Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family) (32 page)

“I’m going to fill this pussy up,” he grunted. “I’m going to come deep in your little pussy.”

“Oh shit. Fill me, Easton. Fuck my pussy,” I moaned.

As my orgasm slowly faded, his thrusts got harder, deeper, and his whole body stiffened in response.

His orgasm rocked through him. He buried his face between my breasts as his hands held my hips tight, his cock fucking my pussy deep.

And then slowly, it was over. I sat there panting, feeling the sweet, incredible ache of his cock still deep between my legs.

“Shit,” I said. “Did anyone see us?”

Easton laughed, kissing my neck. “Who fucking cares?”

I laughed too, a giddy and mindless laugh. I felt light and free and right for the first time since I’d come home. “Yeah, fuck it.”

Our laughter slowly subsided. Another minute later, I slid myself off him and back into my own seat.

The car windows were pretty fogged up. He reached into the backseat and grabbed our clothes. He pulled the condom off, knotted it, and tossed it out the window.

I shook my head at him. “Don’t litter.”

He just grinned at me as he got dressed. I followed his lead, pulling on my useless panties, putting my clothes back on.

My head was spinning, buzzing with energy and pleasure. I was floating, barely in the car. Easton was incredible, powerful and hungry, and he made me feel better than I could have imagined.

He put the air on blast and slowly the fogged windows began to clear.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Quick, the camera.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Did someone see us?”

“No. It’s him. The camera!”

I quickly grabbed it from the glove compartment. I handed it to him, and instantly he started snapping pictures.

I followed his gaze, and sure enough, just across the lot, a man and a blond, barely-dressed woman were walking toward a car.

“Are you sure?” I asked. I couldn’t tell what he looked like.

“Positive. And if that’s not a hooker, then I didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life.”

I blushed. “Just get the pictures.”

We watched as they got into the car. He got a picture of the license plate. “What dumb luck,” he said.

“Ten minutes earlier and we would have never noticed.”

He grinned at me. “Things always seem to work out for me.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Yeah, you’re just so lucky.”

He tossed me the camera and started the engine. “Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The sun was almost down. “Okay. Sounds good.”

We drove off, heading back toward the office. My pussy still throbbed from him and my head was buzzing, a pleasant, comfortable feeling.

We’d gotten the pictures. And more importantly, I had finally felt his cock deep inside me.

As we kept driving, I was already imagining what it would feel like getting fucked by his strong body again and again, sweating deep into the night.

M
y head was still buzzing
from Laney’s sweet cunt as we walked into my office apartment.

She was oddly quiet on the drive back, almost as if my cock had finally satisfied her curiosity. I kept thinking about her full tits in my face, her hips slamming down onto my cock, the tight grip of her pussy wrapped around me, and coming deep inside her, our eyes locked together.

It was almost enough to get me fucking hard again.

“Got to develop these,” I said to her.

“Sure. I’ll be here.” She sat down at the desk, rearranging the messy surface.

I walked toward the bathroom, but a vibrating in my pocket drew me up short. I pulled out my cell and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Easton? This is Sheriff Sloan.”

Ah fuck, I thought. Can’t the world let me feel fucking okay for ten fucking minutes?

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?”

“We have another body.”

I felt a stab of adrenaline. I leaned up against the doorjamb, speaking more softly.

“That’s fast.”

“We found her today. I think she’s only been dead for twelve hours at most.”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the location.”

“Got it.” I hung up the phone and walked back into the main room.

Laney looked up. “Everything okay?”

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

She stared at me for a second and then smiled uncertainly. “You point and shoot, right?”

“Seriously.”

She shook her head. “No. What’s wrong?”

I unlocked a drawer at the bottom of the cabinet and pulled out my old service revolver. I flipped open the chamber and made sure it was loaded, and then I flipped it back.

“No safety. You just point and shoot. Pull the trigger slowly and breathe. Don’t panic.”

Laney looked concerned now as I walked over and placed the gun on the desk in front of her.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Laney. I have to go meet Sheriff Sloan. I want you to lock the door behind me and wait here.”

“Was there another murder?”

I nodded gravely. “I don’t have time to drop you off. So please, stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone but me under any circumstances.” I paused and looked down at my weapon. “Shoot to kill if you have to.”

Her eyes were wide. “Easton, let me come with you.”

“No. It’s not safe for you.”

“I can help.”

“Laney,” I said, more forcefully than I’d meant to. “There’s a killer on the loose. I need to know you’re safe.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. Fine.”

“Call if you need anything.” I walked into my back room and reached under my mattress, grabbing my own pistol. I checked the clip, shoved it into a holster, and shoved the holster into my pants.

“Be careful,” Laney said as I left.

“You too.” I shut the door behind me and headed down the steps, all thoughts of Laney’s body banished from my mind.

“Are you ready to see this?” Sloan asked me.

We were ten minutes outside town. It was a small wooded area not five minutes from a small subdivision of houses. Whoever put the body in this area had huge hulking balls, because he’d been within easy sight of anyone.

“Show me.”

Sloan nodded and we headed through the police tape. Up ahead, I saw the body propped against a tree, just like the last one.

As I got closer, I began to use my analytically-trained mind to understand what I was seeing. The girl was young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, and Hispanic. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly.

Like all the other killings, her hands were mutilated and her fingers were removed. Like the new killings only, her hands were placed gently in her lap. She was fully clothed, which meant I wasn’t sure if she had been sexually assaulted or not. The girl was younger than the victims normally were, and whoever did the killing may not have been able to rape a minor.

Good for him. I doubted it mattered in the long run whether the sick fuck could get it up or not.

Finally, the strangest part of the whole scene: Nailed above the girl’s head was a wooden board with the word “TON” carved into it.

“What do you think?” Sloan asked me.

“Odd,” I said, distracted. I walked around the tree again slowly, being careful of where I stepped, looking for any evidence. A single boot print had been marked out, but it was faint. Otherwise, the scene was clean, as usual.

“Some differences,” I said. “Her hands are folded gently, like the killer cared. Normally she’s left splayed open, or just tossed on the ground. The sign is also new.”

“Any clue what it means?”

“No. Not right now.”

“Tech says they don’t think she was raped.”

I nodded. “I heard him say that. Another oddity.”

“Maybe he’s not into young girls.”

“Good for him.”

Sloan grunted. “I’ll let you look around. We set up over there in the east.” He pointed back the way we’d come.

I followed his gaze and then stopped. It hit me suddenly like a ton of bricks. I’d had this feeling before in the past; it always happened when a big break suddenly happened.

Sloan walked off back toward camp. He had said something, but I hadn’t heard. I was too busy staring at that sign.

“TON,” etched clearly into the wood.

The girl was facing east.

“’EAST-TON.’”

I shook my head. It couldn’t be; it was just so improbable. But nothing about this killer made sense, and nothing about what he did was meaningless. He was breaking all the rules, and now suddenly he was sending me a personal message.

He wanted me to know that he’d been thinking about me when he had killed this girl.

I walked back toward camp almost in a haze. Ahead I saw a small group of techs photographing something on the ground.

“The girl,” I said. They all looked up. “Who is she?”

The one guy looked at the other. He flipped open his clipboard. “I.D. just came back, actually. Luisa Suarez, age sixteen. Local girl.”

I stumbled back toward the body in a haze, not saying anything else. I could barely think, barely breath. I stopped in front of her and knelt down, staring into her face.

Mrs. Suarez from forty years ago stared back at me.

I didn’t know if Luisa was Mrs. Suarez’s granddaughter or daughter, or something else, but it was obvious that they were related. 

And she had been murdered because of me and me alone.

That was the obvious meaning of the sign and the direction. Subtle enough that the cops likely wouldn’t connect the two, but obvious enough that I might. Even if I didn’t get the east-facing thing right away, I’d know something was up when the girl got identified.

I stared at her, my head ringing. Ever since the killings had started months ago, I’d known it had something to do with me. Seed was dead, but somebody was killing like him. And with each new dead woman, the killings drew closer and closer to me.

Five dead women—six now that Luisa was gone—each coming closer and closer until finally a woman was killed with a direct connection to me.

Luisa Suarez. I didn’t know her, but she didn’t deserve to get fucking killed.

The piece of shit. The son of a bitch. The mother fucker was going to burn. He was going to fucking pay for this.

I stood up, seething with rage.

The fucking game was changing. I had hoped that the real law enforcement was going to help fix this fucking mess, but they were clearly inept. They couldn’t fix shit unless I got involved.

I couldn’t sit by anymore and let this fucking bastard kill again.

I was going to have to find him and end it myself.

I
sat there staring
at the gun for longer than I realized.

One second he put the thing in front of me, and the next it was almost an hour and I hadn’t so much as moved.

Shoot to kill
kept ringing through my head. I kept imagining picking the thing up, feeling the weight of the metal, and squeezing the trigger.

It looked so easy in movies. You squeezed and it made a little popping sound. But I knew the truth was completely different, that the gun would jump in your hands and the sound was deafening.

And someone would get killed at the other end of your gun.

I stood up and carried my laptop into the back room. I hadn’t spent much time in here, mostly because it was Easton’s private space. I didn’t feel like I was welcome.

But tonight, I didn’t much care.

I sat down on the futon and opened my laptop, scrolling through Facebook. I needed to keep my mind occupied. I could easily spiral into fear and uncertainty, but I needed to avoid doing that.

Easton was clearly worried. He wouldn’t leave a gun with me unless he thought I was in danger. I knew he’d felt that before, but now it was just so clear.

I didn’t know how long I just sat there, staring mindlessly at Facebook. It had to have been at least an hour.

But suddenly I heard the sound.

The sound I had been dreading and imagining all night long. A scratching at the door, and the jiggle of the knob.

I got to my feet, fear spiking through me, and walked into the main office. The handle was moving, and someone was clearly about to come inside.

I grabbed the gun without thinking. It was heavy, substantial. It was exactly what I thought it would be, and way more terrifying.

The door swung open.

“Hey, sis.” Easton looked at me, a small grin on his face.

“Easton.” I slowly lowered the gun.

“You can relax. It’s just me.”

“Okay.” I put the gun back down on the desk, relief washing over me.

He shut the door behind him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Why didn’t you knock?”

He just shrugged and walked past me.

“We’re heading out,” he said from the back room. “Come grab your laptop.”

I followed him and closed the lid, picking it up. He was packing another bag full of stuff.

“Two murders in two days,” I said softly. “It’s crazy.”

He looked at me seriously. “We’re closing the office.”

The words hit me like a hammer. “No way!”

“Sorry, sis. We have to.”

“No. We can’t close this office. We’re helping people!”

He gave me a wry smile. “We’re taking pictures of perverts and cheaters.”

“We’re saving marriages and getting people out of bad ones.” I paused. “And what about Mrs. Suarez? We helped her.”

His face clouded over at the mention of Mrs. Suarez. “We can’t help anyone anymore,” he said softly, and he went back to packing.

What was he talking about? We couldn’t just give up. We hadn’t even started investigating the murders.

“Easton,” I said, walking over to him. “Stop.” I put my hand on his arm.

He looked at me sadly. “We’re going to do more harm than good if we keep seeing clients, Laney.”

“What happened?”

I could see the pain in his face. But more than that, I could see the anger. Brutal anger, fierce and intense.

“The girl was Mrs. Suarez’s daughter. She was only sixteen.”

My mouth dropped open and my hand fell away. “What?”

“Get your stuff together. We’re leaving.”

He continued packing and I stood there, completely numb.

Mrs. Suarez’s daughter had been murdered? Easton clearly thought that we had something to do with it. Because we were helping people, they were getting killed.

I shook my head. That couldn’t be true. What we were doing was good. Sure, it wasn’t the most important or vital thing in the world, and mostly it was catching cheating husband, but still. We brought peace into people’s lives. We did things for people that they couldn’t do for themselves. We found the truth.

I didn’t want to give that up, not when I had finally found it.

Easton stopped in front of me. “Laney,” he said, snapping me out of my trance. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” I said, but he was already walking into the front office. I followed him out there. “No, Easton. Wait.”

“Listen to me,” he said, wheeling around and staring at me. “This young girl is fucking dead because of me. Do you understand that?”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, barely a whisper.

“Her fingers were cut off. She was strangled to death. All because her mother asked for my help.” He shook his head, practically vibrating with rage. “We have to close the office until this piece of shit is dead or caught.”

I nodded slowly, stupidly, unable to say anything more. How could I argue with that?

He slung his heavy bag over his shoulder and grabbed the pistol from the desk, slipping it into his pants. He gave one more look around the office and then nodded.

“Come on,” he said.

I followed him out. He locked the door behind us.

I felt like my world was suddenly shifting again. The last two days had been an insane rollercoaster. I had gone from being annoyed that he had moved into the room next door to suddenly afraid and nervous when he wasn’t around.

And the bodies were beginning to pile up.

I followed him silently out to the car, nervous about where this left us, or if that even mattered anymore.