Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Frankie

"We got five fuckin' vics now, Frankie. This is bullshit." The tension in Jay's voice is completely understandable. With five dead bodies splashed all over every newsstand and tv in the city, the pressure is on us to find this asshole.

But to do that, we have to figure out how—or if—these victims are connected. "I'm sure there is," I tell him as we head inside the morgue to meet with the medical examiner, Dr. Chris Montgomery. "We just haven't found the connection yet. We will," I assure him.

"Yeah, but probably not before another body drops." He grumbles and shakes his head. Pissed off vibes radiate from his broad shoulders. "We have to be missing something and with the Chief breathing down my fucking neck we have to find it sooner rather than later."

I agree with Jay. There are enough bodies with just enough similarities that even the top brass is using the two words no one in law enforcement wants to use. Serial killer . A total of five bodies. Five lives taken for no good reason. Five men who will never see their families, hug them or celebrate with them ever again. And why? Because some asshole freak out there gets off on torturing people and then killing them.

Jay pushes open the door to Chris' office with more force than necessary and the doctor looks up with a frown. "Good morning, detectives. Everything all right?"

I roll my eyes in apology for my partner. "Jay is just frustrated that victimology isn't panning out fast enough."

"Frustrated? I'm goddamn livid." He raises his hand and smacks it against the door. "Doc, tell us you have something, anything that'll get us closer to this prick?"

Chris stands, taking a sip from his coffee cup before setting it back down and grabbing a chart from his desk. "I'm not sure." His gaze bounces between us and then down at the chart. "Have you considered groups that don't exactly have a membership list?"

My mind instantly starts racing as I try to come up with a mental list of organizations that might not keep a list of members. "Like church?"

Jay snorts. "Trust me, churches know exactly who their members are so they can ask 'em for money at every opportunity."

"You're right," I reply, drawing the words out with a sigh. "So not church." Weight loss groups are out because men are statistically unlikely to attend those, and gyms require memberships. "Support groups?" I blurt out like a rookie.

"That's what I was thinking." Chris points at me, a smile on his face.

"Like a grief support group?" Jay asks. "They don't usually keep a list of members because there are no dues to pay, and people show up at different times."

The victims are all young men, so it's unlikely they're widowers. "Could be a 12-step group, maybe even children of addicts' support group." Shit, that's a real possibility.

"There's gotta be hundreds, if not thousands, of meetings in the city, never mind the county."

Chris shrugs his shoulders and goes to his desk, shaking the mouse to wake up his computer. "Donavan and Petrovic had cocaine in their system, but nothing that shows anything other than recreational usage."

I jot down a few notes. "So, what makes you think we should check out 12-step groups?"

Chris looks up from his computer, his eyebrows lifting just a bit. "These groups are about support. If our killer is pulling from those spaces, we're talking about someone who preys on that pain. Addicts often feel lost, and someone like that could easily take advantage." His fingers fly across the keyboard again, his eyes glued to the screen. "We've got to figure out how these men are linked—whether it's through the groups or something else. It's about finding out what pulled them in and who might've been lurking in the background."

I tilt my head, not quite buying it. "Why support groups, though? Why not church?"

Chris leans back in his chair, giving my question some thought. "Support groups offer a different kind of closeness, Frankie. People are in there sharing their worst fears, their biggest mistakes, their regrets. It's raw and personal in a way you don't always see in church. At a group, they're bonding over the struggle, and that builds trust. A predator? They could walk right in and become someone's shoulder to lean on, blend in without raising any red flags. Plus, it's not as structured as a church service. Things can get messy, and it's easier for someone with bad intentions to slip through the cracks."

He pauses, like he's weighing his words, then adds, "And not everyone's turning to religion. Some people feel more at ease surrounded by others who've been through hell, not sitting in a pew."

"Okay, I get it. Thanks," I tell him.

"For nothing," Jay adds under his breath.

"Sorry. Not making progress apparently turns him into a toddler." I aim a thumb at Jay with an apologetic smile for the doctor. "See you soon."

"You don't need to apologize for me," Jay mumbles as we leave the building.

"I wasn't apologizing for you. I was doing it for me. Chris is the Chief ME and the only one you haven't pissed off—yet—and I like it that way." Jay's gruff demeanor doesn't do him, or us, any favors but he's damn good at what he does in the field.

After a few minutes of silence, Jay stops and turns to me with a frown on his face. "Can't believe the boss is monitoring our overtime with this case hanging over our heads." He's shaking his head in disgust. "We need to hit up those fucking meetings all over the goddamn city and we have to wait until tomorrow."

"I'll get online and check the meeting closest to their houses," I offer, which makes Jay groan.

"God, is everything online now?"

"Yep," I say. "I'm not even sure the people at the meetings would tell us if these guys were ever there. Anonymity and all."

He rakes a hand through his thick hair before blowing out a frustrated breath. "We gotta try it. Come on, Cinderella, I'll get you back to the palace."

"Funny." I smirk. "That joke still not old yet?"

Mischief lights up his face. "Detective Pragmatist staying at a multi-million-dollar penthouse apartment with her billionaire boyfriend? I imagine you'll be hearing that nickname at your retirement party."

I roll my eyes at his teasing, but he's right. Practically the entire precinct has been calling me Cinderella since those damn cameras were found and Damien offered his penthouse as my safe haven.

"At least there's a ton of security and cameras that are supposed to be there." That and Damien's doorman provide an extra level of protection than my house. "I turned down the personal bodyguard he offered." Just thinking about the reason I'm going to Damien's penthouse instead of my own house puts me right back on edge.

For days I've been trying to just shake it off, but I can't. I haven't been able to shake anything off because I think of all the private moments some perv witnessed. Me in my home, my safe space where I can relax, unwind from my crazy life.

It has to be the killer. Right?

That's the thought that steals all my focus until Jay walks me to the door of Damien's building before taking off with a laugh. "See you in the morning, Cinderella."

I chuckle about that on the elevator ride up and up to what still feels like the one thousandth floor. But it doesn't cover the nerves over the intruder. The killer has been in my house, at least once to install the cameras. God only knows if he was there any other time. I shudder at the thought.

The thought of a stranger in my house doesn't just piss me off—it terrifies me. I hate that someone was there, violating my space, but somehow, being here with Damien feels right, even if the way I ended up here still makes me uneasy. It's only been a few days, but it feels surreal, like I'm living in a dream I didn't ask for. "A real-life dream," I say to myself, stepping into the living room with a sigh.

The walls of windows stretch from floor to very high ceiling, offering a stunning view of the city below. It's overwhelming but beautiful. The furniture is deep navy and cream, making the massive sectional look impossibly inviting. It's gorgeous. And already, it feels too much like home, a home I wasn't planning on having with him, not like this.

I head toward the primary suite, pushing open the door and taking in the bathroom that's still breathtaking, no matter how many times I see it. Heaven on earth. The shower and tub sit side by side, separated from the rest of the space, while the toilet is neatly tucked away on the opposite wall.

I walk to the sink and start undressing, peeling off my clothes one by one until they're in a heap on the floor. My muscles ache from the day's stress, and the thought of a hot shower is the only thing pulling me forward.

I step into the glass shower stall, and the steam hits me instantly, wrapping around me like a cocoon. The water falls from the shower head in steady, hot streams, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my mind starts to quiet. My heartbeat slows. The tension loosens its grip on my chest.

I close my eyes, letting the water wash away the chaos, if only for a moment. Calm. Finally.

I step out of the bathroom feeling like a whole new person…for all of thirty seconds before the case creeps back into my mind. Shaking it off, I throw on some clothes and head downstairs to see what Damien's private chef has cooked up tonight—because, of course, he has a chef who can whip up anything I can dream of.

If I wasn't stuck in this wonderland, I'd probably ask for something healthier. Maybe then I could finally drop these last ten pounds.

The closer I get to the kitchen, the stronger the smell gets. It's intense—in a good way. I can't quite place it, but I'm picking up fresh basil and garlic, which means one thing: Italian. Please let it be fresh pasta. If I'm going to be living in this fairy tale, I might as well enjoy the perks, right?

"Damien? I didn't know you were home yet. Don't tell me you're responsible for this incredible smell?"

He flashes a sexy smile over his shoulder. "Of course, I am. Come on over and have a taste."

Have a taste. Even those three words from his lips sound positively erotic. "I won't say no."

"Words every man longs to hear." His smile is contagious and when he waves me over, I close the gap between us until less than an inch separates us. "Come."

Yes, please. "What did you make?" Being this close to him is making me a little bit dizzy. I'm not sure if it's his expensive cologne or just the masculine scent of him, but lately I can't seem to get enough of Damien.

"Open up and taste."

My nostrils flare at his dirty words, and I lick my lips before opening my mouth. Fire, white and hot, flashes in his eyes at my easy obedience. A moan escapes the moment the sweet and tangy sauce hits my tongue. "That's incredible. What is it?" It's some kind of tomato sauce but not like any I've ever tasted.

"Caramelized onion, butter, garlic and Calabrian chili. That last one isn't exactly authentic, but the spice is nice, right?"

I lick my lips again. "I've never been more turned on by a man talking food to me in my life. Are we alone? The chef not working today?"

He freezes, surprise lighting up his beautiful face. "Yes, kitten. We're alone."

Suddenly, all I want at this moment is Damien. I mean I always want Damien. He's gorgeous and romantic, but right now, having his cock buried deep in me is the only thing I want.

The only thing I need.

His gaze drops to my lips, and the space between us feels electric, like a current snapping in the air. My knees wobble, a shaky breath escaping as our eyes meet. The intensity in his stare makes my chest tighten, and my breathing becomes shallow, uneven, as if I can't quite catch it.

I grab his face in my hands and slide my tongue against his lips, teasing him until he moans into my mouth and his hands tightly grip my hips.

"Damien." I pull back, breathless. Needy.

His look is so dark and wicked, so sexy my panties go up in immediate flames. His hand reaches out, turning the sauce to a low simmer. "We have as much time as we need."

"Good." I attack his mouth again, jumping into his arms and wrapping my legs around him so that his cock presses right between my thighs. Damien moves us away from the stove and I slide down his body slowly, smiling as I make quick work of his light blue button-up shirt, shoving it down his sculpted arms until it hits the floor. My fingertips dip inside the waistband of his slacks, sliding back and forth along the hot, hard skin of his abdomen.

"Francesca."

Shivers run up my spine. I never really cared for my first name much, not until I heard it fall from Damien's lips. He makes it sound so cultured and beautiful.

I kiss his chest, flicking my tongue over his nipples while I free his cock from his pants. "You're so beautiful," I growl and curl my fingers around his cock, staring at him like the work of art he is.

"Frankie." He clenches his jaw, trying to keep control.

I drop to my knees and run my tongue along the head of his cock over and over until his hips push forward, sending his cock just past my lips. I open up for him, letting the rough slide of my tongue tease him until his legs tremble. My hands grip his thighs and then around to his ass, sending him down my throat, letting him own me.

"Enough, Francesca!"

I take him a little deeper and his grip on my hair tightens. His hips push forward, jutting his cock down my throat one last time before he pulls back. "Enough? Impossible."

His lips curl into a crooked grin. "Up. Now."

My nipples harden painfully at the dark, commanding tone he normally uses in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. I get to my feet, my gaze never leaving his face.

"Get naked for me."

Despite my racing heart, I obey and take off the t-shirt I hastily put on after showering, relieved that I left my bra upstairs.

"Faster," he growls.

But I take my time. Damien loves to be in charge, and I love it when he's in charge. When he orders me to do something, I can't help but obey. As I slip my thumbs into my panties, I pull them down at a leisurely pace, watching his face flush with desire.

His cock surges forward as if reaching out to me and the moment my panties hit the floor, he pulls me in closer. "Fuck," he growls before lifting me up on the white marble countertop.

I let out a noise that's half-moan and half-whine. "Damien."

With a feral growl, he spreads my legs and runs his finger across my soaking wet lips.

"Yes," I moan.

In one swift move, he pulls me to the edge of the counter, the thick head of his cock teasing my opening. I want so badly to spread my legs further, for him to take me hard and deep. One powerful thrust. But he makes me wait. "Please."

Damien's hand trails up my stomach, teasing my nipples, sending sparks of excitement through me. Then his hand moves higher, encircling my throat, and my breath catches. I'm trembling, not from fear, but from the intensity of my desire. "Damien," I choke out, my eyes locking with his, "Fuck me." This is the hottest thing I've ever done in my entire life. "Please," I whisper, my body crying out for him, my center dripping with desire.

In one swift, possessive move, Damien plunges into me, his hand tightening around my throat as he fills me completely. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes dark with passion. "Fuck, you feel so good, Francesca. You feel like mine. "

Mine.

Yes! That feels good. Knowing he wants me like this is intoxicating.

His pace quickens and my vision starts to blur. But I can still hear him. Feel him. And it's so fucking good. "You are mine, Francesca. Don't ever fucking forget it."

His breath fans my ear a second before his teeth sink into my shoulder muscles. I love that even more, and I wrap my legs around his waist and move faster, forcing him to fuck me harder. Deeper.

A low growl escapes as the intensity of his strokes enters a different dimension. Sweat covers every inch of his body while he groans and pounds into me with such ferocity that my orgasm crawls up my legs like I stepped on a live wire.

"Come with me, Frankie," he urges, his voice raw. I can't speak. I can only feel.

Together, we spiral into an inferno of pleasure. Mind-blowing fucking pleasure. I cry out like an animal, my body convulses with my orgasm tearing through me like a hurricane.

"Fuck!" Damien's voice is a primal roar as his hand tightens around my throat, cutting off my breath. The intensity of his release takes him by storm, a force of nature unleashed.

It's vicious and violent and beautiful.

As my breath returns in quick gasps, Damien nuzzles my neck, his lips brushing the sensitive spot below my ear. "Oh, God, Frankie," he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of reverence and triumph.

Damien's grip slowly loosens, his fingers gently caressing my throat, soothing the remnants of the wildness that just happened. His eyes, dark and passionate, hold mine, conveying a thousand unspoken words.

Finally, after we both catch our breath and I can form a thought, he slides from my body as he lifts me off of the countertop and sets me on the floor. "Go get cleaned up. We'll eat and then I'll have you for dessert."

I walk away on shaky legs, my body still humming to get cleaned up for dinner.

And dessert.