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Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he says, “Now struggle. Fight back. This vic obviously wasn’t as easy going as the first. She didn’t buy into his coercion.”
Panic slithers over me, but I clamp my eyes shut, jaw tight, regulating my breathing. Everything inside me wants to wilt, disappear. Quinn’s touch is scalding against my flesh.
“Sadie?” His voice is laced with concern, and that pulls me out of the darkness.
I take in a deep breath. Open my eyes. “He’d have a weapon,” I say. “Something big and scary. I’m still waiting on a sketch from Avery, but if it’s the same guy, I’m thinking his weapon is part of his ritual.”
“Right.” Quinn angles one arm out and brings his hand to my neck. A wave of fear crashes over me, but I keep reminding myself this is the job. I’m not there—I’m not his anymore. And then I’m not acting; I’m wriggling and twisting, trying to break free of his hold.
“There’s no blood in this room,” Quinn grunts out around my struggle. “So the vic somehow knocked the weapon from his hand.”
I take the lead and mimic throwing my head back, connecting my crown to his chin. “But she’s taller than me. And depending on his size, she may have struck his head. Then—” I jam my elbow into his ribs, and Quinn’s hand drops from my throat.
“Good,” he says. “Now I’m furious. What’s my next move?”
A narcissistic sadist being stripped of his power… “He has to gain control over her. Take his power back. Relieved of his weapon, he’d use psychological torture. He needs her to suffer…” My throat thickens, cutting off my words. Dread claws at my reasoning. “He needs to humiliate her…take her off guard.”
I can feel Quinn’s hesitation in his stiff posture, the tension straining his muscles. Then, with too much caution the UNSUB would never possess, Quinn wraps his arm tighter around my neck and flattens his other hand against my stomach.
“He would only sexually degrade her after he felt weak,” Quinn says, his voice low and testing. Sliding his palm slowly downward, his fingers splay over my hip, then begin to inch the tight material of my dress up.
The shock of cold air hitting my skin sends a buzz to my head, the room bleeding away at the corners. As his hand roams lower, inching my thighs apart, my breathing intensifies. I can feel his own labored breaths against my neck, his thick want along the crease of my backside.
And when his skin connects with mine—palm to thigh; flesh to flesh—warmth pools liquid-hot between my legs. His coarse fingertips skim the seam of my underwear, and a fierce ache blooms deep in my core.
He releases a strangled groan, and with noticeable effort, forces his hand lower to grasp my leg. “She had bruises on her knees.” The sound of his rough voice scrapes over me, the restraint in it tangible. It pulls me out of the swirling haze sucking me under.
My chest rising with my quick intake of air, I nod once. “Buckle my knees,” I order.
He does, pressing his knees
into the backs of mine, and guides me to the hardwood floor. His arm leaves my neck and he sinks his fingers into my hair, loosely gripping at my scalp. “Go with my movements,” he instructs. And I can tell he’s trying hard not to hurt me…but I’m so lost in the moment, so torn, all I want is for him to yank my head back and dig his teeth into my flesh.
But I follow him. As he pushes my head down, I understand what he’s envisioning. The first crime scene—the vic’s position. My forehead rests easily on the floor, and I turn my head sideways. That’s when I see it.
“Quinn, don’t move.” I yank my arm free from his grasp and reach under the bed.
My wriggling to reach farther pushes my ass up against Quinn’s crotch, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. “Fuck…Bonds, take it easy on a man.”
Only I’m no longer paying attention to him. The shiny, silver object captures my full attention. My gloved hand stops an inch from the needle, and I say, “Get CSU in here to process this.” I pull my hand back, shakily exhaling.
“Wait—what is it?”
“A needle.”
He wouldn’t make a mistake. Even with a vic who enraged him—even after his fantasy and ritual were ruined. He wouldn’t make this kind of mistake.
The UNSUB wanted us to find it.
Bringing myself back up into a knelt position, I press my hand to the floor and shake my head. “I need to work on the profile. We need to get it out there to the uniforms so we can find this guy, Quinn. He’s escalating too quickly.”
“All right. But give me a minute.” He blows out a heavy breath, and that’s when I notice he’s still pressed too closely against me—his hand resting along my thigh.
“God, you’re such a man,” I say, trying to break some of the tension gathering around us.
He chuckles. “Hey. You wore that damn dress to my crime scene.” He slips his finger beneath the seam of my skirt and gives it a tug. The material smacks my skin. “It’s pretty damn sexy, Bonds. You really can’t blame a guy.”
“Oh? So you’re blaming me?” I’m trying to keep the banter going, needing to distance myself from the intensity of his body so near mine. I’m already starting to quake with fear and a confusing mix of need. Desire and the demand to flee battling in sync.
