“Goldie says she’ll bury him alive if he comes after us.”
“I do believe she would. Nobody likes crossing Girlfriend. Bad temper doesn’t even begin to describe her.” Jasmine looked over at Goldie and arched a perfectly groomed brow. “Everybody’s scared of you, you know.”
Goldie shrugged. “I got tired of putting up with people’s shit years ago. If I have to pop a bitch in the head then so be it. Not my problem. I’m not under any illusions, ladies. I have a nasty habit of picking the wrong men. No more. By now, I bet I can spot a bad apple as soon as he walks through the door.”
“You’ve been known to beat up grown-ass men, girl.” They both laughed.
“You mean bigots, honey. A bigot’s just a bigot, not a real man.”
“True. They deserve an ass beating.”
“That’s right. Live and let live, girl. But I’m not looking for trouble. They can leave me alone and let me live my life, or they can make the mistake of giving me a hard time and end up with my stiletto up their ass.”
“Well, if you don’t mind let’s try to get through tonight with no fights. It’s my…”
“Debut,” they all said in unison.
Chapter Ten
Childhood never leaves us. Even as painful memories fade over the years and become blurry around the edges, the scars leave their mark and toughen the skin against future injuries.
He couldn’t remember a single moment from his childhood when he had ever fit in. It started when he was a little boy, always the outsider, always bullied. Always weak. Then one day everything changed.
He’d been swinging on the playground, alone with the thoughts in his head like he always was. He never knew who had violently pushed him from the swing, but he hit the ground and found himself looking up at Bubba, the biggest kid in his class.
Something in him snapped. He rose to his feet and beat that boy so bad that it took three teachers to pry him off, even though the kid was twice his size. Years of pent up frustration were unleashed on Bubba’s face. He’d beaten Bubba’s head against the concrete so hard that he knocked him unconscious.
That was the day he resolved to never be the target of a bully again. That was the day he learned fear was power. If he could make people afraid of him, he had control. Once he got just a taste, he liked it—no, he loved it. But it would be a long time before he got a chance to taste it again.
Of course, it was difficult to contrive opportunities to get his hands on people, but animals? That was a different story. It all started years later with his neighbor’s cat. He had watched that damn cat, Petey, kill birds for years. One day when he was fourteen, he decided ‘no more’. That fucking cat was a bully. He knew the cat was probably acting on instinct, but it didn’t even believe in a clean kill. No, it had to bat the mouse around on the ground with its intestines trailing behind it, delighting in letting the creature believe it would be allowed to crawl away. Watching the process over and over again brought back all the bad memories from the boy’s past, when picking on him had been his classmates’ favorite game.
Petey was Sheila’s cat. She had lived next door to him since they were little. Many times she had watched as the schoolyard bullies had their fun at his expense. She and her giggling friends had pointed and laughed while he suffered. Now she was a stuck-up cheerleader who never acknowledged him even though they’d grown up right next door to each other.
So, in the end, there was a certain poetry to his plans for ol’ Petey.
He lured the unsuspecting cat into his yard with a can of tuna. Then he spent a few minutes rubbing its tummy and scratching behind its ears before settling in to rub under its chin. Eventually, he wrapped his hand around the little fucker’s neck and began to squeeze. He slowly exerted more pressure on the cat’s neck, observing dispassionately as its tail bushed and it began to struggle. In the end his strength had been too much for Petey.
He arranged the cat’s lifeless body on the ground and was studying it in various entertaining poses when an idea struck him.
He slipped around to the side laundry room door and kicked his shoes off for fear of his stepdad hearing him. When other fathers were working, his was usually home drunk because he’d gotten fired from another job. He’d learned the hard way that staying away from the angry drunk was the best way to avoid an ass beating.
He tiptoed upstairs, avoiding the telltale creaky step at the top. The television blared in the background as he padded along the old flooring past his grandmother’s room until he reached the bathroom. He reached under the sink searching for the First Aid kit his mother kept there. He eased it out and retraced his steps. When he got back downstairs to the laundry room, he picked up his shoes and eased out the door. He could put the shoes on later. For now, the most important thing was getting away from his house undetected.
He worked his way around the corner to his kill and sat down on the ground to get to work. He opened the small white box and laid out his supplies neatly, much like a doctor would. He was glad to see there was plenty of gauze. He would likely need all of it for what he had in mind.
He began the task of wrapping the cat from head to toe in gauze, keeping the gauze nice and tight. Once he’d made certain to cover its nose, mouth, and eyes, he used the included metal clip to secure the wrapping. He placed all his utensils back in the plastic white box so they wouldn’t get dirty and, wouldn’t you know, there was plenty of gauze left so no one would ever be the wiser.
He set the box to the side and scooted over a few feet toward the rosebush. He began digging in the soft dirt next to the bush, making a grave for his first victim. The memory would stay with him for a lifetime, but even better memories awaited him as a result of his good work.
He woke up the next day to the sound of Sheila calling for her cat. Sweet, sweet music. There was something inordinately satisfying about having a secret about her beloved pet. As the days passed, he used the cat’s disappearance as a conversation starter. He repeatedly asked her if she'd found Petey. When her daily negative responses became increasingly grief-stricken, her baby blues brimming with unshed tears and those bee-stung lips quivering pitifully, another plan hatched in his mind.
When it had become clear the cat wasn’t going to return, he and Sheila bonded as friends over his solicitous concern, although she still wouldn’t acknowledge him at school. They met up often out by his mother’s rosebush, a discreet location that enabled her to keep the friendship just between the two of them. And that was important because, as she explained to him one day, a cheerleader couldn’t very well be seen with the school nerd. She was sure he understood her predicament. He assured her he did.
He became a shoulder for Sheila to cry on. He became a frequent source of comfort and increasingly long hugs. He endeared himself to her so deeply that, during one of those friendly embraces, she couldn’t bring herself to object when his hands suddenly began to roam over her ass and squeeze her soft, round teenage tits. She was taken by surprise when he held her against the paint peeling on the clapboard wall of his house as he shoved his tongue in her mouth. And in her confusion, she couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop when the hands on her shoulders pushed her down to the ground…and her knees sank into the soft dirt by his mother’s rosebush.
A boy never forgets his first blowjob, and he sure as hell never forgot giving that stuck-up bitch her first mouthful of dick juice—even if he'd had to do most of the work as he yanked her head back and forth.
Petey never did come home, of course. Sheila never told a soul about what happened. She couldn’t bear the shame of anyone knowing that she’d had a nerd’s dick in her mouth. And she never suspected that she was living next door to a serial killer in the making.
Chapter Eleven
When he started following her, he never suspected she would lead him straight to his competition. He had happened upon Teegan Crugar by chance. She occasionally wrote for a tabloid magazine and he noticed her byline on an article. He liked how she a
lways wrote the truth. She did nothing to exaggerate the story. She told it like it was and never embellished. He liked that about her.
Even though she stuck to the facts, her stories were always well written and interesting. Of course, people always enjoyed reading about themselves and, yes, the narcissist in him enjoyed any article that was written about him. For years he had been a loser who didn’t matter to anyone. Now? He was damn near drunk with power as he held an entire city in the grip of fear.
He’d been sitting in his car outside her house, just passing some time. He hadn’t expected her to go out so he was taken by surprise when she stepped out of the front door in formal attire. The scarlet dress hugged her body but not so tightly that it looked slutty. Her black hair fell in a glossy curtain straight to her waist.
Where the hell did she think she was going dressed like that? She didn’t have a boyfriend that he knew of. Maybe it was just a girl’s night out. The thought of anything different sent a jolt of unwelcome and entirely unfamiliar jealousy coursing through him.
He pulled out behind her car, being careful to not follow too closely. She didn’t appear to be heading toward downtown where many of the bars were located. A few minutes later he realized her destination was an affluent area of the city, featuring posh neighborhoods with names like Spring Farm Place, Cherokee Hills, and Harrod’s Glen. None of these homes ever sold under the million-dollar mark, and that was on the low end of the spectrum.
His nostrils flared as he restlessly tapped the steering wheel. Maybe she had a rich boyfriend after all. One thing was for sure: he might be able to follow her to the gated community, but he wouldn’t be getting in without an invite. He didn’t like the thought of her with someone else; didn’t like not being able to get to her. Maybe it was time to break his rule about married women, and sooner rather than later.
Chapter Twelve
Thomas Wentworth may have grown up in the lap of luxury and good breeding, but it didn’t negate the fact that he had a predatory nature. You can’t grow up with serial killers for parents and not be in tune with the world around you. Though his parents had unwittingly helped him hone his abilities, much of what Thomas possessed was innate. It wasn’t the adrenaline rush he got from following his prey that motivated him; it was the power and control.
In the past his urge to hunt had been a game. Teegan had changed everything. There was something about her that compelled him to keep her. He knew he wouldn’t be able to let her go, regardless of how much persuasion it would take to keep her.
Every potential victim was motivated differently. Some were motivated by fear, some were infatuated by the idea of someone wanting to possess them, and others were stirred by the discovery of their own inner darkness. He hadn’t figured out what it was going to take to keep his hands on Teegan, but he knew he was facing the biggest challenge of his life. Luckily, Thomas Wentworth loved a challenge.
He willed himself to remain seated when the doorbell rang. Of course the guard at the gate had called him when Teegan pulled up to the gated entrance. She wasn’t like the women he occasionally hooked up with, who usually arrived in a Lexus or a Mercedes so he figured that had raised a red flag for the security officer.
He frowned as his heartbeat accelerated at the prospect of seeing her again. There was definitely something different about this woman. He stood when she entered the room.
“Always the gentleman,” she drawled with a hint of sarcasm.
“May I offer you a drink, Teegan?” Her name slid off his lips with sensual ease. She liked the sound of it.
“A Bloody Mary,” she replied, not backing down from the intensity of his icy blue eyes.
He waited to speak until the butler, who looked more like a bodyguard, left the room. “Oh, the irony. A Bloody Mary? Really.” He smirked as his gaze roamed over her scarlet-clad curves. “Well, it’s refreshing to see that you have a bit of an edge, Miss Crugar. Of course, I’d expect no less from a voyeuristic little stalker such as yourself.”
His words were cold and biting and a ripple of fear wound its way around her spine. She was relieved when the butler/bodyguard returned with her drink. She willed her hand to remain steady as she reached for the glass. A celery stick. Nice. She hoped like hell the drink was strong.
She took a huge sip as she watched Thomas approach her in several long, easy strides. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Why, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear your hand was shaking. Do I make you nervous?”
“No, of course not,” she lied before taking another huge gulp of the drink. She was grateful for the warmth of the vodka as it entered her bloodstream.
“Liar,” he whispered. “Please, sit.” His eyes gleamed with amusement as she lowered herself onto the sofa, as if he knew every deep dark secret she was trying so hard to keep hidden from him.
Don’t let him get in your head, girl.
He sat down at the end of the sofa and she turned in his direction, a little braver now after the drink. She took another swallow and settled her eyes on him. “I can understand your being upset with me, Mr. Wentworth.”
“Thomas,” he insisted, staring into her eyes. “Say it. I want to hear my name rolling off those beautiful, full lips of yours.
“Thomas,” she whispered.
He shifted his weight, subtly moving closer to her. He leaned in toward her, his jaw clenched with need. “One day soon, I’ll hear you crying out my name in ecstasy, begging me to let you come.”
“Excuse me!?”
“You heard me.” He leaned back and draped his arm along the back of the sofa so he could stroke a leisurely fingertip along the silky skin of her shoulder. “We’re both adults here. A woman who is bold enough to stalk a man online surely isn’t shy when it comes to matters of sex. Or is that too personal for you, I wonder? No matter. You do understand that there is a close connection between the darkness of the hunt and sex, don’t you?”
“Mr. Wentworth, I’m not sure where you’ve gotten the idea that I would ever sleep with you, but’’—
He leaned in, clenching the upholstery as he coldly surveyed her stiff form next to him. “You have no choice, or don’t you remember that I could charge you with stealing business secrets from my computer? This isn’t a date, you know. There will be no ‘making love’ when I’m rutting between your legs, or when you’re grinding against my face and your greedy pussy is tugging at my tongue. No, this is quite simple. This is me blackmailing you.”
She slammed the drink down on the coffee table and leapt to her feet. Before she could step away, he was on her.
He grabbed a fistful of her hair and twisted it around his hand, hard, making her wince in pain. “I have a nasty side,” he declared in a voice thick with desire, “and I wouldn’t recommend you doing anything to get acquainted with it.”
“Are you crazy?”
He smirked but relaxed at the question. His lip tilted up in a slight smile. “Who knows? Perhaps I am. Now, my dear Miss Crugar, would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to dinner?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He tucked her hand beneath his arm and couldn’t quite stifle a laugh. “No. You do not. How good of you to notice.”
He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead, then escorted her into the formal dining room. She was relieved to see another drink waiting for her. He pulled her chair out and she sat as he nudged the chair into place beneath her. The sublime aroma of lobster and steak was heavy in the air. Her stomach growled, prompting him to chuckle indulgently.
“How did you know this was my favorite?”
“I know a lot about you. In fact, I know some very intimate details.” He leaned in to whisper, “Would you like to know how intimate?”
The color rose in her cheeks but she said nothing. He watched her pierce a forkful of lobster and lift it from the plate. His breathing became ragged as she dipped the chunk of flesh in the butter and slid it between her lips. Then she licked her glistening lips in a
n innocently sensual act that made his cock thicken and strain against his pants.
She was just so fucking beautiful. Her ebony hair cascaded down her back like a glossy raven’s wing. Her emerald green eyes gleamed with trepidation as she looked up at him. She was different than other women he’d been with.
Growing up rich, he’d always wondered if people only wanted to connect with him because of his money. There was none of that with Teegan. Teegan had connected to his primitive, masculine core and she didn’t even know it. It was the first time a woman had glimpsed the darkness he kept hidden beneath an urbane façade. She was a strong woman who could hold her own. That alone was enough to intrigue a man like Thomas Wentworth. It didn’t hurt that she had an air of innocence that he wanted to defile and keep for his own. The plan he had been pondering suddenly crystallized in his mind.
“Teegan, I think now is as good a time as any to let you know that you won’t be going home tonight, or ever…”
Chapter Thirteen
“You look fabulous, Melanie. And you”—Queen Bee gazed coyly at Charles—“oh my, but you are a sight for sore eyes. I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a gorgeous man. You should be on the cover of a magazine, honey, not in a gay bar watching queens lip syncing.”
“But then I’d miss your debut, Gorgeous.”
“And a charmer too. Heart, be still.” Queen Bee dramatically covered her heart with her hand. “Well, gotta go, darlings. That’s my cue,” she said, when she heard the audience’s raucous reaction to the beginning notes of ‘It’s Raining Men’ over the club’s sound system.
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