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ONE CUT DEEPER
I’m his perfect victim.
For a year, Charles MacNiall has been bringing his beautiful king shepherd to the vet clinic where I work. The perfect client and his well-trained dog.
In my fantasies, he’s a kind and affectionate Master—just like he demonstrates with his dog. But I’ve also glimpsed a darkness in his eyes that he tries very hard to hide. A secret need for pain that makes him irresistible to someone like me. A needy, lonely masochist.
I know that I’m broken but I have no idea how far I’ll go for even a taste of the dominance that he wields so effortlessly. The pain he gives me is like nothing I’ve experienced before.
But then he disappears, and the FBI says the Master I love is a serial killer. He picked me deliberately. He found me online and tracked me down. Just to kill me.
Someone’s lying, and it’d better not be my Master. Or his perfect victim might end up dead.
Warning: This story contains elements of violence, as well as Master-slave, knife, blood, breath, and pet play in a BDSM relationship.
"I love when an author brings me to a place I haven't been before.One Cut Deeperis daring, edgy, and sexy. If you like your heroes with a dark side, you won't be disappointed! "
—Roni Loren, New York Times bestselling author of the Loving on the Edge series
For my beloved sis
Thank you to Sherri Meyer for all your late night editing.
Charlie’s theme song: “Killing Strangers” by Marilyn Manson
PARTI
OWNED
1
You can tell a lot about a man by watching him handle his dog.
At the vet clinic where I work, I see all kinds of men come through our doors. Some owners indulge their dogs’ every whim, even if that means the animals shred their own leashes or terrorize our office cat until she hides on top of the file cabinets. Big dog, little dog, it doesn’t matter. These men may truly love their animals, but they have no concept of discipline, and their dogs refuse to follow the most basic commands.
Then we have the assholes who jerk on the leash, yelling and treating their dogs like they’re a waste of time. It doesn’t matter how hard the dogs wag their tails, these men are never going to be affectionate. A dog’s loyalty and affection are wasted on them.
The bell hanging on our door jingles, and I look up. Sheba’s human is my favorite client and in a class all by himself. I call him the Master because he makes controlling a king shepherd look easy. He doesn’t need to jerk on her leash or yell to control her—while also being affectionate. He and Sheba walk into the clinic like they’re participating in a world-class dog show. She could tear the place up in seconds, but instead she sits quietly at her master’s feet and wags her tail.
“Good girl,” he murmurs in a soft voice that still manages to thrum with power.
I clench my thighs together. Oh, to have that delicious rumbling voice heap such praises on me. The sound of him praising his dog shouldn’t turn me on so much. I’m not his good girl, but my body certainly wants to be.
Sheba looks at me, her tail swishing faster against the floor, but she doesn’t move from his side. We often board her for days at a time, and I started keeping her at my desk and taking care of her myself. She follows me everywhere, and I hate to leave her in the kennel overnight.
He chuckles and nods in my direction. “Go on, I know you’re dying to say hello.”
Claws clacking on the tile, she races around the desk and drops her head onto my thigh. I rub behind her ears and scratch under her jaw, hitting all her favorite places, and she melts against me until she’s practically draped across my lap.
He laughs again and I can’t help but peek up at him. Even though it’s dangerous.
Charles MacNiall isn’t your typical tall, dark and handsome sort of man. His hair—while dark—is curly and a little too long, and while he’s taller than me, that’s not saying much since I’m barely five feet tall. His physical size isn’t impressive, but he’s lean and tight and hard. He has the strength, both physically and mentally, to be alpha to a hundred-pound, extremely active dog.
More importantly, he haspresence. Even though he stands on the opposite side of the receptionist counter, I can feel his warm power licking at my attention. That compelling heat makes me want to curl up at his feet like Sheba.
Always mindful of his power, he rarely looks directly into my eyes, as though he senses I’m far too vulnerable. He allows me to peek at him without trying to draw me out or catch me staring.
I’d probably fall apart if the man looked at me.
