Page 8 of Spitfire

I rise to my feet and yank cardboard and trash from the dumpster, draping it around George like a shrine to my work, before coating them with the accelerant from my bag. I rip off the gloves, laying them on his prone body, grab the small bottle of bleach from my bag, and drench them. Once I'm happy with his position and my makeshift artwork, I pull out my disposable lighter and strike a flame. The beautiful ambers, reds, blues, and oranges momentarily hypnotize me, and I take the first satisfying breath I've had tonight.

"We will meet again, George Weston, but for now you can't hurt any more of them." I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulders.

I throw the lighter and watch for a quick moment as the trash ignites around him. The sight is so stunning that I would love to remain present until he is nothing but ash, but I can't risk it. I still have too much to do, so many more to punish.

A wave of dizziness overtakes me, forcing me to stumble, and darkness tries to crawl into my mind. "No... not... yet," I groan, compelling my fracturing body away from the mouth of the alley. I carefully step only in the deepest puddles, letting the pouring rain wash away the tread of my boots and disguise my retreating steps. A sharp, white-hot pain tears through my skull, mimicking the heat of the fire behind me. Nausea crawls up the back of my throat, threatening to overcome me, and a cold, slick sweat coats my limbs and back. Still, I propel myself forward. "No... fuck...wait…"

I stagger through the dark passageway until I reach the shadows behind a dilapidated restaurant where my vehicle sits hidden. My fingers tremble violently as I pry the door open and collapse into the driver's seat. Pressing my forehead against the cold leather of the steering wheel, I force myself to take deep, calming breaths. Some of the suffocating mental fog recedes, but the countdown has started. It is only a matter of time before I completely lose control. I need to get somewhere safe before the darkness claims me. I cannot allow anything to stop this holy work.

Just as I shift into drive and begin to pull away, a sudden flash of bright white catches my glance in the rearview mirror. I slam on the brakes, my tires screeching softly against the wet asphalt. My eyes lock onto the reflection.

Large eyes stare back at me out of a complexion as bloodless as a ghost. The figure stands entirely in the dark, draped in all black from head to toe, crowned by the brightest, most striking white tresses I have ever seen. Broad, cruel lips curve upward into an amused, sinister smile. With agonizing slowness, he blows me a kiss and, in the blink of an eye, dissolves straight into the shadows as if he were never there.

What. The. Fuck.

Fuck, this is bad. I should get out and give chase. I can't leave a witness. Just as I grab for the door handle, another wave of dizziness assails me, completely halting my momentum. My heavy eyelids shut of their own volition, and I force them back open, biting down on the inside of my cheek until the sharp, metallic taste of blood floods my mouth. The spike of pain acts like a lifeline, temporarily pushing the fog and the encroaching darkness away.

I'm almost out of time.

I force my gaze forward and slam on the gas, leaving the alleyway and blending into the rainy night. The distant sound of sirens spurs me forward, pumping adrenaline into my exhausted system. A terrifying question burns through my feverish mind: Who is hunting the hunter?

It looks like I'm not the only ghost wandering through the darkness. Whoever he is, he had better hide. He just became one of my targets.

SIX

JASPER

Where the fuck is Lyssa?

I check my phone for the fourth time in as many minutes, my thumb hovering over the screen as if the messages might magically rearrange themselves. Nothing. What the hell is going on here?

Didn't we agree to meet back here after grabbing a few hours of sleep?

A knot of irritation coils tighter in my gut. "Jones." The young agent looks up from his laptop with surprise. "Have you seen Agent Lyssa?"

"No, Sir. Not since late last night."

Of course not. I rake a hand through my damp hair, possibilities racing through my mind. Fuck, did she oversleep or... no... dammit. She wouldn't be out hunting this psychopath alone, would she? I already know the answer before the question even dares to leave my mouth.

Who the fuck am I kidding, of course she would. Scarlett Lyssa has never met a rule she wouldn't bend if she thought the reward justified the risk. It's both a frustrating and fascinating quality of hers. If she's found a lead, she won't wait for backup. She'll chase it alone because bringing in Ashmaker herself would guarantee headlines, commendations, and a direct line to the director's office. The stubborn, ambitious menace won't be reined in. Yet, somehow... that only seems to make her more infuriating, and also more impossible to ignore.

An image arrives uninvited into my mind of Scarlett standing in my office. Defiant. Always full of her own superiority. Those sharp mocha eyes dare me to challenge her, while she wears a fitted black suit, that’s tailored to perfection around her sensational curves, and those sexy as fuck shoes on her dainty feet. Her long, dark hair is loose instead of pinned back, a rare sight, and just itching for my fingers to tangle within its depths.

I imagine crowding into her space just enough to steal the smugness from her cold, stern expression. Testing how long she'd keep glaring before her breathing betrays her. She'd never submit, she'd fight. Hell, she'd probably throw the first punch, and I'd enjoy every second of it. Maybe if I were really lucky, she'd even scratch and bite like a feral animal. God, how I would love to feel her sharp teeth and claws dig into my flesh. Would she break the skin and savor my blood? Would she moan if she got a taste of me?

In my mind's eye, I wrap my hand tightly around her neck, causing her breath to stutter, and her eyes to widen dramatically with shock, before forcing her body to bend over my desk. My rough grip holds her in place, while my other hand pulls up her pencil skirt above her hips and rips her panties from her body. I force her legs apart with mine, spreading her open to my eager view. My large hand comes down hard on her pale flesh as I spank the shit out of her. The delicate flesh instantaneously turns crimson and warms to my touch. I shift back slightly to admire my handiwork, but know it's not nearly enough. Her harsh panting, squeals of pain, and moans bursting with arousal, fill my ears as I squeeze one delicious globe and then the other, now using my grip on her neck to prevent her from being able to move an inch off the table.

"That's it, baby, submit to me, and I'll make you feel so fucking good." I lean over her back, allowing her to feel my long, hard cock press into her flesh, as I lick the side of her face before biting down on her cheek. I allow my nose to slide across her skin, inhaling deeply of her scent, sage, lemon, with an undertone of white musk. Fuck, I could eat her right up. "You're going to take all of me in this pretty, pink cunt. I'm going to fill you to the brim, and if you're a good girl, I might even let you cum, Scarlett, but only if you please me."

I loosen the button of my pants and yank down my zipper, freeing my weeping cock. The engorged maroon tip presses against her warm flesh, and we both release a groan. I force myself between her asscheeks, allowing my cock's length to move up and down, coating her in my precum. She tries her best to buck me off of her, but I press my much larger body down on hers, flattening her on the surface of the table. "Will you scream for me, hmmm, Scarlett? Maybe you'll beg me to ride you like my own prized horse, little vixen."

I press the tip of my cock against her ring of muscle, and she instantly stills below me. I slightly release the tightness on her neck and allow her to siphon air into her lungs. "Nooooo..." she cries, but pushes her backside into my body so my cock begins to breach her tight hole. Fuck, yes.

"Have you ever had your ass fucked, Scarlett, or is my cock about to be the first?" I lean forward and press my lips against her jaw, rubbing my facial hair against her fair skin. "Tell me truthfully, little vixen, am I about to go where no man has gone before, or are you secretly a little whore that loves to have all her holes filled?"

"Fuck... you..." she grunts, ever the willful little bitch, and it rips a chuckle from my lips.

"Oh, baby, I plan to. In fact, I plan to fuck your cunt so hard you'll be feeling me for days, and if you're not careful, I'll make sure I fuck that snarky mouth too." I shift my hips, dragging my cock from her tight hole and nudging against her swollen clit. Once, twice, and on the third pass, I slam into her pussy, forcing her to take me to the hilt, as I grind my pelvis against her ass.