“We can’t just ignore the fact that there’s a serial killer out there.”
He bent his head to kiss her with a fierce passion, as if willing her to push away all thoughts of the lunatics who were tormenting her.
“That’s a job for the authorities,” he rasped against her lips.
“But—”
Another demanding kiss. “Let them do their jobs.”
He was probably right. What could she possibly do? She didn’t know where the killers were, or how they intended to hunt for their next victims. She didn’t even know how they connected to her.
But logically understanding she wasn’t responsible for the deaths of unknown women didn’t ease her desperate sense of guilt.
She had to do something. Anything. Even if it was only to make herself feel better.
“You know I can’t,” she breathed in rueful tones.
She expected anger. Or at least impatience for her stubborn refusal to concede defeat. Griff, however, allowed a slow, wicked smile to curve his lips.
“Ah.” Without warning, he grasped the hem of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. “A challenge,” he growled.
Her lips twitched. It still enchanted her when she caught a glimpse of Griff ’s playfulness. She’d spent so long fantasizing about his male beauty and his clever mind that she’d forgotten his quirky charm.
“Challenge?” she questioned, her hands smoothing over his chest, her bracelet tinkling.
“You assume I can’t distract you.” He lowered his head. “I intend to prove I can.”
His tongue stroked over her tightly furled nipple. She moaned. The pleasure that streaked through her was so intense it bordered on pain.
Clearly inspired by her reaction, he did it again. This time his stroke was rougher, more insistent.
Her back arched, her nails digging into his flesh.
“Are you distracted?” he demanded, blowing a warm breath over the wet tip of her breast.
She shuddered, her legs parting to allow the tip of his arousal to slip toward the entrance of her body.
“I might be a little distracted,” she breathed.
He reached toward the small table next to the headboard, grabbing a condom and quickly slipping it on.
“I want you a lot distracted,” he warned her.
Matching his action to his words, Griff used his hands and mouth to create havoc with her ability to think clearly.
White-hot desire seared through her. His touch was magic, creating sparks of hunger that had her legs wrapping around his waist in a silent plea.
“Griff,” she muttered, her fingers threading into his hair as his lips stroked over her flushed face.
He lifted his head, holding her gaze as he slowly sank into her welcoming heat.
“Let me in, Carmen,” he commanded, demanding far more than just access to her body.
“Yes,” she whispered, offering him precisely what he desired.
December 28, California
The dune that overlooked the isolated beach wasn’t perfect.
Sure, there was a view of the ocean, but it was almost a mile away. Not as satisfying as being directly next to the water. And while the driftwood that he’d piled to build the large pyre was impressive, there was too much brush and undergrowth around the area to properly see the three women who were balanced on top.
Hunter grimaced, taking a few pictures despite the thick shadows. The sky was just beginning to lighten, splashes of deep purple and burnt orange reflected in the waves. The Polaroids wouldn’t be great, but they would have to do.
Returning his camera to the backpack he’d left at the edge of the small clearing, Hunter glanced impatiently toward the nearby trail. Executioner was supposed to be here waiting for him when he arrived half an hour ago.
Not that Hunter was entirely surprised he was late.
The man had always been the most challenging disciple. He was a narcissist who hated taking orders. On the other hand, the man had enough brains to realize that he needed help if he was ever going to achieve greatness.
Each day that passed, however, he was becoming harder to control.
A good thing that his “use by” date had just arrived.
On cue, the short, slender man strolled down the trail and entered the clearing. The darkness had lightened enough that Hunter could make out the thin, sharply carved features and the dark hair that had been stylishly cut short on the sides and left to flop over his brow. Executioner liked to think he was a cool hipster. Just like he wanted to think he was smart.
Both were self-delusions.
He folded his arms over his chest. “What took you so long?”
The man shrugged. As if he was the one in command, not just another disciple.
“You told me to clean out the hotel room and stash our stuff in the warehouse before meeting you,” he drawled, then waved a hand toward the beach where a black-and-white truck was parked near the water. “Plus, the entire area is crawling with cops. I almost decided not to come at all.”
Hunter’s temper flared, but with an effort he forced himself to smile. Soon, he silently promised himself. But first he wanted to make certain that the man understood just how easily he’d been manipulated by a superior predator.
“Don’t tell me that you’re losing your nerve?” he mocked.
“No.” Executioner curled his lips. “Just my patience.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hunter demanded.
The man conjured a derisive expression. As if they were true rivals.
Idiot.
“So far you’ve expected the rest of us to take all the risks while you enjoy the rewards.”
Hunter took a step forward. “We’ve all enjoyed the rewards. Or have you forgotten your handiwork?”
The man glanced toward the waiting pyre, his attention lingering on the three women.
The one with frizzy peach hair had been Executioner’s choice despite Hunter’s insistence that they find a blond. He said that the woman reminded him of his aunt Sheryl. A nagging bitch who’d been his babysitter when he was young. He confessed he’d always wanted to choke the woman until her lips stopped flapping.
He didn’t add that he’d always wanted to tie her up and rape her until her screams filled the air with sweet music, but it’d been obvious in his enthusiasm.
An ugly flush stained the man’s face. “I’ve forgot nothing. Including the fact that I was the one who had to spend an entire week freezing my ass off in Kansas researching the perfect truck stops to snatch the whores, and another week in Baltimore looking for a dump site.” He flicked a glance over Hunter. “And what have you done?”
Hunter couldn’t deny the man had been useful. Unlike the others, he was capable of completing tasks without constant supervision. But that didn’t mean he was going to let him think he was anything more than a tool that he’d used for his own goals.
“What am I supposed to do,” he told the man. “Fulfill my destiny.”
“What destiny?”
“To become a god.”
“A god?” The man released a stunned laugh. “You really are nuts.”
Hunter’s eye twitched. How had he ever thought this fool as being worthy to become his disciple? He should have left him to rot in the institution.
“I created you,” he said in harsh tones.
His companion snorted. “Bull. Shit.”
Hunter stepped forward, his eyes narrowed. “Who were you before I allowed you to become a member of our Kill Club?” he demanded. “A nothing. A nobody.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”