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“All right.” Matheson flips through several pages in the folder but doesn’t show them to me immediately. “Imagine our surprise when we found something else interesting in our investigation. This time, something about you, which led us in a completely unexpected direction.”
I jerk with surprise, splashing tea over my fingers. I set the cup down and reach for a napkin. “Me? I’m the least exciting person I know.”
“The deputy who took your statement made a note in his personal report that he suspected you were being abused, but you said it was consensual.”
That again? The abuse angle is really starting to irritate me. “Yeah. Ever heard of BDSM?”
“Of course.” Matheson smiles, but it’s sad, as if she feels sorry for me, which only pisses me off more. “This is going to sound like a detour and a huge stretch, but hear me out, all right?”
Tight lipped, I nod.
“We’ve been investigating a serial killer. We believe this man trawls various online groups, looking for his victim, and then arranges to meet her offline. They begin an intimate relationship. At first, it’s consensual BDSM and everything’s fine, but eventually, he starts to cross the line. He can’t stop, and he kills her. Then he starts looking for his next victim again.”
She pauses a moment, her eyes dark and soft, gleaming with compassion. She makes an excellent “good” cop, I’ll give her that. She almost makes me think she cares about me. “We found your online presence asslaverainy. We believe MacNiall targeted you from that profile.”
I stare at her for a moment, waiting for my brain to process everything and catch up. “So you’re saying you think Charlie’s a serial killer. Who targets submissive women.”
“Yes.”
I turn my head and stare unseeing at the plywood covering the doorway, hiding my eyes so I can think and feel without betraying my emotions to them.
Not just a killer. A serial killer.
It almost sounds plausible. Almost. We’ve crossed some lines I never thought I’d ever go beyond. He does have a monstrous need inside him, a darkness that revels in pain and fear and blood. I’d be a fool to deny that. I’ve seen it.
I’ve loved it.
But that doesn’t mean…
“The key evidence is the marks he leaves on his victims. That’s how we’ve been able to follow him.” She slides a paper over to me. I glance down at it and automatically tip my head forward, letting my hair slide down into my eyes.
My picture. The one of his bite on my breast that I posted to my friends’ channel.
I slide the photo closer to me and drop my hand over it. The picture wasn’t intended for general consumption, let alone used as evidence.
Against the lover who gifted me with these glorious bruises I’ve been so proud of.
I try to think, to sort through what I’m feeling, but I’m numb. My brain slips out of gear and I simply exist, sitting here, trying not to crack into a thousand pieces. It’s too much to process. Too close, too real, too…
Charlie?
I don’t believe it. I can’t. It can’t be him.
“She’s shivering,” Matheson says to her partner. “I’ll grab a blanket off the bed. She might be sliding into shock after everything that’s happened tonight.”
She stands and strides toward the bedroom. I’m too numb to realize what that means, until Rusk grabs my chin and tips my face up to his. I’m too stunned to block his invasion.
That’s exactly what it is. An invasion, an attack, a deliberate attempt to look into my soul and see all my dirty laundry. All my secrets.
Like Charlie did the first time he looked deeply into my eyes.
This man tries to imprint his will on me. He wants to claim me. Intimidate me. Scare me. Win me over somehow. Maybe he thinks he’s being all strong and manly, helping the poor damsel in distress.
After all the scenes and bad situations I’ve put myself into over the years, I’m sensitive to a person’s presence. Their energy signature. The way they feel—even when they’re trying to hide. Maybe it’s my submissive nature that makes me so sensitive—that innate need in me to please before the Master can even ask.
I read body language down to the most minute signal. The way they hold their lips and eyebrows, and yes, the sense of their energy. The way they walk and move, with purpose or not. Especially dominant men. Visiting clubs and hooking up for the night, I had to develop a kind of radar that told me who’s safe and who isn’t. Who’s a wannabe dom and who’s real.
What I feel from Rusk, even with only a fingertip on my chin, makes my stomach heave. There’s no way in hell I’d ever go with him anywhere. Not alone. I’d certainly never let him tie me up.
