Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) (13 page)

The Killer

“What do you want? What do you want from me?”

I had just thrown the woman to the floor of my basement, and I watch as she scrambles away from me in a panic. I ignore her questions and raise the camera, trying to take the perfect snapshot of that fear I see in her eyes. With the right lighting at the right time, I’ll be able to effectively capture her terror, and it will be forever immortalized on film. There are two things I love to see in a woman’s eyes: fear and death. There’s nothing like watching the life leave a woman’s body, seeing the light in her eyes slowly dim. I am breaking my MO in doing this, but I can’t resist the temptation of playing with
Black Rose
. Taking this woman—this nurse—is risky, much riskier than having my men take a woman from a bar, but I know
Black Rose
will get my message this way. I know he’ll make the connection, and I can’t wait for him to make his next move.

It’s been a long time since I have felt this intellectually stimulated. I have been spending my time focusing on physical arousal, watching my men abuse the victims they bring me, but this is going to be a whole lot more fun. Now, I’m sparring with a fellow serial killer. Not only do I get the physical benefits that come with torturing a woman, I also get the psychological stimulation of battling wits with a fellow serial killer—one who is worthy of my time.
Black Rose
isn’t some disorganized criminal who loves thrill kills; he’s a smart and very deserving opponent.

“That’s it. Beg me to release you.”

With tears rolling down her face, she begs me not to hurt her, and I can feel my cock stiffen. Backing away from me, she has finally reached the concrete wall and realized there’s nowhere else to go; there’s no escape. She’s right where I want her—completely at my mercy.  

Charles

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you. I just don’t like the idea of you interacting with a serial killer. You aren’t just dealing with Richard Roundtree; you’re dealing with the goons that work for him as well. It’s four against one.”

“Four against two now that I have you working with me.”

“Do you really think this will draw him out?”

“Yes, I do. No serial killer would be able to resist a battle of wits with another killer.”

“Well, I certainly don’t place you in the same category as I would that dirtbag, but I’ll play along if you think this will work.”

“Okay, young lady, now that I have your seal of approval, we’ll continue. Grab the burner phone out of the glove box, and text what I tell you to write. I already put Richard Roundtree’s number in the contacts.”

All of his contact information was readily available online for his seminars. The guy is so narcissistic he even posted his personal cell number. I suppose he thinks himself quite the lady’s man. I glance over, eying my wife as she scrolls through the information until she finds his number. Once she has it pulled up, I tell her the message I want sent, keeping my eyes on the road.

“I see you’re ready to play. It’s only fair you have a direct line to the man who’s going to take you down. When you want to reach me, by all means, contact me here. Let the games begin, and may the best killer win.
Black Rose
.”

In a matter of moments, the text is answered.

“Oh no, Charles! Shit! He just sent a picture of the woman he abducted.”

I quickly glance over to view the picture my wife is holding up for me. It’s definitely the missing woman; she’s bound and obviously terrified.

“Good, he took the bait.”

“What’s good about that?”

My wife’s horrified by my response, which is easy to understand.

“As I said, he took the bait. I knew if I challenged him, he wouldn’t be able to resist.”

I purposely challenged him as a serial killer—like two killers outdoing each other. If he sees me as a worthy adversary, he’ll never expect me to kill him.

The smile on her face is radiant as understanding dawns. The guy is on my radar now. For him, there will be no escaping me.

Melanie

I watch in awe as my husband works his hacking skills and obtains all of Richard Roundtree’s contacts. I don’t know how he does it, but I’m glad he does. In my mind, I couldn’t care less about the means when the end is so important. It’s now a race against the clock, and we need to save my colleague. The poor girl has no family, and the only friends she has, that I’m aware of, are the people she works with at the hospital. I listen as Charles narrows down the suspect pool of who might be working with Richard Roundtree.

“Okay, here’s what I did. I went through his contacts and took note of those he has the most interaction with. I then eliminated anyone like his secretary or employees who work for him.”

“Okay,” I answer, “that makes sense.”

“Now, I took a chance and cross-referenced the names I had left with people who went to the same high school as Richard during the same time. There were three names that showed up in both his contacts and on the alumni list. Then, I went online, got the yearbook, and did what research I could to see if these guys had possibly been close when they went to school together. It turns out, they all played on the football team.”

I watch as my husband’s countenance takes on an expression I know all too well. He turns his chair in my direction and eyes me as he stretches his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles.

“Are you ready for your first job?”

A bit reluctantly, I answer, “Yes, what are you up to?”

“One of these guys owns a bar, and I’d be willing to bet that’s where they are getting the women they abduct.”

“You’re using me as bait, aren’t you?”

His answer is one of affirmation, but I can hear a tinge of something in his voice I’ve never heard before—reluctance. Normally, he makes a decision and firmly stands by it, but these are anything but normal circumstances. So many of the elements in the equation have changed for my husband, namely that I’m now involved. I realize it must have affected him in a lot of different ways when I asked him to kill again, which puts a whole new spin on the game. To put it simply, the rules have changed, and any time there’s change in a system, it opens the door for mistakes. That’s not a good thing when you’re a serial killer.

“You won’t be out of my sight.”

I reach over to run my hand along his cheek in an effort to reassure him.

“I signed up for this. Having a woman gives you an advantage; it gives you the means to disarm any red-blooded man. They’re going to make the mistake of underestimating me, and when they do, you’re going to be there to take them down.”

“You’re damn straight I am!”

The look of determination on his face lets me know we will be executing our first kill together tonight. This is a chance for me to not only learn, but to prove myself to him as well. It’s a great opportunity for me to reassure him that he did the right thing in taking me on as a partner. As sick as it sounds, I want him to be proud of me. This will be just like a first impression when we meet someone new. How well I do tonight will give Charles the basis for which he will judge my skills, and I want to do well. I may not know how to kill someone yet, but I do have innate skills all women have. I can make a man think with the head that’s between his legs rather than the one sitting on his shoulders.

Melanie

I negotiate my way through the crowded bar and eye my reflection on a mirrored wall. I have on a red wig, bright red lipstick, and a tight red dress. I’ve purposely dressed slutty in the hope of drawing attention, preferably the attention of one of the dirtbags who has made the mistake of victimizing women for Richard Roundtree’s pleasure.

I lean against the wall in a darkened corner while taking inventory of the room and its patrons. I want to do a couple of things: find my mark, and get a feel for the atmosphere. I’m nervous, but it’s more like an adrenaline rush than fear of what I know has to be done.

I’ve purposely hidden in the shadows until I spot my mark so I don’t have to be bothered with unwanted attention. I am here to do a job, and that job is to kill a man.

Loud music reverberates off the walls as sweaty bodies wildly gyrate on the dance floor. They’re strangers teasing each other with promises of a one-night stand after last call. I had just about given up when I finally spotted one of the three men. It isn’t the owner of the bar, but he will do. I really don’t want to have to deal with more than one of the killers at a time, so this is actually going to work in my favor. I push my body off the wall and saunter over in his direction. He plays right into my hand when he reaches out, grabbing my arm as I pass him. I resist the urge to jerk away from his disgusting touch and, instead, paste on a seductive smile. I willingly follow him over to a table and purr in my sexiest voice, “Buy a girl a drink, why don’t ya?”

I’m intentionally looking and talking trashier than I am. My heart sinks when I watch him try to wave a waitress over, but it’s quickly followed by a wave of relief when he can’t get her attention. He gets up and growls, “What’s it take to get a fuckin’ drink around here?”

As women, we’re taught not to leave our drinks alone. Men don’t generally worry about things like that because they don’t have cause, or so the average man thinks. This is a case of double standards working in my favor. Oh, the fucking irony! I love it! He thinks I’m weaker because I’m a woman, and he truly believes he’s going to take advantage of me. Knowing this, and also knowing I’ll have his ass on a platter by the night’s end, is very gratifying. As soon as his back is turned, I reach two fingers just under the fabric of the plunging v-neck dress I’m wearing and retrieve the pre-measured GHB my husband gave me. I pour it into the drink he left behind, and he’s none the wiser when he comes back to the table and tosses it back, immediately starting on the next one he’d ordered.

I fan myself like I’m overheated and speak, “Whew, I feel like I could use some air. Maybe I’ve had a few too many drinks.”

His face immediately lights up. I’m sure thoughts of getting lucky are going through his mind. There’s also the possibility he’s thinking of taking me to Richard to be their next kill. For a brief moment, I wonder if I should let him, just for the remote possibility that he’ll take me to where my coworker is being held. How better to help her than to find out exactly where she’s been taken? It could work. Charles will be pissed if I do it though. Not only would I be endangering myself, I’d also be straying off the plan he set forth, so he’d have two reasons to be infuriated. No… I can’t do it. It’s too risky, too dangerous, and too stupid. As badly as I want to rescue my fellow colleague, I’m no good to her dead. Like my husband said, emotions will get you killed. It’s okay to want to rescue her, but it’s not wise to put myself in harm’s way to do it.

“Here, let me join you.”

He leers at me when he says it. Doesn’t the stupid son of a bitch realize I can see the lust in his eyes?

I allow him to put his arm around my shoulders. To anyone watching, we look like any other ordinary couple making our way outside for a smoke break or a breath of fresh air. I certainly don’t look like a woman who is well on her way to starting her career as a serial killer.

Charles

Seeing that son of a bitch paw all over my woman is all I need to come around the corner and deck his ass. He falls, hitting the asphalt hard in the alley where I have the van parked. That GHB kicked in right on time.

“Get behind the wheel and fucking drive while I restrain this bastard in the back.”

My voice comes out much harsher toward my wife than I intended, but I honestly didn’t realize how much it would affect me to see another man’s hands on what’s mine. The second his hand draped around her shoulders, a murderous rage coursed through me, and all I saw was red.

As we drive to the warehouse, I stay silent, trying to get a handle on my fury. She drives, throwing me wary glances every once in a while, until we pull up to the kill room and get the man we’re going to kill out of the back of the van. Getting him subdued on the steel operating table is much easier with two people, and I have to admit that we work together well. I gag him, just in case he wakes up, and then direct my full attention toward my wife.

“Now, back to you…”

I can feel the tic in my jaw as I stalk my way over to her. She shocks me when she takes off running toward the office I keep in the warehouse. There’s a whole lot more to this building than just the kill room where I’ve subdued the man from the bar.

My hand comes up with force, stopping the door she attempts to slam in my face. Oh yeah, she’s in full panic mode.

I roll my neck around and lick my lips as I make my way toward her.

“Charles, I only did what you told me to do, and that’s it.”

“Did I ask you for an explanation?”

She shakes her head and widens her fear filled eyes, making my cock jump in my pants. I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze as I speak.

“Whose fucking property are you?”

“Yours. I belong to you. I belong to
Black Rose
.”

I lean in, growling in her ear, “Turn around, bend at the waist, and put your hands against the wall.”

My left hand flips her dress up over her ass while my right one undoes my belt. My pants fall down around my ankles, and I kick at her heel with my shoe in a silent command for her to spread her legs. I slowly slide her G-string over, rubbing the head of my cock up and down her slit.

“You belong to me. Your body, your heart, and your soul are all mine, baby. This is about me owning you. This is about marking my woman.”

Her legs are beginning to shake, and I know she’s going to come just from feeling the head of my cock run over her clit.

“I bet you’d like that cock buried deep inside that hot little pussy of yours.”

I don’t give her any time to answer. I just keep pumping my cock with my hand, sliding it slowly up and down her slit while I make sure to hit that swollen little clit of hers. She’s so close to release that her whole body is now trembling.

“You’re going to come for me, all over the head of my cock and then…”

I watch her claws dig into the wall and her back arch as she plummets over the edge of ecstasy. I continue running my hand up and down my shaft until I feel my balls tighten, and finally, I mark her with my seed. I rub it in with my free hand like some kind of primal beast claiming his mate. In a sense, that’s exactly what I’m doing—marking my wife, my woman, my partner in crime.