He ran his thumb over her hand and locked eyes with her as she toyed with the shoelace on a Timberland boot she was holding. “Giving up control isn’t always a bad thing, Claire. Under the right circumstances, it can be quite intoxicating.” He watched as she licked her bottom lip and the desire and need to put her in the compromising position of being under his control stirred in his loins. She had always had this effect on him with her long, dark hair, her honey colored, hazel eyes, and her sincere demeanor, always out to save the world. All of those things had always captivated him, but being under the same roof as her was proving to be much more tempting than he could have ever imagined.
Claire
The heat of his thumb stroking over her hand was sending jolts of desire into her core. The cross sensations from his tender touch and the rough callouses from street fighting were lighting a fire in her that she thought had gone out long ago. His words about control and the things they implied were touching her in places she had kept hidden from every man she’d ever been with.
It was very odd to her how people who were so different could be kindred souls. This stranger, who was touching her in ways she wasn’t prepared to be touched, was causing everything in her to want to venture deeper into his being. She wanted to strip and peel back his layers like an onion. She wanted to experience all the darkness she could sense inside him. His dark, dangerous demeanor, that would scare most women under normal circumstances, was doing just the opposite to her. It was an element of something forbidden that was making her curious, almost wooing her into wanting to explore it more deeply.
“Do you have everything you need? It’s been a long day and I’m going to retire early.” She began picking up the items on the bed before giving him a chance to answer her. Fifteen minutes later, she had all his things situated in drawers, the closet, and on his bathroom counter. She made her way back over to his bedside before she spoke. “Striker, I want you to feel at home here. If you’re hungry, go to the kitchen. If you want to watch TV, here is the remote. I don’t want you to feel awkward here. God knows you’ve been through enough already.” She turned and made her way out of his bedroom and across the hall to her own.
She took her make-up off and crawled into bed with no worries even though there was a stranger in her home tonight. She was sound asleep when he made his way to her bedside and didn’t stir even as he stroked her cheek as he stood over her, studying her face while she slept.
Striker
He waited… He waited until he knew she was asleep. He quietly slipped from his bed, grateful the medicine she’d given him was masking the pain from his bruised ribs.
His socked feet were quiet and went unheard in the hallway, even though there was a creak or two in the wood floor, as he made his way over to her bedroom.
He stood over her silently and felt his cock hardening at the thought of her ignorance. She was clueless to the fact that the man, who was now in her home, had been watching her for over a year. He knew so much more about her than what she realized. His stalking had gone far beyond just sitting on the ledge outside of her office building. She had no idea she had just invited a very dangerous man into her home. He gently ran his thumb over her porcelain white cheek and whispered down to her, “Always remember, my little angel of mercy, it’s the strays that are feral…”
He turned and quietly made his way out the door, exiting her bedroom. Once again, he had to push down on his hard cock. He looked forward to the day that he would be buried inside her heated depths. He longed to soak up her wetness as he pumped in and out of her velvety folds while she screamed out his name—the name of a man who had been planning her demise for years. Claire had no idea her father ruined his life. She definitely had no idea he had every intention of making her pay for the sins of her father. Striker planned on having fun toying with his prey before the final curtain call. After all, a man should enjoy the demise of an archenemy, especially an enemy he had waited years to pay back. What better way was there to get even with a man than through his precious, little princess?
Chapter Six
Claire
It didn’t take but a moment for reality to wash over her like a wave. The smells of coffee and bacon ensured a quick jolt of awareness. Sleep left her quickly and she soon had full command of her mental capacities. For some odd reason, a faint smile crossed her lips as she thought of her guest. She quickly jumped through her shower routine and threw on jeans and an old button-up shirt with plans to work from home.
Claire made her way into the kitchen in sock feet and headed straight for the coffee pot. Her guest beat her to the punch and handed her a cup filled with the steaming brew.
“Black… just like you like it.”
She chuckled, “Yeah, I’m on the run so much it’s just easier to order it that way and not get a screwed up cup of coffee. There isn’t a whole lot that can be messed up with an order like that.”
“Here is to not fucking up your order, princess.” He raised his cup and looked her in the eye in a way that almost felt like a challenge. Almost as quickly as she had the thought, he went back to being mannerly and she was second-guessing herself. She wasn’t willing to let it go that quickly though.
“Is that what you think? That I’m just some catered to little princess who has everything handed to her on a silver platter by her rich daddy?”
“I’m sure perfection is a hard standard to live up to, Claire.” Her name rolled off his tongue with ease. “It can’t be easy to grow up having a father who is a judge. I’m certain it can’t be easy that he’s trying to force you to marry a man you don’t love either.”
That got her attention. “How do you know that?” She asked him in a firm voice, not caring if he was offended by how brash she sounded. “I don’t remember ever telling you my father’s occupation.”
“Claire, I, unlike many men, listen when a woman talks. I have been talking to you outside of your office for over a year. You have told me more than you realize.”
Claire was uncomfortable. She didn’t understand what it was about Striker that made her second-guess herself. This guy she had once viewed as being merely a young man, who had no insight or understanding of anything but the street life, was turning out to be so much more than her previous assessment made of him. This was a man she was dealing with, not a mere boy, and she was seeing it in the clear light of day. Suddenly, his boyish face had taken on the sternness of a man and the intensity in his eyes made her wonder just how much he had seen during his time on the streets.
“I’m working at home today,” she stated, trying to lighten the thick tension in the air she was feeling.
“I’m going to take care of some personal business,” he answered her but never looked up from the stove.
“Do you need me to drive you?”
“I highly doubt you would want to accompany me where I’m going.”
“Where are you going?”
She watched as he brought the skillet over and dipped out scrambled eggs onto the plate he had placed in front of her.
“A princess should never be subjected to some things. Some things are just too troubling for a delicate creature such as yourself.”
“Stop referring to me as a princess and stop treating me like I am something you need to protect.” She met his intense blue eyes that held an element of danger in them. The kiss he left on her cheek and the sinister tone he spoke to her in left a chill in her soul that she couldn’t explain. Though his kiss and the words he spoke were kind, it left her feeling like she had encountered something very malevolent in nature. The man she was dealing with was unlike any of the men she was accustomed to being around. He wasn’t a one-dimensional character in personality. There were layers to him and it would take time and expertise to peel those layers back and expose the true being residing within him. He almost seemed to be feral in nature and rather than scaring her, it made her wonder if he held the same attributes in the bedroom. She could feel her face flush as the thought ran t
hrough her mind. He watched her face, reading it, but if he knew what she was thinking, he thankfully chose to ignore it and addressed her princess comment instead.
“I’ve never met anyone more deserving of the title. I mean no offense, Claire.”
Her hand touched the place on her cheek that his lips had just kissed and she felt a mixture of danger and sensuality. That was perhaps the best way Claire could describe her visitor—sensually sinister. The more moments that passed, the more of an enigma he became to her. It was time for her to do some research and while he was gone doing whatever it was he was going to be doing, Claire could start digging into just who this man was that she had invited under her roof.
Chapter Seven
Striker
He made his way out to Claire’s BMW SUV that she was allowing him to use today and tossed the keys in the air, catching them as they came back down. It amazed him how much she trusted him. She had insisted that he take her car and not catch a bus, even after he refused to allow her to accompany him on his outing. He wondered how trusting she would be if she knew where he was headed today.
He let his mind wander as he made his way into another safe neighborhood to stalk his next victim. The man he was presently watching was the cop who was responsible for having his father unjustly imprisoned and ultimately put to death by lethal injection.
“Go away, baby. Mommy’s tired, so tired.” His little hand pulled on her arm.
“Mommy, when is Daddy coming back?”
“He’s in heaven, baby. Mommy wants to see him. Always remember I love you. We never meant to leave you but you’ll be better off without us.”
The boy jumped up, knocking the pill bottles from under his feet when he went to hide under the dining room table after he heard the glass crashing. Though he was too young to read the note wrapped around the brick now lying on the floor, the message in came loud and clear through the screams of the neighbors.
“We don’t want you here, you fucking murderers! Get out of our neighborhood, you freaks.”
The boy had so many questions. He wanted to know why everyone hated them so much, why his Daddy wasn’t coming home, and, most of all, why his Mommy wouldn’t wake up.
The lies of a man who was supposed to serve and protect fucked his life up so badly he had to legally change his birth name from John Haze to Striker Malone. He guessed he should stop running down memory lane and be more concerned about the fact he was going to kill a man today. After all, it would be the first time he took a life. He had contemplated it for so many years it was already a part of him. Now, it was only a matter of doing the deed.
His life was ruined because of that lying ass dirt bag of a cop. Striker’s family went from being poor to being fucking destitute because of his lies. Striker grew up in foster care going from home to home after his mother took her life because of the shame they’d suffered. They were scorned in every neighborhood they ever lived in. Bricks were thrown through the windows of whatever dilapidated building they resided in. Death threats were a constant reality. Even the families of the foster homes that took him in were in danger until the state stepped in, changed his name, and put him in a group home where he could be homeschooled. He used that last opportunity to delve into the world of literature and learn all he could about everything he could. It had served him well. The education, along with the street sense he had gained, had enabled him to move right up under his enemies’ noses. He actually couldn’t believe he had gotten so close that he was now living in the home of the precious, little, entitled princess—a daughter of one of them. The thought of defiling her caused his cock to stir.
It’s too bad he liked her. If he had a conscience, he might’ve felt guilty about what he had planned for her but he didn’t think it would be an issue. He was a sadistic sociopath bent on revenge. Well, perhaps he wasn’t that far gone but then again…
Claire
One thing Claire loved about her job was the fact that she could work from home. Today wasn’t a workday though. She would be snooping into the life of her new resident instead.
She turned on her computer and gave it time to boot up as she made her way from her home office and into Striker’s room. It didn’t take her long to find his dirty jeans in the clothes hamper. She went through the pockets, not really knowing what it was she was looking for, and she hit pay dirt. Inside the small watch pocket, was a folded up piece of paper with a name on it. That gave her a starting point. With that name and the power of the Internet, she may just get somewhere with her sleuthing today. A wave of uncertainty washed over her as she began to question whether or not she really wanted to know who this man was. What if she found out more than she bargained for? In the end, curiosity outweighed her trepidation and she made her way back down to her office to begin researching.
She sat down at her computer with a fresh cup of coffee and began the task of researching the name on the small piece of paper. She read the article in front of her and became intrigued.
Bill Saunders is a police officer best known for the capture and arrest of the man dubbed the ‘Louisville Lacerate Killer’ due to his actions of not only cutting and maiming his victims, but also subjecting them to psychological torture while he held them for months. The killer was responsible for at least ten murders of young University of Louisville students before he was captured.
The retired police officer is now serving his own death sentence. It is rumored he is in very poor health, suffering from stage four lung cancer. He will always be remembered for his tenacity in the case that held the city of Louisville in a state of fear for over three years. The killer’s main focus had been on young women attending college at the University of Louisville. Detective Saunders was able to piece together clues and come up with evidence that one of the University’s employed police officers was responsible for the serial killings. Bill Saunders will always be remembered as an officer who went above and beyond the call of duty, solving a case that had the city in panic and his colleagues perplexed.
Though she had been successful in her search for information, it had only wet her appetite to know more. Her cell phone alerted her of an incoming text and pulled her from her thoughts. She smiled when she saw it was her new houseguest letting her know that he had arrived at his destination safely, wherever that was. She wondered why she was pleased to hear from him. She clicked off of the article she was on and made her way over to her real estate website. She really did need to get some work done today. She’d save the detective work for later.
Striker
Striker pulled up and parked in front of the modest home in the quiet, suburban neighborhood. He was grateful this guy had lived his life on a cop’s salary as it meant he didn’t live in a gated community.
He eased his way along the wall of the brick home, landscaped with bushes that enabled him to stalk unnoticed. The caretaker always left the back sliding door to her patient’s bedroom open with the screen door closed and unlocked. It was so thoughtful of her to give a man who could no longer breathe on his own fresh air.
The cop’s caretaker, like so many others, was a creature of habit and, every day, after she attempted to feed a dying man who no longer had an appetite, she watched her story.
Striker reached up and used his gloved hand to open the screen door. The household kitten scurried out before he could prevent his exit. Though he didn’t like the idea of it, there was no need to make a scene in trying to get him back inside. He probably went in and out all the time anyway. Suddenly, the thought hit him that the little guy might come in handy. If the opportunity presented itself, he would capture him as he exited the scene of the crime he was about to commit.
Striker made his way over to the medical bed, stood over the object of his contempt, and squeezed the small oxygen tube that sustained the man’s life giving air. His victim’s eyes flew open and he croaked out a request to know who the man holding off his air supply was. In a raspy voice that had been ravaged by his illness, he begged for a
n answer. His killer’s reply was simple.
“Ask the devil when you arrive at the gates of hell…”
Chapter Eight
Claire
Claire looked up from the stovetop where she was just finishing up dinner.
“You’re right on time. How was your day? Have we already morphed into a suburban couple?” she asked her guest.
“A gated community suburban couple,” he retorted, not missing a beat.
“Touché. Now wash your hands and sit down for dinner.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The feelings he stirred within her when he searched her face with those enthralling blue eyes of his were anything but maternal.
“You need someone to look out for you. Speaking of looking out for you, where have you been?”
“Just tying up loose ends so I can start work with you.”
“Not yet, big guy. Let’s wait until we know those ribs of yours are healed.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he drawled out in that sexy voice he had without even trying. He made his way to the sink and washed his hands and then sat down, watching the woman who had taken him under her wing.
She made her way over to the table and placed a plate of pasta and salad in front of him. He grabbed her wrist, locking it in his large hand, and stared intently at her until she turned and met his gaze.
“Thank you, Claire. I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me the way you’re doing.”
Her voice came out in a whisper, “I’m enjoying your company.”
“Good, because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
A knock at the door interrupted the intensity of their moment.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
“No, but just wait here.” She saw what she perceived as the pain of rejection in his eyes and it tugged at her heart so she spoke, answering what she read in them.
Stray Page 3