Willow had no idea what the doctor did with the bodies. The next thing she knew, Richard was locking her in his basement lab, promising that he’d release her as soon as he could. He had to find a cure without alerting Helix to they had done — they as if she had been part of the planning. When the doctor returned from the office the following day, she was completely mad with desire.
Willow lay on the couch, sticky and dripping, rubbing her sopping hole at the memory of her first weeks of Red Breath. She needed to leave the house and fuck; not just fuck, consume cock like it was one of the four food groups.
The killings had changed her, maybe forever. She and Richard both knew two things: she had to fuck every day, and she would kill anything that made it inside her. So each evening he would smoke a fresh Red Breath, then head down to the basement for an hour or so of insane fucking, the Red Breath keeping him armored from death.
The part of the drug the doctor never designed was as powerful as all the parts that he did. Red Breath allowed Willow to see what was in the doctor’s mind while he was inside her, or even earlier, once blood flowed to his cock and put his arousal in bloom.
The sensation itself was amazing, but Willow quickly grew hungry for more, and grew dissatisfied with the same Richard every night of the week. Not being able to consume him wholly as she had the two people she killed, was like not being able to cum. It left her aching all day and all of the night. It was a hunger she neither understood nor could control. It was if Red Breath had awakened some alien or ancient part of her — a powerful, hungry part that grew more agitated the longer she went without being fed.
Willow understood the need to stay locked up, but was growing more resentful by the hour. And though she was too scared to try and break free, she also knew there wasn’t much time before her body got the best of her mind and started driving the bus without her. It finally happened two days before the doctor’s murder.
Willow was in the basement when the six foot three inch man with the square jaw and close cropped hair came to check the gas meter. She was in heat, writhing around on the basement floor, sucking on her fingers and digging as deep as she could into her sloppy hole. She smelled the meter man outside, leapt like a cat from the cold concrete floor, sniffing the closed narrow window at the top of the basement.
Willow closed her eyes and called him to her with her mind. Another talent she had developed which Red Breath had obviously awakened.
The meter man had no idea why his cock was so suddenly hard, or why the throbbing pain was leading him toward the back door of the house, but his body was giving him no choice but to follow. He also had no choice but to break the back door window, letting himself into the kitchen. Just like he had no choice but to head down into the basement, following the scent of soaking wet pussy like it was a pie cooling on a windowsill.
He opened the basement and saw Willow lying with her back on the floor, her legs spread wide enough to give the meter man a clear view of her engorged pussy lips, glistening from an almost constant wetness.
Willow whispered, “Do you want me to fuck you so hard you fall asleep and never wake up?”
The meter man agreed, though he must have thought she was kidding, or at least exaggerating. But she wasn’t.
Willow bounced up and down on his throbbing cock as he was swallowed by pleasure. She dug into his memories, seeing everything from the time he was sixteen and finger banged his fourteen year old next door neighbor Lisa, to the night before when he came on his wife’s waiting face.
Willow took it all. Drank him down, and felt his lifeforce flow into her. It was a rush greater than any drug. There was a remote part of her that felt guilty for killing the man, but the power and euphoria drowned that part of her out.
Feeling stronger than she’d ever felt before, she left him dead, but smiling. She went upstairs through the open basement door, took a long, scalding shower, then tracked down the good doctor who had called in sick to work.
It didn’t take Willow long to track him down. She could see flickers of his thoughts like breadcrumbs trailing toward his cock, and once she was a mile from St. Regis, his scent grew strong enough to smell.
Willow didn’t have to check in downstairs to find him. She simply followed her nose and the twitch of her twat. The man in the elevator conveniently forgot she was there after she swallowed his load and left him alive. She didn’t even have to knock on the door since Richard opened it the second he smelled her on the other side.
She entered the room to an orgy, and the sudden, wide-eyed fear of the doctor — a terror he could do nothing about. He belonged to her, cock and mind, and she used it, just like she used every girl in the room to satisfy the day’s worth of lust that had built up inside her.
For three hours she had herself licked and fingered and fucked by everything in the room that had a face. Her asshole was sucked on, just like her tits and pussy. Her ears were whispered into, and she made Richard spend his last long minutes on Earth as her slave, servicing her on repeat.
Three of the girls were dead before the other three realized what was happening. They only lasted a few seconds longer, their eyes widening just in time to fall silent forever.
Willow kept Richard around for another hour, sucking him off once, just for the fuck of it, before making him use his Red Breath thickened rod to fuck her silly and splatter her with his white, hot spew over and over again. It was only when the frenzy and delirium subsided that Willow finally realized what she had done, what she had become, and what that could possibly mean. Humans were wired with two primary modes of response: fight or flight. Red Breath turned fight into fucking, but flight stayed the same.
Tracking Richard had been a mistake, but not nearly as big a mistake as leaving his briefcase behind. If Willow had only remembered to take the briefcase with her, it would have changed everything.
Ever since he’d started taking the Red Breath, Richard had started stashing cash, drawing it from willing women like an ATM. But even packed with what had to be at least six figures worth of untraceable cash, the money wasn’t what made the briefcase valuable. Two years worth of research was packed onto a 60gig thumb drive. Even more important were the 5-10 packs of Red Breath Richard kept in the briefcases’ back compartment.
Smoking the cigarettes had a different effect on her than they did Richard. For Richard, he needed a new dose to become aroused, and to have the enhanced sexual powers. For her, the arousal was permanent. One smoke was all it had taken to flip some switch inside her. The sensation had not increased the longer she stayed away. But if she were going to try and cure her condition, she’d need to get the cigarettes.
It was easy for Willow to see her glaring error in the light of a new day, away from the frenzy, but all she’d felt in the hotel was overwhelmed, confused, and a burning need to run as far and as fast as she could.
Willow was packed and ready to go, contemplating her next move throughout the morning – terrified of her next move, horrified of what she had become, and finding it impossible to ignore the burning need inside her.
And as hot as the fire she felt burning between her legs, it wouldn’t be too long before Willow was running from an entirely different sort of heat. She had to get out of town immediately. Run away and never return. Throw herself into isolation, somewhere where she could never harm another soul. Maybe Alaska.
If only she had more than $9,382 in her bank account, or hope of a cure.
If only she’d taken the briefcase.
Willow was minutes from flight when she heard the knock on the door, and saw the two agents standing on her porch. She was terrified, and might have run right there if she hadn’t smelled the pungent sex of Agent Brad Hammer on the other side.
Willow had to calm her mind so it didn’t scream. She could feel it calling to the large and well-practiced cock in Agent Hammer’s pants. She could clearly see the memory of his last fuck – a quickie with a waitress at the end of her shift, two days earlier in Austin, Te
xas – and see the filthy thoughts he couldn’t help but have about the partner standing beside him.
More importantly, Willow found the memory of the briefcase.
Agent Hammer had what was hers, and she was going to get it back.
Agent Hammer was the key to everything. He had the briefcase, and if Willow could retrieve it, she would have enough money to go on the run, as well as the research that would lead to her cure.
XXX
Chapter Four – Brad Hammer
“I’m taking a long nap, and if I’m lucky I won’t wake up until tomorrow,” Grayson said, pulling into the underground parking lot of their hotel, driving the Lincoln toward a spot at the back.
“Are you serious?” Hammer looked at his watch. “It’s not even 3:30?”
“Which day?” Grayson said as they got out of the car and walked around, leaning against the trunk. “Did you not have the same week as me? Were you not in Synecdoche, New York for four days following dead leads on a werewolf case?”
Brad said nothing. Of course he’d had the same week as she had, but he was numb to the travel, and the schedule that went with it. He was never affected the same way, and nap-time for Agent Grayson usually meant Brad went looking to lift a skirt.
“What do you care? You’ll end up at the hotel bar looking for tail anyway.”
“I don’t care,” Brad said. “I was just thinking maybe you wanted to look through the briefcase, you know, see what everyone’s trying to keep us from seeing.”
Grayson shook her head. “That’s not our concern. Division ordered the case closed, so that means the case is closed. We already broke protocol talking to the twit girl who could barely tell us her name. We’re not putting our asses on the line for that. I’m sure Division knows about the briefcase, Hammer. It’s evidence and we weren’t the first on the scene.”
“Yeah,” he smirked, “and according to you they’re listening to this conversation right now.” He asked for the keys, popped open the trunk, pulled the briefcase out, and then slammed the back lid of the Lincoln and threw the keys to Grayson.
“You never know,” she said.
They entered the hotel lobby, heading for the elevators. “Promise me I can get some shut eye without having to worry about you,” she said, stepping inside.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Brad smiled. “Go get yourself some beauty sleep, then meet me downstairs at 7:30 tomorrow morning before we hit the airport. I’ll even treat you to one of those crap scones you like so much.”
The elevator dinged and Grayson stepped through the parted door with Brad a step behind. “You didn’t say you promised,” Grayson said.
“I promise,” Hammer smiled, waved goodbye, then turned toward his room as Agent Grayson walked toward hers. He muttered under his breath, “I promise to tell you about everything I find in the briefcase.”
Brad slipped his keycard in the lock, opened the door, tossed the briefcase on the bed, changed into jeans and a tee-shirt, then went to work on the lock. He figured he could crack it in less than 10 minutes. It took him 25.
The briefcase held three items: a flash drive, a shit heap of cash, and something that confused him.
The flash drive didn’t surprise him. After all, a scientist’s research is what made him worth killing. The money only surprised him a little, since a guy as mud fence average looking as Madsen would need major coin to score the six hotties he’d spent an entire day fucking, until something stopped his heart from beating. What Brad didn’t get were the six cartons of cigarettes.
They were packaged in regular looking cigarette boxes, complete with shrink wrap. Across the top was a stamp: PROPERTY OF HELIX PHARMACEUTICALS AND ADVANCEMENTS in red lettering. In smaller black print just below it said: RED BREATH #2327.
The oddest thing about the cigarettes wasn’t their silvery gray paper, it was their scent – something he couldn’t quite place, though a battery of conflicting smells were suddenly soaking his nostrils: chocolate and vanilla, jasmine and fresh rain, spring after a hard winter, and though he knew it wasn’t possible — pussy.
Brad wanted to know what in the fuck Red Breath was, but even more, he wanted to know why in the hell had it been left in the hotel room. Maybe Doc Madsen hadn’t been murdered, because the briefcase had at least two things worth killing for, probably three, and yet they were all sitting safe at the back of the closet.
Hammer sat at the desk and opened the lid to his laptop, then plugged the flash drive into the port and waited for it to pull the data. There must have been a shit ton to read because his super fast laptop kept spinning while Brad went on waiting.
When the files finally sorted themselves on the screen, Brad about went apeshit.
There might have been a quarter million in the briefcase, but it was pennies compared to the thumb drive. Brad could have spent all night if not all week going through the two years of research. It took him nearly an hour to understand half of what he was seeing, then another hour to finally believe it.
Red Breath was the world’s first super sex drug in its most potent form. But for all its wonder, the drug in its current form was apparently peppered with problems. Brad wasn’t sure where to start looking since every limb of research sent him in a dozen new and confusing directions. Rather than the actual research, Brad found the most telling information in Dr. Madsen’s notes.
It turned out the doctor was prescribing himself a taste of his own medicine, and judging by the documented doses had turned into quite the junkie, moving from casual use to constant intoxication in just under two months.
The drug also appeared to affect different psyches in different ways. The doctor never should have self-medicated, at least not before he found a way to dilute it. Being a lab nerd since high school hadn’t prepared Madsen’s mind to deal with the drug, and it looked like it had eaten him alive. A guy like Brad, on the other hand, could take a dose of the Breath to amplify what he already had, without the danger of it completely altering his brain chemistry.
Brad leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thick head of dark brown hair, staring at the briefcase and the open carton of Red Breath. He knew he shouldn't take it, and the whisper inside him was screaming for him to stop, but Brad smelled the adventure, and loved how much the odds were in his favor.
Dr. Madsen was a nerd, Brad wasn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an endless supply of the drug, Brad didn’t.
Dr. Madsen had an academic interest, Brad’s was purely social.
Of course, Dr. Madsen didn’t have Agent Grayson, who would be furious with him if she knew what he was doing. But she would never know if he didn’t tell her.
The open briefcase was a no-win situation. If Brad said yes, he’d be breaking protocol and the law, maybe even jeopardizing his health or safety. If he said no, he would wonder what he’d missed for the rest of his life.
Red Breath helped men cum multiple times in a row, with no dilution in desire or performance. That was enough to make him pull one of the cigarettes from the package, hold it under his nose, and inhale the sweet scent of chocolate, vanilla, jasmine, fresh rain, spring after a hard winter, and pussy.
He felt an immediate swell in his cock, as the scent made it easy to imagine the Red Breath working inside him. He placed the paper between his lips, then held it there as he fished through the briefcase for a lighter. He pulled a silver Zippo from the inner flap of the briefcase, then held it under the cigarette still dangling from his lips, suddenly too scared to light it.
What if a single breath changed him?
What if he lost control like Madsen had?
What if there was no turning back, and Red Breath was forever?
Brad shook his head at his own paranoia, sat at the edge of the bed, then lit the cigarette, drawing a deep drag of the smoke, where he held it in his well practiced lungs, just like the weed he “officially” never smoked.
Brad blew the first long trail of scarlet smoke into the room and
stared at the crimson cloud which gave the drug its name. His head went buzzing, quickly followed by his entire body. He couldn’t imagine doing anything, but sitting in the chair as a flutter of something he’d never felt before rippled through his body like the tease of an approaching orgasm.
His muscles were completely relaxed and he felt like he was sitting in a tube being rushed down a gentle river. For a moment he forgot where he was, as he turned in circles, blinking at his empty hotel room. While the world around him felt as though it had slowed, his thoughts had accelerated. There was a multiple more than usual, and most of them were centered around the same message being sent to his brain.
He suddenly wanted to fuck.
No, he needed to fuck, and not just fuck, but fuck the living shit out of someone.
Brad’s cell suddenly thrummed against his leg. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen – a local Atlanta number. “Hello,” he said.
“Hi there, Agent Hammer, this is Willow, Willow Monroe. We spoke earlier today about...”
“Yes, of course Miss Monroe,” Brad cut her off. “How can I help you?”
The memory of her pert tits and sweet scent made his throbbing cock throb harder.
“I have some information that I think might be relevant to your case.” She paused, then dropped her voice to a whisper and added, “I know it is.”
“What’s loosened your tongue? Don’t you still have a non-disclosure to worry about?” The thought of Willow Monroe’s loosened tongue had him imagining it lapping the fat of his shaft.
Willow whispered even softer. She kept her tone professional, but Brad thought she sounded sexy as fuck. “I think I’m being followed, and I don’t think I’m safe. They don’t want me to tell you what I know.” She sounded like she was trying to keep herself from crying. “I think they might try to kill me, too. Just like they…” she trailed off, then said. “Is there somewhere we can meet? I’m in the car now. I can meet you anywhere.”
Fifty Shades of Lexi Maxxwell Page 48