Page 155 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

A heavy groan rolls up my throat, tearing at my ribs. Or she’d do her best, her small throat constricting tightly around me as she gagged trying to hold the length. Her dark eyes would stare right up into mine, tears of pure submission rolling down her cheeks, her expression tight with a wild, beautiful terror, wondering if I’ll let her breathe. If I’ll give her a break or if I’ll just shove it all the way down to the root-

My cock jumps violently. My orgasm tears through me like a physical rupture, a hot, blinding explosion that makes my knees buckle against the marble. I splash my release across the white wall, my chest heaving as the steaming water immediately begins to wash the evidence down the iron drain.

I lean my forehead against the cold stone, my pulse drumming a frantic, metallic beat behind my ears.

Bzzzz.

The phone vibrated against the porcelain sink, the sharp buzz cutting through the steady rush of the shower.

I stared at it for half a second. Nobody called me at two-thirty in the morning unless somebody was dead. I reached over, twisted the shower handle shut and grabbed the towel hanging beside the vanity. Water dripped from my hair onto the cold tile as I swiped the screen.

"Reed."

"Elias."

Mason.

No greeting. No small talk. His voice was flat, but I'd worked beside him long enough to hear what lived underneath it. Something was wrong.

"Yeah."

"Get dressed."

I glanced down at the towel wrapped around my waist.

"I'm already halfway there."

Another pause.

"You and Derek need a lift?"

"No."

His answer came immediately.

"You need to pick us up."

I frowned.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"South gate."

"Mason-"

"The south gate."

The line went dead. I stood there for another second, staring at the black screen. Mason didn't hang up on people. Unless there’s something he didn’t want to speak about over the phone. Which meant whatever this was…Mason didn't want discussed over the phone.

That alone worried me. I dressed in less than four minutes. Dark jeans, boots, black thermal, brown leather jacket. Badge, holster, magazine, knife, wallet and keys.

By the time I stepped outside, the mountains were still asleep. The valley was wrapped in thick blue darkness, the stars barely visible beyond a blanket of cloud rolling over the ridge. My truck growled to life beneath me.

The clock on the dashboard read 02:41.

The Sheriff's Department sat at the edge of Blackridge like every other government building I'd ever worked in. Square, practical, ugly. Usually. Tonight...it looked like somebody had kicked a hornets' nest.

Red. Blue. White.