The Bounty Hunters: The Marino Bros.: Box Set

by MJ Nightingale

  Andreas cocked his head to the side. He felt a trickle of fear himself. He did not like the idea of her being alone. He could hire some men to protect her as well. He was about to suggest it, when she began speaking. She must have misinterpreted his silence.

  She started. “Well, I meant if I was out I could get alerted as well that someone was here and not put myself in danger. I don’t expect to be babysat twenty-four hours a day.” Her spine stiffened.

  Her ire had come up, and he did not want to ruin the progress they had made, so instead he decided to show her the rest of the security features. “I understand. Let me show you the other cameras and their locations.”

  Catarina followed him through her apartment. She was nervous though, she had to admit to herself, as she looked where he pointed. Even with the high tech equipment. The cameras were disguised amongst her things. One attached to a wall sconce, one on an adornment added to a curtain rod provided panoramic images of the living room. One on top of her steel refrigerator scanned the kitchen. Then he indicated two more at each end of the hallway leading to her bedrooms. There was a camera in each of her guest rooms and one in her bedroom. “You will be able to disable the one in your master bedroom if you wish.” He coughed and looked away when her eyes searched his face. He felt uncomfortable suddenly in her very simple, pristinely white yet feminine bedroom. It suited her. There were not a lot of decorations or adornments throughout the entire apartment. No pictures. He knew why, but would not comment on it.

  She interrupted his thoughts by throwing her purse onto the white duvet that covered her large bed. “Not to worry, I do not have guests here.”

  That startled Andreas. She made it sound like she never had anyone over. He looked at her as she began to open drawers and select items from them. He couldn’t help but notice the white satin she was holding. He looked away. He presumed it was some kind of nightwear, but did not want to imagine any more. He was already trying to get the image of her with other men, many men, out of his mind. He didn’t want the image to be further detailed by imagining her in silk, satin and lace. Fuck! Too late. He was imagining that now too. But instead of other men, she was walking towards him wearing those things. He felt himself stirring.

  Clearing his throat and dragging his eyes away from her hands gently pulling garments out of her drawers, he spoke. “I’ll give you some space,” he spoke the words gruffly, more so than he intended. “I’ll call the security company to see if the permits came in so they can put the electronics and wiring in for the system to go live.”

  Smiling, Cat only nodded and resumed selecting a few changes of clothes.

  Escaping her room, Andreas let out a shaky breath. He was dumbfounded at his reaction to this woman. He was a virile man, and enjoyed the opposite sex, and having it with them, but he never mixed business with pleasure. When he was in the mood, he sought out his entertainments. He wondered why she was different. He presumed it was because of the connection to his parents’ murders and Romeo. His guilt had eaten away at him for years. He didn’t want any more blood spilled because he hadn’t been able to catch this psychopath. Shaking his head now that his libido was once more under control, he pulled out his phone and called the security company.

  He found out the permits would be in the next day, just as her cry tore him back into her bedroom. Cat was backing out of the bathroom, and she was shaking, her body heaving, and when she turned she launched herself into his arms. Andreas wrapped his arms around her, but peered over her head into the room she had come out of. He could see the red lettering scrawled across the wall? It read, “Where are you, beautiful? You won’t escape me again.” He pushed her aside even though she was still trembling. He wanted a closer look. The handwriting was familiar, very familiar.

  Backing out of the bathroom he gathered her back into his arms. Her back was to him, her shoulders bent in exhaustion, and fear. She was still trembling and he felt the tension in her body. Andreas, seeing those words, made a decision. Security or no security, until Romeo was caught, she was staying with him. He soothed her as best he could. She had turned in his arms, and pressed herself up tightly against him. Grabbing at his shirt and shaking her head, she was like a child trying to push back a nightmare.

  “Hush, It’s gonna be okay. I will get him. I promise. Come on. Let’s get out of here. We will call the police down stairs and I’ll take you home. You are going to stay with me until we find him. I can’t risk you coming back here.”

  Blood boiling because of his anger, and the feel of her in his arms, he had to admit he knew one thing that was certain; Sal Mazzelli wasn’t going to touch her, not with one fucking finger.

  Chapter 14

  Rage

  Rage, like nothing he had ever experienced tore through his soul. Sal choked back the sobs that threatened to reveal him and his hiding location. He panicked when she had not come home by ten last night. Since her neighbors had returned and his urges had overtaken him once more, he was desperate to see her. Last night, he had come to the parking garage in the hopes of seeing her. He had come two other times on his nights off. Both times her car was already parked and he had not gotten the glimpse he desired. But last night he had been hopeful. He had hidden behind two parked cars near where he knew she parked her small silver Mustang.

  From the layer of dust on the cars he was squatting behind, and the coverings on the wheels to protect them from the Florida weather, he knew they belonged to snowbirds. But she had not come; her car was not in its place and he had waited all night. He knew from watching her for months what she did for a living, sometimes even risked following her during the day to her destinations, but she always came home. Only on occasion had she been out late. He had panicked then too. But she had come home to sleep alone and that pleased him. She wasn’t the slut she had once been. And back then she had been forced.

  But when she did not return at all last night, his imagination went wild with irritation and then fury. He was desperate to see her, to know where she was, with whom she was spending her time. He imagined all kinds of things. The worst things she could do to betray him. Like spreading those milky thighs for one of her Johns. Yes, he knew what she did for a living. He had overheard her having a phone conversation once.

  He went home when the sun was coming up and he was unable to sleep. He even called in sick from work for the next night, something he had never done before. He needed to keep his vigil, find his beauty. He had an old jacket from one of his past jobs, and he rolled it up and tucked it under his arm. The faded blue jacket simply read repairman. It would have to do. He would put it on once he got past the front door and the lobby.

  He combed his course hair back, now a faded brown in color from age and a box of cheap dye. Using gel and water gave it a slick appearance, he went without his usual ball cap. His plan was to simply walk into the building telling the doorman he had forgotten his wallet inside his janitorial closet and show his ID.

  And it worked. Beautifully.

  The man allowed him to pass no questions asked. He went directly to the floor he worked on in case someone saw what floor he stopped on. He got out, and then took the stairs to Cat’s floor up two flights. He saw right away workmen coming and going out of her apartment, and quickly turned around and went back to the stairwell. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about what to do next. It looked like those men were leaving. When he glanced through the small window in the door to gaze down the corridor, he knew his assumption was correct. They were packing up.

  “We’ll have to come back tomorrow and finish the wiring and alarm the system after we get the permits.” One of the men huffed as he carried a large silver case and placed it outside the apartment door. Noticing his friend already in the elevator, he picked it up once more, calling, “Ralph. Hold the elevator.”

  The man inside the open elevator swung his beefy hand out and held the doors that were beginning to slide shut twisting himself around the large rolling cart that was loaded down wit
h equipment. The man with the heavy silver case pulled Cat’s door shut, but in his haste he rushed and did not wait for the door to close all the way.

  Sal prayed. He pulled back and took several steadying breaths. Stay calm he repeated, still not knowing what he would do next. Catarina was getting a security system. That much was obvious. It bothered him. Did she know he had been watching her, or was it just the murders of her girls that prompted this? And the note he had taped to her door? He did not know. How was he going to get close to her now? He chanced another look and the elevator was gone. The light above indicated it was going down.

  He took the opportunity to walk by her apartment still not knowing what to do. He could leave her another note perhaps. As he passed thinking about what he should say, once more his heart leapt into his throat. Her door was ajar. He touched the handle, and it felt warm. His blood turned to fire. He pushed and it opened silently. He heard the elevator ping announcing an arrival and made his decision rashly. He went inside and quickly and quietly closed the door behind him glancing around her living room. All was quiet. He was in! Her fucking sanctuary. His cock began to stiffen in his pants. He closed his eyes and imagined her here greeting him in nothing but a thong, perky breasts and tight nipples as she opened her arms to him. His cock was harder than stone, the fantasy so real.

  But he couldn’t enjoy it for long. Someone might return, and he wanted to explore. Sighing, he opened up his eyes. He recognized the floor plan. He went directly to her bedroom, knowing he could touch her things. It was a good thing too. He was half way down the hallway when he heard a man’s voice by the door, “I had to check. I wasn’t sure I locked it.”

  “Good thing you did,” came another voice. “Andreas would have had our asses, let alone the boss.” Then the voices began to fade as a bead of perspiration trickled down his face. He was frozen in place. He waited a minute, or longer. He wasn’t sure. His eyes closed tightly until his heart returned to normal. He took several calming breaths, and he inhaled her scent. It washed over him, and he was able to open his eyes once more. He was in her apartment surrounded by her things, her essence. Then slowly he walked to her bedroom. This door was open too. He was in her fucking room. There was her bed. He took it all in, turning and smiling, feeling closer to her than he had ever been. His eyes feasted and his hands began their exploration. He touched her perfume bottles, her decorative bits, her remote control. He imagined he was touching her. This was the room he had only seen at night in the dark with the only light coming from the glow of her television. He approached the bed, legs trembling. He ran his hand over her comforter. White and soft like her skin. He looked at it a moment longer and then climbed on, careful to keep his feet off the side. He sank into its softness and imagined himself sinking in to her.

  He could feel himself getting hard again. He wanted to jerk off and he would, he thought smiling as best he could, feeling the pull at the corners of his mouth. He forced himself to not smile remembering his dad yelling at him, calling him clown face. He didn’t want to think of his father now, so he quickly got off the bed, and went directly to her chest of drawers. He wanted something. A token of her. He opened drawer after drawer until he found it. Her underwear. He took a pair of silk underwear from the bottom of the pile in case she missed something. Then he went to the bathroom. Standing over the toilet he quickly fiddled with his pants. He pulled out his already engorged cock, and began to stroke himself with one hand. He lifted her silky pale blue panties to his face with his other hand and inhaled deeply. Sandalwood. He exploded on the spot. His cock grew lifeless in his hand. It was over too soon. He used her underwear to clean himself up and the feel of it on his already sensitive shaft had him semi aroused once more. My God, what a thrill. He stuffed the underwear deep into his pocket.

  He turned once more and saw a flash of red. A tube of lipstick. He was tempted to put some on, to imagine she had kissed him and left the proof on his lips. He touched his face, and imagined her doing that. When he opened his eyes he looked at the pristine white tile behind him in the shower. He would leave her a message. Yes, Catarina, his love, needed to know he missed her. Sorely.

  He scrawled the message across the tile, and then left her room, her apartment, and the building. Taking the elevator straight down to the lobby, he waved his wallet at the doorman twenty-five minutes later than when he had entered. The doorman nodded briefly still standing at his usual spot waiting to open the door for someone.

  Making his way to back to the parking garage, he waited. All day.

  * * *

  Each time he got impatient he took out her panties and inhaled. He wished his come wasn’t on them, but he could still smell the sandalwood. It soothed him for a while.

  But by ten the fury was upon him once more. Two days. Where was she? Probably holed up in a hotel somewhere he tried to tell himself. He was about to give up when he saw lights. The lights of a car approaching and relief swept through him. But it wasn’t her. It was that old couple who lived next door. They were chatting about a movie they had just seen. And in an instant he was angry once more. It was all their fault.

  If they had not returned to Florida so soon, he would never have had to go back to killing girls. Imagining they were Catarina. But they weren’t her. Just poor substitutes at best. They didn’t have her eyes and they didn’t look on him kindly like she had. They screamed and yelled and called him names. Said he was a monster. Looked at his lip and turned away in disgust. She had never turned from him. She had seen beyond his deformity. Even his own father had been ashamed of him. But not her. Not Catarina.

  It was his rage that made him do it. He followed them. He had his jacket on, and in the elevator he politely nodded. The old woman looked away quickly. He murmured to the old man. “There is a light out on the tenth floor. Just checking the wiring.” The old man nodded seemingly buying his story.

  He allowed them to get out first.

  “I don’t see a light out,” the old woman spoke the words as he followed behind them.

  “Doesn’t look like it. I’ll just walk the hall, ma’am. Make sure.” He bobbed his head at them when they both turned around to gaze at him over their stooped shoulders.

  Mr. Burbank pulled out his key and inserted it into the lock. The handle began to turn Sal noticed as he peered over his shoulder now. He’d walked about six feet past them. As soon as the door opened he rushed them, and forced them inside. The old woman fell to the floor and the old man stumbled onto one knee.

  Sal kicked the door behind him. “What the hell?” the old man muttered out of breath. Sal reached for the lamp on the table. It was close, and with all his force smashed it on the man’s head. The old woman screamed and tried to reach him from her position on the floor. He pulled back his leg and kicked her. He heard the crunch of steel toe boots meeting her head. She collapsed and was quiet. But the old man was stirring.

  Sal rushed to the kitchen, and grabbed a knife out of the butcher block and ran back. He plunged the knife into the old man’s gut and twisted. The man didn’t even scream. Just let out a gush of air as his eyes stared at him in fear, and then the life went out of him. Blood poured from the wound and Sal pulled out the knife and plunged once more for good measure. Glassy accusatory eyes stared back at him. Straddling the old man, Sal inhaled the scent of the blood.

  The thrill of the kill had him breathing hard, but he had to be sure the woman was dead. He walked over to her and looked down. She was breathing. But not for long.

  He grabbed her by the hair, and pulled. She groaned, but was still semi-unconscious. He dragged her down the hallway, and half way he felt her begin to fight back, and cry. He stopped and helped her to her feet, and showed her the bloody knife. She began to cry louder and tried to turn. But he held fast.

  “Shush now Mrs. Burbank, he’s already dead. And you will join him soon.” His crooked smile, the evilness she saw in his eyes, and his confession sent her into hysterics. She began to cry louder, but his arms like steel
pulled her along unwillingly. He was at the door to her bedroom, and with one push he threw her across the room. She toppled onto her bed. In an instant he was on her. He backhanded her with the hand holding the knife leaving a spray of blood across the window. Her head twisted sideways and she was unconscious once more. Climbing off of her, he pulled up her dress, and pulled her panties down and then he fumbled with his own pants and climbed back on. He needed to do this. He always did.

  * * *

  When he finished he stabbed the whimpering woman several times while watching her eyes until she was silent. The eyes were the mirrors to the soul. In them you could see if a person was good or bad. Evil or kind. This woman was evil. They all had been. His father had been. Only two people had never shown disgust in their eyes. Catarina and his mother, God rest her weary broken soul. He reached for his pants on the floor, and took out his jack knife from the pocket. He looked at Mrs. Burbank, and then placed one hand on her face. Using his knife, he cut with precision. First removing one eye, and then the next. Oh God, she was a disgusting, filthy pig. He tossed the eyeballs onto the floor. Those eyes were not the ones he wanted to see. They were not grey. And they were not kind.

  Afterwards he went into the bathroom and removed his clothes. They were a bloody mess. He dropped them onto the floor, and climbed into the older couple’s shower. He would bag his clothes later and take them home to burn. He would wear some of the old man’s clothes to get out.

  After he was dressed, he looked at the mess on the bed. He dipped two fingers into the woman’s wound in her stomach and using her own blood scrawled his message on the wall. Something his father had always said. He had told him many a time that he was cute as a baby, but now, he would spit, and then finish his statement; “Beautiful, No more.” His father had said that about him. But to Sal, now, it meant something else. The beautiful people, the ones who despised him for no reason than a stiff upper lip, were no more.