Sympathy For The Devil

by King, Asha

  “List for one goddamn second! Natasha, he did it.”

  “Oh, bullshit—”

  “A witness saw his truck.”

  She ceased pacing, gripping the phone tightly. “What?”

  “The last woman, the one you recognized as having spoken to him?” Perry’s voice went low, full of serious warning. “We identified her and found people who saw her that night, in the parking lot, after your surveillance of Archer ended, get in a red truck with a man. It was the last time she was seen alive.”

  “A lot of people have red trucks—”

  “Quit letting your skirt make your goddamn decisions! He played you, Natasha.”

  Her hand was trembling and she blinked, held the phone tightly and tried to think rationally. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and she sank down, leaning heavily on the wall and sitting on the floor weakly. “Those calls came from your phone. You could be making this up—”

  “For Christ sakes...” He mumbled something she couldn’t make out, as if he’d covered the phone, and a moment later another voice spoke.

  “He’s serious, Tash,” Keisha said. “I spoke to the witnesses. Large red vehicle, tall man offered her a light for whatever she was smoking.”

  Shit. SHIT.

  “Where are you?” Perry asked.

  “I—” Tash sighed. “I’m at his house. I’m alone. I don’t know where he is.”

  “I want everyone on the fucking street now,” Perry barked away from the phone. “Everyone, move. Available units, head straight to the Archer residence. He went after Natasha Whitaker once already—you bring her here before he can try again.”

  She was shaking all over now, her pulse pounding in her ears. This couldn’t be for real, could it?

  “Officers are on their way—they’ll escort you to the station,” he said.

  Her gaze trailed back to the fridge where the note waited. A lot of people had red trucks. And just because someone was seen at the club, picking up the woman... The parking lot was dark—they could’ve been mistaken.

  Maybe.

  “Natasha?” Perry said.

  She blinked hard and came back to herself. “Yeah, I’m still here...”

  Tires crunched on gravel in the distance.

  Tash scrambled to her feet, the phone gripped tight as she peered around the wall toward the front door. “Someone’s here,” she whispered.

  Perry cursed. “Do you see Archer?”

  “No...” She waited, breathless, staring in the direction of the front door. The curtains were closed and she couldn’t make out a vehicle or anyone on the porch.

  The front door creaked open and she held her breath, waiting.

  “Police,” a male voice called out. “Tash, it’s me—we’re here to take you to the station.”

  She peered around the corner and sighed with relief when she saw Officer McKay.

  “I heard,” Perry said. “Go. We’re looking for Archer. It’ll be over soon.”

  “Okay.” She hung up swiftly and wiped at her eyes, trekking around the corner.

  Leo’s shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw her. “Thank God. Keish has been beside herself with worry.”

  “You got here fast,” she said as she followed him for the door.

  He grinned down at her. “Off duty but Perry called everyone in—the roads are teaming with cops. You’re safe.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go out ahead of him.

  Blinding headlights cut over the front of the house and she blinked against them, raising her hand to hide her eyes. “That’s good to hear...” Her vision cleared, settling on a vehicle that wasn’t a police cruiser but an SUV.

  A red one.

  Ice rushed across her skin, fear rushing adrenaline through her veins.

  Keisha is at the station... “Who’s with you?” She started down the porch steps as casually as she possibly could.

  “Hmm?”

  “You said ‘we’—I was expecting to see Keish.”

  “A couple more units are on their way—I heard on the scanner.”

  Shit. Oh shit.

  Two steps from the porch she paused and turned back to him, her eyes wide. “Shit, I forgot my purse. Hold on a sec?”

  “Sure thing.” Leo leaned against the porch railing and gave her a disarming smile.

  “Thanks.” Her steps were still casual as she walked back into the house, but her head was spinning and trembles spilled straight down to her fingertips. Over and over she went through a plan in her head—something swift, easy to follow. Purse, gun, phone. Purse, gun, phone.

  Purse. Gun. Phone.

  You can do this.

  The trek across the house seemed painfully slow, like she moved through swampy air that hampered her movements, but running would only alert him to her suspicions. Her gaze settled on the back door—she could get through the woods, maybe double back to her car. Ideally, she didn’t want to have to shoot anyone, not if she could get away.

  Tash turned the corner and scooped up her purse, fumbling for the gun as she plucked the cordless receiver from the wall. She punched redial, rounding the kitchen table and heading for the back door.

  “Deputy Chief’s office,” a recording said. “Please hold—”

  She reached for the back door and screamed as Leo’s grinning face met her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Leo jerked the door open.

  Tash stumbled back, dropped the phone, slammed into the table. Her purse thumped at her feet and her hands found the grip of her gun, just as he backhanded her.

  A shot fired but went wide, bullet punching through the kitchen wall. Pain blasted through her cheek and jaw, and stars rolled over her eyes. Her side struck a chair and knocked it over, tumbling with it, and smacking her head on the floor. The wind left her lungs in a rush and she gasped, struggled to get her feet under her.

  Her empty hands flexed—the gun, she’d dropped it. She scanned the ground but he grasped her wrist and jerked her backward violently. Her head was disoriented and the room spun, but she reached blindly and locked onto the first thing her hand encountered—the chair leg.

  With a scream she swung it at him. Wood cracked but she didn’t look, didn’t care, didn’t even think; she was on her feet in seconds and tearing out the back door.

  Her feet slapped the uneven ground as she burst across the lawn. The woods rose ahead of her, black and empty, but it didn’t scare her—no, not with Leo at her back. She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder because it would only slow her down and instead drove straight for the tall grass and woods beyond.

  Dry weeds and grass swished, brushing her hips. Her heart pounded in time with the painful throb in her head and cheek. The ache seemed to pulse against her vision, making it difficult to see, but she continued on. Her lungs squeezed and ribs felt bruised from where she’d slammed into the chair.

  The woods welcomed her into their dark embrace. Grass thinned out until it was just trees, and only then did she allow herself a moment to slow and look back.

  The house was brightly lit still and the back door lay wide open, light spilling onto the porch. A flashlight bobbed in the hand of a tall, broad figure jogging in her direction.

  Leo pursued.

  Briefly, she thought of her gun in the kitchen with the phone—she could double back. Unless he’d already found it. And was it worth the risk? Even her car keys were in her purse, so there was no slipping back to her car without heading inside.

  Devin had to have neighbors in the area, though. The houses were few and far between out in the country but farms ran on either side of his property—she just had to find one.

  Hopefully one with a shotgun.

  She darted forward, fast enough that she kept well ahead of him but slow enough to pick her way without running into anything. While his flashlight continued to strike the trees in the direction she’d taken, Tash jogged west, away from its beam. At least her clothes were dark, from her navy tank top and cropped jeans to her black sn
eakers—without the light, nothing about her stood out.

  Bit by bit the pounding of her head ceased and thinking cleared. How long she ran, how far she went, she couldn’t say. Far to her left, water rushed—the creek wasn’t far.

  The creek where the bodies were found. Women Leo killed. Oh, fuck.

  But police were coming to Devin’s house—Perry had said so. They’d see Leo’s SUV, see a struggle had taken place. They’d figure it out.

  Unless he’s already killed me and made up a story about getting there too late.

  Ugh, way to think positive, Tash. She grimly continued on, pushing her thoughts away and focusing purely on moving. And breathing. Breathing was good.

  In the distance, she spotted light. Faint but unmoving, and it looked like it was coming through a window—she had to be near a house.

  Tash picked up the pace and fell into a full-blown run.

  ****

  Devin turned down his driveway and frowned at the sight of two vehicles parked ahead.

  Natasha’s car, he knew right away. The other was an SUV, unfamiliar. He eased his foot down on the brake, wariness prickling his skin. The lights were on in the lower level but there was no sign of anyone.

  He idled the truck for a moment and left the keys swinging in the ignition as he climbed outside into the humid summer air. “Natasha?” he called, rounding the vehicle and glancing in her car. No sign of her and the SUV was empty as well.

  The farmhouse lay silent and waiting, screen door shut but front door open. He walked faster, jogged up the porch steps. “Natasha?”

  Inside was just as quiet and still as outside, and his stomach churned. A low, angry beeping sounded from the back of the house. He walked slowly, glancing around until his eyes fell on the kitchen. Overturned chair, phone off the base and blinking, still on and blasting that irritating noise. Natasha’s purse was on the floor, its contents spilled across the tile. A bullet hole was in the wall, plaster peppering the counter below it. No blood, but a definite scuffle had occurred and the back door lay open to the black void of the woods outside.

  It was all too much, like stepping back into the past. The confrontation of some sort in the kitchen, evidence everywhere of a violent encounter. And, again, he stood here in his kitchen and stared at possible crime scene.

  But before grief could grab him, before he could be immobilized by it, resolved anger took over. She couldn’t have been here long—an hour, maybe less. She still could be alive.

  She had to be.

  He broke into a run and pushed through the back door, heading straight for the woods. There was a lot of area to cover, but he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911 as he ran into the darkness.

  ****

  Tash burst through the last of the trees and paused, panting, sweat dripping from her forehead.

  It wasn’t a house—more of a shed, really. Still, a bulb burned through the windows, and it was the only place she’d encountered thus far. She crossed the last several steps to the old wooden door and pulled the handle.

  The hinges squeaked but the door opened easily.

  The space was musty smelling and still. She stepped on a poured cement floor, which was dusty and grimy, stains streaking across it. A single bare bulb hung above, casting ugly, thick shadows over the walls.

  And the walls weren’t empty. For a brief moment, it almost reminded her of the hippy shop owner’s dungeon; an array of tools hung on the wall, only there was nothing erotic about them. Rope, knives, gardening tools, but all had dark red around the edges.

  In the corner of the room sat a folded, clear plastic tarp and Tash’s stomach threatened to heave up its contents as she realized where she was.

  Her feet were stumbling backward before she’d told them to and her back hit the door. She spilled outside, spun around, and came face to face with Leo again.

  Tash screamed and stumbled back, but he grabbed her by the throat, stifling her shriek. His brown eyes were cold, dark blond hair damp and twisted with sweat. He walked forward, thrusting her back inside the shed.

  She choked, clawed, blinked against rising panic. Her fingers formed claws and she tore at his arm, reached for his face but her arms weren’t long enough. His lips were set in a grim line and he slammed her against the far wall of the shed. Tools rattled on the wall and the sheet metal roof groaned.

  He leaned close and breathed her in, his hand tightening on her throat until she couldn’t draw in air. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

  Her brain shut off but her body moved on instinct, knee driving up for his groin. He anticipated, dodged, and slammed his fist into her gut.

  Though Leo released her throat, it did her no good; she slumped forward in pain, falling hard onto her knees. Tears burned in her eyes and she coughed, gasped. She heard his feet shuffling, scraping on the cement, but she was only dimly aware of it.

  Beyond him, the shed door lay open.

  Tash surged forward but this time his boot caught her in the ribs, tossing her back. She slammed into the wall, falling on her side.

  Her insides were on fire, pain everywhere. Still she scanned everything around her, searching for any kind of weapon—anything to fight back with.

  “So tell me, Tash,” Leo said calmly. “What is it with you girls liking pain?” He stood by the wall of tools and reached first for the rope.

  Tash scrambled back, her hands scraping the cement floor. There was no way past him, nowhere to go, but she huddled in the corner, looking for any kind of opening—any way to get away or gain the upper hand.

  Of course, as he stared down at her, dusty rope in hand, she realized every other girl probably thought the same thing. No one would just lie there waiting to die—all of them were bruised and cut. All had fought back.

  No one lived.

  She wondered, though, if any of them had talked.

  Tash coughed to clear her throat and spit coppery blood to the side. She swiped hair from her brow and blinked up at him. “How long while Chelsea was married had you been fucking her?”

  He paused four feet away from her, staring down, regarding her in silence.

  Bingo.

  “A few months,” he said at last.

  “Did she cheat on you too? Is that why you killed her?”

  “No.” He started toward her again. “She wanted to go back to her husband.” Leo stretched out the rope and lunged for her; she had nowhere to go and though she fought and screamed, he had her wrists in seconds, knotting the cord tightly around them. A hook hung from the ceiling and he looped the rope over it, jerking her onto her feet.

  Tash could feel the bruises blooming on her face and her ribs screamed with pain every time she breathed. Her arms were wrenched high over her head, straining her shoulders and forcing her onto her toes. “You were too vanilla for her.”

  Leo cut her a dark look.

  Fuck it, if he was going to kill her, he’d do it fast if she pissed him off enough. “She liked it kinkier than you wanted to give it to her, right? Of course she wanted to go back to her Dom. He knew what she needed.”

  Three swift steps brought him face to face with her again and he grabbed handful of her hair, yanking her head back. Her scalp burned with the pressure. “You dumb bitches want pain? I’ll give you pain.” The tip of a switchblade touched her throat, dragging up and pressing under her chin. “You fucking dirty whores, thinking with your cunts, wanting someone to torture you. You’re sick and you need to be punished.”

  Pot, meet kettle. “All this to get back at Archer? Because Chelsea was leaving you for him?”

  “No, this,” he pressed the knife harder under her chin and a trickle of blood snaked down her throat, “is because I like it. Archer’s an added bonus.”

  She braced for the knife to drive home but it never came; instead he stepped back, released her hair, and dragged the blade through her cotton T-shirt.

  Tash’s bravado swiftly left her, cold reality descending. She might’ve pissed him off but not eno
ugh to slip up, not enough to even kill her quick. Instead he tore through her shirt and she’d read enough of the coroner reports to know what came next. He’d rape her, beat her, torture and kill her. It might last hours, it might even last days. And she couldn’t stop the sobs as they rose, shaking her entire body.

  Movement caught her attention, a shadow in the doorway behind Leo. Her heart pounded, a flicker of hope rising in her again even as he tore through her clothes, fabric ripping loudly.

  She wiggled her fingers, grasped the rope over her head, and heaved her feet up, using her last bit of strength to give Leo a kick. He stumbled backward but it was enough of a distraction—his angry, dark eyes focused on hers as he came at her again, knife raised and glinting dangerously in the light.

  The figure behind him collided with his back, the two of them tumbling to the ground. Devin grunted as Leo sank an elbow into his side, then countered with a punch of his own. Blood sprayed across the cement floor in front of her as they fought, the knife’s blade finding a home in someone’s flesh. She tried not to think or worry, instead twisted and pulling at the rope binding her.

  The hook was steady, locked in place and not moving at all. Her gaze followed the other end of the rope as the men fought—boards groaned, metal tools rattled on the wall, but she blocked it out. The rope ran along the wall just behind her where it was coiled around a ring.

  Tash twisted again, raising her foot. Sweat poured from her brow and her arms screamed, the pain so intense she worried she’d popped them out of the joints. Still she fought until her foot was up, snagged on the rope, and she could give it a tug.

  The ring rattled and the rope gave a little. Again she pulled her hands and gained an inch of slack, but it wasn’t enough to get it over the hook.

  She hadn’t time to try again—the fighting drew her attention back moments before someone reached her. Leo grasped her by the hair and swing himself behind her, using her as a shield and holding the knife to her throat.

  Devin was across the shed, panting, bleeding. An ugly bruise ran across the side of his face. His head tipped down, eyes flickering between her and Leo.