Chapter 20

20

Voss

An entire week somehow slips by uneventfully. Each day, I divide the hours between watching Nola, and popping in to check on Harvey and Beth’s place. The white van hasn’t come, or gone, in over a week, and every night Nola has walked to her car without incident. No notes, or grisly pictures of victims without eyeballs. As if things have died down.

I know better. It’s the calm before the storm. Carl’s biding his time, probably watching me, as much as I’m watching out for him.

By now, he has to know where to find me, but he hasn’t bothered to pay a visit. Doesn’t surprise me, really. Everything he does is meticulously thought out, and no doubt, my part in his game has yet to be revealed.

That’s the thing about psychopaths. You don’t see them coming until it’s too late. Unfortunately for him, I’m not the weak kid he used to know. I’ve developed an astute sense of detecting death before it strikes.

I knock on the door of the breezeway, where Nola’s studio has been the focus of my attention all morning. She’s in panic mode, trying to finish a few pieces for her upcoming show, has been all week, hanging out at her potter’s wheel, until midnight, most nights.

Meanwhile, I’m in a state of painful arousal after having watched the woman every night. In my daydreams about her, she’s covered in wet clay, shiny and glistening, dirty as hell. Sometimes her belly is flat and smooth, sometimes it’s bloated with pregnancy, and I don’t even want to know why the fuck a visual of that makes me hard. Can’t say what it is about her, exactly, that has my body all out of whack, but if I don’t fuck something besides my own hand, I’m going to explode with all the pent-up tension.

It’s another hour before Oliver gets home from school. An hour I’ve decided to torment myself by getting closer to her. Taunting myself with the possibilities.

Hands covered in wet clay, she answers the door with a smile. “Voss, what’s up?”

In a week, it seems we’ve grown more comfortable with each other. Whatever reservations she had about me in the beginning have waned, unless she’s just become better about hiding it. We smile at each other in passing. Talk with the same cordiality of longtime neighbors. Only, she’s the hot neighbor I’ve fantasized about banging to a pulp.

“Just thought I’d pop in and see what you’re up to, Star Wars.” Bullshit. The only thing popping right now is my zipper, with my dick pressed against it like the bastard might break through any minute.

“C’mon in. I’m just getting ready to wedge.”

“Wedge?”

“Yeah, if you don’t move the clay around a bit, it gets air pockets. No bueno.”

“I see.” I look around, as if to take in all the pottery, but really, I’m thinking how incredible it’d be to fuck her out here with all these windows. Our own little art exhibition.

“So, where is this art show?”

“Marriott. Why, you want to stop by while I’m there?”

“Maybe.” My gaze falls on her again, the way her round ass sticks out from the apron in those tight jeans that I want to cut away with a sharp pair of scissors. I’ll bet the muscles she’s built, waiting all those tables every day, keep it at a firm bounce that’d feel solid in the palm. And her breasts aren’t huge, but just big enough to fill a tight grip, and small enough to maneuver around. Two weeks, I’ve gone without sex, and everything about the woman has become some unspoken invitation.

Aside from having a body that taunts me at every turn, her face glows when she’s out here. As much as these little deadlines and pressure points she puts herself under stress her out, this room makes her happy.

With a thin wire stretched between her hands, she cuts through a block of clay wrapped in a plastic bag, and throws a small square of it down on the table. With the heel of her hand, she rolls it away from her, hips hitting the edge of the table with every push, in a rocking motion that toys with my head.

“This is wedging?” I say, mesmerized by the act.

“This is wedging,” she answers with a smile that’d seal the deal if we were in a bar right now. The soft feminine grunt in her chest, as she toils, strums my desires like prey plucking at a spider’s web. “Would you like to try?”

“Try what?”

Chuckling, she shakes her head, pushing the heel of her palm into the clay. “Wedging.”

Playing with her is effortless. Dare I say, fun. It makes me wonder if she’d be so good-humored while tied to a cross, or laid out across my lap. A million responses roll through my head while I watch her work the clay, imagining her seated reverse cowgirl, with her hands tied behind her back. Those thoughts beckon me closer, and I approach her from behind, caging her against the table.

“Oh, Voss … I was …. I was going to let you have your own.”

I press against her harder. “I don’t want my own. I want yours.”

Her back stiffens at my chest, and if she didn’t have a clue how much this little show was turning me on before, she does now.

“Show me first.” I bring my arms around hers, taking in the feel of her small body against mine, and I damn near shiver at the many ways I could have this woman. How easy and pliable she’d be. Threading my hands through hers, I can’t possibly get any closer, and that’s when I feel her tremble against me. Whether from fear, or excitement, I can’t tell, and it doesn’t matter because my body’s on autopilot right now.

I let her guide my hands over the clay, and with each thrust, I crush her between the table and me.

She doesn’t stop, or push me away.

Resting my forehead against her nape, I inhale her scent and press my lips to her shoulder. “I want you.”

“Voss …” For a moment, I think she’s going to deny me, but instead, she spins around, and I hoist her up onto the table, shoving the chunk of clay aside. Hands gripping either side of my face, she pulls me in.

Her lips on mine are heaven, a sweet flavor I’ve never tasted before.

She’s intoxicating.

For the first time in my life, I feel as if I’ve won this level of attention, not with money, or deals. But by getting to know her. Earning her trust.

I work the buttons of her flannel shirt between kisses, exposing the thin lace bra beneath. Peeling back the cup of it, I take a moment to admire her round, fleshy globes with perfect pink nipples, before diving in to suckle one of them. Fingernails digging into my head, she moans, pressing me against her chest.

Taking her thighs in hand at either side of me, I yank her to the edge of the table and press my neglected dick where I need it, grinding myself into her pussy. Savoring the seconds before I drop trou and plow into her.

Her hand snakes around my neck, the clay getting on my skin and in my hair, but I couldn’t give two fucks about that.

“Voss—”

My lips cut her off, sealing her protest with a kiss, but the distant slam of a door snaps both of us out of it.

Real quick.

“Oh, shit!” She glances down at her watch and wriggles against me, until her feet touch the floor again. With hasty fingers, she buttons up her shirt cockeyed, and in smoothing back the mess of her hair, streaks clay over her skin. “Jonah. He’s picking up Oliver for the night. I forgot he was stopping by early.”

Licking my lips, I will myself to step away from her, to give her space. “You’re driving me crazy, woman. These flannel shirts and jeans. You’re the ultimate MILF.”

“Yeah, well, your suits don’t exactly make it easy to look away, either.” She drops gaze from mine with a solemn smile.

“Hey-de-ho …” The unfamiliar voice withers, as I turn to see a blond-haired guy, about my height, standing at the door. The same face I saw nearly a week ago, while scoping out Beth and Harv’s place. His eyes flick from me to Nola, and back to me.

In the seconds that follow, I wonder if he’ll admit to recognizing me. If there’s any trace of familiarity that might cause Nola to question everything I’ve told her about me.

“Jonah. Hi. Um … this is Voss. Well, Rhett Voss. My neighbor.”

His brows wing up, and he takes a step toward me, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Cops have always gotten in the way of my work, whether by trying to uphold justice, or traipsing the line of corruption, so as my eyes remain locked on his badge, I’m contemplating where Jonah falls. If he’ll be a roadblock, keeping me from my prize in the end. The cock-block to my vengeance.

“Voss? What’s wrong?” Nola asks from behind, her question breaking my thoughts.

I lift my hands, completely covered in clay, and smile back at him. “My apologies. Don’t mean to be rude.”

“I see my sister has indoctrinated you into her clay play.”

A quick glance over my shoulder brings Nola’s blush-stained face into view, along with her shirt still buttoned wrong, and I wink just before she drops her gaze toward the floor. Swinging my attention back to Jonah, I smile. “Clay play is fast becoming my favorite pastime.”

His eyes turn suspicious, as though he’s just catching on to what’s going on, and he looks past me, to where Nola’s standing. “Is that … clay in your hair?”

“It’s my fault,” I answer for her. “Think I got the clay a little too wet and made a mess. I’ll catch you later, Jonah.”

“Yeah, okay. Nice to finally meet you uh … Rhett?”

“Voss is fine.”

“Voss.” He gives a sharp nod and steps aside to let me pass.

“Later, Nola.”

Her cheeks haven’t recovered when she glances up, still holding that beautiful glow of humiliation. “See ya, Voss.”

I make a mental note of how perfect she’d look beneath me, face just as flush with all the dopamine and serotonin of climax racing through her blood. My head is still spinning with those visuals when I arrive back at the door of my apartment, and I don’t immediately notice the note plastered there until it’s smacking me in the face.

You steal my pussy, I steal yours.

Slamming through the door, I search my apartment for Vince, my blood pumping with the kind of fury that has me wanting to punch my fist through the goddamn wall.

“Vince! C’mon, buddy.” I make the kissy sound that typically has him running from whatever room he’s ventured into, but there’s no sign of him. “Vince!”

Having searched the place, I race back out onto the small deck, eyes scanning the surrounding trees and yard for any sign of the rotten prick who took him. Must’ve broken into my apartment while I was preoccupied with Nola.

Like a slap in the face, it’s a reminder of why I can’t let her get under my skin. My hands ball into fists at my side, crushing the note in my palm. If anything happens to the cat, I’ll personally skin Carl alive.

Nabbing my phone from my pocket, I call Jackson, slamming the door behind me.

He answers on the third ring. “Yeah, Boss.”

“I want everything you can find, everything the police know, about The Sandman killer.”

“You get the file I sent a few weeks back?”

Yeah, his anemic file produced nothing more than what the media has reported on the asshole. Mediocre information.

“I want everything, Jackson. FBI reports, missing persons reports, everything you can get your fingers on. Capisce?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good. Report back to me in the morning.”

“Ahh, c’mon, Voss. I’ve got plans tonight, man.”

“Fucking cancel. The cocksucker stole my cat. Everything you can find by morning.”

“Ten-four.”

I click off the phone, breathing hard through my nose to calm the anger. I’ve got one more call to make, and unfortunately, I don’t think Nola’s going to appreciate this one much.

The game has just been ratcheted up a notch.