Blind: Killer Instincts

by Sidney Bristol

  After several moments he eased up, giving her some respite. He kissed her inner thigh and she jumped. She was too spent to chuckle. He eased out of her and crawled up to lay beside her.

  Emma didn’t even have the energy left to cuddle, but he gathered her against him, nestling her head under her chin and stroking her side.

  “You,” she poked his shoulder, “are an evil, evil man.”

  “Didn’t I warn you?”

  “No, you left that part out.”

  “I’ll make sure to add it to my resume next time.”

  “Good.”

  He chuckled and she wished she could see his face, if he was smiling or not. Even that was beyond her.

  Jacob’s hands roved over her body. There was no rhyme or reason to where his fingers went, but she enjoyed the simple sensation of being held and touched. There was a level of intimacy between them she hadn’t expected. This didn’t feel like two people hooking up for some random sex. She felt a burning connection in her chest, as if there was a thread tied to her that attached to him and it hummed with the energy of their coupling.

  Damn if she wasn’t emotionally invested in this man. She was already thinking about next time and what she’d do to him then. That was getting way too ahead of herself, which was dangerous, since they weren’t anything to each other. Not really. She fell into relationships quick, but even this might be a record breaker for her. Except she doubted Jacob wanted the same thing.

  There was no denying in her mind that a long-term thing between them was impossible. They were from different sides of the tracks. Different worlds. Besides, she had a record. A cop couldn’t be with someone like her, could they? But it wasn’t like she needed the happily ever after and the white dress right now. Couldn’t she enjoy what they had for however long it lasted?

  She smoothed her hand down his chest, the scar on his shoulder staring back.

  Life was so short to pass up on what might or might not work out. If he wanted her, if she brought a little joy to his life, and if they worked, even for a week or a month, she wanted to be with him. That was the certainty resting in her chest.

  “Who was she?” Emma asked.

  “She who?”

  “The woman you scared so badly you think you can’t be yourself.”

  Jacob was silent for several moments. It wasn’t hard to figure out that there must be a reason, a story why he thought his sexual appetite was wrong.

  “Yeah. There were a few, actually. The first told me when she was breaking it off with me that I became someone else when we were—together. I kept a pretty tight leash on myself with the next one, but even that wasn’t enough, I guess.”

  “Do you go fishing for a certain type or something?” She propped her chin up in her palm.

  “Why do you want to know about them? Aren’t you supposed to not want to talk about my exes?” The ever-present frown deepened.

  She shrugged. “Their history is part of yours. Besides, I’m not stupid. I know you’ve been with other women, just like I’m no virgin. What’s the point of being upset about some woman I’ve never met before?

  He shook his head and pulled her close once more. “The last few women I’ve dated all broke up with me because I wasn’t emotionally available enough to them.”

  “Hard to be when you aren’t being honest with them.”

  “Are you my shrink now?”

  “Do I get to charge you if I am?”

  “No.”

  “Well, my unprofessional advice is to find a new type, Detective Payton.” A type like her? Yeah right, but she could dream.

  “What was that—finger on my ass—business about?” He sounded truly befuddled.

  She couldn’t help but laugh and roll away enough to peer at his face. He looked even funnier now, brows down, eyes a little large, and mouth open. He really didn’t get it.

  “You were just standing there. Either you were the kind of guy who’d be into a finger up your ass, or it would startle you into at least doing something. Shit, I might as well have been going down on a dildo for as much as you seemed to enjoy it.”

  “It was fucking awesome.” He stared at her as if he didn’t understand what she was saying.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty good.” She studied him for a moment. “You know you can let loose a little, don’t you? You don’t have to be so in control all the time. It can’t be healthy.”

  His fingers traced a spot on her hip.

  “They aren’t from him, if that’s what you’re looking for.” She peered down at the crescent-shaped scar. “That was a bike accident. That’s why I wear every piece of safety gear I don’t have to.”

  “And yet you’re still covered in scars. This is a burn mark.” He tapped one on her arm.

  “Yeah, remember I also do metal sculpture? You can’t work around hot metal and a blowtorch without fucking up every now and then.” She cupped his face. “Seriously, I’m not as fragile as you’d like to believe. Or is this what you do? Coddle your girlfriends while keeping them at arm’s length until they leave because you’re emotionally unavailable?”

  “Who’s the detective now? The FBI could use you as a profiler.”

  “Now he makes a joke.” She waggled her finger at him. “You’re deflecting.”

  Jacob sighed, his gaze still on the burn mark. If he met her gaze now, would he see too much?

  “He never left a mark on you? Ever?”

  That wasn’t a question she wanted to answer, but she’d kept so much from him already. Was still keeping the letter from him. If she told him about that the letter, he’d have her bundled up and away from this so fast.

  “He did, but they were temporary and accidental.” She held up her hand. “I know, I know. It sounds like I’m making excuses for him, but not really. Yes, Daddy left bruises sometimes, but it was an accident. I know what it sounds like, but he’s a sloppy drunk. He’d flail an arm and catch me. He wouldn’t set out to intentionally hurt me.”

  “But he didn’t stop drinking, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Is your brother the same way?”

  “You read the file, you tell me.”

  Jacob pursed his lips for a moment, his gaze harder. “The case was fucked up. Travis should never have removed his friend’s kid from the mother’s house.”

  “That’s what a SEAL does though. They protect. She was trying to stab her own son.” Two years and the case still made her furious. Travis had gone to see his best friend’s baby momma because the woman was sending crazy texts. The two men had arrived and found the mother trying to kill her son. Travis had grabbed the son, while his friend calmed down his ex-wife. Once cops and lawyers got involved, the blame of it landed on Travis. It was a federal offense to kidnap a child, despite the fact if it weren’t for Travis, the kid would probably be dead.

  “I know.” He dropped his gaze. “I would have done the same thing. Fuck the laws, she would have killed that kid if it weren’t for your brother.”

  “Thank you. Did you know she’s in prison now?”

  “No.”

  Emma nodded.

  “She killed the kid’s father six months later. Thanks to a lunatic my brother will be branded as a felon his entire life—for protecting a child.” She blew out a breath. “He’s not a bad person.”

  “I know. I’ve looked into him, too.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t stalking me?”

  One side of his mouth kicked up. “Maybe I am.”

  “Prison changed Travis. All things considered, he got a short sentence. He never comes home anymore.”

  “Right now, that’s probably a good thing. What is he doing now?”

  “He works for a private security company, the Aegis Group. It’s all former military. Several of his SEAL buddies work there. No one cares about his record, but it’s dangerous work.”

  “He landed on his feet. Plus, he has you.”

  She nodded, but she had to wonder if Travis wasn’t doomed from the beginn
ing. They only shared a father, but that was the link that branded them.

  She scooted closer, soaking in Jacob’s comfort. She and Travis had never been very close. His mother was always jealous she wasn’t the woman Daddy chose to be with. But they’d gone to the same school,s and Travis had spent time at her house at various points over the years. They were all the family they had. And for now, she had Jacob, too.

  Amanda peered up and down the street.

  No truck.

  No Emma.

  Christ, she was a horrible friend, but she and Derrick had had this arrangement since before Emma had even met him. Amanda had tried to steer Emma away from Derrick. She’d really tried. But Derrick was a god of sex and Amanda couldn’t give him up. Even if she really didn’t like him, she had a thing for his cock.

  It was an addiction, really. She was an addict. Her drug of choice happened to be dirty, nasty sex with someone she didn’t like. It was psychological. Hell, she was a nurse, she knew this stuff. She had all the hotlines and specialists she could ever want at the tip of her fingers, and yet here she was, over and over and over again, at Derrick’s doorstep. At least now her needs didn’t have to revolve around Emma’s schedule.

  One more glance around to be sure the neighbors weren’t watching either.

  Coast was clear.

  She grabbed the bag she kept in the car specifically for these little get-togethers. The last thing she wanted was to leave Derrick’s place smelling like him or Emma’s soap. But, Emma and her soap were at Amanda’s place, so technically that wouldn’t be an issue anymore. Thank goodness Emma had finally dumped Derrick. It left Amanda guilt-free to continue these little meetings.

  The front porch light was off, as normal, to deter the neighbors from snooping too much.

  She took a deep breath and loosened the belt on her coat. From inside she could hear the thump of feet. She put her hand against the frame and smiled. Tonight would be good. There was no more reason for guilt.

  The door swept open, and Derrick stood on the other side of the glass, naked and semi-erect.

  It was that kind of night?

  Well, she’d wanted hot and dirty.

  “House call,” she said and opened the glass door.

  “About time you showed up.” Derrick’s scowl wasn’t his usual sexy smile, but she could work with that.

  “Hey, I texted you and said I’d be late.” She dropped the bag on a table near the door and shrugged out of her coat, leaving her in the naughty nurse outfit. Every Halloween she stocked up on a few models. This one was a thigh length sheath that zipped up the front, complete with a silly little hat she’d pinned on. She’d foregone a bra this time because she was that needy.

  “Yeah, I know.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her up against the wall. “I hate waiting.” His mouth crushed hers. She could taste cigarette smoke and beer that curdled her stomach.

  Amanda pushed him back, shaking her head.

  “Gross—you started smoking again?” She held her hand up, keeping him at arm’s length.

  “Hey, it’s a free country.” He had that angry pout thing going on.

  “Is this about Emma?” she asked.

  “If it weren’t for you, she’d still be here, and I wouldn’t have to get some hooker to suck my cock.”

  Emma hadn’t really cared for oral, or maybe not with Derrick. Amanda avoided all sexual topics as a rule with her friends. No one needed to know where her preferences ran.

  Amanda rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is about? Your cock is lonely?”

  “Yes.”

  Dear lord, this man was disgusting and ridiculous, but she still got hot and bothered thinking about going down on him.

  “Well, if that’s all, I have just what the doctor ordered. Keep your ashtray of a mouth away from me, okay?” She flattened her hands against his chest and slid lower, over his pecs and abs. She peeked up at him through her lashes. “Did you miss me?”

  “No. Why would I miss a dirty little slut like you?” he spat.

  Amanda settled on her knees, smiling up at him. She’d learned in her formative years that the best sexual experience contained more than a little dirty talk. Most of the time what Derrick said to her was flat out degrading. And she loved it.

  She grasped his cock and stroked it. He shifted his stance and the old floor groaned under his foot. Except—the floor didn’t normally creak there.

  “Did you hear something?” she asked.

  “I don’t hear you sucking my cock and moaning like the cum slut you are.”

  Fuck whatever she thought she heard. If he was calling her a cum slut already, tonight would be amazing. She wrapped both her hands around his cock.

  “Come on, bitch. Stop dragging your sorry ass.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her face toward him.

  The glass door creaked open.

  “Derrick—”

  “What the—”

  Thwack.

  Crunch.

  Derrick’s body hid the intruder from her as he slumped to the ground. It all happened so fast, she couldn’t even process what was happening.

  “Emma—no—wait!” Amanda threw up her hands. It was too dark to see who it was, but it could only be Emma, right?

  Derrick rolled to his side, groaning.

  The dark figure—why the hell weren’t the lights on?—leaned toward her.

  “I’m not Emma,” a man said.

  Amanda scrambled, crab walking away from the man. She slipped over Derrick’s arm and landed on her side. She rolled and crawled, trying to kick off her damn heels. What was this, a stupid teenage horror dream? This couldn’t be real.

  “Oh now, don’t go leaving me. We’re getting started.”

  The man grabbed her ponytail, and she screamed. The sound barely left her mouth before he shoved a wad of cloth between her teeth, muffling the sound. She scratched at his hand, his arm. She twisted until she could jab her heels at his legs.

  “Fuck, ouch. Bitch!”

  He hauled back with his other arm. The light from the kitchen glinted off silver metal.

  A tire iron.

  She saw a patient beaten almost to death with one of those last week.

  Derrick groaned. The last thing he remembered was Amanda going down on him. That bitch had a great mouth. Except he couldn’t remember coming.

  Where was he?

  He tried to lift his head, but the room spun. A woman whimpered nearby.

  “Manda?” It was hard to move his tongue. Part of it was swollen, as if he’d bitten it. Why did his head hurt so bad?

  He tried to lift his arms to cradle his aching head, but they were too heavy. Had they binged instead of fucking? That wasn’t normal at all. Usually Amanda fucked and left. She wasn’t too big on chatting if the words slut, bitch, or cum weren’t involved.

  “Come on, wake up.” A man patted his face, one side and then the other.

  Pain blossomed wherever the man touched, lighting up his face. He spat curse words and tried to move, but he couldn’t. His head was secured to something.

  “If I would have known what a wimp you are, I’d have used my fist instead of the iron.” The man bent over him, filling his vision. “Smile for the camera, will you?”

  The man grabbed Derrick’s face and pushed the corners of his mouth up, as if he were smiling.

  “Cheese! Say hi to the rest of the Killer Club. Hi guys.” The sicko actually waved at a hand-held camera taped to the kitchen counter.

  “What the hell? You’re a sick freak. Let me go.” Derrick tugged at his bonds, but he hurt—everywhere.

  “Derrick here was dating Emma. You all know Emma. She’s the granddaughter of the Ration family, who I killed before I was caught about thirty years ago.” The guy stood, talking to the camera.

  Why did he look familiar?

  Derrick couldn’t even process what the man was saying. Where was Amanda?

  “Now, Derrick here,” he grabbed Derrick’s leg, diggin
g his fingers into his hair and pulling. “Derrick was keeping secrets from Emma. Remember Amanda? The girl I didn’t really let talk a whole lot? Well, it seems that these two have been having a rip-roaring affair together behind Emma’s back.”

  “How do you know that?” Derrick demanded.

  “Shut up. No one wants to hear you speak.” The guy scowled at him. He couldn’t be more than twenty-five, still with the pudgy cheeks of youth. Derrick had seen that same scowl aimed at him before, but where? His attacker turned back to the camera. “Now, when I realized what was going on, well, I had to make room for them in my schedule. I couldn’t let these two live.”

  Live? What was going on here?

  “Where’s Amanda, you sick fuck?” Derrick tried to kick, but his legs were tied down.

  The man glanced down at him. “You want to see Amanda? I’ll get Amanda.”

  He took two steps and reached into the shadows next to the refrigerator. He grabbed one of the dining room chairs and pulled it closer.

  “Oh God. Oh God. No. No!” Derrick tried to push backward, but his legs were restrained. He jerked against the bonds even though every movement hurt.

  “Don’t be like that. Always with the screaming.” The man crossed to Derrick and stood behind him. He shoved a wad of cloth into his mouth and pushed the chair forward, toward the gruesome sight.

  Derrick tried to turn away, to not see what had happened, but the man held his face.

  “Look. Look at what you made me do to her,” the man said through clenched teeth.

  Amanda was tied to one of the kitchen chairs. A two-by-four had been slid between her and the ladder back of the chair, creating a head support. She was taped and tied into place, a wad of cloth in her mouth as well. Her body hung lifeless, her soul gone.

  Blood coated her, streams of it here and there. She’d been hurt, and for what? Getting her satisfaction from him?