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Now I had to carry this unconscious ass up the stairs. Grunting, I opened the back door, rolled the plastic around him, and kicked him out of my car. He fell to the ground, bouncing once before settling on the concrete. Kicking him in the stomach, I pulled the gloves on.
He whined a little as I used a rope to tighten the plastic tarp around him. I grabbed the black Tyvek coveralls from inside my bag. Quickly putting them on, I hauled him up onto my shoulder with a curse.
“Fuck my luck. If not for you, I’d be sleeping in my warm bed. I’m going to make you feel every single thing I’m going to do just for that.”
4
SCENT OF DESIRE
YARA
The shadows welcomed me with twisted arms, hiding me from his bloodthirsty eyes. He parked his car in front of a deserted building, and I waited until he carried Phil up the stairs.
This was the perfect place to kill, full of abandoned buildings that hadn’t been touched in a while. It was easy to get lost in the darkness, to become invisible in the tightening fingers of decrepitude.
I chose the half-built building opposite the one he took.
“Sweet but psycho.” Humming under my breath, I took two steps at a time. I chose a room that was completed, with windows facing the opposite building. A prime spot to witness murder.
The snake tattoo was already on the second floor of his building, throwing Phil down on the concrete floor like he was garbage. Two lights with broken glasses hung from the ceiling of his room, spilling yellow light in pitiful, flickering waves.
I grabbed my binoculars and settled down on the stacked crates. We had all the time in the world until the sun came out. Just us, and the angel of death.
“What are you hiding behind that mask? I want to see.”
As if he were willing to do everything I wanted, he pulled his mask off, finally comfortable in his solitude. It took me a few seconds to comprehend what I was seeing. Eyes wide, I took in the familiar face I had seen around the Detroit PD, in newspapers.
“Ryden Sinclair.” Gasping, I bit my lips, shaking my head. “How could you be…”
I hadn’t met him personally, but I had seen him a few times from a distance, surrounded by his entourage, effortlessly charming the pants off them.
“It’s really you…”
How had I never seen him for who he truly was? I thought I was good at spotting fellow killers, but he had somehow managed to slip past my radar. “You must be quite good at this.”
I waited for him to start his ritual, needing to know how he prepared his meat for butchering. My nerves were electric. My skin was tingling.
I wanted to shout to the emptiness stretching between us; I wanted him to look at me, to know that I was watching. The need to join him in the hunt, to relish in the secret of this moment, to witness something so intimate and true, was quite powerful.
Something chaotic and inexpressibly hungry came to life within me. It had the eyes of a woman. Not a predator. Oh, no, not this time.
“Do you like blood, Ryden? Or do you like justice? Are you like me, or are you something else entirely?”
It was such an irony that he was an investigative crime journalist. Like he was mocking the world and giving everyone a middle finger to their faces while he razed the world down with his darkness. Fuck you, losers. You don’t know me at all.
I smirked—the bastard was less than me, and yet somehow better than me.
“I know you, Ryden Sinclair. I know your secrets now.”
I watched as he unzipped his bag—I almost wished it was his pants, but this was good, too. Tonight would be one of those nights I’d never forget in my life.
I imagined myself on top of his hard body, and my pussy spasmed with need. The picture in my head was so vivid I could almost feel his breath on my heated skin. Oh, I wanted, I needed. Greed was going to be the death of me.
One time, this one time, I want to be insane.
I wanted to know all his secrets and sins until I owned him in ways a man like him would have never been owned, would not like to be owned. Mercilessly. Wholly. Without lies.
The need was a burning fire inside me, begging to break free.
