Fingers settled on my head. I flinched but didn’t rise. Not until told.
He tightened his grip on my hair and jerked me upright. Pain seared my scalp, making my eyes water, but I didn’t resist. I kept my eyes down but didn’t make a sound.
“What else did he teach you, pet?”
I’m not your fucking pet! I wanted to scream and slice at him with all the rage and fear bubbling up inside me, but he was still wary. He held me at arm’s length. At most, I might get his leg, but his arms were probably much longer than mine. I’d be lucky if I got a piece of him at all, and then he’d take my only protection away.
His fist slammed into my face, turning my head away with so much force some of my hair pulled loose in his other hand. My cheek exploded in pain, my eye already starting to swell.
And I learned something very, very important about myself.
I’d always hated my need for pain. I thought it made me weak. I hated being a doormat for guys to treat like crap. A victim. The next wannabe dom’s punching bag until I wised up. Deep down, I’d always feared that I’d settle in with some horrible abuser and I’d enjoy getting the crap beaten out of me. Like I was too stupid to know the difference between abuse and a masochist’s pleasure.
No ill-trained dom I’d ever picked up in a club had ever punched me in the face.
Even better, I felt no pleasure in this pain. It was only pain. Ugly fear. Helpless terror.
No pleasure whatsoever.
“Answer the fucking question, pet.” He bent down enough that I could see his face, covered with a black ski mask. But I could see his lips, and that arrogant sneer was definitely Rusk’s. “What else did he teach you?”
My mouth didn’t want to work, garbling my words. “If I was weak, he would make me strong. If he was bad for me, he’d let me go.”
He shook me in his grasp by my hair like a rag doll. “Utter crap. Of course he was bad for you. He drew my attention to you, and then he abandoned you to your fate.”
He slung me down the hallway. I skidded across the floor and almost banged into the wall. Dizzy, I stumbled to my feet, caught myself against the wall, and ran toward Charlie’s room. I knew it was a trap but I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
I didn’t want to be murdered on his bed where he’d made love to me, slaughtered to feed Rusk’s sick plans. But I had a feeling that’s exactly where he’d most want to finish me.
“Did you enjoy his bites, Ranay?” Taking his time, Rusk followed me, laughing as I stumbled and crashed into a decorative table. A vase tumbled off and shattered on the floor. “Did he beat you? Whip you? Did he fuck you so hard you bled? That’s what I want to know. How good a fuck is Charlie Gyres, anyway? When he had you pinned on that table, did he make you play with those knives first? Did he threaten to dice you up into little pieces while he fucked you?”
I pushed open the door to the bedroom then slammed it shut behind me, locking it. He’d get through, but maybe it would buy me time. I whirled around, hoping to find a way out. Although I knew this room, it was pitch dark. I couldn’t see a thing. Not even a hint of where the window was.
Someone grabbed me and I almost screamed. But I knew that hard, lean body. I knew those big hands. I knew that simmering, powerful energy that rolled off him in waves. I relaxed into Charlie’s embrace, tears flooding my eyes. He was here. Everything would be okay now.
Rusk thudded against the door. “I’ve got you now, pet. By the time I bust through that lock, you’re going to be very, very sorry you delayed me. Now I won’t have time to play as much. I’ll have to finish you quicker. Much less fun for us both.”
Charlie drew me back, effortlessly picking me up off the floor. Moving soundlessly, he set me on the bed, touched my right hand and felt the knife. His lips curved against my ear in a silent, Good girl.
I slid my hand under the pillow and pulled out the other knife. Now I had two. I flipped both blades out and tucked one under my thigh. The other I kept hidden in my hand, tucking the blade along my wrist.
He held me a moment, his mouth pressed to my ear. “Bait him,” he breathed.
I shuddered but nodded. Charlie would get him. I had no doubt.
He backed away, disappearing into the blackness of the room. I couldn’t feel him anywhere.
“Go away!” I screamed. “You can’t take his place as my Master. Never!”
A gunshot tore through the lock, sending shrapnel through the room. I clamped my hands over my ears and screamed again. He kicked the door and it slammed against the wall. He stood in the doorway, a black shadow against the dark hallway. “He thought he could set a trap for me, didn’t he? But I’ve always been a step ahead of you, Charlie. I have you to thank for my first kill. Now I have you to thank for my last.”
I drew my knees up, huddling against the headboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He left me. He abandoned me when I needed him most.”
“You’ve given me the perfect opportunity, Gyres. You left my signature on her. We all know you’re dirty. You took out Matheson so you could get your hands on this sweet piece of ass one last time, and I just happened to arrive and catch you in the act. At least come out and make this a good fight. Let it be interesting. I’d much rather have your dead body and hers as evidence, though if you run, that’s fine with me too. The FBI will hunt you down like the dog you are now.”
Playing along, I looked around wildly. “Master, help me!”
Rusk charged across the room and wrapped his hand around my throat. He dragged me up out of the bed and used me as his shield. “Fool. Some master you picked. He used you like a helpless little worm dangling on the end of his hook. I know you’re here, Gyres. Show yourself or I’ll bend her over your bed and tear her ass apart while you watch! I’ll slit her pretty throat and bleed her out on the bed where you fucked her. Is that what you want?”
I didn’t struggle in his grasp, though he squeezed my throat so hard I couldn’t breathe. I sagged in his arms, making him work to keep me upright. My instincts shrilled at me to flail and claw at his hand on my throat so I could breathe, but I forced myself to stay limp. As if I was already unconscious.
“Fuck.” He jerked me against him. “Useless cunt. No wonder he abandoned you.”
I shoved my right hand back against him as hard as I could. His breath gasped out against my ear in a horrible wheeze. Sobbing, I jerked the blade out and stabbed him again. I had no idea where I’d hit him, if it was fatal, but Charlie had said never stop with one.
Rusk fell on top of me, but he never let up that pressure on my throat. The gun slammed into my temple, pushing me quicker into blackness, but he didn’t shoot me.
He was saving the bullet for Charlie.
Something moved, so fast and light that I barely registered its passing. Rusk jerked on top of me. Again. His fingers loosened and I hauled in a choking wheeze. I struggled, fighting to get out from beneath his weight. The gun fired again, right by my head, deafening me. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t hear. But I could feel the twitches of Rusk’s body on top of me. Something hot poured down my face. It tasted salty. Coppery. Blood. His? Or mine? Had he shot me? I scrambled, crawling and kicking to get free of his body. I flung my hands out desperately, trying to find anything for leverage.
Rusk lifted for a moment and I almost escaped, but he flipped me over and fell down on my legs, trapping me. He loomed over me, the gun pointed at my head. His arm wavered, then he cursed, a wet muffled word I couldn’t understand. His shoulders slumped, his arm fell, and he sat on my legs, staring at me.
Hands grabbed me beneath my armpits and hauled me out from under him. Charlie. He held me a moment on our knees, cheek to cheek, our chests heaving frantically. His hands slid over me, his fingers firm, over my head, seeking the lumps, the cuts, my throat, my chest. Checking my injuries.
“Did he,” I panted, gasping for air, “shoot you?”
“Have a little faith in your Master, kitten. Of course not.”
Rusk groaned and lifted his head, though he was still slumped on his knees.
I couldn’t help the shriek that probably rattled Charlie’s eardrums. “I thought he was dead.”
“He is,” Charlie said in a light, agreeable voice. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Sheba barked, growing closer by the second. She’s okay. Thank God. That meant Matheson had at least been able to get to the car and let her out.
“I have to go now. Your cavalry’s on its way.”
I clung to him, but I didn’t protest. I knew he’d have to disappear. If he stayed, there’d be too many questions. Even though Rusk had been the serial killer all along, Charlie had his own crimes to answer for.
His big palm cupped my cheek, his thumb gliding over my lips. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. “I love your blood, but I’m pretty sure that’s Rusk’s. Otherwise I’d kiss you goodbye.”
“So you owe me a kiss.”
He released me and stood, moving so quickly and quietly that he was at the door before I could blink. “I promise.”
That fast, he was gone.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sobbing, I scooted away from Rusk until my back hit something. The corner of the bed. Sheba raced in, licked my cheek to make sure I was okay, and then went after the master. Maybe she could catch him. Maybe she’d get a goodbye from him. Better than mine.
“Ranay!” Matheson yelled from outside. “FBI!”
“I’m here!” I called out. “I’m okay!”
Sirens roared up the road, their red-and-blue lights spinning crazily down the hallway to spill into the bedroom. No lone, inexperienced deputy this time, but dozens of cars from the number of lights. Matheson paused at the door, standing to the side to scan the room with her gun out. “I’ve got a body! Anyone else here, Ranay?”
“No,” I whispered.
She tried the light and called to the other officers. “Someone check the breaker, see if we can get power on. I need an ambulance.”
“He has a gun,” I warned her, in case he was still alive.
Gingerly, she came into the room, her gun trained on the man slumped in the center of the room. “Hands up. Drop the weapon.”
Rusk didn’t move. I couldn’t tell if he was still breathing or not.
Matheson’s leg swept out, knocking him over. He fell to the floor with a heavy whump, unmoving. She kicked the gun out of his hand and then bent down to feel for a pulse.
The living room light kicked on. The alarm clock started blinking red on the nightstand. Another officer came into the room and flipped on the light. Grimacing, I covered my eyes, waiting for them to adjust.
A low whistle from the man made me drop my hands. I looked around at the carnage and fought not to throw up.
The door hung askew on its hinges. Blood pooled around Rusk, but more splattered across the bed. And me, evidently. I looked down at my hands and they were coated with thick congealing blood.
Matheson pulled off the black ski mask and dropped it. “Rusk. There’s going to be one hell of a shit storm.”
“An FBI agent?” I looked up, not surprised to see Cutler and his deputy both at the door, though Daniels especially looked green around the gills. “He was the serial killer? Not MacNiall?”
Matheson squatted down in front of me. She looked the worse for wear too, swollen face streaked with dried blood. Rusk must have beaten her pretty bad before racing after me. “You’ve got a couple of nasty bumps and quite a shiner. Where else are you hurt?”
I blinked, my hands feeling my stomach and chest for injuries or pain. “I don’t know.”
She pulled the comforter off the bed and draped it around my shoulders. “He didn’t hurt you?”
My hand fluttered up to my cheek and I winced, even though it made my face hurt more. “He hit me. I think I lost a hunk of hair. He choked me.”
Matheson tilted my head back to get a closer look at my throat. “Yeah, you’ve got some bad bruising. Nothing else?”
“I don’t think so.”
Her eyes narrowed and did a quick flicker over me, no doubt cataloging all the blood. “Can you tell us what happened while we wait for the ambulance?”
Careful. Charlie was gone. He was safe. I wanted to keep it that way.
“I ran inside and hid. The door was unlocked and the alarm was off, though I’m sure I set it.” Cutler elbowed his deputy, and Daniels immediately dug out a notebook and started jotting notes. “He was here, inside, waiting for me. He grabbed me by the hair, hit me, then threw me down the hallway. I ran into the room and locked the door, but he shot the lock and kicked it open. He grabbed me by the throat, and he was squeezing...” I shivered, my teeth chattering. Closing my eyes, I fought back the wall of panic threatening to drown me. It’s over. I’m safe.
Matheson took my hand and gave me an encouraging squeeze.
“I couldn’t breathe. He was choking me. So I stabbed him.”
“You stabbed him?” Matheson asked quietly. “With what?”
I opened my eyes and looked around on the floor. “A small knife. I found a box of them in the closet. I carried one in my pocket.”
“Okay,” she said, giving a quick glance at the deputy. “Make a note that the knife might still be in the body.” She turned her attention to me. “What else?”
“He didn’t let go of me, so I stabbed him again. We fell and struggled. The rest is a blur. He was on me. He lifted the gun like he was going to shoot me, and then he slumped and went still.”
“Did he say anything to you? Did he say why he’d done this?”
“He said Charlie led him straight to me. That he was going to make me his last kill and dump it all on Charlie. He’d screwed up by putting the bite on me. His signature. Charlie was dirty and everyone would believe it.”
Matheson tightened her grip on my hand. “Was Charlie here, Ranay?”
I didn’t want to lie to her. She’d helped me a lot. I liked her.
My eyes fluttered and I let myself sag, sliding deliberately to the floor.
“Ranay? Is the ambulance here yet?”
Her voice was thin and distant. Someone lifted me. I was moving, gliding along the floor. They paused and Sheba’s soft muzzle brushed my arm. They loaded me with a jolt into the ambulance and she jumped up with me. People talked over me and I didn’t care, because the one person I wanted the most was gone.
Charlie.
Tears slipped down my face but I didn’t make a sound.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Propped up in a hospital bed, I couldn’t help but smile when Special Agent Matheson tapped on the door. Another interview—aka interrogation—was inevitable. At least with the FBI involved, I hadn’t had to deal with the sheriff again.
She had a piece of tape over her nose, her lip was cut and the entire left side of her face was bruised. “Can we come in?”
“Sure.”
She stepped inside with an older man dressed in a blue suit. “This is Assistant Special Agent in Charge Tim Wilkins from our Kansas City office.”
He stepped closer and offered his hand. Not to me, but Sheba. I had a feeling Matheson had pulled a lot of strings, as well as waving my service animal papers around, but the hospital had finally agreed to let her stay. She never left my bedside.
Sheba rose up enough to sniff his hand and then lay down beside me. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Miss Killian.” He had a nice voice, even and deep without being arrogant, and his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “It’s not every day we get to thank someone for helping out the FBI.”
“Me? Hardly.”
“You helped us stop a very prolific serial killer,” Matheson said, reaching down to stroke Sheba. “Since Rusk was inside the FBI, catching him was next to impossible.”
The sudden sinking pit in my stomach told me there was more to this story than I was ever going to hear. “So you had suspicions all along.”
“Let’s just say Rusk was u
nder careful evaluation,” Wilkins said. “I had my best female agent assigned to him. See how he behaved. If there were any red flags.”
“There were,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “You acted surprised by what I told you.”
“I didn’t want to sway you toward suspicion or color your judgment. Plus, you helped me understand more of the power dynamics he was using to lure his targets close.”
“We need to go over a few more things and then we’ll let you be on your way,” Wilkins said. “I hear they’re going to release you today?”
I smiled. “I hope so. I didn’t need to stay the night but they insisted.” I touched the bump on my head. The swelling had gone down, but it was still painful to the touch. “No concussion, and that’s what they were worried about.”
“Great.” He pulled a chair over and sat down beside my bed. “Jill?”
Matheson set a manila file on the bedside table and flipped it open. “We’ll go over the statement you made last night and make sure there’s nothing you’d like to add, all right?”
Nodding, I reached down to stroke Sheba’s head. She looked up at me with knowing eyes that were sad and hopeful all at once. Soon, I silently promised her. He’ll come for us.
“You said you stabbed Rusk twice.”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember how many shots went off at the house?”
“Two, I think. He shot the lock off the door, and then he shot again, close to my head. It was so loud it hurt my ears.”
Matheson looked up from the paper and captured my gaze. “What was he shooting at that second time?”
I didn’t look away. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see anything. The room was pitch black. I couldn’t see his face the whole time.”
“But you had no doubt in your mind it was Nick Rusk?” Wilkins asked, drawing my attention.
Relieved, I looked at him, fighting my urge to drop my gaze. He was a powerful man. Not dominant in that sense, but in charge. He commanded dozens of agents, if not more. That kind of authority made it hard for me not succumb to my submissive nature out of simple respect for his position. “It was him. I wasn’t sure at the car, when he attacked Matheson. But when he grabbed me by the hair, I saw his mouth, the way he sneered at me. That look was Rusk’s.”
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