Her cunt flexes on my cock.
“Is he dead?” she asks with hope and lust in her voice.
My hand reaches over for Sebastian’s wrist.
Her breathing picks up.
“Not yet, but he’s close.”
“Don’t let me come until he’s gone, Callen.” She moves atop me faster. “Tell me when he’s gone.”
She fights against her orgasm while she grinds herself against me. She bites her lip and closes her eyes. His pulse weakens to barely a flutter before finally giving one last thump. His heart no longer beats. Rylan holds back for a little while longer before her graceful flow turns frantic and unruly. Sweat slicks her hair, and the heat between us hardens her nipples.
“He’s gone, baby. Let go.”
And she does. A wail of passion escapes between her lips. Her body shakes above me. Her pussy constricts around my dick, and every pulse within her reverberates through my body. She comes on my dick and pulls me, a willing prisoner, over the edge with her. I come inside her with my hands around her throat. Her eyes find mine, and we see each other without all the secrets and lies for the first time.
She knows me for the killer that I am. That side of me does something to her, hits her straight to the core. We’re depraved, and we get off on the darkness that stirs between us. She goes slack against my chest and lets out a content sigh. Where there should be guilt, there is only pleasure. I can’t help it, and something tells me neither can Rylan.
“Get up, baby. We need to clean up. We shouldn’t have done this. Not here.”
“I don’t regret it, Callen.”
“I don’t regret anything either, but we just contaminated the crime scene with a shit-ton of our DNA. I’m going to have to work all night to clean things up.”
Rylan kisses my lips and then slowly pulls herself from me. Her legs wobble as she stands with her feet on the ground. I tuck myself back into my pants and push up, and as my weight leaves the cushion, Sebastian slouches further into the couch. My hand twists in Rylan’s hair, and I quickly kiss her one more time.
“I’ll be right back.” I head to the bathroom in the bedroom and clean up a little.
I’m going to need some chemicals to sterilize that couch. Rylan also wasn’t wearing gloves, and I’ll need to take care of that, too. This is as careless as I have ever been during a job, and I can’t let the risk I took come back on Rylan or me. I go back out into the living room and don’t see her. Number Three is dead on the couch, but other than that, the room is empty.
“Rylan?” I call out to her but am met with silence.
She’s gone. I don’t need to look around. She said she doesn’t regret what happened here tonight, but am I going to regret bringing her into it?
Rylan Pierce is a game changer. And, when the game is life and death, the stakes are extremely high.
Rylan
Aria,
I’m not proud, but I’m not ashamed. I knew Callen was dangerous, but that side of him speaks to me in a way nothing ever has before.
I can still see the red when I close my eyes. The dark stains were glorified against pure white fabric. I’m a monster who has been let free. I crave more, needing to feed the darkest parts inside me.
You wouldn’t want this, but without you, my light has been put out. I’m sorry I continue to disappoint you, but I need this. I can’t stop. I won’t ask for your forgiveness but only your love. I ask that you love me unconditionally and without stipulations. Please…
I miss you. I love you almost as much as ice cream.
Rylan
This. Is. Me.
I can’t keep apologizing for things I’m not truly sorry for. I can keep begging for forgiveness until I’m blue in the face, but she knows the truth. She’s always been able to see exactly who I am. When we were younger, she saw past my darkness, always seeing the best in me. But I’m positive it’s hard—even for Aria—to find the good in what I took part in with Callen. The last thing I want is to disappoint her, but I can’t fight these morbid urges.
I don’t want to.
I can only hope she can see past my decisions and love me for who I’ve become.
Sick and twisted.
The news story drowns out my written words. I turn up the volume on the television, letting the darkness take over again.
A man was found today hanging from the carousel at Lighthouse Point Park. He was brutalized and tortured before his death. The number three was carved in his chest. Residents of the area are in a total panic. Reporters are speculating that the numbers insinuate there will be at least two more deaths, as if that weren’t painfully obvious.
Sharon Peterman, the bright and shiny news anchorwoman, told me all this with a plastic smile on her face.
Callen is the Murder by Numbers Killer, and I am his sick-in-the-head sexual deviant.
My dad died suddenly. My mom ended her own life carelessly.
Callen taking the lives of others should repulse and frighten me, but somehow, it makes me feel connected to him, to myself. Watching him kill doesn’t scare me. It intrigues me.
The news show’s music picks up, and Sharon presses her finger to her ear. Her professional bravado slips for a few long seconds. I sit up in my seat, my eyes unblinking, greedy for more information.
“We just got word that the man found this morning has been identified as Sebastian Rutherford, local entrepreneur and hero to many. Police arrived at his home in Maplefield not long ago, and I’m being told the scene isn’t pretty. We’re going to go live to Jim Russell now, who is outside Sebastian Rutherford’s home. Jim, are you there?”
The camera cuts to grieving neighbors and alarmed citizens of the town. Police come and go from the crime scene with serious looks plastered on their faces.
Then, something happens. The mood shifts. It goes from solemn and morose to chaotic. Police scramble into action. Onlookers’ whispers turn into a roaring buzz. Jim goes from sympathetic newscaster straight to investigative reporter.
The front door swings open, and two men help a woman out of the house. She’s wrapped in a blanket, and her face is turned into her shoulder, so the cameras can’t catch her face. I know it’s the woman from the parking lot yesterday. Reporters shove their way forward, and Jim is no different, but a wall of police officers stops their momentum.
Men and women push the line of the crime scene tape and scream questions at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Was Sebastian your lover?”
“Did Sebastian’s killer hit you?”
“Were you in the house last night?”
The police do their best to usher her away from the chaos, both to protect her but also to protect their case.
But the newshounds keep at it.
“Did you kill him?”
“Do you know who did?”
The woman stops in her tracks. The police try to budge her, but she holds her ground. She looks directly into the camera. Her face is bruised and swollen and streaked in day-old makeup. Her eyes only hold relief.
“Sebastian Rutherford was a horrible man. He kept me prisoner for two years. I don’t know who killed him, but whoever it was saved my life.”
A flurry of camera flashes go off, and the reporters litter her with questions, but the police take charge with a firm hand and place her into the back of a police car before she can say anything else. Jim throws it back to Sharon, and after a few sentences of commentary, she breaks for a commercial.
My phone rings. Tatum’s name lights up my screen.
I answer, and she speaks before I can get out a greeting, “Are you watching this?”
“I am,” I reply.
“This is insane. I can’t believe this is happening. My phone’s been ringing all morning.”
“What does this have to do with your phone ringing?”
“Freelance work. I’ve booked a handful of jobs just this morning. Everyone is looking for the story with the photographs to go with it. I won’t
have to take any baby announcement jobs for months if this keeps up.”
“Well, I guess there’s a bright side in all this—at least, for you.”
“Oh, fuck! I am the worst person alive. How can I be happy about the influx of jobs when it’s because people have died?”
“You’re not the worst person alive. You aren’t the person killing these people.”
“People are saying this is the largest story with the most media attention our town has seen since that girl went missing a few years ago. There was a story about the Murder by Numbers Killer in the New York Times today.”
“What girl?”
“Um, I don’t remember her name. It was five or six years ago now. She was a student at Yale, though, and she just upped and disappeared. The media pounced big time on that story, too. By the way, did you end up seeing Callen last night after we left the hotel?”
“No, I just came home and slept off my hangover.” Lies. Lies. Lies.
“Are you still worried about him skipping out before you got up and got off?”
“I wasn’t worried.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
I’m a better liar than she thinks. Obviously.
“I’ll see him when I see him.”
“Okay, I need to let you go. I have someone on the other line, hopefully another job. Talk later!” She hangs up.
I turn the volume down on the television.
My head spins. My new friend has no idea how absolutely twisted I am.
Callen is a killer. I like that fact about him. I like that part about me. It’s truly messed up. I take pleasure in the piece of me that gets off on his viciousness. I’ve never felt more alive than when I was getting off while Sebastian died beside me. Who Callen is and what his hands are responsible for don’t scare me away. It pulls me deeper into the lust.
I’m not repentant. Not even close.
I want more.
I thirst for it.
I’ll never get enough.
Callen
I’ve never been so careless with a job in my life. I’m not in a business where I can take things as they come. There are serious consequences if I fuck up while I’m working. Consequences that could have me locked up in a jail cell for life.
Rylan’s sudden appearance at the house caught me off guard. I was sloppy. Way too many variables were left not taken care of, liable to point evidence back my way. It took hours to sterilize the crime scene, wipe Rylan’s prints, and contaminate anything that could have had our DNA on it. I barely made it to Lighthouse Point Park with enough time to stage the body.
I make big money for the shit I do, and fucking up is not an option in my line of work.
What’s worse? This girl fucked with my job, and my brain is still more focused on her than the possibility of an error on my part at the crime scene.
I’ve texted. I’ve called. I’ve paced the fucking floor of my RV, but she still hasn’t called me back.
She showed up while I was killing a man, didn’t freak the fuck out, and has now gone completely missing in action.
Fuck waiting around. I have questions, and only Rylan can give me answers. I slam the door to my place as I exit and get into my truck.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, Rylan. I’m coming for you.
After about ten minutes of research, I find the address I need. I drive by her house, but her car isn’t there. Five more minutes of research, and I have Tatum’s address. I do a drive-by, but Rylan isn’t there either.
My next place probably should have been the first place I looked, and the hair on the back of my neck rises as I think about her there with someone else. The club. Rylan spends a lot of time there, but until this very second, the thought never occurred to me that she might spend time there with other men.
My foot sinks down heavier on the gas.
Minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of the club. Rylan was here the other day before she followed me. Both thoughts fuck with my head. I was trailed by an amateur and never even had a suspicion that someone was onto me while I cased Sebastian. I need to be a fuck-ton more vigilant from now on. It hits me how crazy I was to let her leave the scene of the crime the other night. I recognize how stupid it is that I haven’t killed her yet, especially as she avoids me. I’m searching for the only loose end I’ve ever left, and keeping her quiet isn’t what’s on my mind.
Rylan’s car is in the lot.
Inside, I’m a predator on the hunt for prey. It isn’t going to be pretty if I find her here in a room with someone else. This place is ours. I want her experiences here to be with me, no one else, which is completely fucked up since she has never once staked a claim on me or me on her.
Still, I survey the dark building, and my heart slows a little when I see her alone at a table. Good, I won’t have to kill anyone for touching her.
Her head turns, and she locks eyes with me. My pulse picks back up. I continue in her direction, and her lips part as I get closer. It’s clear she’s surprised to see me. I’ve never been one to chase, but here I am.
I sit at her table, scooting the stool next to her even closer. “Is your phone dead?” The irritation in my voice is evident.
“No,” she answers simply, flicking her eyes away from me in indifference.
“So, you were just deliberately ignoring me then?”
“It didn’t work very well because here you are.”
“We need to talk, Little Bird.”
“We don’t.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. We do need to fucking talk. Not only because last night was fucking crazy, but also because I’ve never left a witness alive before. Yet here she sits, stubborn as fuck and holding all of my secrets.
“Let’s go back to my place. We can’t talk here.” I look around at all the people.
“Then, it’s good that we’re here because I don’t want to talk.”
My aggravation grows. “Fucking Christ, woman. Could you be any more difficult?”
A few members turn at my outburst.
“I could be a lot more compliant if you were interested in something other than talking.”
“That’s how you want to handle this? You just want to fuck away the things we obviously need to discuss. The real world doesn’t work like that, Rylan. Fucking you here in this club today won’t make last night not have happened.”
She stands and demonstrates a seductive sway of her hips. “No?” She moves to stand between my legs and then turns, so her back is to me. Her ass pushes against me. “There are things I’d much rather do than talk.” Her hands glide up my legs—from my knees to the top of my thighs. Her voice drops an octave, and she develops a husky rasp. “Touch me, Callen. I’m in the mood to be controlled. Have your way with me. I’m yours to do whatever you’d like to.” She turns between my legs and gets down on her knees.
This action of hers gets less attention than my raised voice. Elsewhere, people might give her a second glance, but here, nobody even bats an eye. She places her hands back on my legs and leans back, pushing her chest out, completely offering her body to me. My fingers graze her lips.
“I’d love to fuck that mouth of yours. Fill you up completely until words are impossible. Hit the back of your throat until your jaw locks up. Watch the lust take over your eyes while I’m buried deep. Yank on that wild hair.”
Her breathing picks up, and she’s nodding along with my words.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “But I can’t. We need to talk, Rylan.”
A look of shock emerges on her face. Then, anger. She’s pissed. Then, nothing. She smooths her features and puts up a wall, shutting me out. She rises from the floor and spins on her feet, taking off with carefully measured strides.
I follow. “Where are you going?”
She glares at me when I grab her arm. “To find a man who wants to fuck instead of one who wants to chat. I’m here to get my rocks off, Callen, nothing else.”
“You’re not going to
do that.”
“But I am.” She jerks her arm from my grasp.
“Rylan, don’t fucking walk away from me. You’re being unreasonable.”
“I don’t take orders from you. I live my life doing whatever the fuck I want to do. Is that not clear yet?”
The man she approaches looks like a total pussy. There is no way she’ll downgrade to that fucker. He can’t touch her the way I can. He can’t drive her body crazy the way she wants. He can’t satisfy her morbid fetishes.
I can.
No one can give her what I can.
I’m far enough away that her words to him are mute to me, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out that she doesn’t waste time. Within minutes, she’s taking his hand and leading him to the back.
I tense as they walk past me. “You won’t go through with this, my Little Bird.”
“I will. Literally, watch me.”
The man she found looks nervous as he passes me. He should be.
Rylan books a room, but the guy she found never takes his eyes off me. He knows he’s the lesser man in this situation. His instincts are telling him to run and hide, not to touch what is mine. They head toward the door leading to the back, and once again, I follow. She takes him to a room that gives me a front row seat.
I crack my knuckles and experience exactly what she threatened—seeing her in the room with someone else. My lip curls in disgust. She’s taking this too fucking far. It isn’t unreasonable for me to expect us to have a conversation after what happened last night. In fact, it’s downright fucking logical.
Rylan takes charge once she closes the door behind her. She pushes the man down on the bed and sneaks a glance my way before she continues. I want to choke the smirk right off her face. I imagine my hands around her neck while I punish her by withholding her orgasm from her. Thrusting and pounding inside her until she can barely hold on, only to leave her hanging. Thrust, pound, withhold, and repeat. Until she’s crying, actually crying for me to let her come.
The man keeps nervously glancing my way, but Rylan attempts to pull his concentration. She ups her seduction, moving and twisting her body while she takes off her clothes. I grow enraged while she strips for him. Her fingers touch her tits. Her hips sway while she turns in a circle for him, putting herself on display. Her lips move, and then she gracefully falls on her knees.
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