by D. C. Stone
She needed her wits, had to get her head in order. Everything seemed fuzzy, as if she walked in a haze of action from afar. The shape stepped forward and revealed Agent Echols.
Bastard!
The earlier attack filled her mind in a rush.
He seemed to take up the entire doorway, larger than what she had known him to be. Dark eyes stared at her, and a flash of white teeth drew her fear up a notch. He was enjoying this, having her bound and at his mercy. He swiped a towel slowly over his chest, up and down his arms, before palming the material and wiping his damp, dirty blond hair. Black jogging pants hung low on his hips, a hint of dark hair lining his stomach before disappearing beneath the band.
A slow, wicked smile curved his full lips. Echols had always been handsome, but right now, here, he scared the absolute shit out of her. She shrank back, and his low laughter filled the room as he stepped in and tossed the towel aside.
She refused to follow its path and instead focused on him as he closed the door with a soft click. He never turned away from her, didn’t break the stare, and held the smile, his eyes alight with anticipation.
“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, my sweet. Let’s begin.”
****
The fear in her eyes drove his hunger. Dillon Echols stepped to the edge of the bed and waited, drew the moment out and savored it. He wanted to move fast and take her, then drain the life from her body, but excitement could cause mistakes, and he’d waited too damn long to mess this up now. Go slow, commit every piece of this to memory.
He was leaving after this, pushing on to another town with a different identity. Disappearing. He’d fucked everything by calling her here, but Detective Lopez had been too smart, too curious for her own good. Trent Rossi hadn’t helped matters, either. Too bad the Agent was stuck in the city, for he wanted nothing more than to take out some of his frustrations on the man who’d made him wait for this final moment.
Another opportunity would come.
He wrapped his hand around her bare ankle and yanked her toward him. She let out a disparaged shout, hissing in pain as the chains rattled above her head. With the movement, her body unfolded across the bed.
He collapsed on top of her and settled into each of her curves. She matched him like a glove he’d lost, one he’d been waiting too long to find. His ankles locked around hers, his thighs lying directly atop her, and his chest kept her pinned beneath him. Just as he wanted. The feel of finally getting what he craved was so good, his eyes rolled back in his head.
With her hands bound, he had free motion to do as he pleased.
“Why are you doing this?”
He brushed hair gently from her face and drew each strand through his fingers. The tendrils fell to the pillow like a waterfall of silk slipping through his grasp.
“Agent Echols?”
She bucked and wiggled beneath him. He grinned as his body hardened, and focused his attention on laying her hair out exactly as he pictured it in his fantasies. She sucked in a harsh breath as his cock lengthened.
“God, w-why are you doing this?”
He dropped his nose into her hair and breathed deep. Scents of the beach, coconut, and vanilla mingled together with the soft scent of fear. He groaned, turned his mouth to her ear, and held his weight balanced on his forearms by her head. He wanted her like he’d never wanted anyone else.
“Because I can, Charlie. I can choose what I want to do, to whom I want to do it with.”
She stiffened beneath him. “What? Did your mom spank you a little too much?”
Anger, hot and white speared through his chest. “My mother was a saint!”
Ugly laughter bubbled out of her.
He drew back, aghast.
“Wow, so mommy issues, huh? Would have never thought a big, bad federal agent could have a woody for his mother.”
His control was slipping. Desperate to get it back, he proceeded with his original plan and tried like hell to ignore how her words made him boil with rage. He licked along the shell of her ear, and she let out a soft sound of distress. Ah, yes, that was it. What he wanted to hear. He couldn’t help it. He moaned. “Yes, that’s it. Tell me how much you want me to stop. Please keep reminding me of my so-called mommy issues.”
Her breath punched out across his temple as he trailed wet kisses down her neck, and delved between her breasts, the sound a beautiful surrender to his ears, calling on his urges, raging its demand.
He licked a path along the hem of her low-cut t-shirt, taking his time in exploration. She would be his last for a long time, and he wanted to burn every second into his memory.
He reached out to the left and curved his hand under the mattress. Their combined weight and his position made it somewhat difficult but found what he was looking for and curved his fingers around the hilt of leather. He tugged and drew out the seven-inch knife, his head lifting from her body just as the flash of silver registered in his peripheral.
She whimpered, struggled in her bindings, and he let one side of his mouth tilt up. Echols brought the blade down slowly until the tip of metal tapped her jugular. She stilled, and he turned the blade this way and that, gauging her reaction. He wanted to see her fear, craved that ramp up in his excitement. Her eyes widened and she seemed to stop breathing and lay there like a stone statute on display.
He pulled the metal over her skin, drove it along the path between her breasts until stopping at the hem of her shirt. He slid it beneath, laid his thumb over the outside, and ripped down the cotton with a forceful thrust. The blue cloth parted ways, flapping to the side as her body was displayed.
He shuddered. Twin mounds wrapped in white lace heaved with each panting breath. She was tantalizing, beautiful, and extraordinary.
“Echols, please. Stop this.”
“My dear Charlie.” He played the knife’s tip along the low cups, grazed a nipple peeking out of the material. She shuddered, this time with more force. “I don’t plan to stop at all.”
****
Inside her mind, Charlie screamed, shouted to the highest recesses for help, some way out of this. Echols’ attention was on her chest, distracted. She took advantage and focused on her surroundings. She needed something to subdue him and get herself out of this horrible nightmare. Her gaze roamed over furniture, over smooth, empty surfaces until it landed on a heap of clothing next to the closet. Her clothing and her…
She whimpered and bit down on her lip, narrowing her eyes on her black jacket as she tried to focus and not think on what sharply stung her skin.
Yes! Her holster peeked out from beneath the jacket. All she needed to do was get free and get across the room.
She pulled at the bindings again. Her hands barely moved and panic clawed at her throat when his mouth latched on to one of her breasts and tugged her nipple inside. Pain spread from her nipple, pinched between his teeth. She blinked rapidly against the sting in her eyes, but couldn’t contain the tears. The ceiling above wavered.
God, help me.
Echols made greedy little noises in his throat like an animal ravishing his prey.
That’s what she felt like. A morsel he deigned to gobble and discard like trash. Visions of his victims flashed through her mind. Each burned a hole through her memories, staring at her with sad, accusing eyes.
She had failed. She failed them all.
Each intimate detail of their torture bled through until she choked on a strangled sob. The sound inflamed Echols. He nipped and sucked her chest, smoothed his palms down her ribs, and pushed her body urgently to the bed with his hips. She bit her lip and struggled to hold the pain inside.
He had grown violent in his crimes. This would be no different. He wasn’t just a rapist and a murderer, he was a master manipulator and liar. He pursued the satisfaction of committing heinous crimes despite his oath as a law enforcement officer to uphold safety of citizens.
His hand wrapped around her throat, and his mouth laved at her stomach.
She tugged and
gave a painful yank of her wrists, hissing a breath as pain rode its way up her arms. Echols rose above her again, and forced her thighs apart until he cradled his body between them. His mouth breathed hot and humid against her ear.
“Keep struggling, Charlie. Show me how wild you want it.”
Air punched out of her as he undulated his hips.
“Echols…Dillon, why, please just tell me why? You don’t want to do this. They’ll catch you. You have to know they won’t let this happen to a cop.”
His dark, ugly chuckle made her stomach twist. Bile slid up the back of her throat.
“Who’s going to look for you?” His mouth skimmed across her cheek. “Nobody. No family.” He licked his warm tongue across her lips and she forced the nausea down again. “No boyfriend. No one.”
His mouth smashed down on hers in a bruising kiss. Blood exploded in her mouth as her teeth bit into her lip. She tried to wiggle away fruitlessly and he growled and laughed. Her struggles only ignited his excitement it seemed. But laying there seemed like the equivalent of giving up, something she could not inherently do. She was a fighter, born to push back against what she knew was wrong.
Tears leaked down her temples and she prayed it would work. In an instant, she laid still and gave up, became dead weight beneath him.
He broke his mouth from hers and a fleeting moment of confusion played across his face, brows drawn in a frown. The beat passed. He narrowed his eyes and purposely resumed roaming his hands across her skin. One snap, two…and her jeans were tugged down. She closed her eyes, and took her mind elsewhere. She could not stay here, but had no way of escaping.
Her father throwing her up on his shoulders when she was a little girl. Feeling as if she was flying through the air, on top of the world. His height made him seem like he could be a giant, and his voice boomed through the room anytime he spoke.
His hands traced over her white lace panties as if he worshipped the cloth instead of her. She frowned, jerked to the side, but kept her eyes closed, welcoming the darkness.
Trent kissing her in the precinct’s conference room. His lips as soft as a feather at their first brush against her mouth. And then his tongue, hot and wicked, designed to bring so much pleasure she could hardly stand it.
Echols’ touch paused and without warning, a sharp slap burned against her thigh. She winced and bit her lip to hold in the cry of pain.
“Open your eyes, Charlie.”
She refused, tried to fight against trembling.
The next slap came across her face like a bat. Agony blossomed over her cheek and throbbed in time with her thigh. She punched breath out between parted lips against the pain.
“Open. Your. Eyes. Charlie.” Each word a punctuated command.
Maybe he’d lose his temper. Maybe he would finish her like this.
Echols’ hands wrapped around her thighs and spread her legs, and his hips moved against hers. She muffled a whimper, refused to give in to this. Denied taking part in his fantasy.
With a growl, he wrenched away from her, brutally tossing her legs aside. The bed shifted as her weight leveled. She stared at him standing at the side of the bed, murder evident in his excited eyes.
“You’re gonna wish you played along, Charlie.”
He spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. As soon as he disappeared, she tugged on the cuffs again. They didn’t budge, and her gaze flew around the room frantically. Nothing was in reach, and she remained on display for him to do with as he pleased once he returned. The realization that she had just made it worse, what he’d do to her, drove her fear up until she felt like she was choking.
She studied the slats of wood the chain of her cuffs were wrapped around. No thicker than an inch and a half, maybe two, wide, they also looked thin. She inched her arms up remembering something from her childhood and her father explaining force and reaction. She hadn’t known what he was talking about then, barely understood it now, but she had to try.
The chain met the top of the slat and the plank of wood. She wrapped one hand around the other and tugged with all her might. The wood creaked, and hope burned in her chest. Excited, she let up and tried again, this time with more might. The wood groaned, and she let out a soft, startled laugh, and pulled harder. Her head pounded with the effort, and the metal from the cuff dug like shards of glass into her skin, but adrenaline surged muting most of the pain. She pulled harder, held her breath, and right as she was about to deem it worthless, the wood snapped and broke. Her cuffed hand came away, and she laughed with relief, amazed it worked.
She braced to move, tugging on her still attached wrist, when footsteps approached from the hall. Her gaze darted around the room, nothing in reaching distance. In a split moment decision, she lay back on the bed, reached her arm up again as if still bound.
He stopped in the doorway, and she met his gaze. He tracked a leering, lusty path down her body. Her stomach revolted at the sight of a longer blade—some twelve inches—in one hand and a—Oh dear, God!—dildo in the other. The thing was huge. Even in the dark, the purple veins stood out against the hot pink background and she knew exactly what he would do with it.
She understood him all too well.
He padded over to the bed, reached down with the knife, and set it under one band of her panties, the thin strap at her hip doing nothing to shield her. He tugged, gave a snap of his wrist, and the blade sliced through the material like a table knife through warm butter. He repeated the action on the other side until her underwear lay against her.
Echols set the tip of the blade under her navel.
“Change your mind?”
She pressed her lips together.
He nodded and drew the tip of the knife in a slow path along the center of her stomach. Her body shook as it bit into her skin until it reached the top of her groin. Still, he continued, licking his lips as he drew the cloth covering her sex away with the knife. The sharp blade trailed to the side, and he pushed into her skin harder, pressing along the crease of her thigh.
“Open your legs, Charlie.”
He didn’t even look at her, instead focused on her bared sex. She clenched her teeth together, rotated her free wrist. He ran out of patience, pushed the knife harder against her skin and she cried out in pain, unable to hold it in.
“Now.”
She jerked to move, tears welling.
“Slowly, Charlie. Wouldn’t want you to bleed out, just yet.”
She moved slower, opened her thighs until she was completely bare to him. The knife made a pass over her nether lips, just the tip, but she went rigid as pain sliced. Charlie focused on the man above her, watched as he bent over her. A buzz filled the air. The dildo came into view and he pressed the length into his mouth, licking it in a crude fashion before pulling it out with a pop.
Her stomach revolted. He leaned closer and hovered the vibrator a hairsbreadth from her clit. The air hummed, and she fought to control her body. He did this to his victims, made them feel the shame of pleasure as he tortured them.
Never again.
She reared up, brought her free hand in the air and brought it down hard across his face. The metal from the cuffs cut along his skin, slammed against his temple, and a red geyser spewed in the air. She hit him repeatedly, pounded all her fear, pain, anger, and unmistakable grief into him, until it felt as if she poured it out, like water flying out from a dam.
His body collapsed on her legs, and she sprang into action, knowing she only had so much time, or maybe nothing at all. She wrapped her pulsating hand around her bound wrist and yanked the chain, heaved with all her might. Her back muscles cramped and howled painfully against her shoulders, but she kept tugging. Metal cut through her skin and she cried out as she continued to break the restraints.
The wood groaned, snapped, and she teetered, flew to the side. She folded at an odd angle with Echols still lying on her legs. She thrashed, kicked at him until she pulled free.
Scrambling across the bed, she tumbled
to the floor and a deep, pained groan came from behind.
“You bitch!”
She tried to gain her bearings, crawling while agony licked across every part of her body. Her jacket. She needed to get to her jacket. Only five more feet, Charlie. Come on!
Movement from behind, the telltale sound of a round chambered just as she grabbed the stock of her Glock. She rolled to her back, pain splintering her arms, wrist, thighs. Raised the weapon. Time seemed to go too slow. The weight of the gun pulled on her arms. Lifting her gaze, she fought to control her spinning vision and found Echols staring at her from the opposite side of the bed, his service weapon trained on her chest. The red laser was bright against the pale wash of her skin. He gave a crooked grin and tensed.
The shock of a gunshot echoed through the air.
Chapter Eighteen
Trent pulled up behind the chief’s cruiser, gravel spitting beneath his own, and scanned the dark yard. He shut off the engine and pushed open a door, stepped out of the car, and met Woolsey’s gaze for a moment. The chief walked along the side of Charlie’s cruiser, but Trent wasn’t focused on that. Instead, he took in the dark windows of the house, the quietness enveloping the area like a thick fog. No crickets chirped, no cars sounded in the distance, the howl of the wind even missing. Silence played a chilling game, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood seconds before a loud gunshot rocked the air.
“Christ!”
He ducked behind the side of his vehicle and reached for the service weapon hidden at the small of his back. He caught the chief’s gaze as the man bent behind Charlie’s car, his pistol wrapped around large hands. His pulse thundered in his ears, amplified now in the sudden silence after that loud shot.
“You see anything?” Woolsey barked the question through the still air.