Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3

by Trisha Wolfe

  He groans and backs out only to thrust in deeper. His thighs quiver as he rests against me, his restraint as obvious as his desire to fuck me. Once he’s satisfied that I’m fully aroused and the pain is in equal measure to my pleasure, he thrusts harder and lands a well-placed slap to my ass.

  I flinch, coming off the bench, and he pinches my clit to settle me back down. “That only makes me want to fuck you harder, goddess.”

  God, but I love that I make this man come undone. I buck on purpose this time, and he hisses and slams into me. I scream out, but it’s not from pain; the heaviness of his cock filling me rouses a satisfying, sharp sting that has me gripping the knot.

  Moving from my clit to my pussy, he buries his fingers. Over stimuli assaults me and I raise up. My cries are coming quicker now, my body shaking and slipping against the leather. I dig my knees into the rests, backing into him to meet each of his wild thrusts.

  As our passion increases, I tighten my hold on the knot. His cock grows rock-hard, stabbing into me at a furious pace. I don’t even feel the climax build—it takes hold of me so quickly, I’m not prepared. All my walls clamp down on him at once and then I’m shattering. Undulating my hips, riding the orgasm out as I crest.

  “Oh, fuck…Sadie…” He groans and rams hard, his cock throbbing inside me as he breaks. His chest covers my back as he falls forward, and his cock is pushed out. It rests against my slit, tantalizingly pulsing as he drains the last of his cum.

  Once the climax subsides, I release the knot, my whole body one large ache. My muscles go lax, and I’m raw to the touch. “Don’t move, goddess,” he says before he eases off me.

  “I don’t think I can,” I admit, my voice wobbly, matching the tremble of my limbs.

  I hear Colton move around the bench and his footfalls head toward the corner of the room. A creak, then the splash of water fills the room. The blindfold is removed, and my eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting and I discern Colton standing before me.

  He kisses my forehead, then moves behind me and presses a cool, wet cloth against me. I flinch as he begins to clean. I should feel embarrassed. That’s what my mind screams—that this position is humiliating. My thoughts are sucked right back to my captor and when he’d…

  I instantly stop that train of thought. Colton is lovingly and tenderly washing me after we shared each other, equally reveling in our feelings and pleasure. I will not allow—ever again—for my memories to steal what should make me feel revered. That Colton’s devotion extends to his care of me.

  “I have a shower here,” he says as he finishes wiping me clean. “But your welts need to settle before soaking them.” He scoops me off the bench and carries me to a cot at the other end of the room.

  I link my arms around his shoulders. “I’m fine. I promise. Just completely and utterly exerted.”

  His smile lights his pale blue eyes. He lays me on my stomach and goes back to the bathroom. He returns with fresh, damp cloths and proceeds to lay them along my back and bottom.

  The chill settling along my skin feels so good that I sigh into the thin mattress, the sting present, but bearable. He removes the cloths, then grabs a bottle of lotion from a table. “Vitamin E and aloe. The cooling effect will help.”

  As he delicately works the lotion into my skin, I nearly drift off. My skin stopped stinging with the first application, and though I know it’s going to be sore come morning, the numbing effect of the aloe is magic right now.

  Once the cream is dry, he gathers me into his arms, bringing me against his chest to cradle me on the cot. His fingers comb my tangled mess of layers, following the strands down as they fall loose along my back.

  “This changes everything,” he says. He rests his mouth to the top of my head and inhales deeply.

  “Everything,” I echo.

  We stay like that for a long time, listening to our breathing fill the silence, the club having shut down a while ago. His strong heartbeat lulls me into a content state where the darkness that plagues me is held at bay, and my love is not feared.

  * * *

  A buzzing startles me awake. Groggy, I glance around the room, still gripped by hazy sleep. Something flashes in the dimness, a light blinking against the wall near the table.

  I look down at Colton, his beautifully toned arm thrown over his eyes, his back with the intricate dragon tattoo outlined by defined muscles. Beautiful. I hate that it’s taken me a near lifetime to love that word again. Currently, it’s my favorite, and the most fitting for the man sleeping beside me now.

  The flashing and buzzing starts up again. I sigh. I’m a ridiculously light sleeper. After tonight, I hoped to sleep completely through. Besides being physically depleted, I’m emotionally drained from Colton’s breakthrough and my own confession of my abduction. We whispered our secrets into the dark, touching, embracing, reaffirming our connection.

  It’s not about the dark hiding our shame, making it easier to utter the histories that forged us. But rather, it’s the strength in which we find there. The comfort that we are not alone in that dark.

  I’m reluctant to move. I know that once I do, the soreness will take hold of my body and then it will be impossible to find sleep again. A smile touches my lips as the night comes back to me, and the discomfort feels less immediate.

  Still, with all what I have to do tomorrow, I decide to try to stave off the ache with a countermeasure. I pry myself off the cot and head toward the table in hopes that I’ll find something more than lotion and aftercare products, like aspirin.

  I’m amazed at how light I feel, regardless. How my shoulders roll back easily, my head lifts a bit higher. Baring your soul to someone you trust—there’s nothing else that compares. It’s almost enough to counter the blow of having been removed from the case. And with that thought, my mood tunnels. Damn Quinn.

  Forcing disappointment aside, I savor the afterglow of our moment, for however long it will last. And truly, I almost feel as if I glow, but then I realize it’s just the fogginess of my sleep-addled brain and the flashing coming from Colton’s phone.

  I glance back at him, then at his phone. It’s blowing the hell up. Biting my lip, I take a peek at the screen.

  The fucking world implodes.

  I clamp a shaky hand over my mouth, my eyes unable to look away from the horror on the screen. With each new message, another image pops up. Each one becoming more and more terrifying.

  “No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. No!”

  Those who you care for the most.

  The UNSUB’s words mock me. As another image of a bound and gagged Avery flashes across the screen, I drum up my courage and grab the phone. I open the message and scroll through the images. Like a sordid flipbook, her poses slightly shift as she struggles against her restraints.

  “She’s alive,” I say, scrolling to the first and then back to the most recent. “She’s not dead. He’s holding her captive.” I say the words aloud, willing them to be true. Believing them…because I cannot accept any other outcome.

  “Sadie,” Colton’s voice crashes through the fear gripping me, and I whirl to face him.

  “You have access to the main office here,” I say, my own voice sounding foreign. It’s not a question. “And surveillance. You have to have some kind of surveillance. The UNSUB was here…so he might’ve been caught on tape.”

  His face registers his confusion. “I do, but it’s early—”

  “We need the member files. Now.”

  He moves close to me and rubs his hands along my arms. “You’re shaking. Jesus, Sadie, what’s—?”

  I hand him the phone, unable to say what I dread. “I can’t, Colton. I just…I have to get to those files.”

  I’ve done everything the UNSUB required of me up to this point. I’ve played his game within the system, and this is my punishment. Avery is suffering.

  Colton’s stony gaze travels from the screen to me. “You know her.”

  I nod. “We have to save her…I can’t let�
�” The tears fall free, and I choke them back. Avery needs my strength. I cannot break.

  The phone buzzes, and Colton looks down. He reads, “You should not have given up your communication so easily, Sadie. A person must then go to extremes to gain your attention.”

  Gripping my hands in my hair, I tear at my scalp, trying to force my brain past the panic and to think. Think.

  Fuck. Anger rages anew, blistering my veins like lava.

  It’s clear. All so clear.

  “He’s on the inside,” I say, and march over to my discarded dress.

  The UNSUB has insider knowledge. There may be a huge leak in the department, but my removal from the case was only hours ago. And like I warned Quinn, that would only piss the UNSUB off.

  Now someone who doesn’t deserve his wrath is paying the price.

  And I swear—I swear to God—I will not lose Avery.

  I will tear through every member of that department until I find the UNSUB.

  * * *

  To her darkness, she whispers. Of monsters and visions of red, of the terrors that claw up from her abyss. Monsters are forged, but heroes are born. To the light, she sings. Of fortitude and acceptance found only in his arms. ~Sadie Bonds

  Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. When you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes back into you.

  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

  Prologue

  Two Years Ago

  Sadie

  The crunch of gravel beneath my heels echos against the tall pines shrouding the out-of-the-way bar. A solitary lamppost illuminates the seedy little building, shining a spotlight right on my target, as the softly muffled twang of country music from within beckons me closer.

  I smooth my palms along my hips and suck in a steadying breath, feeling exposed. The skimpy red dress leaves nothing to the imagination—and no hiding place for my gun. Not that I would dare bring it. This circumstance requires caution, but also common sense. Still, the missing steel against my hip leaves me feeling more than vulnerable.

  Exactly how he likes them.

  A loud burst of laugher greets me as I pull the wooden door open, and a gust of cigarette smoke blasts my face. The smoky plumes waft and curl in the dim lighting of the green plastic lamplights. The smell makes my back teeth clench, the craving hitting me hard. I bite the inside of my cheek, wishing I’d bought a packet of gum. I push through, my gaze sweeping over the strangers seated at the bar top, standing around the five pool tables, and the one man stationed at a lone corner table.

  He’s only slightly less out of place than I am in this establishment. Dressed in black slacks and a white button-up, his dark hair mussed after a long day, he’s miles away from the city in which he works. He could change his clothes before he makes his daily trek to the outskirts of Roanoke, but he likes the attention he receives from the girls. He’s not overdressed—just the right touch of sophisticated finery to denote he has a bit of money. Not enough attention to cause a ripple with the truckers; more of an air about him that states he likes to unwind from a hectic day with them. He’s really one of them. Accept me. And for the girls…he’s handsome enough. Reserved. Stoic. Polite. Even bashful at times. It’s not his first rodeo, but every time is like the first for him. He never gets used to it.

  And they love that. Because he treats them better than any truck driver passing through, looking for a quick, drunken screw. He promises them a reprieve; an easy and maybe even enjoyable romp. I can see the girls at the bar now, fingering their hair-sprayed, teased layers, inching their jean skirts higher, batting their mascara-coated lashes his way.

  He doesn’t even have to try.

  That’s his farce.

  Shaking my hair off my shoulders, I brazenly head for a table near the back wall. I can feel eyes on me, checking me out, hungrily roaming every inch of exposed skin—except for my chest. The dress stealthily designed to display my curves and flesh, while concealing that one, particular area with a choker-style collar that vees down around my breasts.

  I battled some on whether I should leave my neck bare or not. It’s his fascination with the neckline that ultimately decides who. I wasn’t confident that mine would tempt him enough…and so better to leave it to the full imagination. Sometimes it’s what you don’t see that drives you crazy. Stirs the monster within to act.

  Besides, I’ve been dying to wear this dress for him. The tight, silky fabric clings to my thighs as I saunter past his table. We both like to keep our backs to the wall, our vision unobstructed—a safeguard strategy for predators and prey alike. I can’t discern him watching, but I can feel his awareness of me, his arousal. I’ve studied his tastes. I’ve learned his triggers. I’ve applied them and enhanced myself to fit his selection process. And I’m wearing his favorite color.

  Another thing we have in common.

  In a dank and colorless room, I’m the brightest object—the one to capture your gaze and ensnare you. And that’s the mission. Become the bait, set the trap, and lure the hunter into his own web.

  I’ve been coming to this bar on and off for the month that I’ve been stationed in Roanoke, and I’ve been here almost every night for the past week. I followed him here the first time. Watched him watching the girls. He chooses prostitutes because they’re easy to make disappear with little consequence. Though I’ve since learned he has much finer tastes—rich, powerful, domineering women—he’s disciplined enough to play it safe. That’s why I know he won’t be able to resist me.

  I’m not just a working girl; I’m a wealthy, high-class call girl. An escort. I’m a bit risky for him, because I might be missed. I have a select clientele that probably includes members of law enforcement—but I’m also just too tempting. I’m counting on his need overriding his self-control. He needs to assert his power over me. Dominate me. Show me just how wrong I am for flaunting my audacious self on his turf.

  I just have to make sure I keep his attention, and that means eliminating the competition.

  As I take my seat at the table, a middle-age waitress walks up and crosses her arms over her ample chest. “Sweetie, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but none of the boys here are taking the bait.”

  For an alarming second, icy pinpricks needle my chest. The fear of being made clogs my throat. “Excuse me?”

  She pops her gum between her teeth. “Mostly truckers and a few lowlife locals. That’s all we have here. What you’re selling is too rich for their blood.” She scans her eyes over my silk dress. “And you’re pissing off the regulars.” She nods to a couple of working girls at the bar. “Why don’t you find a nice joint in the city to work?”

  I catch the gaze of one of the prostitutes and earn a nasty sneer. You’re welcome.

  Lifting a shoulder, I shrug. “I’m stuck here until I get my car out of the shop. It broke down. I’m just passing through.”

  She smiles. “Well, if you want some advice—” she uncrosses her arms and pulls a pencil from her coiffed hair “—tone it down some, honey. You’re scaring the boys. They like to keep it simple. That means the price is right, ya know? Can I get you your regular?” At my nod, she winks and heads off to pour my drink.

  As long as I’m here intimidating the locals, he’s not hunting them. But the waitress does have a point: I stand out too much. I wanted to entice him…not disrupt his routine. And I’m running out of time to catch him.

  Detective Quinn—the uptight asshat I’ve been assigned to assist twice now—has shut down the profile. He really doesn’t like working with a behaviorist—with me. We’ve butted heads the whole time I’ve been in Roanoke. I swear he’s from some ancient time before behavioral science. Like my skills are about as useful to him as a crystal ball. And he treats me like a green rookie who never clocked one single hour in the field. Like a delicate but irritating pain that cramps his hard-boiled detective style.

  I’m not breakable. I’m not delicate.

  And if he’d j
ust apply the profile to the case, he’d see what I do: the man sitting adjacent from me. Mid-thirties. Attractive. Charismatic. With an inside knowledge of forensics, and a hatred for strong women that makes him impotent in real life situations.

  But Quinn is stubborn. Too damn stubborn to put the heat on Lyle Connelly, because Connelly has an alibi for the most recent murder, and because the forensic tech works within the local department. The fact that this recent murder happened within a month of the last denotes the offender is escalating. He’s been astonishingly patient in the past, waiting almost a year between attacks to claim his victims. The sudden detour in MO is what brought us here.

  While Quinn and his task force focus on the recent vic, tracking leads in Roanoke, I’ve been examining the pattern. Putting together the profile. The biggest aspect of which points to someone in law enforcement—someone with knowledge of forensics; who avoids praise but demands promotions and recognition from higher-ups. A classic narcissist.

  But that’s not what sealed Connelly as the Roanoke Roper for me; it’s the trail of brutally murdered women he’s left throughout Virginia. He was present in each city when a murder was reported. But here’s the kicker: his method changes from place to place, as if he creates a new MO each time. Honestly, it’s a brilliant tactic. One that takes extreme discipline for a ritualistic offender.

  Over the past three years, I’ve worked many of the cases, all unsolved—until now. It all keeps coming back to Connelly.

  I finally found him.

  Quinn, however, refuses to dig further to unearth the truth. Like Quinn, I don’t want to ruin a reputation. I don’t want to embarrass either of our departments. But isn’t that the price we have to pay, the sacrifices we have to make, to bring in these offenders?

  By the book, Bonds. We work within the law. We’re not vigilantes.