Beg for Mercy (5 page)

“Sean has his own reasons for wanting to take this course,” Adam said in his low, measured voice that usually soothed her but now raised her hackles. How dare he be so calm? “I spoke with him at length, and I believe he’s decided to accept the inevitable.”

She wished Brockner was in the car with her so she
could hit him in the face. “An innocent man is going to be executed, and all you can say is it’s inevitable?”

Thick silence hovered over the line.

“You think he did it,” Megan said, disbelief sharpening her tone even as she wondered how she could be so stupid. She’d just assumed… had never bothered to ask him flat out if he believed Sean did it.

“You can’t deny the evidence is damning,” Adam said.

Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.

“But you defended him.”

“I can believe a client is guilty and still believe the state has no right to kill him. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. You should know that by now, Megan. And he’ll never admit it out loud, but I think Sean has finally come to terms with his guilt. And even though I don’t agree with how the state wants to deal with it, I respect Sean’s decision.”

“Sean is
not
guilty,” she said through clenched teeth. “And if he really believed it, if he remembered something after all this time, he would tell me.”

“Would he? Your brother is very protective of you. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“I know Sean better than anyone,” she snapped, and disconnected the call.

But as her car flew down the highway, an ugly thought emerged from a dark corner of her mind.

Was it possible she could have been wrong all this time? Was it possible she was as self-delusil as the press, the police, hell, most of her friends had painted her?

No.
She mentally yanked that sprout out by the roots and poured cyanide on it to boot. Yes, the evidence was damning, as Brockner had said. But from the beginning,
she’d always thought it too damnin
g
. Too neat, too tied up in a convenient bow for the police.

Her brother was smart, ex–Special Forces, trained in covert operations. She believed that if Sean wanted to murder someone, he wouldn’t have been nearly so stupid about it.

Too bad no one wanted to listen to her theories. Not even the few people she should have been able to count on to at least hear her out.

A vision of hot, dark eyes turning cold, lips full and red from passionate kisses going tight and mean. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, shoving Cole’s image out of her head. Even thinking of him made it hurt to breathe.

No time for wallowing. No time to spare even one conscious second of thought on that asshole.

Unconscious… that was another story. Megan had long ago ceded control of her dreams, in which Cole Williams popped up more frequently than she’d like, in scenarios that left her alternately sobbing with heartbreak or burning with unfulfilled desire—in pain and unsatisfied either way she sliced it.

In real life, Cole didn’t want to listen to her theories—no one did. So be it. Megan knew in her soul that Evangeline Gordon’s real killer was still out there. Lurking like a dark stain, a creeping shadow no one could nail down.

She just needed a break. A tiny shred of something to point her in the right direction. As her Honda ate up the miles between Walla Walla and her apartment in Seattle, Megan whispered up endless prayers, for something, anything, a single clue. Before Sean got what he wanted and it was too late for them all.

H
e moved the TV a few inches to the left and studied the screen. Still not quite right.

He reached up to the bookshelf where he’d positioned the camera in the trailer’s cramped bedroom and tilted it slightly down. He checked the TV again.

Perfect.

Blood rushed to his groin and a smile stretched across his face. At this angle, the camera displayed the bed from headboard to footboard, close enough to capture every detail but with enough vertical and horizontal clearance to make sure no heads or other body parts would be cut off from view.

He would be able to see everything.

He squatted in front of his laptop, which was connected to the camera and placed one shelf below. A few keystrokes and they were rolling, the computer recording everything about to be displayed on the screen.

Time to retrieve the talent.

She was huddled against the wall, long, black hair spilling over her face as her head lolled forward. He reached out a gloved hand and tilted her chin up. Her eyes were dark, lazy slits that showed no recognition of where she was or what was about to happen.

He hefted her onto the bed and positioned her against the pillows. He did a quick check to make sure the camera had a clear view of her face. He adjusted the latex cap on his head, grimacing as it pulled at his close-cropped hair.

It was hot and made his head itch, but it ensured no stray strands of hair would escape. He diligently shaved his body whenever he was called into action, but he’d be damned if he’d walk around looking like a cue ball.

“C’mon, sweetheart, time for your close-up.”

She shook her head and moaned, but otherwise didn’t stir.

He reached in his pocket, pulled out an envelope of smelling salts, and ripped it under her nose. Her head snapped back and whacked against the trailer’s wood-paneled wall. Her dark eyes went wide, instantly alert, though unfocused as they looked wildly around the unfamiliar room.

Then her gaze landed on his face.

And she knew.

His already burgeoning cock went rock hard, tenting out his sweatpants. God, he loved that moment of shocked realization, the split second when they realized exactly what was about to happen.

He was the bogeyman, the grim reaper. The one who came after you if you pushed too far. He left his message in slash marks and pools of blood, and yet some girls never learned. He was still summoned to practice his craft.

He’d started the cleanup work years ago, allowing him to channel his appetites in a way that helped the organization. He knew his appetite for the wet work made them uneasy. He knew they saw him as a loose cannon, a barely caged beast.

He liked letting them think that.

And he loved the opportunity to indulge in his specialty.

Fear. Pain. His weapons against chaos.

Later he would watch this moment, stroking himself to climax again and again as he savored her look of fear. Of recognition. The moment when she realized this man who she’d known, who’d even been a protector of sorts, was the monster of her worst nightmares.

Even now it was hard to control himself. But he wanted to savor it, for this would end soon. His plan was well into motion now, his dreams of the future so close to becoming reality he could nearly taste it. There would be no need for this at the next stage.

Like an alcoholic about to enter rehab, he wanted to take his time, enjoy this last bender, appreciate the sights, the sounds, the
sensations
this night would offer.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes he’d placed next to the bed. He lit one and took several long drags, trying to slow his heartbeat, trying to cool the lust sizzling in his veins, urging him on.

Such a delicate balance. Every time he had to work harder to keep control, to force himself to savor every second of the pain, every molecule of their fear.

This one’s fear was like a palpable force in the room, her mewls behind the gag high and hoarse. Acrid sweat bloomed on the surface of her smooth, flawless skin, displayed so beautifully by the scrap of silk she wore. So smooth, so perfect, so beautiful.

He yanked a thin strap down her shoulder, exposing her breast, exposing more flesh the texture and color of warm cream. He took another deep drag of his cigarette, then pressed the tip against the underside of her breast.

Her scream was muffled by the gag and the roaring in his ears. He breathed deep through his nose and mouth, sucking in the scent of burning flesh, the flavor of her terror. He yanked the dress down her chest, rending it in half when he was stopped by her bound hands. She kicked and thrashed, but she was no match for his far greater strength. His laugh turned into a groan as he ground his erection against her, her bucking and gyrating threatening his control.

He put the cigarette against her stomach, her chest, her nipple, left a trail of burns down the tender skin of her inner thigh. Soon her muffled screams had faded to hoarse moans behind the gag. Her thrashing weakened and her eyes closed, as though she could block out any of what was about to happen to her.

Not a fucking chance.

He stubbed out the cigarette and quickly stripped out of his clothes.

He stroked himself, looking at the bed as he did so. She’d opened her eyes and was staring at his cock, tears streaming from her eyes.

That’s right, baby.
The thought made his dick throb, and he knew he better cover up. Rip, snap, and a condom was in place to catch any stray bits of precome that might leak out and contaminate the scene.

He flipped her onto her stomach so her head was at the foot of the bed. He knelt behind her and yanked her up on her knees so her perfect ass pointed in the air, her cleanly shaved cunt exposed to his view. He reached over beside the bed, his gloved hand curling around the handle of his blade. A warrior’s blade. Custom made, honed to an edge so keen he could shave his beard with it.

He slashed the knife across her back in the same instant he drove into her. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth as he struggled for restraint. Her body squeezed his dick like a vise as she convulsed from the pain seizing her from inside and out. He looked at the TV screen, watching himself as he pounded her from behind.

Her head was down, hanging in defeat, his body jarring hers like a rag doll.

That wouldn’t do.

He smiled at himself as he reached out and grabbed her hair, forcing her head up until her face was visible on-screen. His other hand reached out. The blade rested against her neck, its glare casting a glow around face like a twisted halo.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. They snapped open at the first bite of the blade. She tried in vain to shrink away. “You watch,” he said, over and over as he pumped into her. With each stroke, the blade sliced at her neck until bloody rivulets ran down her chest and neck.

He watched his face tighten with ecstasy, saw his lips peel back to bare his teeth, saw his muscles cord in sharp relief under his skin as his climax came thundering down.

Watched himself deliver the killing blow.

“So do you think you’ll still live here after your mom gets out?”

Devany Sinclair looked up from picking at a chip of blue polish on her right thumbnail. Sixteen-year-old Amber, who lived three trailers down and whose mother
worked the same whacked schedule as Devany’s aunt Kathy, was buried shoulder-deep in their ancient Frigidaire like she was digging for treasure. Kathy’s hyperactive terrier mix, Skeeter, danced a hopeful circle around Amber’s feet.

“I don’t know.” Devany shrugged. “It all depends on what my mom wants to do.”

“Sorry, dog, no treats for you,” Amber said, brushing Skeeter aside with her foot. She emerged with a couple of silver aluminum cans and presented one to Devany.

“We can’t,” Devany protested. “My aunt will totally notice.”

“Don’t worry,” Amber said, rolling her eyes as she popped the top on the beer. “I have more stashed. Jesse hooked me up earlier.” Jesse was Amber’s too-old-for-her boyfriend. He had a beater car and a fake ID, which made him the closest thing to Prince Charming that Redwood Acres Mobile Home Park had to offer.

“Then why didn’t you bring it?”

“Well, duh, it’s warm,” Amber said, rolling her dark eyes again as she took a swig from her can.

Devany popped the top and slurped at the foam, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Next time tell Jesse to get a bottle of Popov, okay? I can barely drink this shit.” She took three quick chugs and shuddered. “You got the exact same brand, right? Last time I almost got busted. And we need to get it in the fridge in time to get cold.”

“Stop worrying,” Amber said, flipping her thick black hair down her back as she plopped on the faded rust-colored couch.