Refresh

by Suzanne Steele

  Randy rounded the corner of the alley, turning to steal a glance over his shoulder. Somebody was following him. A shadow cascaded across the wall of the dilapidated building so rapidly that he barely saw it in his peripheral vision. Another shadow danced off an opposite wall and a barely discernable swooshing sound accompanied it, like a heavy curtain fluttering at an open window.

  The darkness synchronized an ominous choreography, the rhythm of which could be felt even if it couldn’t be seen. Panic flooded his system, short-circuiting all rational thought. The shadows dancing along the graffiti-stained walls kept his frantic mind distracted. He didn’t see the hooded figure until it was closing in on him.

  Razor stood over Randy, who was now crouched on the ground pleading for mercy that didn’t exist. “Come here, you stupid fuck.” Razor grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his knees. “I bring you greetings from all that is evil. You incompetent little shit. You sold those women to the enemy.”

  “B-but his money was as good as anyone else’s. Right?”

  “See, that’s why you were never more than a flunky. A fucking worker bee. You don’t know how to think strategically.” Razor stepped behind Randy and clamped an arm around his head, lifting his elbow to yank Randy’s chin up and reveal his scrawny neck.

  “Your.” He jammed the knife deep into Randy’s neck, just next to his jugular, ignoring how the man’s arms and legs jerked and flailed. “Services.” Gripping the knife, he began to pull. “Are.” Slowly, he severed the jugular. “No longer.” Razor reveled in the spray of crimson blood as it arced into the air and splattered against the graffitied wall. “Required.” A final, vicious tug on the knife nearly severed the head. Randy’s mortal form was no more, his body a mere carcass of soon-to-be-rotting flesh. However, his doomed soul endured, and he felt the flames licking at him as he entered the lake of fire in the abyss of hell. He had sold his soul to the devil and today was payday.

  Razor shoved Randy’s body to the ground and glanced up to admire the blood dripping down the wall. He had handled the switchblade with the ease and expertise of a lifelong psycho. He could work a switchblade like a magician, make it disappear and reappear so quickly that his enemies never saw it coming. Razor knew most people were more afraid of knives than of guns. He liked the up-close-and-personal experience a knife gave him and his victims; an intimate merging of two people in the moments before one of them entered death.

  And besides, each death increased his power, allowing him to absorb his victim’s life source as he watched the light fade from their eyes. There was that moment, that instant, when you could observe the soul leaving a body just by watching the person’s eyes. First it was there, then it wasn’t. The experience was euphoric, every time; the kind of high that far surpassed any drug that could be bought or sold.

  Razor was a collector of knives and lives. Mortals were such stupid, vapid, useless fuck-ups. Didn’t they understand that nothing came without a price? If you were going to take a walk on the dark side then you had better know what you were getting into. He grinned. Demons were a temperamental bunch.

  He reached down and jerked the gold necklace from where the chain had become submerged deep within the severed flesh. The sight of the gaping wound and the feel of warm, slick blood on his hands made his dick hard. Damn…he was one sick pup. He smiled at the thought.

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He had gained the favor of The Dark One for completing the job. He wasn’t ready to meet his own fate just yet. There was still so much that remained to be done. He was always looking ahead. A killer’s true nature can only be sated for so long before it cries out for more blood.

  A woman’s shrill scream let him know that it was time to get the fuck out of Dodge. He hadn’t noticed the two people enter the alley and he wondered how long they’d been there. In seconds, the man was long gone, but Razor paused long enough to look at the woman so he could identify her later.

  The hooker’s john had taken off running when he saw the man lying in a pool of blood and the enormous, knife-wielding, hooded figure looming over the body. Hell, he hadn’t bargained for all that drama; he had only wanted a blowjob. The hooker, on the other hand, was frozen with fear at seeing a stranger nearly decapitated.

  As Razor removed himself from the scene, his raucous, sadistic laughter echoed through the dark alley. He was replete with satisfaction for a job well done. Once again Razor would get away with murder. He decided that if life was this good, then death must be downright heavenly. If he’d only known how very mistaken he was…

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So what are you now, the teacher’s pet?”

  Electra whipped around so fast Amy never saw it coming. She did, however, feel her feet flailing a couple of inches off the exercise mats as Electra, in a surge of strength that she would later find baffling, grabbed her by the neck and slammed her against the wall and held her there.

  “I’ve had a real bad week, Amy. You really shouldn’t fuck with me.”

  The other women stared in disbelief but their trainer was smiling with glee. She wondered if everybody in the house was sadistically fucked up and crazy, because so far it sure seemed like it. “Put her down.” Her voice was deceptively soft, and mesmerizing in its authoritativeness.

  Electra’s fingers unclenched and she let go, stepping away as Amy’s body slid down the wall into a puddle of ‘I think I proved my point, bitch’.

  “Hi, ladies, my name’s Zar. I’m your personal trainer, and I have to say I’m particularly looking forward to working with you, Electra. I can definitely understand what Inc sees in you.”

  “That’s the whole problem: Inc’s singling me out. He’s doing a damn good job of making sure everyone hates me.”

  Electra studied the 5’11”, firmly muscled, platinum blonde goddess standing in front of her and felt an inexplicable spark of jealousy. The irrational burst of emotion flared in the center of her chest like someone had struck a damn match. Zar was a beautiful woman with spectacular tits that made even straight-laced Electra feel a twinge of sexual curiosity. Inc was a gorgeous man. Even their names sounded good together. They had fucked. Of course they had fucked. Not that it mattered to her. Because it didn’t. At all.

  “Always remember, Electra, that things are not always what they seem.” Zar smiled as if she knew something Electra didn’t.

  “Why does everybody keep telling me that?” Electra asked, exasperated.

  “Well, if you’re hearing that a lot, you have to wonder if there may be some truth to it.” The woman’s voice was soothing, somehow washing away all of Electra’s stress. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about Zar with Inc–wait, what?! Electra told herself she wasn’t worried; no, she was simply glad to know there was a voice of reason in this house of madness after all. That was all it could be, this feeling of serenity that had suddenly settled over her.

  “Chop, chop, girls,” Zar declared as she clapped her hands twice to get their attention. “Time to get to work.” The next hour and a half would be spent trying to survive a grueling session of P90X.

  Inc laughed to himself as he stood on the other side of the gym’s two-way mirror, observing the women’s varying degrees of physical endurance. Now, that shit was hilarious. The Celtic and African-American beauties had collapsed onto their backs and were resisting Zar’s efforts to get them back in the game. On the other hand, Electra moved like a gazelle, effortlessly moving through difficult maneuvers and barely breaking a sweat.

  He focused on Electra as Zar worked with the group for a few more minutes. Electra was perfect for what he had planned, just as he’d known she would be. She was a natural. By the time she was through training she’d be an absolute badass. Now there was just the tricky matter of returning the other women to their normal lives. That could get complicated. It was time to call in the legitimates–well, as legitimate as mortals could manage when dealing with matters of a questionable nature.

  His eyes wander
ed back to the object of his obsession. His eyes narrowing when Zar shot an amused glance toward the mirror. The muscle-bound Amazon was up to something and there was nothing Inc could do about it without revealing his presence. And, judging by the twinkle in her eyes, she fucking knew it, too.

  With another impish glance at the mirror, Zar moved in close behind Electra to help her through a series of stretches during the cool down. She deliberately grazed her hand along Electra’s hip and reached her other arm around her torso to cross her chest. With her forearm pressed against Electra’s breasts, Zar helped support Electra’s arm as it extended high over her head in a deep side-bend.

  “Hands off what’s mine, you little minx,” he snarled quietly, knowing mere walls wouldn’t keep his menacing thoughts from reaching Zar. “I’m not sharing this one, so back off.” As expected, she stepped away from Electra with her hands playfully raised in surrender. Electra frowned in confusion as she straightened from the stretch.

  Zar led the women through a final sequence of moves, this time making a point of turning Electra away from the mirrored wall. With a smirk in Inc’s direction, she called out instructions. Electra spread her feet wide apart, bent over, and put her palms flat on the floor.

  Inc groaned. He knew that, in her twisted way, Zar was trying to make up for teasing him earlier. He didn’t know whether to thank her for the spectacular view…or kill her for making him endure it from afar.

  Obsession was a new experience for Inc. Usually, the mortal women whose dreams he joined would get attached and not know how to let go and move on. With a modicum of effort that was, in his humble opinion, in no way representative of his considerable sexual prowess, he and his cock ruined mortal women for anyone else. After being fucked properly by an Immortal, they would spend the rest of their lives sexually frustrated by timid, well-intentioned husbands and lovers whose polite approach to coupling simply didn’t get the job done. They would go about their boring lives, nursing the quiet, aching regret that came from knowing they would never feel truly filled and used by a man again. Poor things.

  This time, Inc felt like he was the one who’d been ruined, and he hadn’t even fucked her yet. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this unchartered territory in which he found himself with Electra. So he decided to do what he did so well: take control.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Wolf was an old soul who liked to think he was young at heart; a complete contradiction in terms. With his faded jeans and well-worn boots, he looked more like a biker than a detective for the Louisville PD, when it came to getting inside the criminal mind, he was old school all the way. When he worked a case, he was tenacious like a dog–or in this case, a wolf–with a bone. Once he had his teeth dug into a case there was no letting go. If it meant crossing lines, bending rules (he tried to not outright break ‘em) or beating the shit out of a perp to get information? So be it.

  “Wolf, may I have a word with you, please?”

  Well, shit. The boss was pissed and no amount of professionalism and manners could conceal it.

  He sauntered into his boss’ office, the epitome of nonchalance. Tousled chestnut brown hair framed a face that was haggard after years of seeing the worst of humanity firsthand, and yet was beautiful in its own way: hazel eyes; square jaw; firm lips.

  He lowered himself into his usual chair and braced mentally–and with more than a little wishful thinking–for the prospect of facing a stereotypical, clichéd, caricature of a boss: a gruff-looking face that turned red when angered, with ponderous jowls that shook like a hound dog with every word spoken. Maybe a pot belly that loomed over the desk from too many Krispy-Kremes.

  Yeah, not…

  What he was in reality looking at was a curvy 5’10, blonde Puerto-Rican Barbie doll with all the class of a blueblood and the brains of an well-educated nerd–and the surgically enhanced tits of a centerfold. Damn, she was hot AF. He started at the top of her pulled-back-into-a-twist, professionally dyed blonde hair, skimmed over the blue eyes that had him going all poetic about the color of the summer sky, worked his way over her perfectly surgically enhanced nose, down to the full lips that made his cock aspire to particularly dirty, nasty, vile things, before coming to rest on her full designer-suit-clad breasts that he wanted to knead again to experience how real they felt.

  She made no bones about the fact that her pieces and parts had been surgically enhanced. As far as she and her nipped-and-tucked, blueblood friends were concerned, the horror wasn’t plastic surgery, it was getting the wrong fucking surgeon. Getting good work done was a matter of pride in her circle. Her Puerto-Rican roots added to her sexiness and when she went off on him in Spanish–whether it be in anger or while she was cumming all over his face–it made his cock so hard, the thing fucking hurt.

  He’d looked her name’s meaning up out of curiosity one time and damn did it ever fit: queen. Her family considered themselves bluebloods, having become rich in the bakery business of all things. He wondered if the reason she’d become a cop was to infuriate her pompous father, but at the end of the day she was Daddy’s princess and what Vasilisa wanted, Vasilisa got. She may be a princess to her daddy, but yeah, to Wolf she was a damn queen.

  She tapped her acrylic, talon-like nails on the purpleheart desk that she had insisted on when she got her promotion to the big corner office. The sound pulled him back to the here and now. She got right to the point. “The mayor is breathing down my neck all the way to my ass over these missing college students. What do you plan on doing to rectify that situation for me?”

  He burst out laughing before he realized that, no, she wasn’t trying to entertain him with anal cavity puns. The raucous sound caused her to frown and purse her lips in a way that sent a jolt of ‘I better find these women’ up his backbone. It was crunch time.

  He sat up straight and the dead serious look in his eyes reminded her that she knew the wolf in Wolf better than anyone, and that he was ready to do whatever was needed. There was never any doubt in her mind that his natural competitive edge would kick in now that the eye-fucking was over.

  “By the time the fucking week is up, those women will be seated around their dining room tables eating with family.”

  This time it was Vasilisa squeezing her knees together beneath the desk where they couldn’t be seen. It was time to get him the fuck out of here before she took the conversation in a very different and entirely inappropriate direction. She knew Wolf would do what he always did: the job no one else could do.

  “Very well,” she said and turned her attention to the paperwork on her desk, brushing him aside like a bothersome fly. He cleared his throat and stood, palming the desk and leaning over to give her the stabby-eyed look he always did when she tried to pull that ‘I’m so out of your league’ bullshit.

  “I’ll leave when I fucking want to, Reinaita,” he practically growled, invoking the translation for ‘little queen’. Though ‘ita’ at the end of a Spanish word was usually a term of endearment, she wasn’t feeling the love at the moment.

  The realization that he must have looked up the meaning of her name and came up with how own variation stole her breath and her façade of control wavered. A predatory smile crossed his features and when he was satisfied that he’d made his point, he strode confidently back to his desk. Theirs was a battle of wills. It always had been, always would be–and he’d won that round.

  Her leather chair upholstery creaked as she leaned back in her chair. A smiled teased her lips as she nibbled lightly on the end of her pen and enjoyed the view. Leather jacket, jeans that fit in all the right places, and kick-ass leather boots that would be the undoing of anyone stupid enough to get in his way.

  Wolf was the drug that hit the pleasure zone in her brain like a heat-seeking missile and nothing was ever going to change that. It was just one more thing that drove Daddy Dearest crazy. Good thing she was Daddy’s little princess.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wolf plopped his boots up on his desk with a shit-e
ating grin on his face.

  “You’re quite proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Ignoring the question, he wadded up a piece of paper and dunked it into a wastebasket that had a toy hoop over it. “Two points.” He straightened in his chair, his feet hitting the cheap linoleum flooring. He directed his attention toward the computer.

  “So you’re going to ignore me. Nice.”

  “You really need to start announcing yourself rather than walking through walls and shit, dear sister.” Now he directed his attention toward the corner of the room. “You know, Fey, it’s kind of creepy how you suddenly appear out of nowhere. I hope like hell you aren’t watching me fuck my boss.”

  “A lady always knows when to leave.”

  The comment twisted his heart like a vice. His sister Fey had been killed two years ago, and her choice to exit gracefully had been brutally stripped from her.

  Brother and sister had been named after characters from the paranormal romance novels their mother had loved so much. The names suited them. Fey had lived in her own fairytale world where she had believed, mistakenly, that there would be no consequences for her high-risk lifestyle. As a detective, Wolf’s profession allowed him to capitalize on his predatory nature.

  It wasn’t until the snow globe went whizzing past his head and crashed into the wall that he realized just how angry she was. Her perfectly lined lips flattened into a straight line and her hazel eyes had taken on a red hue, as if they were lit from within. Not good.

  “I happen to like her,” she said. “I’ve told you exactly where these women are and who has them. Why do you string her along like you do?”

  “Fuck, Fey! That was my favorite snow globe. She gave it to me on our honeymoon.”

  “That’s what you get for hiding the fact that you two are married. Her father has enough pull in this town to make certain it doesn’t cause either of you career problems.”