Shattered Pieces (Undercover Elite Book 1) (2 page)

Cash

She’s so fucking beautiful, even more so because she tries so hard not to be. She dresses like a tomboy, purposely trying to discourage male attention. The journal, that I was able to copy from her computer when I broke into her apartment earlier this evening, will definitely come in handy. It will enable me to study her most intimate thoughts, to delve into her psyche.

She’s absolutely perfect for what I have planned and I will make my move very soon. I worry about something happening to her. I know enough about her to know that she is her own worst enemy. It grieves me to know a woman like her, who has so much potential, is so self-loathing. Yes, the journals will tell me why. I have a very strong desire to wrap her up and take her home just so I can help her begin the healing process she so desperately needs.

I’d like to think I am her knight in shining armor, but a dark knight would probably be a more apt description. I’m not a good man; I’ve taken too many lives to give myself that title. I listen as she talks, as we banter back and forth, and I study her. Talking to her is easy and it brings an element of peace into my life. That’s something I haven’t had in a very long time.

I’ll do what I always do. I’ll watch over her and then follow her home to make sure she arrives safely. She is in my system, a drug I crave. More than once, visions of being buried deep within her have taken over my thoughts.

I’m a patient man and I can wait for the perfect opportunity to sweep her off her feet. My manner of doing so won’t be the norm, but all I care about is getting the results I desire. I want her and I will do whatever is necessary to have her completely under my control. I have all the resources I need to make it happen. Soon, very soon, I will have her right where I want her—in my home, in my arms, and in my bed.

Cash

I did exactly as I intended; I kept her safe for one more night. I make my way inside my mansion and into the quiet foyer. I guess, living this way, I should feel lonely but I’ve never really wanted to be around people. That changed when I met her.

I bound up the spiral staircase, walk down the hall, and enter the master bedroom so I can get through with my shower. I have one thing on the brain and that is getting into those journals of hers.

I run the water until it’s the perfect temperature and my mind, as usual, is bombarded with thoughts of her. It’s getting harder and harder to let her go with each passing day. She is forcing me to go through with my abduction plan, wooing me into her web, and entangling me more and more each time I see her.

My cock jumps to life with thoughts of her fulfilling my fantasies. I stroke myself, using the slippery soap in my hand, as I think about her tight, athletic frame. Thoughts of having her pinned beneath me and fucking her until she screams out my name force the orgasm from my body.

I finish my shower only partially sated. Remembering the journal, excitement over exploring her private thoughts in written form prompts me to hurry. I dry off, pull on some drawstring pants, and plod over to my king size bed where I wish I had her tied up and at my mercy.

The laptop boots up, I pop the memory stick in, and begin to read.

I suppose the reason I’m beginning this journal is to try and make some sense of my fucked-up life. Our last argument sparked the idea. It went something like this…

“Why the fuck would you name me Johnnie?”

“Your father wanted a boy.”

“My father? That’s a joke. You mean my sperm donor, don’t you?”

“Look, Johnnie, you’re not the only kid ever born who was unwanted. Get over it.”

I eyed the drunken woman sitting in front of me and though I didn’t feel any empathy for her, I did feel pity. She was a poor excuse for a mother. I turned and made my way out the door. Why subject myself to any more of her abuse?”

I turn off the computer, feeling even more determined than before to make my move and knowing I need to make it soon. She’s a walking time bomb and I’ll be damned if she is going to self-destruct on my watch.

Johnnie

Stretching as I wake up, I try to alleviate the stiff neck and muscle soreness I have every morning, courtesy of my ancient mattress. Memories from the night before flood my brain as I look over at the clock to check the time. Ugh, it’s already 12:30pm. Working in a bar, all the late nights have the unfortunate result of turning me into a night owl and I end up sleeping away most mornings. I’m grateful to be off tonight; maybe that will help throw my stalker off my trail. Surely he can’t know my schedule. Though, if I’m honest with myself, I can’t say that I would be shocked if he is aware. He seems to know way more than he should, than is possible, about my life.

I have no idea how he does it, but the man keeps better tabs on me than I do. I finally extricate myself from the sheets tangled around my body and make my way over to the coffeepot to get it started. Living in an efficiency apartment means it’s only few steps between my bed and the caffeine I so desperately need.

The shower helps to wake me up a little as I allow the coffee to finish brewing. I’ll get ready and then run errands before I come back home and dress to go to my bar of choice—the gay bar. It’s the one place I don’t have to worry about being hit on by men.

I couldn’t care less about having a man or, for that matter, anyone in my life in a relationship capacity. I don’t like people getting close to me. The professionals call it Reactive Attachment Disorder, or RAD; I call it survival. It’s what happens when children don’t receive enough nurturing in their formative years. To put it simply, I can’t bond with people. It seems to be a much bigger deal to everyone else because it doesn’t bother me in the least. It’s all I have ever known.

Ironically enough, it is probably the reason the suit stalking me wants me so badly. He draws women like bees to honey with his suave demeanor, but I see something that other women don’t—his dangerous undercurrent. The man has a sinister element to him and though he manages to hide it from most, my radar, honed from growing up in the streets, alerts me to how dangerous he really is. He reminds me of the kind of guy you see on TV who looks normal, but he’s really a hired killer. I can’t quite put my finger on it but there is something about him that tells me he is trouble. You know, he’s just not the kind of guy you want to cross.

Oh well, that’s enough daydreaming. I head out to start running errands so I can go out tonight and have some fun with my gays. It’s the one night a week I allow myself to just kick back and enjoy cutting up with the friends I’ve made at the downtown Louisville gay bar.

Where most kids grew up playing in the neighborhood park, I grew up in strip clubs and gay bars. If it hadn’t been for the strippers and drag queens, I wouldn’t have had responsible childcare. Yes, I’m serious. It was the strippers and drag queens keeping me safe while my sister was working and my mother was too drunk to watch me.

Johnnie

I make my way up to the bar and lean over so the bartender can hear me over the loud music. “A Bloody Mary, please.”

He holds up a finger, signifying he’ll be right with me. I cut my eyes over to the guy who wasted no time wedging himself into the seat next to where I’m standing. This is so frustrating. The whole purpose of coming to a gay bar is so that I can get away from being hit on by men. I couldn’t be happier when one of the gays squeezes between us and starts talking to me.

“Oh, he’s here again, girl. He’s right over there, in that dark corner, and he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”

I grab the drink that the bartender set down in front of me and raise it in his direction as if I’m toasting him. His only reaction is to crook his finger in my direction, a silent command for me to join him.

“Girl, why don’t you go ahead and let that beautiful man rescue you.”

“Because I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor.”

“That’s no knight in shining armor. That’s a dark knight if I’ve ever seen one,” I hear him say as I walk in my stalker’s direction.

“Following me again?” I ask in a snarky tone. His only response is to pull me into his suited body. I can feel him purposely pressing his hard cock into me. He reaches down, takes my free hand, and runs it over his tailored pants as he speaks.

“No more following, Johnnie. Tonight, I make you mine.”

“You can’t just tell me where to go and what to do.”

I pull back to eye the man who has been following me for the last six months of my life. There is something different about him. Danger permeates the air surrounding the man standing before me. As always, he is dressed impeccably tonight. He’s wearing a black, designer suit with a crisp, white shirt, complete with what looks like very expensive cufflinks, and he’s paired it with a black, grey, and red silk tie. I find myself looking down to see what shoes he’s wearing and, as usual, they are Italian and polished to a perfect gloss. His long, layered, coal black hair complements his black eyes that are now boring into me with a gaze that challenges me not to go with him.

Most women would die to have a man of his caliber pursuing them, but me? Well, I’m not interested in a relationship with anyone… at all.

“Cash, I’m flattered. I really am, but I have no desire to be saved by you or anyone else.”

“Very well, you’ve given me no choice.”

I feel the prick of a needle and, after only a few seconds, I start to feel whatever was in it take effect. He wraps one arm around my waist and starts to lead me out. My body presses up against his as he holds me up, using the strength of just one of his arms.

Music reverberates in my ears as I see my friend wave goodbye and wink as if I’m leaving with this stranger of my own volition. Whatever he gave me has me in a state of compliant euphoria as he leads me out to a limousine with a driver who appears to have been waiting out front for us.

Any fight I would normally have about being taken against my will has been completely subdued under the effects of the drug.

I lean against him as he holds me in his arms and the last lucid thought I can remember having is how good he smells. I spend the ride back to his mansion napping fitfully as he sooths me, rubbing my hair and speaking in soft tones.

“Such a good girl,” he croons. It is the last thing I remember hearing before my eyes grow too heavy and I give way to unconsciousness.

Cash

I stand in the corner of the darkened bar, watching the object of my affection. I knew, from the very first day I laid eyes on her, that she was perfect for what I have in mind. She’s perfect because she has no past, no present, and no future.

My eyes scan over her and, as usual, she looks stunning. She’s wearing a teal dress tonight and though it’s sexy, it’s also classy. Her long, blonde hair falls in ringlets down her back and look like they were made with a large barrel curling iron. Most men wouldn’t even know what a large barrel curling iron is, but my life depends on noting details. Her make-up is done tastefully and her blood red lips make me envision her body at my mercy.

My blood boils as I watch a man approach her but as is the norm for her, she ignores him. If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was a virgin or gay, but the access I have to her medical records show that she isn’t either of those; she’s just, by choice, sexually inactive. I’m certain her upbringing has something to do with her inability to bond. The professionals call it Reactive Attachment Disorder, or RAD for short. I have spent a lot of time studying it since I first began stalking her.

I know so much about her and, given the circumstances, I should. First, I’ve been stalking her for six months and, second, my job, as an enforcer of sorts, mandates that I pay attention to the smallest of details. Though she doesn’t know it yet, she is my new trainee.

I watch as one of the gay men she has befriended makes his way over to her. It’s evident he is telling her that I’m here because she raises her glass to me in a mock toast.

I crook my finger in her direction and my cock hardens as I watch her make her way over to me, obeying my silent command. Her dress moves in perfect synchrony with the sway of her hips; even the music seems to play in beat to her walk. She moves with just enough sensuality to be sexy, but not so much that it’s overdone. I pull her to me, pressing my hardened cock into her. For just a second, she drops her barriers and rubs up against me. It’s blissful but all too soon, it appears she rethinks her decision and she’s rebuilding her walls as she attempts to pull away. That’s not what I want and my braced arm around her lower back forbids it.

Her body gives her away when I glance down to see that her tiny, peaked nipples have gone hard in response to our proximity. I already know she won’t leave with me willingly but I’ve come prepared to take her with or without her consent. I don’t have much time before my next job and I need her with me to complete it.

She needs someone to rescue her and I decided months ago that she’s mine. In time, she’ll learn to accept my decision. I’ll protect her, I will train her, but above all, I’ll take her and make her mine… tonight.