(please read #1 first)
HELENA
I’m about to give up when a glint of copper catches my eye. The object catches a ray of waning daylight from under a log against the base of a tree just outside the police tape. My heartbeat quickens as I duck under, squatting down with a stick in one hand and my phone in the other.
I use the stick to push the object outward from under the log, focusing my phone camera on the revealed small bullet. Before I can think, a hand closes around my throat, and my ponytail is yanked back.
“Jesus fucking Chri--”
A hand presses over my mouth as the other lifts me by the hair. "Ahh!"
I lift my shoe, kicking back and upward in search of a pair of balls. He catches my foot, squeezing it between his muscled thighs.
“M.O.D.?” he whispers in my ear, confirming it’s him. Mother fucking Dante.
He lowers his hand, his arms wrapping around my waist with his mouth to my ear. If somebody sees us, they’ll misinterpret this as a loving embrace. But I can feel the aggression cording his muscled, tattooed arms. He wants to hurt me, and he wants to get us both off in the process.
He tightens his grip uncomfortably.
“Answer me, Helena. Manner of Death.”
“Strangulation,” I spit out, and he grazes his lips over my ear, his hot breath tickling as he suckles, making my heart race and my panties wet.
“Then why the bullet, Hells?” he rasps.
“I...don’t know," I pant.
He gloves my body from behind as he walks me downhill behind a thicket of overgrown bushes. When I trip on a log, he pulls back before parking me in front of a tree. I twist downward as he attempts to tie my hands behind my back. He distracts me by grabbing me by the ponytail.
“Not the hair!”
I claw at his arm before he clamps my wrists together with cuffs. Rough, scaley grey bark fills my vision as he spins me around to face the tree.
“Bastard!”
“You’re not wrong,” he snickers. “I never knew my father.”
He reaches around, unzipping my jeans. On command, blood rushes down my core in preparation. Goddam, I don’t want to be dripping wet right now! The gall of this man.
“You’ve never fucked me outdoors before--bad idea!” I warn.
His belt rattles loose. “First time for everything.”
“We’ll be seen. This isn’t happening, Dante.”
“We won’t be seen. Why the bullet?”
He presses the tip of his enormously intrusive dick against my asshole--he knows I’ll do anything to avoid that type of sex.
“I told you. I don’t fucking know! The killer strangles. Must be...somebody else’s bullet.”
I sigh in relief when his erections slides downward, between my thighs, finding my labia.
He dry humps my outer pussy, making me humiliatingly sopping with physical need right here in a public park where anybody could come upon us.
“What is the advantage of a .22, Helena?” he asks as the head of his cock presses inward. I answer his question with a moan.
“It’s a small weapon,” he thrusts inside me. “Easy to conceal.”
I stifle the loud moan that wants to come out as he fucks me against the tree, talking to me in that trance-like deep voice he gets that reverberates through me like a dark melody.
“It’s quiet when shot," he thrusts. "Easy to miss in a crowd. Where--mm...fuck, you're cunt is tight. Where...did he kill them, Hells?”
He brings his hand around, caressing my clit as he fucks me. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then he stops his grinding just as I’m reaching climax, forcing me to answer. I just want to get off and get the hell out of here. But he’s relentless. Just answer his fucking question, Helena.
“Nobody knows. He got them…after the party,” I pant.
He rams me so violently that the wind is momentarily knocked from my chest as the right side of my face smashes against the craggy wood. That’s gonna leave a mark; I’ll have to cover it with makeup before my next--oh…god…ah-mm…
god...I'm coming in public.
Before Dante, I only ever had sex with regular preppy guys, the kind the parents would approve of. Nobody was ever as violently possessive as this insane beast of a man. He’s this anomaly, this exotic other, blindsiding me time and time again. Dante’s attention always feels like a darkly delicious death wish. I know it’s probably bad for me and going to kill me in the end. But he leaves me no choice.
When I come all over his oversized cock, he grabs my hair, knowing it hurts. He bites the back of my neck like a fucking animal as he ejaculates inside me. Gentle is not in this man’s vocabulary; for some reason, it gets me off.
Every. Single. Time.
God, what's wrong with me?
It’s the first time I’ve had sex outdoors and near a goddamn crime scene!
He buckles his belt. It’s not like he needs a belt—his jeans are fitted over his athletic legs and abs—but it’s a tactical rope that can be used as a cord. He's into that sort of thing.
My wrists are sore and red as I pull up my jeans. My panties are uncomfortably damp, and there is no bathroom in which to clean myself here in the woods.
“You didn’t have to put the cuffs on such a tight setting!” I complain.
This always happens.
My post-orgasm cloud begins to fade, and resentment filters in, which feeds into our twisted dynamic. He likes pissing me off and pleasuring me all at once. And he has leverage over me because he knows my secret. Dante is the only soul in the world who knows I secretly enjoy being tied up.
But he always takes it too far.
I’ve heard about couples with rules, safe words, and contracts, but that doesn’t apply here. There is nothing official about me and Dante. No agreed-upon terms. We aren’t even officially dating.
“It’s more fun that way,” he smirks, salting the wound on my pride. I’m ambiguous about the power he has over me. He takes what he wants when he wants; I hate to love it.
“You’re the most arrogant human I’ve ever known,” I spit out, and the corner of his ruggedly handsome mouth lifts.
I roll my eyes. “Even your oversized dick is arrogant.”
“Keep talking dirty, and I’ll cuff you and drag you to my jeep. Moreover, do not let me see you taking such risks again, Helena. He could have been out here. Snuck up on you. Snuffed you out. Cast you in his art. Which fairy tale princess has red hair?”
“It’s my job, Dante. You can’t stop me.”
“I can. I will.”
I crack a grin. “Keep me as your prisoner?”
He doesn’t return the smile. His dark blue eyes are deeply cold, like the Black River in winter.
We face off, and I resist blinking, trying to ignore how creeped out I get when his expression turns grim, and he looks dead in the eyes and doesn’t seem to be breathing like he’s in a dark trance. It's a face that matches his voice when he's fucking me.
“What are you…thinking right now?” I mutter, trying to break the spell.
“Don’t want to know,” he says in a deep, calm voice. “Go to your car right this minute, Helena. Leave here before I drag you away.”
I turn with an indignant huff and head to my car parked on the side of the highway, near a popular trailhead. The killer puts his displays where people will see them. His gig needs an audience.
Speaking of. I get on my cell phone to call the police about the bullet I found when Jen intercepts. I tap answer.
“Hey, hon. What’s up?” I squint, lowering my visor to block the setting sun.
“Change your mind?”
“Nope,” I sigh, pulling onto the road. I glance over as Dante's jeep pulls out, heading off in the opposite direction.
“Well. I’ve had a headache all damn day, anyhow. But we are still on for tomorrow, right? You’re going to like him. He’s a cool guy. Very good-looking.”
“Thought you didn’t know him.”
“Well, Chad recommends him, and it’ll be fun. More importantly, every girl in this town should arm themselves with a boyfriend bodyguard. I mean, how did we get so unlucky? In the national news every week. Did you know that serial killer tourists are coming here? Demented, crazy people.”
“Or they're just true-crime addicts like me."
"Either way," she laughs.
"Sometimes it takes a network of obsessives to solve a murder, Jen. Besides, Black River Valley is a big area. For all we know, the killer could just be passing through. Most of his crimes have happened in different towns.”
“But we’re the latest. I worry about you, Hells. I hope you’re being careful out there,” she yawns. “God, this headache is killing me.”
Her yawn is contagious. “Don’t worry about me. Listen, I need to talk to dispatch. Go get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Later, babe.”
“Later.”
The call to dispatch is brief. Randy doesn't accuse me of tampering with a crime scene, but he reminds me not to overstep my bounds and thanks me for the information. Well, if they had done their job properly. Just sayin.'
The hint of condescending bitterness in his tone didn’t go unnoticed by me. I have a feeling it has to do with my standing with him six months ago. Does he want me to feel guilty or do I just feel guilty all on my own? I didn’t have a good reason for bailing on him. It wasn’t because I’m not into him. He’s probably the only normal guy in town with whom I could see myself having a healthy relationship. Maybe that’s why I avoid him. Sometimes, it seems like I can’t do anything right when it comes to my personal life outside work.
Speaking of work. I’d much rather be thinking about that.
I ponder the case while I drive. Strangulation. Embalming techniques. But are there also exit wounds where victims were shot? I’ll need to look into this.
The sun is gone now. It always gets dark fast in this valley, surrounded by rolling, tree-covered hills, and late spring-time clouds add to the darkness.
Headlights trail me from behind, but I think nothing of it.
Dante's words haunt me a little as I drive the lonely, dark highway. His strangely knowing tone and grim expression when he warned me off this case for the umpteenth time. He so convincingly believes that I’m in danger that it makes me wonder.
The moment this new murderer sucked me into his vortex, Dante began randomly popping back into my life to convince me I was being stalked and that it could be the killer. Statistically, the odds are incredibly low that he’s right.
Serial killers are extremely rare, and being their target is even rarer. There are a lot of people working on this case. I’m just a small-town journalist blogger. Why the hell would the killer be after me? There is no reason whatsoever. Dante is merely using this as another control tactic. He doesn’t think or behave like a normal person. He works in finance and sees the world in numbers, even when it comes to people. Says the world is overpopulated. Plagues are good. That kind of thing.
My gas alert dings, but I’ll be near a station shortly. I glance at the approaching headlights in the mirror, still trailing but getting closer by the mile.
I recall his question. Which fairy tale princess has red hair? Let’s see. There are the two Disney princesses that I can think of. Merida and the Little Mermaid.
Merida would fit into the killer’s recent woodland theme. Little Mermaid could be posed by the riverbank. I imagine a blank stare on my face, my body stuffed into a tailed costume, dead by the water with a fanned fin.
A tiny row of chills creeps up my spine as I imagine being found like that.
When the taillights trailing me don't break away after I exit the highway, I begin glancing back in intervals. It looks like a black vehicle. By how low its lights are, it must be a car rather than an SUV or a truck.
I turn right; it turns right. I turn left; it turns left. This pattern continues as I meander through my neighborhood. The streets are quieter than normal--where are all the dog walkers usually out around sunset? Oh, right. I almost forgot that the festival is going on. Am I in the minority not attending, or what? As is this person trailing me.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t turn into my driveway when I get home. If I am being followed, I'd rather not lead them to my house. Instead, I keep driving, turning streets at random. What are the odds that my random turns are the same path this car takes to its destination?
I turn left; it turns left. I make a U-turn. It follows. Shit, really? This goes on for a few minutes until I think I might take a little drive to the police station. See what happens then. But finally, the car turns in a different direction, and I sigh in relief.
Okay, that was weird.
Only now do I realize how fast my heart was beating. I continue glancing in my mirror as I drive home, seeing no more signs of my would-be stalker.
Stalker?
Dante’s words come to mind the last time he was at my house before I told him I didn’t want to see him anymore. He insisted that somebody was following me, but I didn’t believe him. I was tired of his manipulations and his controlling ways.
The only reason that Jen doesn’t think I’m bat-shit crazy for dating him in the first place is because she met him briefly, and she knows how drop-dead fucking gorgeous he is. In addition to having an impressively intimidating personality—cooly calm, extremely confident—his face, body, and stature turn all eyes into magnets. You can’t simply look away when he walks into a room. Like a king, he commands the space around him.
He's the kind of guy it’s hard to say not to, and he knows it. The bastard fucking knows it and wields it to his advantage. He could be a politician or a celebrity. But that’s not his thing. He likes numbers and rare art, not people. This is why he seems so aloof, calm and cool in social situations. Because he truly doesn't care.
My somewhat humble ego was not prepared for his attention.
He blindsided me with his possessive desire. If I were the lady my mother raised me to be, I’d tell him to go to hell. I’d be married to a normal man by now. We would be at the festival with Jen and her fiance, eating cotton candy and laughing at people between rides. But I’m still the tomboy, in search of abnormal adventure, and never quite fully sure of myself in a feminine way. Nor am I into the kind of guy I should be. Maybe it’s because they realize I'm odd once they get to know me and discover that I find their conventional ways a bore. Or maybe it's because they want me to act like I look. I don’t look like a dork, so why the hell do I act like one?
I scan the road in the rearview before stepping from my car and heading inside, where I lock up to the sound of Puma’s shrill meow. I’m always home too late by his account. I squat down over his hallway under-the-stairs-nook and pet behind his ears before moving onto his big, fat belly. Then I go to the kitchen and top off his water.
After eating some leftover chicken pasta and showering--absent-mindedly thinking of Dante as my hands caress suds over my naked breasts--I head to bed to read and get him off my mind while also wondering what I will wear for my double date tomorrow.
Jen doesn’t know it, but I only agreed to go along with this because when I Googled my date, Scott Hampston, I learned that he works as a local forensics consultant. Bingo! Turns out, this guy is my kind of date. According to his LinkedIn, he helps with recovered data. He also has experience in crime forensics with the regional police headquarters.
Now, this is the kind of connection a gal like me needs. This isn’t a big community, and surely, the investigators are using his services for the recent string of killings.
Maybe I'll even like the guy, and there is hope for me yet in settling down. But that’s probably a long shot.
My doubt is only confirmed when my phone beeps and I pluck it from the nightstand. It’s Dante, reminding me that I’m not the settling-down type. Because I'm into a guy like him, so something about me must be...off.
You were even wetter than usual, Helena.
I turn off my lamp, texting him back.
Is that so?
My cock doesn’t lie. I enjoyed fucking your tight pussy in the woods. Are you wet for me now?
I lower my hand between my thighs, cupping my already throbbing sex.
Maybe I lie.
He calls me, and I put the phone on speaker before setting it on the bed.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he answers. “I’m working late tonight. Taking a short break. But I'm tempted to force my way inside your home and fuck you against the wall with a chokehold.”
“Not allowed,” I say.
“Better yet, I’d like to stuff a ball-gag in your pretty little lying mouth, rendering you quiet.”
“I meant what I said, Dante.”
“That we’re finished?” He snickers over how I contradict myself. If that were true, I wouldn’t have answered the phone.
“Always lying. Always trying to set boundaries,” he says.
“Boundaries are healthy.”
“Fuck boundaries. Speaking of boundaries. I’m mentally penetrating your strawberry pussy with my tongue. Mm.”
“My pussy doesn’t taste like strawberries,” I argue, caressing myself.
“Yes, it does. My mouth is watering.”
“Shut up and fuck me, Dante.”
“Get out the dildo I gave you.”
I roll onto my side and pull out the rubber, grey-colored, custom-mold of Dante’s long thick cock. Realistic, down to the veins running the fully erect shaft. Gifted to me on our fourth date. He told me to throw away my others. He only wanted me fucking myself with his, and only his. Who does that?
Bringing it beneath the covers, I slide its girth between my thighs, teasingly over my soft folds, just like he did when he had me up against the tree.
“I can’t get enough of your cunt,” he rasps, and I know he has his cock in his hand, stroking it.
“I’ve never worn a ball gag,” I pant.
“I have so much to teach you if you would only listen.”
“I listen.”
“No, Helena. You really don’t. You don’t understand me like I do you.”
“Whatever. I’m...not obsessed. Why is your dildo grey-colored?”
“Yes, you fucking are. More lies. I’m going to punish you for that one.”
I let out a little moan, and he groans.
“Come all over my big, fat, dick, Helena. I want to hear you.”
I thrust the dildo over my clit, before slamming it inside my pussy, my face flushing hot as I near climax. For Dante’s sake, I don’t stifle my cries when I orgasm.
“Point...proven," he says, catching his breath.
I roll onto my side with a hearty yawn. “Hm?”
“Another thing you don’t know about me."
"Do tell," I smile sleepily.
"Grey is my favorite color. Goodnight, Helena,” he says before hanging up.
With a sigh, I briefly open my eyes to a beam of moonlight, studying the strange, hulking shadow outside my window as I fall asleep with Dante's deep voice still in my head.
