The Risk (Mindf*ck Series #1)

by Abby, S. T.

  Even if they did hear, they’d keep walking. That’s what people do. They tell themselves they’ll just die too. They tell themselves their life is more precious than the person dying close to their feet.

  They just don’t give a fuck, in short.

  A dark smile curves my lips as he stares up at me in surprised horror.

  He came into this alley as the predator.

  He’ll die as the prey.

  I tug the sweatshirt over my head, careful not to disturb my blonde wig from its careful placement on my head. I toss it into the dumpster, then shrug out of my sweatpants, revealing the dress I had concealed, and tug on my heels.

  It’s time to do what I came to do and quit fucking with the scum in the dark that people try to run from. The monsters in here can’t compare to the monster I am.

  A few eyes swing toward me, but I’m not concerned as I strut by them.

  No one will talk about the blonde hooker that just killed a man with very little effort. They’ll pretend they never saw a thing.

  Even the groups of guys scatter away, stumbling over their feet in their haste. A gun is tucked into the backs of most of their jeans, but they just saw me gut a guy with his own knife. I’m sure they’re not feeling too confident the same won’t happen to them.

  True story: Most people are more terrified when they see a knife than when they see a gun. It’s a psychological thing, but it works out in my favor at the moment.

  I turn the corner, emerging from the long alleyway onto the busy sidewalk. No one even bats an eye or notices me through the hustle and bustle as I toss the bloody gloves into my purse.

  The darkness helps.

  I smirk as I see Lawrence stepping out of the building, and I cross the street and slow my pace, letting him get behind me.

  Lawrence is predictable.

  He’s also a pervert.

  A sick feeling and the taste of bile rises in my throat when the predictable happens. A warm hand is suddenly on my ass, and I whip my head around, trying to act surprised.

  “You,” he says, grinning. “Thought that was you. No blind date tonight?” He grins like his joke is hilarious.

  I bat my lashes at him, and start tugging on his tie, even though my stomach is ready to explode with disgust.

  “No date tonight. You trying to pick me up, pretty boy?” I ask with that fake southern drawl I used the last time I was dressed like this.

  “I think you must have wanted me to pick you up. New York is too big to run into each other by chance twice,” he says smugly, smirking down at me.

  “Maybe it’s just fate.”

  His smirk bleeds into a leering grin.

  “Your place or mine?”

  “Well, that was easy enough.” I arch an eyebrow, leading him by his tie as I start guiding him to a parking garage.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My car is just around the block,” I say sweetly.

  Parked in a parking garage with no cameras. I leave that juicy morsel out of the conversation.

  “You’re the kind of girl that makes a guy do something dangerous like get into a car with a stranger,” he says, though there’s a hint of teasing in his tone, as though he finds me too weak to be of any danger to him.

  “You can back out,” I say, moving to the right. I release his tie, but he speeds up his steps, still following me into the parking garage.

  “I’m not worried. I think I can handle you.”

  I hold back the snort of derision.

  “Baby, I can promise you that you won’t survive a girl like me.”

  Chapter 14

  I do not believe in the immorality of the individual, and I consider ethics to be an exclusively human concern without any superhuman authority behind it.

  —Albert Einstein

  LANA

  “Hush little baby, don’t say a word. Momma’s gonna buy you a mocking bird. And if that mocking bird don’t sing, Momma’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

  The song flows through the underground cellar, and I walk toward the side as Lawrence slowly rouses from his unconscious state. I watch with rapt fascination from the shadows as a myriad of emotions flicker across his face in sequence.

  Confusion. Surprise. Recognition. And my favorite—panic.

  He struggles against the chains that are holding his hands and arms out wide, keeping him bound and suspended midair. It’s a lovely position to die in. It also leaves you feeling weak and defenseless to be spread out and immobile.

  I should know.

  The song changes, and “Ring Around the Rosy” starts playing in that creepy kid voice it’s in. I love fucking with their heads.

  “Who the fuck are you!?” he shouts, struggling as I remain tucked in the dark corner. The light overhead casts a circular glow beneath it, illuminating him and the chains dangling loosely in front of him as I await our second prisoner’s arrival.

  As soon as I got him to my car, I slammed his head into the side door twice, making sure he was out cold before tossing his heavy ass into my car. He’s solid muscle, and I didn’t plan on him being quite so heavy as dead weight.

  The struggle was worth it.

  The bruises are forming nicely around his eyes and forehead. I’m sure the concussion kept him out longer than a usual cold-cock.

  “Where are you? Where the fuck am I?” he barks, struggling in vain, making the chains rattle their unrelenting warning.

  He jerks his head from side to side, trying to see something other than the light above him. It’s just four stone walls in a semi-large square of a cellar. It’s every creepy nightmare there is.

  I should have started finding creepier places to kill them long ago, because I love the way his body is seizing in terror just from the surroundings.

  I’m dressed in all black now. The red lipstick is gone, along with the blonde wig I was donning. The heels have been traded in for boots—the men’s boots I wear with the special toe-piece Jake designed for me to leave behind heel-to-toe impressions.

  My backpack isn’t on, but it’s not necessary for this part, since there’s no dirt around. The stone floor under my feet will soon be painted with two shades of red. Then I’ll paint all four walls.

  “Someone fucking answer me! Help!” he roars, only to be met with silence. Tyler’s old home is in the middle of nowhere. These are the easy kills. Lawrence would have been difficult to kill in his apartment that he shares with a roommate.

  Tyler’s wife is out of town right now, after having a fight over the text messages I helped her stumble upon—anonymously of course. Tyler thinks Denise got jealous and sabotaged him. His wife thinks he’s a dick weasel—her words—and left in a fit of rage.

  I’m currently tracking her cell phone with the clone phone I had made of Tyler’s.

  Lawrence continues to scream and shout as “The Wheels on the Bus” plays now, drowning out most of his pleads.

  His voice is almost hoarse a few hours later when he finally pisses on himself, losing his bladder. It’s step one of humiliation. It’s step one of stripping their dignity. They always piss and shit themselves.

  A smile curves my lips.

  He curses as the first tear falls from his eye. He’s trussed up and strung out, unable to wipe it away. I want all his tears. I want all his misery and terror.

  I want him degraded to the point he has nothing but indignation and humiliation left. Then I want his screams.

  Just an hour after that, he breaks, sobbing fiercely as he loses control of his bladder again. His jeans darken, and the smell wafts over me. It’s the smell of revenge. Well, it’s the smell of piss, but you get the idea.

  He’s shirtless, and I can see the goosebumps that have pebbled on his skin from the cold. The colder the room, the worse the pain is when the strikes are received.

  “The bitch is crying,” Morgan says, laughing under his breath as one solitary tear rolls down my cheek.

  I’m restrained, unable to wipe it away, as I try to re
treat into my mind and block out all the pain.

  “Those tears won’t save you, whore,” Lawrence says close to my ear. “Beg me to stop.”

  “Please…please stop,” I hear my brother crying.

  “We have one begging!” I hear Tyler announce, laughing like a hyena.

  My arms wiggle free from Tyler’s loosened grip, and I scream out as I slam my fist into the side of Lawrence’s face.

  “You fucking cunt!”

  He continues to straddle me as he shoves my hands back down into place.

  “Hold this fucking bitch down, or I’ll let her claw your eyes out when it’s your turn!”

  Tyler spits out a curse, and slams my hands back into the pavement. I cry out as my hands find the unforgiving surface, and feel the blood trickling. I focus on it and not on what Lawrence is doing to the rest of me.

  “Those tears won’t save you, whore,” I say, causing Lawrence to jerk his head over to my corner as he squints into the darkness, trying to find me.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  I take three steps, slowly letting the light filter across me until his brow pinches in confusion. Fury sweeps across his face, but the chains hold him steady.

  “What the fucking hell do you want, bitch?”

  “Beg me to stop.”

  He starts to speak, but the door above us opens, and Tyler comes rolling down the stairs, crying out in agony as Jake takes the steps one at a time. Jake moves with grace, enjoying the fact revenge is finally finding these sons of bitches after the conversation we witnessed.

  Tyler already looks half beaten to death. Did I forget to mention that Jake has been taking all the same classes I have? Our mixed martial arts list only grows, as does our black belt count.

  Obviously we took the classes in another town with another name, but that part isn’t important right now.

  “You!” Lawrence shouts, glaring at Jake.

  Jake taps his legs. “They work just fine, by the way.”

  Tyler is a tangle of limbs, still lying on the ground. “Did you leave anything for me?” I ask Jake as he grabs Tyler’s wrist, dragging him to the chains.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Lawrence demands again, as though he has any control.

  “There’s plenty left. It’ll just hurt worse when you extract the debt.”

  Smirking as Lawrence continues to berate us from his vulnerable position, I help Jake lock Tyler into place. We spread him out like Lawrence, suspending him with the chains. They’re right across from each other now.

  “You want to know who I am?” I ask Lawrence as Tyler shakes with fear, his eyes wide and his body trembling.

  Tears are feverishly pouring from Tyler’s eyes, causing me to give a quick appraisal to the state of his body.

  His legs are definitely broken. Jake must have gotten out a lot of aggression. Good for him. He needed it.

  “You’re a crazy bitch!” Lawrence shouts.

  I grin, facing him now.

  “No. I’m a pissed off crazy bitch. You knew me when I was younger. You knew my brother too.”

  A smirk graces my lips as the color starts draining from his eyes. “Those tears won’t save you, whore,” I repeat, though this time I can see him realizing why I’m saying those words. “Beg me to stop.”

  He turns as white as the ghost he thinks I am, and I face Tyler again as he tries to piece it all together.

  “Play nice, Victoria. It’ll hurt a lot less if you just play nice.”

  Don’t cry, Victoria. Don’t let them see they’ve broken you.

  But I do break. I break hard. I break to the sounds of my brother’s screams from behind me as he begs and begs and begs… And they just laugh.

  As though the sounds are music to their ears.

  I want those ears to bleed.

  “Play nice, Tyler. It’ll hurt a lot less if you just play nice,” I taunt, watching as the same wave of realization washes over him.

  His eyes widen to the point of being painful, and Jake grins as he takes it all in. He always has to miss this part. I may have a new kind of partner if he can stomach the rest. I’d like for him to be a part of it. It’s just as much his revenge as it is mine. We both loved Marcus.

  And they took him away.

  I move in front of Lawrence, and Jake hands me my favorite knife. It’s dull. It’s brutal. And it hurts like hell when I finally get the skin to tear apart.

  “You’re dead,” the prick wheezes, watching me in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  I stare up at him, moving the blade over his thigh, feeling his tremble.

  “You should have killed me deader,” I say just as the blade digs into the yielding flesh.

  He cries out in pain when the flesh finally splits, and I take my time. “I’ll need a sharp one for his ears,” I tell Jake as Tyler vomits to the sounds of Lawrence’s screams.

  Then I continue, shifting to Tyler, letting them watch each other slowly be killed.

  “Hope you boys aren’t sleepy. I changed my mind about your debt days. It’s going to be a long week.”

  Chapter 15

  You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war.

  —Albert Einstein

  LOGAN

  I glance down at my phone, reading the latest text from Lana.

  LANA: I’ll call you tonight if you’re free. Sorry I missed your call earlier. It’s been a crazy few days. <3

  “Oh, heart emoji! Shit’s getting real,” Craig says over my shoulder, earning an elbow to his gut.

  Rolling my eyes as he grunts and coughs, I text her back.

  ME: Tonight should work, as long as no one calls in with any leads. We know who the killer is, and we’ve been blasting his face all over the news. You were right. It’s definitely one of the paid-under-the-table custodial workers. He managed to escape though, so there’s a city-wide manhunt underway.

  LANA: Be careful. He’s always been overlooked, and with the new bout of attention, he’s likely to enjoy the thrill of notoriety. He may crave more attention and come after you if the buzz wears off too soon. Killing the lead FBI agent who ran the hunt against him would give him even more attention.

  I’ve never wanted to date a profiler, simply because work and sex don’t mix well together in my experience. Lisa, for example, is a thorn in my side since things ended years ago, and now she’s under my command.

  It’s awkward. It’s frustrating. And she uses our past against me every chance she gets.

  Lana, however, is the perfect woman. Someone who understands what I do without being right at my side while I’m doing it. It’s literally the best of both worlds.

  Which is why I’m still worried she’s too good to be true.

  ME: It’s a slim chance he’ll come after me. And if he does, it’ll save me the trouble of trying to track him down.

  LANA: I’m serious, Logan. Guys like him could fixate on someone like you.

  ME: He’s a rapist. A serial rapist. He needs a female to relieve his urges. He’s more than just a serial killer, which makes the likelihood of him coming after me very slim.

  LANA: Anyone who has always lived in the shadows and suddenly gets brought into the light is going to get the high. Especially someone like him. Sexual sadists thrive on the power. It gets them off. Power over you could become an easy surrogate for the power he holds over his female victims.

  ME: I like that you care so much.

  LANA: I like my orgasms. I want more.

  That has me laughing, and I put my phone away as Craig comes up, filling me in on the latest information.

  It was supposed to be an easy bust, but someone tipped him off. Had to. Or else he has tabs on the police station somehow. But the guy reads like an open book of our profile.

  Now finding him is getting harder. He got paid in cash and never had a checking account. His apartment was a cash-weekly sort of arrangement. His entire life is paperless, tied to no electronics or trails. Even his power bill was included in
his rent, furthermore concealing any trails he might have.

  He left his phone behind.

  He took his clothes.

  He’s in the wind, and it could be months before he resurfaces if we don’t find him now.

  ***

  Four days later, there are still no leads, and I groan as I load up with my team to come back home. Gerald Plemmons. That’s the name of the Boogeyman. Putting a face on him has helped alleviate the fears of some of the city, but he’s still out there.

  One day, he’ll kill again. Unfortunately, until he does, we may not be able to find him.

  As soon as I step off the jet, I haul ass to my SUV and drive like hell to Lana’s house. She’s not expecting me, and I can’t reach her on her phone. It keeps going straight to voicemail, so I hope I don’t piss her off by just showing up.

  It seems to take forever to get there, but when I finally do, I pound on the door with purpose.

  The sound of hurried footsteps puts me at ease. I don’t see her Mustang here, so I’m happy to hear her talking through the door. I’m not so happy to hear what she’s saying.

  “You have a key! Use it, Jake! Stop making me walk all through the house—”

  Her words die when she swings open the door.

  In a towel.

  Still mostly wet.

  “Logan!” she says, shocked as her eyes widen.

  I don’t give her time to think before I’m kissing her, pushing the door shut behind me with my foot. Her hands go to my hair, and I lift her, groaning when I feel her bare ass against my hands.

  The towel falls loose and gets stuck between our bodies as I continue to kiss her and carry her back to her room. She kisses me just as fiercely, letting me know she doesn’t mind the fact I’ve shown up unannounced.

  It’s been a week. A solid week since I’ve seen her.

  My hand slides down the curve of her ass, moving until I find what I really want. My fingers skate across her slick pussy, feeling her wet and ready for me. As much as I love foreplay, it’ll be skipped tonight. Maybe after I get a little bit of this addiction tempered, we can slow things down, and I can give her body the attention it truly deserves.