by Stella Hart
Somehow, Alex had known that.
“What do you say?” he asked, flipping me over as I quivered like crazy.
“Thank you, sir,” I gasped.
“Good girl.” He waited for my body to stop shaking, then pulled me to my feet and pointed to the walk-in closet. “You may get dressed,” he said.
I should feel sick to my stomach for letting him make me come. For making him come and for swallowing it all. But I didn’t care. Soon, I’d come crashing down off my cloud of bliss, but that could wait at least a few more minutes.
I could hate him later.
In a haze, I went through the drawers and baskets in the closet. I selected a pair of black yoga pants and a thick gray sweater before stepping out and looking longingly at the huge bed. I knew Alex wouldn’t let me sleep here tonight. This experience was just a little taste of what I could have if I was good. But I’d been bad earlier, very bad, so now that the pain and pleasure was over, it was time for him to take me back to my cell.
I didn’t even mind. I followed him out of the room and out of the house like I was walking on air, and I willingly climbed into his arms and let him carry me across the snow toward the shelter door. It was freezing, but I barely registered it. Being in his arms was warm and comforting, and I’d never felt so safe and protected. For a fleeting moment, I forgot how much I despised him.
I was so numbed from the pleasure that I almost forgot to ask him a pressing question before he left me locked in my cell. Now was the best time to do it. I figured he was pleased with me, so his guard might be down at least a little.
Thank god I still had a little bit of reason and sanity left in my tortured, confused mind.
“Sir, may I ask a question?” I said as he was about to lock the door on the bars.
“Yes. What is it?”
“I know I was bad earlier, but I wanted to ask for a favor.”
His lips quirked into an amused smile. “A favor?”
I bit my bottom lip and nodded, widening my eyes just enough to look sweet and innocent, but not suspiciously so. “I’ve noticed a few cockroaches around. Looking at them makes me feel sick. I know I probably deserve that, but I just thought… maybe you could bring me some sort of pesticide.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I haven’t seen any roaches.”
“They must come in and out of the air vents leading outside,” I said, keeping my head respectfully bowed at a slight angle. “It’s usually really late at night, when you aren’t around. I guess they’re trying to keep out of the worst parts of the cold.”
He nodded. “Can’t blame them. But yes, I understand how they would disgust you. How about we make a deal?”
“A deal?” My eyes widened slightly.
“I’ll go and get you some insect repellent. In return, you keep the panties on all night.”
“I’m already wearing them, sir,” I replied. “I kept them on under the yoga pants.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He pulled out the controller from his pocket, where he slid it earlier. “You keep them on.”
My cheeks heated. “Okay,” I whispered.
“Wait here.”
He returned ten minutes later with a box of cockroach baits, and he put some up in the air vent before stepping back out of my cell. He flicked the switch to turn the panties on, then slipped it into his pocket.
“I’ll put some more in there in a couple of days,” he said, nodding toward the vent. “But that should get rid of most of them for now.”
“Thank you, sir,” I murmured. I forced a grateful smile as I spoke, with a hint of faux coquettishness in regard to the panties. They felt good, but after hours and hours it would become far too much, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep. At least it was sweet torture, though. If that was the sort of reward I got for playing his twisted game for now, then I was happy to take it. I’d even take more punishment if need be. After all, it wouldn’t be long until I was out of here.
Not now that my plan was beginning to take shape with the very thing he’d just handed me.
Alex turned to leave, but quickly did an about-face and came back to the bars. “I meant what I said earlier. Once you’ve gained my trust and learned everything, that room inside is yours, along with everything else that comes with it. Would you like that, angel?”
The message was clear. He could provide all sorts of pain, horrible burning pain, but he could also provide so many pleasures. Earth-shattering, brain-melting pleasures. All I had to do was give in, give myself over to him completely.
His dark blue eyes searched my face for a reaction, and I tried to keep my expression blank. “Yes, sir,” I said softly, knowing it was what he wanted to hear.
As much as I hated it, a rose-tinted image of myself living with Alex in that big house was darting through my mind. It could be so easy. I could live in luxury with everything I ever wanted. No bills, no rent, no work, no debt. No real life responsibilities. All I would have to do was follow the rules and please him. Perhaps that was what he meant the other week when he said I was freer here than I was out in the real world.
The thought was fleeting, and regretful reality crashed through me a split second later. There was no freedom to be found here. The big room, the mind-blowing orgasms, the life of apparent luxury… it all came with a steep cost. I’d never be able to leave—no doubt that window in the lavish room was barred, and I’d probably be locked in there when Alex was out at work or wherever else he went. I’d never see my friends again, either. I’d never have any human contact again, aside from him, and I’d never be allowed free will.
I’d rather work three jobs, pay endless bills, and live in a rundown area than live without freedom.
Besides, it’s not like he would let me stay forever anyway. Men like him surely wanted shiny new toys once in a while, upon which the old ones were tossed away. Maybe I’d last a few years here, maybe even a decade… but eventually, he’d want a new toy, and I would be cast aside. In this dark, fucked up world he’d created, being cast aside meant being disposed of forever, because as I’d already figured, he’d never let me out of here alive.
The dark thought sent chills down my spine, like it did every time I considered it.
I’d always had this strange fantasy of running into darkness. Running toward danger. Sometimes when I saw movies about stuff like wars, plane crashes, and guns, I felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought of being there in those situations.
It didn’t make much sense—I spent my whole life pursuing safety and security, when really, the biggest thing that got me going was the precarious feeling of vulnerability. That shaky, heart-pounding feeling that anything could happen. Something new, something unexpected.
I once read that it was something to do with dopamine. Some chemical reaction in the brain which made people crave new, thrilling experiences to stimulate increased happy hormones in their heads. Even if those situations were mired in danger they could become addictive. Other people chose skydiving or base-jumping to get their thrills. Me? I chose to disappear into my head and secretly fantasize about far more dangerous things. That was why I liked looking at all those dirty pictures and reading the filthy stories on my laptop.
But that didn’t mean I wanted it in real life. It was all just a dark fantasy, right? In the end, I could retreat into the safe, warm cocoon of my bed, and the danger would disappear. All in my head.
It wasn’t like that here, though. Here, the danger was real. Always lurking around the corner, driving me mad with suspense and fear. It could hurt me. It had hurt me.
No, I definitely couldn’t live like this. Sometimes I craved danger, sure. Craved someone taking control from me. But that was just a fleeting fantasy, and after actually experiencing that dark danger for real, I craved my normal life far more. I wanted my friends. I wanted my classes and my annoying jobs. I wanted pancakes from Pamela’s and walks in Frick Park. I even wanted my crappy little house.
Most of all, I wanted to live. And this
man… this striking, terrifying, impossibly-handsome man… I was beyond certain he was going to kill me one day.
That left me with only one sure way to escape.
I had to kill him first.
15
Agent Jason West
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. Early mornings and late nights were beginning to get to me, but it was necessary. We had a killer on the loose, and the public was losing faith in their police force as well as those of us here at the FBI. Fifteen years, and this bloodthirsty creature had stalked the city, targeting people and tearing them apart after weeks of isolation and torture.
“Agent West?”
I glanced up to see one of our young analysts standing by my desk. “Yes?” I sat up straight.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said. “The guy at the front desk asked me to find you and see if it’s okay.”
“Who is it?”
“Some girl named Samara Silva.”
I frowned and glanced over my schedule. “I don’t have a meeting with anyone by that name.”
“I know. But she said she wants to speak with you. Said it’s urgent. Apparently it’s about that intern girl who used to work here. The one who left suddenly.”
My brows shot up. “Celeste Riley?”
The analyst nodded. “Anyway, just letting you know she’s out there. I have to get to a meeting now.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” I stood and headed down the hall.
Usually I wouldn’t take a meeting with any old stranger who walked in here, but I’d always had a soft spot for Celeste. She was polite, good at her tasks, and whip smart. A bit shy and sad-looking, maybe, but I could tell she had a backbone lurking somewhere under all of that. It was a real shame when she left, and I was curious what this Samara Silva had to say about it.
I stepped into the reception room. A woman was standing there, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark skin and shiny black curls.
“Ms. Silva?”
The young woman looked over at me. Her face fell with relief, and she hurried over to me. “Thank you for seeing me, Agent West.”
“May I ask what this is about? I was told it was something to do with Celeste Riley.”
She nodded anxiously. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sure.” I led her into one of the conference rooms, then directed her to sit. I remained standing. “What’s going on, Ms. Silva? Is Celeste all right?”
She picked at a nail. I could see that she’d already bitten most of them all the way down to the quick. “I thought… I thought maybe you could help me. Nothing is happening, and I’m getting….” She trailed off as her hazel eyes filled with tears.
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Take a deep breath. Start from the beginning.”
She nodded and did what I said, gulping in several deep breaths before speaking up again. “Celeste has been missing for weeks now.”
“I was under the impression she—”
Samara held a hand up. “She’s missing. Believe me.”
My forehead crinkled, and I sat down. “Go on.”
“She disappeared on her birthday. I saw her earlier that day, but I left to finish setting up her party. I had this whole big surprise arranged for her, and she was meant to meet me at seven, but she never showed. I thought maybe she was feeling sore because of her back issue. You know.”
I nodded. When Celeste started her internship here, she’d mentioned that she suffered from fairly severe upper back pain, and her PT had recommended that she refrain from lifting heavy boxes of files while she worked.
Samara went on. “I called her and texted her. No answer. I finally went to her house, but she wasn’t there. Then I went to her parents’ old place, where we’d been packing up stuff earlier, and I saw her car was there. The house was unlocked, and her purse and phone were inside. But she was gone.”
“What happened after that?”
She shook her head and threw up her hands in exasperation. “Nothing. I started looking over the next few days. I asked her neighbor if she saw anything, and she said she didn’t. All she knew was that Celeste left that day and never came back. I asked all our mutual friends, but they knew about as much as me. I even asked her bosses at her part-time jobs. They all said she just stopped showing up to work. So after about three or four days of worrying myself to death, I filed a report at a police station.”
“And what did they say?”
Her eyes welled up. “They were such assholes. They said they’d look into it, but they acted like she’d probably just run away. That’s how it is for people who aren’t super rich, right? Most cops can’t be bothered dealing with it.”
I held up a hand. “I’m sure that’s not what they inte—”
She cut me off. “It is. They basically dropped it after a few days, no matter how much I went in there over the last few weeks to harass them to take it seriously. In the end they said they thought the most likely option was that she ran off to commit suicide. And that was that.”
I sighed and shook my head. “I’m sorry. That’s awful. But I have to ask… do you think there’s any chance that could be true? That Celeste would take her own life?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. She was totally miserable from her whole back injury thing, but she was getting better! And she’s just not like that. She’s strong. She’s been through so much, and she never gave up. She wouldn’t just disappear into the woods and die.”
I nodded slowly, wishing I could believe that. Some people hid their true feelings so well that none of their close friends or family ever knew what was really going on in their minds.
“She was also about to get an inheritance from a trust her dad set up when she was born. Surely someone doesn’t just decide to off themselves when they’re about to get something that could solve at least eighty percent of their problems?”
I shook my head slowly and sighed. “You never know.” Money didn’t solve all problems, that was for sure.
“And if she just ran away, why wouldn’t she at least get the money to make it easier? I contacted the lawyer who was in charge of sorting it all out, and he said he hadn’t heard from her. The money hasn’t been touched.”
“Right.”
“What did all of you here at the office think?” Samara asked, her eyes flashing. “When she stopped showing up for her internship, I mean.”
“It was presumed that she quit. She had a bad day, got yelled at and embarrassed by our SAC. That was the last time any of us saw her. Her college was contacted, but they said they couldn’t get through to her.”
Samara’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think that’s kind of sexist? As if women can’t handle criticism, and we all just get emotional and quit our jobs at the first hint of trouble?”
I held up a hand. “I apologize. That’s not how I meant it. It’s just that Celeste was obviously not having a good time. She seemed… troubled.”
“No shit. She had a lot on her plate.”
I absentmindedly tapped my shoe on the floor. “So why exactly did you come to me, Ms. Silva?”
“She told me that you were one of the nice ones here. I thought maybe you’d listen and help me. Something bad has happened to my friend. I can feel it.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
She chewed on the remnants of her last nail, her eyes misting over. Then she looked up at me again. “Promise you’ll hear me out. Don’t dismiss me like all those cops did.”
“I won’t dismiss you,” I said gently.
“Okay. It’s just…” She paused to take another deep breath. “She was obsessed with the Heartbreaker case. I mean, we’re all kinda obsessed, because you guys haven’t got him yet, and it’s really freaky. But Celeste was like… really into it. I know why, of course. But still.” She looked up at me. “You must know about her past. The things that’ve happened.”
“I’m aware, yes. We all are.”
“The day she disappeared, I was helping her pack up some stuff, like I was saying earlier. It took ages, so we were talking about all kinds of random crap, and the case came up. She was telling me about all these theories people have for why he kills people.”
“I sincerely hope—”
She held a hand up again. “Don’t worry, she didn’t tell me anything she learned here. Nothing confidential. Just all the crap people discuss on Websleuths or whatever it’s called.”
“Right.”
She licked her lips nervously. “She said she thought there was some reason the killer targets people that the cops hadn’t figured out yet. Or even the FBI. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but she’d been having some weird dreams, and she said she thought they could possibly be linked.”
I frowned and tilted my head to the side. “Dreams?”
“I know it sounds dumb, but she thought maybe she was starting to remember something. Her therapist seemed to think the same, so it wasn’t just her being paranoid.”
“I see.”
“It really freaked me out. Because we all know she’s the only one who ever saw the Heartbreaker.”
I nodded. That was the main reason Foley was so against Celeste taking one of the new internship positions here. She was too close to our biggest case, given that she was the only person in the world to have seen the Heartbreaker’s face in close range after one of his kills—at least we had to assume she saw it—and lived to tell the tale. She was a very young child at the time, and she claimed she didn’t remember enough to tell us what the killer looked like other than that he was a tall man, but still… she was the only one.
There were all sorts of legal and ethical complaints about having her here at the field office, but in the end, they had to let her work here, as long as she wasn’t allowed near that particular case. She had excellent grades, and she’d earned the internship over her fellow students fair and square.