling blood. Jack lets go of my throat to pull my wig and cap off, tossing them away across the floor. He grips my hair in a tight fist and wrenches my head back to expose my neck to his bites and kisses. And he fucks me. He fucks me like this is all he’s ever wanted to do. Like he’s taking something forbidden.
Like he craves me.
“If this plan works…” I say in a breathless voice as I drag my hand through the blood gathered on the floor. Jack leans back to study me, the deep thrusts continuing unabated, his expression one of furious need. I grin as I paint a diagonal smear over his heart, and then another to make an ‘X’. “Then I will have won Thunderdome.”
Jack scoffs, slowing the glide of his cock as he grips my hair and bands his arm around my back. He lifts me so that I’m straddling him as he kneels in the crimson pool. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m the one who killed him.”
“And as usual, that wouldn’t have been possible without me.” Jack opens his mouth to argue, but I seal his lips with a bloody finger. “Oh and by the way, if another woman even imagines touching you, I’ll cut off her fucking hands and feed them to you. And then I’ll take her precious hyoid and crush it, and I’ll enjoy every fucking second of forcing you to watch as I flush it down the goddamn toilet. Understand, petal?”
I bat my lashes with an innocent pout and grip Jack’s shoulder with one hand as I impale myself on his thick erection, spreading my hips wide to take him deeply with every thrust. I want him to fucking destroy me. To tear me apart, to fucking annihilate me because I will keep coming back, forever the unquenchable fire that clashes with his indestructible darkness.
Jack tightens his grip on my hair and his eyes go black when I lay my bloody finger on my tongue and seal my lips around it. He tilts my head back and nips at my neck, hard enough to mark me. His lips drink in the salted mist on my skin, carving a path down my throat, down my chest until he envelops my nipple, sucking on it hard, lavishing it with his tongue before releasing it with a scrape of his teeth that has me gasp.
“Diabolical… and duly noted,” he says. “But there’s only one woman’s screams I care to hear.” Jack bites the side of my breast just hard enough to coax a squeak past my lips and he chuckles. “Lille mejer, you can do better than that.”
Jack slams us back down on the bloody floor but protects my head with his hand, the air whooshing from my lungs with the impact, my breath claimed by his waiting lips. I lose myself to the feeling of his skin and muscle beneath my fingers as they dig into his back, to the pain and pleasure of the bites he soothes with kisses, to the vicious thrusts that fill my aching pussy. His distinctive scent of vetiver floods my senses as I kiss his neck and taste his skin. When my channel tightens around his cock, Jack twists his hand in my hair, keeping me right where he wants me as he stares down into my face.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and he watches every moment of the release that spins through my core. I come apart with my back lifting from the blood, chanting a hymn of Jack’s name that sounds as much like ecstasy as it does a despairing cry. I swear I can feel every caress of metal in my pussy, every drop of heat as Jack spills into me with a roar. Every beat of his heart.
And we lay on the bloody tiles for a long while, as silent as the body in our midst, three souls claimed on the twenty-fifth floor.
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THIRTEEN
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STRIKE OF THE WHEEL
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JACK
The difficulty with body disposal when you’re trying to not dispose of a body is location selection.
Too obvious, and you look like an amateur. Too hidden…and it could take years to uncover.
And we need Sebastian Modeo discovered and connected to the Silent Slayer within days, not years.
I toss the shovel in the back of my Beamer, hand braced on the trunk as I halt at the inclusive we to my thoughts. I imagine Kyrie would point it out, one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raised in mock astonishment. Then she’d twist the knife in with a taunting dig.
But she’d look sexy as hell while she tortured me.
A rare smile hooks the corner of my mouth and I slam the trunk closed despite the self-closing mechanism, just to silence the manic drum of my heart. Which hasn’t stopped tearing through my chest wall since I claimed Kyrie in a pool of Sebastian’s blood.
The real shame in this spurious venture is the perfectly good bones I’m leaving to be picked over by the vultures. Sebastian’s skull would make a prized piece in my trophy case; a memento to remind me of staring into her beautiful blue eyes as I slashed his throat.
That moment was almost as orgasmic as feeling Kyrie’s tight little pussy pulse around my cock as she lost her mind to pleasure.
Almost.
But fucking hell, I haven’t stopped thinking about either since.
The early morning air is brittle with the pure scent of cold. My breath plumes the air as I round the car to the driver’s side, the fresh cover of snow crunching beneath my boots. The tufts of white are illuminated in a pale sheen by the hunter’s moon.
The same moon I was born under.
From the pits of my memory, I hear the strike of the lighter wheel. Feel the numbness blanket my body while I lay in wait beneath the soft snow. Then the silky slip of blood warms my hands, bringing feeling to my skin and the rest of my limbs, awakening a ravenous hunger that would never be satiated from that point forward.
My first kill.
The numb feeling I was already accustomed to. Shallow affect anaesthetizes emotions, psychopathy deadens empathy. While lying beneath that blanket of snow, the cold felt more like home than any four walls and the people who dwelled within. But the kill…
The moment I felt sharp steel slice through flesh and tendon, my dead zones came alive. Hearing the ragged gasps for air, staring into the blown pupils as terror infused the final seconds… That broke through every frozen, numb layer encasing me.
The first time I ever felt sheer, euphoric ecstasy.
At fourteen, the Teflon encasing me cracked just enough to accelerate my heart rate. Adrenaline slammed my adrenals. The rush was addictive. It was the closest I could imagine to feeling.
And I knew I would never stop.
Unlike Kyrie, I wasn’t made. I was born to take lives. Designed to kill without remorse. The lust for the hunt was coded in my DNA at conception. I’ve been a lone wolf my entire life, moving from one contingency plan to the next, my only companion the relentless hunger for the kill.
I slip behind the wheel and key the engine, leaving our victim and thoughts of the past buried beneath a shallow coat of snow on the side of the highway that will melt with daybreak.
All frozen things thaw in the warmth of the sun.
I’ve never once fathomed what it would be like to take life with a partner.
Now, suddenly, I’m having a difficult time picturing my life without her by my side doing exactly that.
I admit, Kyrie has a sound plan. If Agent Hayes needs a killer to chase, then giving him a thread from the Slayer’s past will tickle his obsession.
Most killers don’t change their MO—but it’s not unheard of.
I never thought I’d change mine, a ruthless creature of habit.
Yet here I am, risking everything—my freedom, my life—to keep a girl safe, and thinking about how my blood blisters my veins in anticipation for our next kill.
