They stood glaring at one another until she walked away, slamming the bedroom door behind her with such force that a picture crashed to the floor in an explosion of glass shards.
Striker made his way over to the closet and retrieved a broom and dustpan to sweep up the mess. He meant what he said about protecting her and he didn’t want her or the cat getting cut on pile of broken glass. He knew there was some serious groveling in his future to get back into her good graces.
Claire
She could hear him just outside her bedroom, sweeping up the glass that had shattered when she slammed the door.
Damn him! Damn him for caring enough to clean up that glass and double damn him for making me care about him.
A plethora of emotions overwhelmed her as she tried to wrap her brain around the crazy that had now become her life. She felt a mixture of not only anger, but also pity for a man who had been dealt a shitty hand in the game of life. She couldn’t blame him for hating her father and trying to get even with him. Hell, there were times she could remember hating him as well. As much as she hated to admit it, if she was going to wade through this gamut of confusion, she needed Striker’s help. Two of them working on the computer could get much more accomplished, much faster, than just one.
As if reading her thoughts, Striker opened the door and peeked in. “Please don’t throw anything. I have your baby in my hands. We can’t divorce,” he teased. “You don’t want our son to grow up in a broken home like I did, do you?”
“Don’t try to use sympathy to get on my good side, Striker. The issue we’re dealing with is trust. You lied to me.”
He carefully made his way over and stood in front of her, stroking the kitten. “Claire, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took the hate I had towards your father out on you. Let me help you find the person responsible for sending those packages. Please, allow me to protect you.”
“You’re not off the hook, Striker, but I do need your help. You and I are going to hack into my father’s investment files.”
Striker sat down, obviously willing to do anything to negotiate a peace treaty and build trust with her.
“What are you thinking, Claire?”
“In my world, friends and enemies are made in the investment realm. Everything is about business. I figured that if you wanted to get back at my father through me, someone else might have had the same idea. Since you say it wasn’t you that sent that last box, I want to look at my father’s business associates and see if there are any transactions involving tobacco.”
“You seem really calm about all of this.”
“Emotion plays little or no part in the world of high society. I’ve been trained well.”
“So, you aren’t capable of love?”
“Don’t push it, Striker.”
He watched her as she typed in codes and numbers and, after a few minutes, all of her father’s financial records popped up. She scrolled down the screen and gasped when she saw exactly what she was looking for, but never thought she would find.
“My father owns a fucking tobacco farm. Why would he keep this hidden from the family?”
“You’re not going to like the answer I give you.”
“With the way my day is going, I don’t think there’s anything you could say that would fuck it up any more than it already is.”
“Let’s do this… Let’s take a road trip and check this place out and we’ll go from there.” He shook his head at her. “I don’t even want to say what I’m thinking for fear of saying the wrong thing.”
“I don’t think I want to hear it anyway.”
They got up, grabbed their jackets, and made their way out to the garage to get in the Jeep. She noted that Striker stuck a toolbox and some bolt cutters in the back. “Why are you bringing that?”
“You never know what you may need on a road trip.”
She watched his face as he turned and eyed her as he spoke, “I meant what I said. If I have to spend the rest of my life making it up to you, I will. That means whatever we find out, I’ll stand by you. I’m not the type to cut and run when things get hard.”
“You think he did it, don’t you?”
“I have no proof of anything and after what I watched my father go through, I’m not going to prejudge. Wait until we have been on the road for about an hour and then call those agents. If there is a captive or a killer out there, we’re damn sure going to need backup.”
Even though he tried to console her, telling her he wasn’t sure who the killer was, the sinking feeling that her father could be a serial killer settled uncomfortably in her gut.
Chapter Thirty
Agent Turner
“Damn it, damn it, damn it! They’ve got an hour on us. I know they purposely waited to call us so they would have a head start.”
“Do you honestly think this girl’s father could be our killer?”
“Nothing surprises me anymore, Rene.”
“Why do you think he would mail his own daughter threats and what about that cat? Do you think the judge killed Bill Saunders or do you think Striker Malone had something to do with it?”
“I would never admit to saying this, but I don’t care if Striker Malone is guilty of killing the man after what those two did to him and his family. As far as I’m concerned, the guy died of natural causes and we can leave it at that. As for the judge, I don’t know… Maybe he was trying to frame Striker. If the judge is our real killer, maybe he knew who Striker was all along. It would be the perfect opportunity to pick up where he left off twenty years ago.”
Rene left it at that. She probably didn’t like hearing an admission like that coming from him. Normally, he would take anyone down who had killed a cop but he couldn’t bring himself to feel the same way about a dirty cop, especially one who had ruined the lives of an entire family.
“The fact that this big wig judge went to all this trouble to hide this investment property from everyone tells me that he is guilty of something. Just think about it, Rene. If he’s responsible for killing women all these years, what better way to throw the authorities off his trail than to set up Striker’s dad? You know how it is. He would have had cops who owed him favors and would arrest an innocent man to repay them. He could have even set up false evidence to frame Steven Haze.”
“What about the cooling off period?”
“You and I both know an organized killer can have long stretches between killings. No judge is going to want the shameful legacy of being a serial killer associated with his name. After he blamed Steven Haze and prosecuted him, he could have stopped killing.”
“What do you think his motives were?”
“Who knows? Maybe his wife had an affair. Maybe he’s a misogynist. Trying to get in the head of some killer isn’t possible every time we have a case. With some, there is no rhyme or reason.”
“Well, maybe getting a look at this farm will tell us something.”
“That is why we’re headed out there and I’m certain that’s why Claire and Striker are going as well. I can’t even begin to imagine what that poor girl is going through.”
“Well, one thing is certain. If her dad is the killer, it will bond Striker and her together even though I’m certain she’s pissed at him.” Rene chuckled before she continued, “That was evident by the fire in her eyes. They’ll understand one another in ways that nobody else will be able to. The shame a family suffers when a husband and father are convicted for heinous murders—they’ll have each other to relate to.”
Chapter Thirty One
Claire
Claire watched Striker’s intense profile as he quietly made his way around to the warehouse on the large farm. Dusk was upon them. It had taken a couple of hours to get to the farming community and they had purposely made certain there were no workers around so they could investigate in private.
Any anger Claire had been feeling was quickly replaced by the adrenaline high caused by the uncertainty of what they were going to find. There had to be a reason
her father had hidden this investment from the family and she was adamant about uncovering why.
They quietly exited the Jeep and Striker made his way to the back to grab the bolt cutters he brought with them. He told her there would probably be a lock and chain on the door, or at least fencing that would need to be cut through. Sure enough, when they reached the door it was laden with a thick chain and lock.
She turned, eyeing her partner in crime as he spoke. “I don’t know what we’re going to come across in here but, regardless of what we find, I love you.”
Claire rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before speaking, “I love you too, you lying asshole.”
He laughed at her, though he looked like he tried hard not to, and then moved to cut the lock. The chain made a clanging noise as it hit the concrete pad in front of the side door they were entering. She was sure he had chosen that entrance, rather than the large garage door, so their presence would remain undetected if one of the workers drove up.
They felt along the wall, finding a light and flicking it on.
“Hello… hello… is somebody there?”
Claire’s heart sunk. She knew those were cries of distress.
“Please! Somebody help me!”
They rushed down the wide hallway and entered a room to find a nude woman strapped down on an embalming table, complete with a trough to catch the blood of whatever victim happened to be on it. It had been rigged with bolts at each end of the table. Straps, similar to seatbelts or what an ambulance gurney would have, were attached and bolted in various places on the sides of the table. Claire instinctively knew that they had been placed there to restrict a victim’s movements.
Striker quickly released the terrified woman and returned her clothing that had been thrown over in a corner. She got dressed as she filled them in on what had happened with a panic filled voice.
“He’s coming back! The son of a bitch admitted that he picked up that dancer who was killed downtown. He said he was going to cut me up just like he did her. He looked so innocent, like a businessman. Get me the fuck out of here! He’s coming back!” The poor girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, with tears streaming down her face.
“Nobody is going anywhere.”
Claire looked up already knowing who the man behind the voice was. He was standing in the doorway, holding them at gunpoint.
“How could you do this, Daddy?”
She peeked out from behind Striker who had stepped in front of her, trying to shield her from the gun her father held.
“How could I do it? Did you ignore your whore of a mother who fucked anybody in pants the whole time you were growing up? My colleagues, business partners, anybody that had a cock? She used her looks and my money to slut around for years. These women use their beauty to lure unsuspecting men into their treacherous webs.”
“Daddy, that isn’t true. Mother was faithful to you. She stayed home to raise us while you worked or, I guess I should say, while you slaughtered innocent women.”
Horrified screams echoed through the room as a shot rang out, hitting Striker. She crumbled to the floor, crying out and hovering over his body to try and protect him from another bullet.
“Drop the gun! Do it!” She recognized Agent Turner’s voice.
The next shot came from the agent who had been at her house earlier in the day and she watched, horrified, as her father fell to the ground in a heap.
This couldn’t be happening—her father and her lover dying in the same day. She barely heard the agents calling for backup but felt movement beneath her and heard Striker growl in her ear, “I can’t fucking breathe with you on top of me, Claire.”
“Oh, God! Thank God you’re alive.”
“Yeah, but my fucking shoulder hurts like hell.”
Epilogue
“Okay, are you ready? Are you sure? I know how hard it is for you to be out of control.”
“Just do it, Claire. Damn it, stop teasing me.”
She eased down on his hardened cock, relishing in the way he filled her, causing her to stretch to accommodate his size.
“Don’t move or I’ll get up. You have to do exactly what I say.”
“I’m going to make you pay when I get this sling off my arm.”
“Oh, hush.” She ran her hands over his face as she moved her body up and down.
“I love you so fucking much, girl.”
“I love you too and I definitely appreciate you taking a bullet for me.”
Her movements became more fervent as the build-up of an orgasm coursed through her center. As if they were one body, their release overtook them at the same time. They shared a bond that could only be felt by two people who had been forged in the fires of adversity.
He stroked her hair and spoke as she fell onto his chest. “This isn’t going to be an easy journey, Claire. We can relocate if you want to.”
“I can’t leave my mother. All those lies he told about her and the shame of being married to a serial killer... no one should have to face something like that alone like you and your mother did. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that.”
“I’m not. It brought me to you. I’m sorry that you had to find out your father was the Louisville Lacerate Killer, but I’m not sorry I was motivated to get even. I’m just glad I let all the hatred and need for vengeance go before it was too late.”
“Oh, so does this mean you’re going to be all mushy and wimpy now?”
His eyes cut through her with an intensity that assured her that was never going to happen. That was fine by her because she wanted him to remain who he was—the man she had fallen in love with.
“We’ll get through this, Claire. We’ll be together and that is all that matters.”
“Yes it is, Striker. Yes, it is.”
The End… for now…
Prologue-Captive-Sated
My name is Lady and I am an American pop star. Yesterday, I was standing in the middle of a stage, listening to 100,000 adoring fans screaming out my name. I should be happy but I am not. I live the life teens dream of and adults covet, yet each day I ward off thoughts of slitting my wrist and ending it all. For a woman who has so many people around, I sure am lonely.
Lady… Lady… Lady… Lady… Their chants pull me back into the present and I signal the band to strike up the first notes of tonight’s concert.
I begin to sing; it is the only time I am happy… So sing…I will…
Today, I run, stumbling through the back alleys of Afghanistan in fear for my life. I should have known better than to venture away from the military base but I was close. I’m just not close enough for anyone to hear my screams.
I jump as a caged dog lunges towards me, giving my location away to the men in the van at the mouth of the alley—the alley that has brought me to a dead end.
I watch in fear as the man wearing a turban makes his way towards me with caution, as if he has cornered a wild animal. I run towards him in an attempt to head butt him, but it is useless. His robe deceives me in that it never reveals the solid body mass beneath the gown. The last thing that I feel is his thumb as it viciously clamps down on an artery in my neck and then nothing…
I huddle on the filthy mattress, covering my ears to try and make the screams stop piercing my throbbing head. When I try to sit up and eye the men who seem to be fighting about my abduction, bile erupts from my wrenching bowels. I slump back down onto the mattress. At least I made certain that it landed on the concrete floor.
My eyes try to adjust to the dim lighting but even that is an effort. I need to see the man in the suit addressing my captors; it is evident he is in charge.
Once again I attempt to rise up and process what is happening—what had happened. An overwhelming wave of nausea hits me again, forcing me back down face first into the mattress that reeks of sweat and body odors. Have there been more women before me?
The blinding pain in my head is making it impossible to remember anything but bits and pieces of memory. As
desperately as I attempt to put the puzzle together, there is nothing but jumbled chaos in my brain right now. Confusion, pain, darkness…
Captive-Sated is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Steele/e/B00C9L6YRQ
Anthony:
If you saw me on the street, you would immediately know me due to my high profile life of being the Governor.
I am a politician. I'm seated in church on Sundays.
I am a man with an impeccable reputation.
However, you and I both know we all have vices. My vice is, and always will be, Talia.
She is an addiction that is in my system and one that will go with me to the grave.
I own her now. I pursued her with a vengeance and I now have a contract stating that for the next year of her life, she is my property.
Talia:
My name is Talia and I am what some people refer to as a hooker, a whore, a prostitute, an escort, or a lady of the evening. I do just fine on my own. I’ve never needed a knight in shining armor… until now.
He is dark, demanding, in control, dangerous, and powerful. He is the Governor and he is my knight in shining armor, or so he says...
He now owns me. He has coveted me from the moment that he first laid eyes on me. He pursued me until he convinced me to sign a contract that gave him ownership of me for a year.
He can do anything that he chooses to me. I am his property to do with as he sees fit and he is one sexually deviant, twisted individual.
This is our story. It is NOT a love story. It IS a dark, erotic tale.
Available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Steele/e/B00C9L6YRQ
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