4. SCENT OF DESIRE

4

SCENT OF DESIRE

YARA

T he 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.

“You’re so insanely handsome.” But it wasn’t his face that attracted me. I had seen him before and never felt this need. It was his darkness, the danger that sucked me in.

He took out a thick black rope and wrapped it around his hands before tugging at it. His muscles tightened; his jaw clenched. Even from here, I could tell it wasn’t the first time he had used it; he handled it as if he had been playing with it for decades.

Ryden tied the rope around Phil’s right hand and pulled the dead weight up. I could vividly see his muscles straining against his black shirt, and I wanted so badly to touch his body, to worship his darkness.

Biting my lips, I opened my legs. The way my body reacted to him was insane, but I didn’t want to resist anymore. I needed to relieve the pressure building within me, or I’d explode. That wouldn’t be good for anyone.

“You’ve suddenly become even more alluring, Mr. Sinclair,” I whispered.

Dragging Phil toward a metal beam protruding from the skeletal structure of the half-finished building, he secured the rope around the beam before tying it around Phil’s left hand.

For a breath, I was jealous of Phil. I wanted to be tied up like that by Ryden Sinclair.

His storm-gray eyes gleamed. I slid my hand between my thighs, moaning as I did. Desire writhed inside me, a serpent in heat. A needy groan left my dry lips. I’d need a river of water to calm this raging thirst.

I wanted him. And when I wanted something, I always took it, but it’d be madness to take this man. I knew that much. Knowing that didn’t stop me from craving him.

I rubbed a finger against my nipple with a sigh.

I could envision him in my mind… in my room, in my bed, gazing down at me as he loomed over my body, his eyes dangerous and consuming. Just the picture of him over me was enough to make me lose my mind.

OH! Oh. Fuck.

Once he was finished with securing Phil, he slapped hard across Phil’s cheek. I could almost feel the pressure of that slap on my skin.

The silk dress on my body felt erotic. I pulled my drenched panties down with one finger, wishing the finger was Ryden’s.

When Phil blinked his eyes open, Ryden smiled. Ah, there it was—the flash of his devil. A twisted devil who stoked the inferno burning inside me stronger. It turned me on to see him like this, in his truest self.

I dragged a finger to my pussy.

“There you are, Ryden Sinclair. It’s nice to meet you.”

That smile would have made anyone shrivel in fear, but I only felt the overwhelming desire to join him in his ritual, to revel in the kill, to share in the intimate moment.

I had never killed or hunted with a partner. I didn’t trust anyone for that. The only one I trusted was too good for this life.

I had a few friends at work, but they only saw the masks. Each one was tailor-made to their needs, sweetened with their preferences. They didn’t know the real me, the one stripped of pretenses, the one at my core, and I liked to keep it that way.

Phil looked confused for a second when he opened his eyes before his mouth moved in an agonized scream. Ryden said something, his smile so self-satisfied, smug.

Phil struggled against the rope. He looked like a fish stuck in a bucket, jumping over and over, wishing for the ocean, but knowing the ocean was far away, and there was only dry, wicked land here. And death.

Ryden’s lips flattened as he studied Phil. I waited for him to say more, but the grim look was all he gave Phil as he took out a carving knife.

His eyes gleamed. His hands were steady as he raised the knife to Phil’s cheek.

The pressure building up inside me went high until it was unbearable. I began to rub my clit as Ryden drew his first line closer to Phil’s eye. I pushed a finger into my pussy, continuing to tease my clit with my thumb.

“Oh!”

I could feel Ryden’s strong hands on my body, touching me, teaching me about pleasure. When one finger wasn’t enough anymore, I pushed another with a groan. More. More. I pushed in and out, my eyes never leaving Ryden…

Blood softly, steadily seeped out, staining Phil’s pink shirt. The red stain looked like flowers blooming from crimson branches, spreading to become a gnarled stem.

Ryden didn’t look too tense anymore. His stiff body had gone limp, and he moved around gracefully, his devilish eyes tracing Phil’s features, studying him.

He was carving something. Art. It was art. His art.

“You like to take your time, don’t you, Mr. Sinclair?” I whispered as he opened a leather tool bag and carefully rolled it out on the floor. I could see scalpels, thumbscrews, and also different kinds of knives—my body trembled.

I wanted him to use that knife on my body. My legs trembled. I thrust harder… needing more.

“Oh, Ryden. Fuck,” I screamed into the emptiness as I came.

Cum dripped down my thighs, warm on my cold skin. The orgasm was so much better than anything I ever had, and the man wasn’t even touching me. I wondered what it’d actually be like when he was touching me, when his fingers were the ones buried in me.

With a sigh, I pulled my dress down and settled back, readjusting my binoculars.

Ryden looked entirely too calm, his lips pressed together in concentration, his dark gray eyes broody and contemplating.

“What’s going on in your head right now, Ryden? I want to climb inside your head and eat your thoughts away.”

After a long pause, Ryden began to cut. A snip here, a slit there, until everything was so red, until Phil was crying and howling in pain.

Ryden smiled, shaking his head, whispering something. I loved the way he smiled. Carelessly calculating. Devil in one eye and angel in the other.

When he thrust the knife into Phil’s right eye, I was sure I heard the sound of the knife hitting against the back of Phil’s skull inside my skin.

He said something to Phil, but Phil was almost gone. Ryden knew it, too.

Cleaning up was boring. I pushed the binoculars inside my bag with a sigh. The clock on my phone showed it was closer to dawn. I had to get away before I got caught.

I quickly jogged toward my car. I’d parked it a few miles away to make sure he wouldn’t hear the sound. I was opening the door when I heard footsteps coming toward me.

Before I could enter the car, I heard the sound of the metal cutting through the air. I whirled around and caught the knife at the last second, my body reacting to the danger like I had taught it to. The sharp knife, carrying traces of blood, now rested in my palm like a quiet, obedient child.

I stepped toward my car, focusing on my breathing. Fear made people lose control.

Lose your control, lose your life.

I wasn’t afraid to die, but I didn’t want to die yet.

“STOP.” His voice was a loud growl. “Don’t fucking move, or I’ll kill you.”