Authors: Helen Grey
Tags: #hot guys, #dangerous past, #forbidden love, #sexy secrets, #bad boy, #steamy sex, #biker romance
“But I do.” Now that I had a chance to talk to him, I couldn’t find the right words. All kinds of emotion bubbled up inside me. Love, pain, rage, fear… one minute one reigned supreme, only instants later to be substituted with another. “Hawk, I’m sorry I doubted you, I’m sorry I got mad at you—”
“Tracy—”
“No, let me get it out. I may not get another chance. When Westin told me that you had gotten into a bar fight, that you’d been arrested, I thought the worst—”
“Some guys jumped me at the bar,” he interrupted. “I went there to meet my CI after receiving a text message from him, but he wasn’t there.”
What? Hawk was telling me that his presence at the bar wasn’t what I’d thought. I had been so foolish to just assume. I was foolish. I felt horrible.
“I fought back. I guess they weren’t expecting me to or something.” He shrugged and then winced at the pain the movement caused. “I guess things got a little carried away and before I knew it, I was escorted to the back of a police car. You know the rest.”
But I had so many questions. How could something like that happen? Weren’t there witnesses at the bar who saw Hawk get jumped? Didn’t Cutter believe what happened, or had no one contacted Cutter? Maybe the arresting officers didn’t know that Cutter and Hawk were friends, figured he was just another troublemaker that had gotten what he deserved…
“Hawk, I’m so sorry I doubted you, that I—”
“You don’t have to apologize. I know what it looked like.”
He continued to struggle with his bindings. Every time he looked at me, I saw the rage in his eyes.
“Hawk, listen to me.” I spoke softly. I wanted his attention, and I got it. His utter, complete and full attention. “I have a feeling that I’m not going to make it out of this—”
“You will! You’re going to make it—”
“In the event that I don’t, I want you to know…”
Footsteps. Once again, adrenaline surged and my heart began to pound. What was that bastard going to do this time? Now that Hawk was conscious, would he go after him? Hawk tried to look up the stairs, but couldn’t turn too far because of the way he was tied, where he was located, and of course, the pain of his shoulder wound. I didn’t know if he’d been shot or stabbed. I didn’t know if the wound was serious, or if he was bleeding internally or—
I saw the hiking boots again, then the legs, his upper body, and then his face. That mask. I wanted to rip it off, to know who was doing this to me, to us, but at the same time I didn’t. What would it matter? Would knowing make all of this go away?
And what if I knew him?
Had spoken to him? Smiled or talked to him in my everyday world? Would recognition be more frightening than facing a stranger?
He reached the bottom of the stairs, looked at me for a moment, then over at Hawk. A sound came from behind the mask.
“Good, you’re awake.”
Hawk said nothing. He scowled at the man, still now and silent.
He stepped toward the table, eyed me for several moments, and then placed one hand firmly down on my arm. He grabbed the handle of the knife, pressed down with one hand and in one swift yank retracted the knife from my arm.
It was horrible. I felt the metal sliding against my muscles, and once again, my stomach somersaulted and bile rose in my throat. I forced back a gag and stared wide-eyed up at the man, staring down at me.
“Leave her alone.”
The man rounded the table to face Hawk before placing the knife against my throat. He had a clear view of Hawk now and they stared at each other. Neither seemed ready to back down.
Despite my pain and my fear, I reveled at the sight of Hawk. Despite his injuries and that raw cut on the side of his face, he looked so fierce, so indomitable. My heart surged with pride and affection. He showed no fear, but sat straight, his chin high, his gaze riveted on our captor.
The man chuckled. “Very brave talk for someone who can’t do anything to defend the damsel in distress.”
“Cut me loose and we’ll see.”
Again a little laugh. “In due time.”
The man was standing close again. I caught a whiff of his scent, one that I couldn’t quite place. But now it seemed vaguely familiar. Then, my memory cells recalled. It was the same light scent of body odor I’d sensed in my house the night Hawk and I had gone to the firing range. The night I’d gone up to my bedroom to find my underwear slashed to pieces on my bed.
I looked up at him, trying to recognize his form, the shape of his body, but again, I had this odd feeling that there was something distorted about it. It wasn’t like he had a physical distortion per se, but that maybe he was wearing something under his clothing to disguise himself. The bulk of thickness was gone from his torso, but still I had a sense that something was underneath the black sweater. I couldn’t figure it out.
Who the hell was he?
“I saved her for last… well, maybe. The last from Seneca anyway. None of you have figured it out.”
“And you got tired of being anonymous, is that it?” Hawk asked calmly. “You want everybody to know who you really are, what you can do.”
I looked up at the man. He shook his head. “They never know until they get caught.”
“Who?” Hawk asked. “Who doesn’t know?”
“The victims… my prey. They know when I want them to. Then, when they see… the look on their faces… it’s quite funny, actually.”
He looked down at me again. Hawk spoke. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to keep the killer’s attention away from me. While I appreciated it, I didn’t want him to do it. Enough people had gotten hurt, even killed, because of me. I had no control over what the killer thought or did, but it was hard not to feel responsible, especially when I thought of the old woman.
“So why don’t you show us who you are? Surprise us.”
The killer glanced at Hawk. “Like I said, in due time.” He sighed. “But maybe it is time to give you a clue.”
A clue? A game. That’s what this was to him. Sickening and unbelievable. This kind of stuff happened in the movies, not to me. But here I was, a character in a movie, tied up to a table, being tortured and taunted. Along with Hawk, who had done nothing but try to protect me from this bastard all along.
His attention was focused on Hawk now. “Think back. Beth Denay.”
I watched Hawk frown, trying to place the name.
“Come now, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten her?”
The killer spoke in a taunting tone. He was enjoying this immensely.
Hawk scowled. “High school.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.”
I glanced from the killer to Hawk. What kind of game was this? If he was after me, why was he now taunting Hawk? Was Hawk his ultimate target? If so, how had I ended up in the killer’s sights? Or was it mere coincidence, a chance that the killer couldn’t pass up? I was more confused than ever. Then again, could I expect to figure out the workings of the psychopath’s mind? And that’s what this freak was. A psychopath. I had no doubt of it now.
“She disappeared,” Hawk said.
“Did she?” The killer’s voice lilted with the words.
Hawk stared at him for several moments, and then I saw his gaze glance toward me. His expression was hard, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. He was angry. I had no doubt that if he could get loose, he would attack without any regard to his safety. That worried me.
Hawk said nothing as the killer took another step toward him. “How about Angela Stockton?”
Hawk barely reacted to the name, although I could tell he was thinking, his mind going back through time, trying to place it. Then he looked up at the killer, his expression filled with an emotion I couldn’t define. Did he know? Did he know who the killer was? “She was found murdered a year after graduation.”
“Very good,” the killer said. “I had a blast with her too.”
I was surprised when he suddenly turned away from Hawk and looked at me. “You see, Tracy, I’ve been having my fun for quite some time.”
At first, I wasn’t sure what he was intimating, but then I realized. Was he saying that he had been killing for over a decade, close to fifteen years? I glanced at Hawk, who continued to stare at the killer. Once again, he was straining at his bindings. I felt another surge of nausea.
“I couldn’t help it, you see. I tried, sometimes. Sometimes, even a year or two would go by. But you know, once that urge starts to build, there’s not much a person can do about it. It’s like an obsession. Like a nervous tic. Like an itch that you have to scratch. The more you focus on not scratching it, the worse the itching gets.”
He was quiet for several moments, but not for long. He had to boast.
“I’d managed to maintain control for a few years, but then the urge struck me again. Those last two…” He paused, as if in deep thought. “Wait, there was that old lady, but she wasn’t an urge.” He looked at me. “She was a message.”
I stared up at him in horror. “You killed that old woman to send a message? Why?”
“You made me mad.” He gestured toward Hawk. “You had to act the slut with him, didn’t you? Those other women didn’t mean anything to you, did they? You ignored the warning. Oh sure, you probably felt bad that they died in such a horrible way, but you didn’t let it affect you personally, did you? You still had to…”
He paused, took a deep breath, and then shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You’re going to pay for your sins and so is he. I must say, I’ve had quite a bit of pleasure playing with you, but I’m growing bored. Time to move on to greener pastures as they say.”
He reached for me. A sound of denial ripped from my throat.
“Get away from her, you fucking bastard,” Hawk growled.
I knew Hawk, to some degree anyway. That growl evoked something within me. Something primal. Fear. The sound of his voice; the intent and intensity behind it, caused a shiver to run up my spine. I instinctively sensed the rage in him, sensed for the first time that he could, and would, kill if he so desired. Despite my pain, my fear of the killer and the uncertainty of what I had yet to face, I knew that Hawk would do anything and everything he could to try to protect me, to keep me alive. How he was going to do that I had no idea. We were both at the mercy of the killer. But what—?
The killer ignored Hawk and, much to my surprise, cut the plastic ties holding my legs to the table. What was he doing? Instinctively, I tried to move my legs. Pain shot through my right leg, but I managed to bend the left one, tried to kick at him. He quickly stepped away, then moved toward the head of the table. He slapped me, hard. I cried out in startled dismay and pain. Tears blurred my vision.
“You fucking coward!” Hawk shouted. “Why don’t we see how brave you are? Or is that all you can do? Stalk those who are unable to defend themselves while you hide in the shadows?”
The killer froze, then slowly turned to Hawk. Without a word, he placed the knife down at the foot of the table and then took several steps toward Hawk, his hands balled into fists. I kicked with my left leg, made contact with the knife, and cursed when I heard it fall off the table. I stared with wide-eyed apprehension as the killer stepped in front of Hawk’s chair and then lashed out with one bare fist to strike him in the jaw.
Hawk’s head snapped backward and made contact with the post behind him. Nevertheless, he grinned up at him and spoke.
“Is that all you got?”
Oh my God. Hawk was taunting him. In the next second, the killer seemed to explode. His fists struck Hawk, one after the other. The uppercut he just delivered was followed by a right-handed blow to Hawk’s temple. And then another with his left. Hawk continued to grin up at the killer, his teeth now bloodied from the new gash on his lip and the cut over his left eye.
“Stop it!” I shouted. “Leave him alone!”
I began to kick at the table, trying to twist my body from side to side, straining as much as I could, trying to ignore the pain as I struggled to escape my bindings. I began to scream, shouting incoherently at the killer while he pummeled Hawk.
“You’re a gutless coward!” I shouted, trying to distract his fury, my heart pounding in fear nevertheless. “What’s the matter? You afraid of what will happen if you untie him?”
I didn’t know what I was saying. I was reacting out of pure fear, anger, and adrenaline. I probably wasn’t going to make it out of this, so, for the moment at least, I wasn’t trying to halt the vitriol that gushed past my lips.
“You sorry piece of shit!”
No response.
“Coward!”
Wuss! Freak! Fucking bastard! Every one of those words and more left my lips, but the killer was in a furious fugue and ignored every word. Hawk hunched his shoulders, ducked his head, and did what he could to reduce the damage of the blows, but soon blood was dripping from his lips, his nose, and the knife wound and the cut over his eye. The killer slammed him in the ribs and then thrust a powerful blow into Hawk’s groin.
Hawk didn’t make a sound. The killer breathed heavily, the physical exertion quickly exhausting him. As suddenly as the beating began, it ended. The killer stood in front of Hawk, his chest heaving, his hands balled into fists, his knuckles bloodied. His arms trembled, though from exertion or rage I couldn’t tell. Hawk’s head was down, his chin resting on his chest. The cry that escaped my lips when he finally raised his head was one of fear, pain, and horror.
Hawk’s left eye was already swollen and half closed. Blood streamed from his nose. He spat a bloody stream toward the killer, who cursed and delivered one more blow to the side of Hawk’s jaw.
To my dismay, Hawk laughed again. At least I thought it was a laugh. I wanted to tell him to stop it, to stop taunting the killer, but I knew he wouldn’t. He was trying to turn the killer’s fury on himself. A misguided attempt to save me perhaps, considering our situation, but I respected him even more for the attempt. Too bad I probably wouldn’t get a chance to tell him how much his sacrifice meant to me.
Then, as if he didn’t want to waste another ounce of energy on Hawk, the killer turned away from him and looked at me for several moments. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure he had bloodlust in his eyes. Who wouldn’t, after that? Was he going to give me much the same?