Lisa Jackson's Bentz & Montoya Bundle: Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded, Shiver, Absolute Fear, Lost Souls, Malice, & an Exclusive Extended Excerpt From Devious (195 page)

And yet, he found it impossible to tamp down his urge, and for that, he had the “lessers,” the women who would suffice physically if not intellectually.

And there were issues to deal with. A naysayer who had to be quieted, a guilty conscience that had to be silenced or all would be lost, and he couldn’t allow that.

His head began to throb.

He was empty. Hungry. Yearned for the thrill of the kill.

Could no longer hold back.

And he rationalized that this, tonight’s kill, would be a sacrifice to her, the one to whom he was forever linked, the one to whom he was fated.

And perhaps this unplanned killing of another lesser would throw the police off, send those who suspected on a wrong path in a different city.

Don’t do this. If you succumb to temptation, if you kill, you could be exposed, your mask stripped from your face.

His hand began to tremble as he considered turning around, resisting the urge that was a living breathing thing within him, a need so fierce he was its slave.

A willing slave.

He swallowed hard and felt the emptiness within. His hand steadied on the steering wheel as he saw the bright lights of New Orleans washing up against the night sky in the distance.

There was no turning back.

He knew the one he wanted…the perfect woman. Her skin was near translucent, her neck a long, welcoming arch, her body firm and ripe. His skin flushed, his own flesh heating at the thought of taking her.

Alive…oh, she needed to be alive, to know that theirs would be a hard, night-long union of passion and lust where she could satisfy his every need. And then she would give him the ultimate gift of her lifeblood.

Oh, how he would take her tonight.

He felt a throb of anticipation heat his veins at the thought and savored what he would do to her. Before. And after.

From deep in his throat came a soft growl of anticipation. Of need. He heard his own blood pumping through his veins, felt his pulse jump in expectation of the night ahead.

He closed his eyes for the barest of seconds, felt his erection hard and strong and straining. Which was good. Necessary. He needed the edge, the relentless resolution, the sheer testosterone-driven will that kept him sharp, cunning, and ruthless.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled at his transformation. His disguise was complete. No one would recognize him. Eagerly, he took the off-ramp he wanted, then wound through the city, driving carefully, under the speed limit on the empty streets. He knew where to park, where to wait.

He’d planned this one for a long time, knowing that at some point he would give in to his needs and search for a lesser one who would satisfy him for the next few days. Until the next.

The street on which he parked was nearly deserted, in a section of the city where the hurricane’s wrath had been mighty. There were a few parked cars, some abandoned and tagged, a few others occupying stretches of the battered street. He rolled down the driver’s window and breathed deep of the cool winter air. Even here, in a desolate section of the city, the Louisiana night felt alive. He heard the sound of insects buzzing, the whirr of bat wings in flight, and he smelled them all, a rat scurrying into a sewer hole, a raccoon searching the street for garbage, a snake slithering up the side of a tree.

Far off was the muffled sound of traffic on the freeway. Every so often headlights cut through the night and a car rolled past.

His nostrils flared and he drank it all in, his eyes easily adjusting to the dark. Lust was his constant companion. It had been since he’d been eleven or twelve, maybe younger….

He leaned back against the cushions of the driver’s seat, his hands tapping on the steering wheel. There were several lessers he wanted, those whose lives would be given without the elaborate rituals of the entitled, ones he’d earmarked for just the purpose of the letting of their blood. This one, the woman he would sacrifice tonight, would not be missed for several days. In that she was perfect.

He knew she would come. He’d watched her before, had met her several times, here in New Orleans. She was beautiful, her body toned, but she had no interest in improving her mind. And that was her mistake. Her soul could not be elevated. She was not royal, only a servant.

As are you,
that nagging voice in his head chided.
Are you the master? Of course not! You gave your free will over long ago and here you are, adhering to rules that you find restraining. Whether you admit it or not, there is a chain around your neck, one that is always kept taut.

He closed his mind to such arguments, knew they were blasphemy. He saw her then, walking alone, the friend who was sometimes with her missing. Good. She strode briskly in her high heels, her footsteps sharp and hard. Determined. Trademarks of a strong woman.

A dancer.

Who called herself Bodiluscious, but whose real name was Karen Lee Williams.

Wearing a short miniskirt, crop top, and jean jacket, she walked alone on this desolate street, heels clicking on the pavement. She probably knew better than to walk this way, but it was the quickest, straightest shot to her small house.

And a perfect place to become lost.

He waited until she was nearly a block away and then he slipped noiselessly from his vehicle. There were no lights, no alarms, just a soft little click of the door.

Though it was dark, with his eyes he zeroed in on her. He walked swiftly, hiding in the shadows, keeping near the empty buildings. Hard to believe any woman was stupid enough to take a shortcut and walk home after a night of writhing around a pole for money. Money used to support a habit instead of her child.

She deserved to die.

And she was lucky he was here to save her from her lowly existence.

He’d heard her complaints about her life, the unfairness of what fate had cast her, but she hadn’t wanted to change. It was all just idle chatter, used to garner his sympathy.

Smiling to himself, he followed her, then took a shortcut through a few vacant lots where, with his heightened vision, he could avoid the rubble, rats, and scavenging dogs.

Tonight, he thought, his blood singing through his veins, he’d release her from her misery.

Karen was edgy. Nervous.

And sick of the mess that was her life.

It had been a bad night, she decided as she clipped her way home on high heels that were beginning to hurt. She was walking through a part of the Big Easy where she’d once felt safe but now was a little nervous. But she had no choice: this route was the quickest way since her car had broken down a few weeks ago and she couldn’t afford a cab.

Besides, she needed a little time to breathe some fresh air and think. Get away from the throbbing music, hooting customers, and smell of stale beer and cigarettes. The club had gone downhill, too. The night was a little chilly, but the further she got from Bourbon Street, the quieter and calmer it seemed. She even imagined she could smell the river, which was probably just her imagination.

She had danced until eleven, when she’d been forced off the stage by Big Al’s latest “find,” a girl who wasn’t a day over sixteen unless Karen missed her guess. But the girl, Baby Jayne, with Kewpie doll makeup, long blond pigtails that nearly swiped her tight little ass, see through baby-doll outfit, and boobs that would make Dolly Parton envious, had all the customers streaming in for the after-midnight show. Even though she was awkward with the damned pole. Karen had watched a lot of the younger woman’s act, spent time lurking near the door, observing Baby Jayne’s pornographic moves. There was no seduction in her dance, no allure, just the obvious.

Now, it was late.

Nearly three in the damned morning.

It just wasn’t fair.

To think that at thirty, she, Bodiluscious, had been demoted. Her tips a few years back had been incredible—on some nights she’d made enough to pay her rent and buy a bit of nose candy—but now, after the storm had nearly wiped out the town and Baby Jayne had strolled into the club, Karen was lucky to have enough money to pay the bills each month. Which was probably good. If she had extra money, it tended to find her nasal passages. She’d been clean for over two months and she intended to stay that way. She was gonna put her life together. Hell, she couldn’t dance forever.

She kept angling toward her little house, which had miraculously suffered only minor damage in the storm. For that, she’d been thankful.

She cut across the street and felt as if someone were watching her, which was ridiculous. For God’s sake, that was her career, to have men ogling her, the more the better. She
knew
what that felt like.

Click, click, click
. Her footsteps kept right on hitting what was left of the sidewalk. And she kept her eyes ahead of her, afraid to make a misstep on the cracked concrete and end up turning her ankle. What then? Her career would definitely be over.

Maybe it was time to patch things up with her mother and kid, move back to San Antonio. At least that way she could see her daughter more than once or twice a month. She smiled to herself when she thought of Darcy; now that girl would go far. At ten she was already at the top of her fourth-grade class and the piece of art she’d made for Karen last Christmas was incredible. The kid was a genius even if she had a no-account father doing time for possession, and a mother who danced on a stage, making love to a metal pole six nights a week.

A car rolled slowly down the street and Karen just kept walking. New Orleans had become dangerous, and if the press were to be believed, the crime rate sky-high. But she was careful. Never headed out alone without her small pistol tucked beneath her jacket. If anyone tried to mess with her, she’d be ready.

The car passed without incident, but she still felt edgy. Something wasn’t right. Something more than Baby Jayne stompin’ all over Bodiluscious’s turf.

The feeling that she was being observed, maybe even followed, hung with her. She hazarded another quick glance over her shoulder and saw nothing…or did she? Was there someone just out of her line of vision?

Her skin crawled and a spurt of adrenaline shot through her, spurring her on. She was nearly running in the damned shoes now.

Don’t go crazy. You’re letting your imagination run wild.

But she opened the flap of her purse, where she could grab her pistol, cell phone, or canister of mace in one quick movement. She looked over her shoulder again, and saw no one.

Good. She was only three blocks from home now, approaching a safer area where the flood damage had been minimal and cleaned, the streetlights working, at least a quarter of the homes occupied, another quarter nearly cleaned and renovated.

Hurry, hurry, hurry!

She was walking so fast she was nearly breathless, and that was something she prided herself on: how fit and strong she kept herself with the dancing. She made it into the pool of light cast by the first strong street lamp along her route and she drew in a calming breath. She looked behind herself once more, then realized, standing in the circle of light, she was an easy, visible target.

You’re almost home, girl. Just keep walking. Fast.

She saw her house on the corner, then cursed herself for forgetting to turn on even one light. She hated walking into a dark house, but at least she was home.

She raced up the new walk and newly fixed front steps, her key in her hand. On the porch, she opened the still-squeaking screen door, then unlocked the dead bolt and shouldered open the new, heavy front door.

Inside, the smell of fresh paint assailed her as she flipped the dead bolt and reached for the light. The house was silent. Strangely silent. No hum of the refrigerator. No whisper of the air from the fans. She flipped the switch.

Nothing happened.

The entry hall light remained dark.

Scraaaape.

The sound of a shoe against the floor?

Oh, Jesus, was someone inside?

Her heart fluttered wildly with fear as she flipped several switches. No lights. She fumbled into her purse for her pistol with one hand, while the other scrabbled on the door for the dead bolt.

A hand clamped over hers.

Harsh.

Strong.

Brutal.

It crushed her fingers and she started to scream, only to have another hand cover her mouth.

Oh, God, no! She squirmed wildly. Writhed. Bit the leather covering her lips. Kicked at his legs, but his grip only tightened.

“Slow down, Karen Lee,” he said in a voice that was as seductive as it was frightening.

He knew who she was? This wasn’t random? She fought harder.

“There’s nothing you can do,” he assured her. “Nowhere you can go.”

That’s where you’re wrong, cocksucker,
she thought as her fingers brushed the cool nickel of the pistol. She grabbed the gun, yanked it out of the purse, heard the bag hit the ground with a soft thud. She drew her hand up, ready to blow this jerkwad to hell when she caught a glimpse, just a hint, of the guy’s face and she nearly dropped the gun.

Red eyes glared at her, fuckin’
red
eyes from deep in the folds of some black hood.

A face black as night with ghoulish features and purplish lips was inches from hers.
The face of evil,
she thought wildly.

Oh, God! She nearly peed.

Hot breath washed over her.

Holy shit.

She struggled. Fought. Even though she was shaking from head to foot. Fumbling with the safety, she tried to think clearly. All she had to do was swing the gun around, over her shoulder, and fire.

But from the corner of her eye, she saw the thing, this fiend from hell, draw back those awful lips and expose a nasty array of sharp white teeth.

Sweet Jesus!

She had the safety off.

Immediately, she swung her arm upward.

Teeth slashed.

Blood spurted.

Pain screamed up her arm.

She squeezed the trigger.

Blam!
The gun fired.