With Visions of Red (Broken Bonds #3) (11 page)

His mouth finds my hot center in the next beat, and I gasp in a sharp breath at the feel of his tongue tasting me. Gripping my thighs, he spreads my legs wide, giving him unfettered access. My belly tightens as he slips a finger inside me, sampling, teasing, making me crave more.

An impossible task, but he manages to slide one of my stockings onto my toes, then up my calf. The whole while, his talented tongue and mouth never leave me. The feel of his hands working and caressing the silken material onto my body has me trembling for release. He stops when the stocking reaches my thigh.

“Turn around,” he directs.

On shaky legs, I push myself up to stand and face him. Kneeling before me, he holds the other stocking. This slow perusal of my body is a new kind of torture. I’m tempted to straddle him—bring him to the brink with me.

But before that thought can be realized, he palms my calf and guides my toes into the stocking. He slowly drags it up my leg and, when he reaches my thigh, angles my leg over his shoulder. He grabs my ass, forcing my hips forward.

I tense as he sucks me into his mouth, his tongue firm and purposeful as it flicks over my clit. My hands go to his hair, gripping, needing support as I balance between ecstasy and falling. But my leg doesn’t give out. I press into him, demanding. My body ordering him not to stop.

Only right when I feel the wetness slick my thighs, he pulls back. A moan of discontent slips free, and he groans. “Hand me the garter belt.” I can hear the strain in his voice, the constraint.

It puts a wicked smile on my face to know he’s near breaking, too. I reach behind, grab the garter, dangle it above him. His eyes blaze with want as he tugs it from my grasp.

“You sure dressing me is what you really want to do?”

A smile slants his mouth. “Right this second…I really want to taste that sassy mouth.” He rises onto his feet and cups my face, his lips crash against mine.

I reel back from the impact, desperate to find my footing and push all of my desire back against him…but just as quickly, he steps away, leaving me breathless and needy.

He stretches out the garter, testing its elasticity. “This could be put to better use,” he says, slipping the black material around my waist. “But we’ll save that for another night, too.” As he connects the clasps, he works the belt down around my hips, his fingers dragging possessively over my skin.

Dropping to his knees, he cups my hips and nips the tender flesh of my belly. I flinch, and he continues to kiss and bite his way toward my mound. Taking his time there, he runs a strap of the belt through his fingers—the same way I’ve seen him toy with his ropes—then tugs it down where he attaches it to the stocking.

With just as much finesse and tenderness, he clasps the other ends of the garter belt to my stockings, his eyes intense, his purpose to claim me pouring through him with every exchange.

My eyes are closed, my whole body one heartbeat, trusting him and anticipating his next move. I feel the heat of his skin against my nipples. They pebble, just as desperate for his attention. He never denies me.

He eases my arms into the straps of my bra, slowly, delicately, bringing them up to rest along my shoulders. The cups hang open at the swell of my breasts where he cups me and lowers his mouth to one nipple.

I tilt my head and arch my back, pressing as close to him as he’ll allow. And as he transitions from one breast to the other, sending an erotic tingling right to my core, I squeeze my thighs together, capturing him there.

His teeth bear down on me, scraping my nipple as he rocks his hips, thrusting his hard cock between my clenched thighs. “I’m going to bury myself in you, goddess…”

His whispered promise against my skin heightens my arousal, and my hands cling to his back, my nails seeking purchase to sustain me.

Before he gives in to his desire to do just that, he forcefully breaks away. His clear blue eyes are ablaze with his every intent, unleashing a thrill within me. He draws the clasps of my bra together. My breasts feel heavy and achy, trapped and unsatisfied. But he continues to fondle them through the bra. He bites deeply, sinking his teeth into the padding, spiking my desire.

Backing up a step, he swings his gaze to the dress laid out on the bed. I’m so far from being ready—I’m damn near angry that I have to put it on.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “The night you wore a red dress for me, and I had you on my bench…I had to forcefully restrain myself from taking you.” His hands curl into fists. “I wanted to tear your clothes from your body. That’s what you do to me, goddess. Make me into some kind of animal. But knowing you’re going out there…to meet him? I’m feral. Marking my territory. Covering you in my scent.” He draws closer, his body a fire-hot torch of lust. Then he reaches toward the bed and snags the dress.

Without request, I lift my arms above my head. His arms circle me, and I can feel the muscles of his arms flexing along my waist as he bunches the dress before he raises his arms alongside mine.

The satin material glides down my arms, whisper-soft, then travels over my body. Gently towing the hem down, Colton drags the dress toward my thighs. The material embraces my skin in a perfect fit as it molds to my curves.

He pushes my wrists behind my back, where he links them together with his hands. Trailing his lips over my neck, delivering soft kisses, he whispers, “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

A short time ago, that one word could decimate me—but Colton has given me ownership over it. I never want him to stop saying it—to stop seeing me as his beautiful goddess. I wriggle a hand free and find the band of his boxers. He doesn’t stop me—wants me just as badly in this moment.

I push his boxers down and feel the spring of his erection against my stomach. Hard, needy,
mine
. Only he doesn’t allow me the same indulgence. He has me in his arms and lifted against his chest before I can taste him.

My back meets the wall, and it’s as if he needs to devour me whole—his hands seek my center, his fingers pushing inside me, readying me to take him—as his mouth and body pin me.

“Fuck me, Colton,” I get out around his demanding kisses. “I need you hard and raw…inside me.”

His growl rumbles against my chest as he positions his cock, his slick fingers rubbing me all over him before he thrusts up and drives into me. I wrap my legs around him as he braces my arm against the wall. He slams into me again so fierce, my spine protests; but my body accepts the pain, requires it. I dig my heels into his backside, challenging more.

I’m untethered, but so completely bound to him. With every thrust, I climb. With every whisper of love and profession of lust, I know I can never be contented by this man—I will always
need
. But just as surely as he makes me insatiable, he fulfills me—utterly.

The overflow of emotion is almost painful. I am not a hollow vessel. I am not unfeeling or broken—I feel to the depth of my soul. The darkest part of me is alive—it stirs with an abundance of sensation and love.

And that emotion wraps around us now as Colton pushes off the wall and cradles me in his strong arms. Gripping my shoulders, he plunges into me, deep and claiming. He stays there, filling me, demanding I take all of him. As he carries me to the bed, he lies back, offering me his control.

I’m empowered by the look in his eyes—the one daring me to accept every part of him in return. Linking my fingers through his, I rock my hips, loving the way his teeth sink into his lip at the feel of me tightening around him.

“Finish me, goddess,” he says, his voice a low rasp.

It drives my desire to the brink—and I speed my movements, taking him deeper, almost unable to bear it the harder he becomes. But we were designed for each other—my channel slicking against him and welcoming his sizable length.

He releases my hand to clamp it around my nape, drawing me to him as he pushes up. His lips find mine, caressing hard. Passionate. His grip tightens as I moan against him, my back arching, forcing him to curve his hips as he drives into me with fierce need.

As my orgasm grabs hold, I raise up. His hands go to my thighs, gripping and guiding, as I let my head fall back. Completely lost to him. Our rhythm intensifies, and we meet each other with heavy, powerful thrusts that send me right over the edge.

He curses, and the guttural sound of his voice fires off a pulsing deep within my core. It surges into my stomach, my back. Through my whole body. A flowing current. My hips work harder, rocking and slamming against him as he thrusts to meet me each time. His fingers dig into my skin as his hands anchor to my hips.

And as I ride the electric currents, my hips undulating and swirling, his hip digs into my thighs as he arches and begins to pulse deep inside me. I fall against his chest, mine rising and falling in quick succession with his.

His fingers slide into my hair as he presses a tender kiss to the top of my head.

Inhaling his scent, allowing it to comfort me, keeping the night ahead at bay just a moment longer, I say, “We’re going to need a second dress.”

The rattle of his laugh tickles my chest. “Another round?”

I lift up, capturing his lips in an intimate kiss. Then I smile. “I’m game.”

A
n unmarked van
is stationed two blocks from The Lair. Within, there’s an assembled team with eyes and ears inside the club. Special Agent Proctor has Feds on the inside as well as the outside, and Quinn has the techs linked up to the club surveillance, sending a feed right to the monitors inside the van.

It’s a perfect sting operation—that is, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s completely bogus.

“Are you sure the UNSUB won’t show here?” Quinn asks as he clips a wire to the inside of my dress collar.

I tried to convince him that the wire was unnecessary—that the UNSUB will make sure I discard any monitoring equipment before he approaches me, but Quinn was adamant. I wasn’t leaving his sight until I was bugged. I might’ve been wrong when I thought Carson would suffer the most; Quinn has never been able to accept anything less than orderly. And this scheme is anything but organized.

“This place is crawling with FBI,” I say, noting an agent trying and failing to pass himself off as a member of a BDSM club. Dressed in all vinyl, he sports a chain belt with handcuff buckle. If my insides weren’t numb with adrenaline, I might laugh. “One sure-fire way to keep a suspect away? Send in the FBI. If I can spot them, the UNSUB already knows they’re here. Besides, you did a good job of leaking the operation around the department. He knows where the set-up is happening.”

Quinn lowers his hands from my dress with an audible exhale. “Tell me again how you know this will work?”

“I relayed a message to him in my text. Something only he would understand and the Feds wouldn’t. Trust me, Quinn,” I say, locking gazes. “This will work. It has to.”
Because Avery is out of time
.

Agent Proctor didn’t question what
“You know where”
referred to in my text to the UNSUB. Since The Lair is the only common denominator linking most of the victims together, I let the assumption slide.

“I just can’t believe Proctor thinks this obvious stakeout will get past anyone.” I right my dress collar, and look up when Quinn doesn’t respond. “What is it?”

His mouth creases into a tight frown. “My gut doesn’t like it. I think you should go ahead with the botched operation—”

“And leave Avery to suffer longer? Or worse…die? Avery needs this to happen, Quinn.” Despite my own hesitations, I grab his hand, sending a sure pulse to his palm. I stay latched onto him until his hazel eyes warm. “Just keep Proctor and his team focused on The Lair, giving the techs enough time to run the DNA through the database. Trust the plan. Trust
me
.”

Even though I mean every word, know that I don’t have a choice but to succeed—I can’t let Quinn see the fear harboring just below my surface. My plan only gets me face-to-face with the UNSUB. What then? Despite my past, regardless of what I’ve done, I don’t know how this will end.

With a deep breath, Quinn nods. “Get your ass in there before lover boy starts to freak out.”

I can’t help it, I smile. Only the small relief doesn’t last nearly long enough. Quinn’s grip on my hand loosens, and before I can say anything, he walks away. I wait for him to send me a signal that once this is over, we’ll be okay. But he doesn’t look back, and I feel the loss of his protection.

I’m truly on my own.

From my spot on the corner of the building, I watch the pro—my doppelganger—be escorted into the van. Besides Carmen, she’s the only person who’s
possibly
seen the UNSUB and can make an identification.

Making sure Proctor and the team see me go into the club, I walk straight through the front doors. If I didn’t already feel like a spotlight was beaming right on me, as soon as I enter onto the main level, it’s as if I’m walking onto a stage.

I slink past dancing bodies on my way to the bar. I get a curious glare from Agent Rollins at the other end, but I nod to the bartender, ignoring his assessment. She sets the shot of bourbon in front of me and I throw it back with force.

One for the nerves before I commit to this.

Letting the burn of alcohol warm my insides, I push away from the bar top and weave my way toward the spiral staircase. The beat of house music reverberates through my chest, pushing my feet faster up every step.

One of the bouncers nods for me to pass. I reach the office door, and Colton has it open before I knock.

“I saw you coming,” he says as he rests his hand at the small of my back and leads me in. “Let’s make this quick.”

A petite UC agent stands beside Carson in the middle of the office. She greets me with a nod and an easy smile that feels at odds with this meeting. But I move hurriedly, unzipping the side of my dress and pushing it down my body.

Colton clears his throat. I look up to see him send Carson a stern glare. With an exasperated sigh, Carson turns to face the wall of monitors. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“Not from her, you haven’t.” Colton takes the dress as I hand it off to him, swapping it out for the satin one he dressed me in at my apartment. Even now, as he helps me slide it over my head, I feel his hands and mouth claiming my body.

The UC agent slips into my dress, allowing Carson to help her zip into it. From the back, she can pass as me. Her makeup and hair are a match, and in the dim lighting of the club, with agents that have only seen me during short periods, she can pull this off.

I step toward her and push the wire Quinn taped to my dress under the collar. “Be careful,” I tell her.

“You, too,” she says. “We’re going to get this bastard, Agent Bonds.”

I hold her green gaze, relaying a silent thanks. “We are.”

“I need your phone,” Carson says.

One less thing to be tracked with. I remove it from my clutch and hand it to him. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Our eyes meet, and understanding passes between us.

“Anything to get one over on the Feds. I’m onboard.” A smirk lights his face.

Although Carson has been chasing the wrong man, he’s been devoted to capturing a serial killer who’s eluded him for two years. Even if I still don’t trust him, I trust that he’s committed to this operation. It’s his chance to not only make amends, but to get retribution for his career.

I turn toward Colton. “I’m ready.”

His hand is in mine, then he’s leading me toward the other end of the office. “Only me and Julian know”—he cuts short—“Julian
knew
about this access.”

He pushes aside a tapestry and reveals a door. “My brother made a lot of enemies,” he says. “He always made sure to have a way to escape.”

A pang hits my chest as I stare into his eyes, both of us leaving the truth unsaid. His brother didn’t escape his fate, which may remain a mystery to Colton.

The dark hallway leads down a flight of stairs and to a back door, where Colton pauses. “I want you to take this.” He holds out his phone—the one issued to him by the department.

“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t have anything—”

“I disabled the GPS,” he interrupts. “I hated doing it…because it’s killing me to let you go out there with no way to find you. You’re asking a lot of me, goddess. Almost too much. I have to at least know you have a way to call for help. If you need it.”

I swallow, allowing Colton to wrap my fingers around the cool device. “I promise,” I say, moving close to him. “I’m coming back to you.”

He cups my face, kisses me with everything he has. I can feel his torment in that kiss—his absolute devotion and warring anguish.

As I pull away, he whispers, “I love you, goddess.”

I know there’s more to be said, so much more than that word can convey. But right now, it has to be enough. “I love you, Colton Reed.” I release the strain from my lungs. “Make sure you show our girl a good time.” I smile up at him.

“The crew is doing a special tribute to Julian tonight,” he says. “I won’t let her out of my sight. That, I promise.” He pushes the door open. And even in the dim lighting of the street, I can see the tremor of his hand gripped tightly to the door. “I’ll storm heaven and hell if you don’t come back to me.”

As I step onto the sidewalk, I say, “Hell’s not ready for me yet.”

I
n the distance
, the lights of the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge flicker, peeking in and out of the trees like a movie reel flipping through a projector. The highway is teeming with cars, city-goers passing on their way into downtown.

I lean forward and knock on the plastic window between the cabdriver and me. “Pull over onto the median at the entrance to TRI, please.”

He does as requested, and the cab comes to a stop on the small strip of road. I push a few bills through the slot before my heels meet the uneven pavement. I twist my ankle and curse, righting myself as I make my way over first the gravel, then the grassy divider toward the extensive walking bridge connecting the mainland to the island.

The rancid smell of marshy river mixing with gas fumes drifting off the highway turns my stomach, reminding me of the morning the exsanguinated victim was discovered.

I pass the memorial with the TR statue, crossing onto the cemented bridge where a few ground accent lights illuminate the man-made pond and center fountain. Otherwise, it’s near black out, with only the lights from the city and DC glowing against the skyline.

The UNSUB marked this island, giving me a targeted, unsubtle hint when he painted the reeds with his victim’s blood. I didn’t understand at the time why he chose to stray from his MO and chance being caught in broad daylight, in a place that’s usually bustling with tourists.

But it’s all very clear now.

On the other side of the island, just off the swamp trails, is where he bled the vic. In theory, that’s where I should go—where the crime scene tape still marks off the blood-coated reeds, and the Bathory crest has been washed away by the rain, but still signifies his X marks the spot mentality.

But one: I’m wearing a dress and heels. Hiking into the woods, and down through swampy marsh, then through river grass isn’t happening. Two: he wouldn’t have requested I wear something so unsuitable for the scene if he didn’t plan to meet me in a more civilized setting.

And three: no damn way am I going off the beaten trail to meet a killer on his turf.

He’s followed me here; he’s watching me now. He can meet me halfway on this.

A snap draws my attention to the wooded surroundings of the memorial. I set my clutch down, silently removing my gun from the bag before I creep toward the darkness.

“We’re alone,” I call out. I hook my finger around the trigger. “I left them all back at the club.”

Silence mocks me. Even the creatures stop stirring.

“Please don’t shoot me,” someone says.

“Hands up!” I shout. “Move into the light. Now.”

“Jesus!” A guy dressed in a jean jacket and ball cap walks onto the memorial with his hands over his head. He holds a small paper-brown package in one. “I was just supposed to drop this off… Oh, my God. Is it drugs? Is this a trap?”

I keep my SIG aimed on him as I approach. “Drop the package.” He does, and I pat down his front pockets. “Take out your ID…slowly!”

With trembling hands, the young guy—who looks no older than twenty—removes his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you a prostitute or something? Am I being robbed?”

“Stop talking,” I snap. I look through his wallet, find his driver’s license and read off his name. “Mike Linsinski, who told you to bring this here?” I nod toward the package at his feet.

He rapidly shakes his head. “Some dude, ma’am. I don’t know. He gave me some cash and said to bring it here. Fuck.” He seals his eyes closed. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, you are.” I bend down to pick up the package, a nervous flutter attacking my stomach. “Don’t move, you hear me?”

At his adamant nod, I holster my gun under my arm and rip the package open. Inside, with dried blood staining the paper, my necklace rests on a bed of cotton.

My heart leaps into my throat. “Where’s the man who gave this to you?”

He shakes his head again, arms still raised. “I was just walking around downtown. He approached me. I don’t know the dude!”

Shit.
Shit, shit shit
! I run over to my clutch and pull out a pair of zip ties. Then I wrestle the guy’s hands behind his back. “You’re going to stay here. Do you get that? If not, I will hunt you down, Mike Linsinski. I know where you live.”

He swears under his breath as I link his wrists together.

I stuff my gun and the necklace, with what I assume is Avery’s blood, into my bag and kick off my heels. My feet slap the pavement as I race toward the bridge, but a cry slams me to a stop.

I glance back at the guy, but he’s searching for the noise, too.

Another ear-splitting shout, and I’m pulling my gun; I know that voice—though I’ve never heard it in such anguish, I can still discern who it’s from.

“Quinn!”