Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1) (24 page)

His Fantasy

I stroke the strand of pearls with my thumb. They are draped across my hand, slithering between my fingers before puddling in a lustrous heap on the desk. I find that I’m enthralled with Max’s bio photo on the homepage of her blog.
Would she feel this smooth, this silky?

I give renewed consideration to my next move. Is it too soon to send her another message? Might there be an even better way to get through to her?

As the pearls slide through my fingers, I revisit my fantasy about pleasuring myself with them wrapped around my dick. I can practically feel how smoothly they’ll slide over my skin, up and down, up and down, in the moments before I would come gloriously all over them. I’ve been tempted to give in several times already, but no. No, I will save that indulgence until I can share it with Max. She’s the only one who would truly appreciate the gesture. So I’ll hold off until I finally have her with me. Such an intimate moment between two people calls for privacy. After all, I’m not a cad.

In the meantime, perhaps it would be beneficial to part with another limb. Better yet, how about a torso or a head? Yes, that would make a statement. That would make it clear that I am not to be toyed with, that I am not to be ignored. I rather like the idea of terrifying the Louisville community, shaking to its foundation the false sense of security that the elite protect with such piety from the seclusion of their gated communities.

But most of all, I want to make a lasting impression on my little crime blogger. She needs to understand the caliber of intellect she’s up against. Yes, the time for emails is over. The message I’m about to send will be directed at her whole team. No matter how smart they think they are, I’m smarter. It’s time for me to show the world I’m not the man they assume I am. I’m as smart, talented, and educated as they are, and deadlier than anyone has ever given me credit for.

For now, though, I just focus on her lovely face, memorizing each feature and anticipating the day when I will spend hours savoring her beauty in person. I let the pearls settle in my palm. They’re luminous in the low light from my computer screen.

My dick surges to life as thoughts and plans stir my baser instincts. I lean back in my chair and take a deep, satisfying breath. With my eyes closed, I can see her so clearly. It feels so real. I smile serenely, imagining Max is here with me, her small hands lovingly rubbing the pearls over the crotch of my jeans. 

Max

Once again sleep eludes me as I toss and turn, mulling over all the drama in my life since I joined
Urban Elite
. Though I’m doing what I’ve always wanted, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

I’m consumed by thoughts of the women whose lives were so brutally taken. What seemingly inconsequential decision or change in plans put them in this animal’s path? Who did they leave behind? I’m determined to solve this case and give them justice. At this point, the women are beyond caring, but it matters to me. I didn’t personally know these women, but I do grieve for their unrealized potential and their families’ heartache.

So far this guy has only killed working girls. He has a chip on his shoulder and it feels personal to me – I don’t think he’s killing hookers just because they’re easy targets; I think he has a deep resentment toward women. Like Liam suggested tonight…mommy issues, maybe.

It pisses me off that he’s preying on women who are in desperate circumstances, doing what they feel they must in order to survive. They’re in their current situation because they have to be, not because they want to be. Maybe they’re just trying to feed their kid or, yeah, support a drug habit – an addiction that likely started out as a way to endure the touch of strangers. No matter how long a girl works the streets, she never gets used to servicing strangers for money. If no one else will stand up for these girls who have no voice, I will.

Sooner or later the killer is going to run out of body parts and when he does he’ll hunt for more. If my crime blog can raise awareness and help get a killer off the streets before anyone else dies, then it’s a start.

This guy wants attention? He’ll get it, and then some. I’ll use my words and the power of social media against him — and I’ll make him pay.

His Hunt

Star light star bright,

First hooker I see tonight,

Wish I may, wish I might,

Kill the whore I catch tonight.

I can’t put it off any longer. I had every intention of denying myself until I could have Max alone, but twirling these pearls between my fingers as I think about my little blogger is giving me an itch I need to scratch. I resent having to settle for a cheap imitation. I slam the lid to my laptop down and grab my hoodie on my way out the door. This won’t be a casual stroll.

I tug the hood low over my face as I drive toward 2
nd
Street where all the whores are. They’re barely dressed as they slither and sway along the sidewalk, trying to entice the men who cruise past in their luxury sedans. One dance with danger, one taste of illicit carnal pleasure, is all it takes to keep them coming back – no matter how they try to convince themselves otherwise. Now, me, I have no desire to escape the abyss. I revel in my depravity.

“Hey, baby, you looking for a date?”

I eye the woman leaning in through my open passenger window as I wait for the light to turn green. Her ample cleavage is busting out of the tight midriff top she’s wearing. A decent woman would see me staring and remind me, “Hey, my eyes are up here.” But, just like the whore she is, this one presses her arms in tight, squeezing her mocha tits together for me.

“I might be.” The words are barely out of my mouth before she’s sliding into the passenger seat. I pull away from the intersection while she tells me tonight’s specials. She mistakes my heavy-lidded expression for arousal. Of course she would. She has no way of knowing that I’m nearly lightheaded from the pleasure of the hunt.

“What’s your name?”

“You can just call me Lady Luck. Once you’ve had a taste of me, baby, your life will never be the same.”

Jack

I yawn as I lumber sluggishly out of my room, heading over to the main office for my newspaper and a cup of coffee. Even though I’ve had a shower and thrown on some jeans and a sweater, I’m still barefoot. Hell, I’m not entirely convinced I’m actually awake. I walk gingerly across the parking lot to pick up the newspaper from where it landed on the ground, and stretch as I look up at the morning sky. It’s gonna be a pretty day. I’m still old school enough to prefer to get my morning news in print rather than on a computer screen---

Son of a bitch!
I blink my eyes, as if that will turn the sight before me into a figment of my imagination.
Nope, still there, goddamn it.
I pull my cell phone from my pocket with hands that are shaking slightly and call Agent Turner’s private number.

“What’s up, Jack?”

“I need you and Rene here ASAP. There’s a fucking severed head staked on the gate outside. Black female, looks like. Haven’t gotten close enough yet to tell you more than that. Three guesses who put it there.”

“We’re on our way,” he replies calmly, like getting a call about a severed head staked on a wrought iron gate is just another day on the job. I’m sure in his line of work there isn’t much that still shocks him. That was true of me, too, until about five minutes ago. Turner may not be shocked, but I sure as hell am. I can’t believe the balls on this guy, getting this close.
I got your message loud and clear, fucker. You are one sick son of a bitch.

There’s no way I’m going to let this guy keep terrorizing my city. Spider will have his work cut out for him today reviewing security tapes. I’m hoping he’ll have a clear enough image to run this guy’s mug through facial recognition software.

When Agent Turner and Agent Murphy pull up to the gate with the CSI van following close behind, I let them in. They immediately erect a screen to keep curious eyes from rubbernecking. This is a gruesome, macabre sight, even for a seasoned detective. If this guy’s going for shock and awe, he succeeded and then some.

Agent Murphy’s the first one to say what we’re all thinking. “Looks like our boy is escalating, Jack. I wonder if this is a new kill or…leftovers.”

Agent Turner responds, “Seeing as how the crime lab’s backed up, I’ll get the testing on this…piece of evidence…expedited.”

He mutters in disgust, “Yeah, this guy’s looking for validation, for somebody to pat his fucking head. Er, sorry,” he says in response to his partner’s eye roll. “He might as well be standing at the gate, begging, ‘Look at me, look at me, someone please notice me.’ Unbelievable the lengths he’s gone to for attention.”

“Well, he’s damn sure got mine.” I hiss in anger.

“He’s got mine too--” Agent Turner agrees. “We’ll get out of your way as soon as we can. Until then, nobody in or out. I’ll need you to turn over your security tapes, but I can give you today to do an initial review yourself. Just get them to me by close of business.”

“Thanks, I appreciate the professional courtesy. I’m going to get Spider on that now.”

“Good,” Turner nods. “Let me know if you have any luck when you run the facial recognition software. Who knows? Our psycho’s grand gesture may be the fuck-up we’ve been waiting for.”

“I just hope we can pin him down before anyone else dies,” I fume.

I’m not one to be afraid of criminals but this guy is proving to be even more fucked up than I thought. It isn’t just Max he has in his sights, it’s my whole goddamn team. He sent me a message this morning, and he did it on my turf. And that makes it personal.

Message received, motherfucker.

I’m not sure how he thought this was going to go, but he sealed his fucking fate with the sick stunt he pulled this morning.