Bloodlust (Frailty Book 2) Read online

  “Oh, I have no doubts about how far that rabbit hole goes or how interesting an experience you could make it,” Constance answered without turning around. “As a matter of fact,” she stopped and spun suddenly, closing the short gap between them so that she was dangerously close, before finishing with a sultry undertone, “I’m counting on it.”

  Wes Richert did not budge. It was impressive to Constance. There was no sign of surprise, no fumbling of words, and no evasiveness. Whatever was going on inside of him – whatever trigger Detective Stenks had set into motion – it was potent.

  Maybe Laura was that good? Perhaps that was why Roofy found her irresistible. Just one more reason why that interloping bitch needs to get out of my way. One more justification for her plan. One more justification for bringing Wes into the fold.

  “Then I’m the man you’ve been looking for,” Richert responded confidently.

  Exuding her physical persuasion, Constance watched the glazed look cascade over her prey’s face. “Yes, you are. There is something different about you, isn’t there? Buried inside of you, waiting to erupt, is a hunger – a craving you cannot satisfy. I understand those differences, and I am going to help you feed that insatiable appetite. You are precisely the man to satisfy my needs, and you will become so much more.”

  Wes stared subserviently back at her, a sinister smile crossing his face.

  Constance licked her pointed teeth. Oh how she had uses for him. “You’re driving,” she instructed and followed him to his vehicle.

  32

  Laura dreamt of a concert. The amphitheater was packed, and although she could not quite make out the artist who was performing, the show was entertaining.

  Despite how much she was enjoying herself, she began to drift away from the fantasy. Something needled her for attention. Trying to ignore it, she attempted to immerse herself in the imaginative trappings that played out in her mind. It was no use.

  As the images slipped away and she was pulled begrudgingly back to reality, the noise that called to her became clearer. It was Prince’s song “Pussy Control”; it was Dwayne calling.

  Rolling over, she reached for her purse lying on the floor next to the bed and dug around in it. The movement stirred her company, and the Russian made a few snorting noises as he too emerged from sleep.

  She could feel his large body pressed against hers and fought the temptation to ignore the call and instead mount the giant man. Hell-of-a-better way to wake up than coffee.

  But if it was Dwayne, then it was probably important. Laura answered the call.

  Speaking with urgency, the forensics officer informed her that there had been a break-in at her home. The silent alarm had been tripped on one of her windows, and as soon as he heard the report come through, he had personally led the crime scene team that would investigate.

  Laura apologized sarcastically in advance for interrupting his female conquest for the night.

  Laughing off the comment, Dwayne advised that they had swept the home and could not find any immediate indication that the place had been searched or vandalized, but she would need to confirm if any items were missing and required a report of theft.

  They both agreed that whoever had committed the crime knew they were on a truncated time table due to the alarm, and Laura was confident it was Ambrose. She had been right to hide Roofy, as there was no doubt the killer would have come looking for one or both of them. She had also been right about leaving the alarm on when she and Roofy had vacated the premises, a task she was prone to forgetting despite the fact that she received a bill for the home invasion preventative service each month.

  Recalling the episode in Las Vegas, Laura was also well aware of Ambrose’s propensity for using tracking and other electronic devices. Surely he would not have gone through all the trouble of actually entering the home without some sort of reason or plan. He sure didn’t go through all that trouble just to sniff my panties. Maybe chew on them, but not sniff. Okay, Stenks, a little too dark for this early in the morning.

  She asked Dwayne to sweep the house for bugs and let her know what he found and agreed to meet him back at the station.

  “Oh, and Dwayne,” she added, “bring me a change of clothes.”

  The request brought the expected retort from the forensics officer, who had his own comments to make about her sexual exploits. As concerned as she still was about the case, Laura had to admit that there was a sense of relief of having shared the information with him and being able to be light-hearted about it.

  Ending the conversation, Laura dropped the phone in her purse and rolled over to her back. Roofy was already sitting up in bed.

  “Is everything the okay?” the Russian asked, stretching his arms and partially yawning.

  Laura relayed the information about the break-in.

  “It is Ambrose. He is hunting us. I expected this,” Roofy said.

  The danger was closer; real and imminent. “I did too,” Laura added before explaining to Roofy that they needed to get out in front of the situation. Her night with him had been incredible. She wanted more of it, but what else could they do? Running would not resolve anything. Ambrose would find them, and even if he didn’t, Roofy, and possibly both of them, would be considered fugitives. No, they needed to gain control.

  Delivering the Russian into the waiting hands of her colleagues had the distinct possibility of resolving all of their problems. It also may very well tear the two of them apart, Laura considered. Could she deal with that outcome?

  She took a deep breath. One problem at a time, Stenks.

  Joining the ex-wrestler in a sitting position in the bed, Laura brought the scenario back up. They had discussed it at her house, but now it was time to get serious, no matter how complicated it was to take this particular path.

  “So I am to be arrested?” Roofy responded matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, but I hope you can see that this is for the best. We need help bringing that monster down, and I need help clearing your name. None of that can happen if we are on the run from the law,” Laura explained.

  Roofy agreed. “It is something I have known was coming for a while. You were not the first person to explain this to me. Father Philippe had also made a point of me needing to turn myself in.”

  Laura smiled at how Roofy’s native intonation accentuated itself when he had difficulty with a particular English word. “I will do everything I can to get you through this. You have to trust me on that,” she stated, taking his hand.

  “I trusted Father Philippe. I trust you. You are a good person, Laura Stenks,” the Russian said, releasing her hold and touching her face.

  For someone of Roofy’s size and strength, the gesture he made was surprisingly gentle, especially compared to their other physical encounters. It was his statement, though, that hung in her thoughts. She could never recall being described as a good person. Hard core bitch, yes. Dominating, maybe. Psychologically damaged, definitely.

  She had defined her life by one very harsh incident, and others had defined her by the persona that she developed because of that incident. There were layers upon layers that could be peeled back, yet Roofy, who had not known her for a long period of time at all, saw past all of that. His account of her came from his own definition of her person, one that Laura liked. Somehow, she felt like herself with him; like the person she imagined she would be; someone she was okay with being.

  Laura smacked him across the face and responded to his look of surprise with a wry smile. Though not as hard as the slap from the previous night’s escapades, it still had the intended affect: as much as she appreciated how he made her feel, she still enjoyed the edginess and did not want that to get dull. Might as well keep him on his toes.

  The Russian returned her expression. “Okupayemost’ yavlyayutsya suka.” Waiting a moment for effect, he repeated the statement again but in English, “Paybacks are a bitch.”

  “First thing I’m doing when this is over is learning to speak Russian,”
Laura said, throwing off the covers and rounding up her clothes. Well, what’s left of them. Holding up the tattered remains of her panties, Laura grimaced. These are goners. Guess I’m going commando. Tossing them in the trash, she picked up her slacks and pulled them up, only to be reminded of what had become of the button and zipper. Time to improvise.

  Securing her duty belt around her waist, she used belt keepers to attach it to the belt loops of her pants. It was not much, but it would at least hold them in place until she could change outfits. Or until my pants fall down around my ankles back at the department. Probably would not hurt my reputation any; actually, it might help.

  Returning from the bathroom, Roofy indicated he was ready.

  Just a few more details. She conveyed to him the story they would use for the events leading up to this point as he lit a cigarette and opened the lone window in the room to exhale out through. An omission, not a lie, she decided in regards to coaching Roofy on what to say, with the two of them hiding in a hotel and sexually dissecting each other being left out of the details they would recount.

  With that, he tossed the butt in the toilet, and she handcuffed him and led him to her car.

  33

  Sitting on her knees in the middle of the bed, Constance waited as Wes shut and locked the door to room number 124 of the Pike Motel and dropped his sports bag on the floor. For a moment he just stood and stared at her like a child with a new toy that they are so anticipating playing with that they do not know where to begin. Not that innocent, though. She knew he was going through the scenario in his mind, building up how he wanted to dissect his newest conquest. Young, beautiful, and wearing an Amazing Woman costume – what could top this in his fantasies?

  Playing with him, like a circus performer dangling meat in front of a lion, the teen ran one hand softly up and down one stocking covered thigh, gently caressing each inch deliberately. Fidgeting with the straps of his bag, Constance expected Wes may pounce any moment. Of course, that was what she was hoping for, and she was ready.

  “Brought some toys with you?” she asked playfully, nodding towards the bag.

  Whatever vision was playing out in his mind, her words brought his attention back to reality, and Wes unzipped the bag and dropped it on the floor.

  “You are full of surprises,” Constance said.

  Wes retrieved a bundle of rope from the satchel and tossed it so that it landed in front of her on the bed. “Tie your feet together with that, tightly. Then roll over on your stomach and put your hands behind your back,” he instructed.

  During the ride over, Constance had released her control over her prey, allowing him to be himself. She was not concerned with him trying to get away from her; quite the opposite, she knew he assumed he was leading her into his trap and would not allow her to try to leave, even if she wanted to. Not that he could stop me.

  Leaving him to his own cognizance added a thrill to the hunt for her, though; the thrill of unpredictability. Would he try to attack her in the car? If so, how long could he contain himself before he did? Would he try to drug her? If so, how would he react when she refused? So much more fun than dragging him along in an anesthetized-like state, she had decided. Fun-fun-fun.

  Nothing had happened, though, aside from the fact that her presence weighed on him. She could sense the salty scent of his perspiration in the vehicle, among other smells; it was obvious he had moved some of the bodies in his trunk. Well, obvious to her, not to lesser beings.

  Other telltale signs of his almost uncontrollable anticipation were present: his hands fumbling at the steering wheel, as if he could barely contain them, his sideways glances at her body, and his ham-handed attempts to coax her into discussing her sexual desires.

  She had skirted around them and inundated him with silly banter while intentionally running her hands close to desirable parts of her body. Another Oscar winning performance. Playing the role and pushing his buttons had been entertaining, but it was time to get down to business. Or, more precisely, my pleasure and needs.

  “No,” she answered, picking up the rope and tossing it to the floor.

  “If you disobey, you get punished,” Wes Richert responded. “Now, pick that up, be a good girl, and do what you are told.”

  “Punish me, then,” Constance instigated.

  His frustration with her was plain to see. She imagined he did not like to be talked back to, but at the same time, thrived on forcing his subjects to comply. We are not so different. Only I’m the one in real control, and you are the subject.

  Retrieving a police-issue metal baton from the bag, Wes extended it out and smacked it in his hand in a threatening way. “One more time: pick up the rope and do what you are told, or you will be punished.”

  “A whole lot of talk and not much action, aren’t you?” Constance teased. Concentrating her will, she released her pheromones into the air. “Now, it’s time for you to obey. Put the toy down and get on the bed.”

  At first it appeared he was going to comply, but his actions quickly turned to a struggle. Gripping and twisting at the baton, he actually appeared to be resisting.

  Interesting. She intensified her efforts and repeated the order.

  Sweat began to appear on his brow as he clutched the weapon hard and stumbled a little towards the bed. A wild look entered his eyes, almost maniacal, and Constance smiled at her intrigue. She had to know how much he could withstand. Putting forth all of her effort and running her hands over her thighs in a seductive motion, she repeated her demands once again.

  Wes grunted and saliva dripped from his mouth, like some sort of Neanderthal. Finally, he gave a half-hearted lurch forward and swung the weapon.

  Effortlessly, the teen evaded the attack and slid backward on the bed, resituating herself. Excitement rising, she could not remember the last time a hunt was this exhilarating. The prey was actually going to put up a fight.

  It reminded her of her encounter with Ambrose; like her, Wes’ desires must be so engrained, run so deep, that they actually provide enough fortitude to overcome the influence the hunter’s will power. She was fascinated.

  “That’s really impressive. I cannot wait to see what you are capable of when you are at your full potential,” Constance said. Seeing Wes look up at her from where he landed on the bed, sheets wet from the copious amounts of drool, she playfully used her pointing finger to invite him to make another move.

  Grasping the comforter and pulling himself onward with all of his might, the man inched closer, every movement a challenge. “What have you done to me?”

  “I haven’t done anything to you yet, silly, but what I am going to do will be incredible. You’ll thank me. Really.” Constance leaned in closer to him. “No, correction: you’ll worship me.”

  Drawing on everything he could muster, Wes Richert swung at her, but she caught his arm by the wrist. Jerking him over onto his back, the teen pounced from her position and landed on top of him. Still locked in her grasp, she brandished her teeth and, as he looked on helplessly in horror, sank them deep into his exposed arm.

  Bucking and clawing like an animal in its death throws, Wes tried to escape, but Constance had leverage and control. With every movement he made, his adrenaline pumped harder and drove more blood coursing through his veins, sending the teen into a feeding frenzy. Locking her legs around his waist and squeezing tight, she sucked in mouthfuls of his blood while rubbing back and forth against his crotch.

  It struck her as funny how a man fearing death and fighting for his life could be erect. Slowly at first and then quicker, though, the combination of crushing in on his abdomen and the loss of vital life fluid began to take its toll, and Wes succumbed to the weakness, mouthing gibberish as he collapsed on the bed. Halting her consumption and loosening her legs to allow him to breathe, Constance whispered in his ear, “I know what you want; what you really want.” The teen ran a finger along his torso. “The woman that started you down this path. The woman you cannot stop fantasizing about. Your or
iginal Amazing Woman. I can deliver her to you.”

  Stroking his hair gently, she sat up, straddling him. “First though,” she said, stopping her petting to cut an opening in her own wrist with a claw-like fingernail, “you need to do something for me.”

  Grabbing him by the hair, she pulled his head up and jammed her opened flesh against his mouth. “Drink,” Constance ordered. Too weak to fight off the teen and mouth filling with her blood, he did as he was told.

  Satisfied her prey had enough, Constance moved off to the side and then behind him, picked up his head and lifted him by his upper back, and laid him in her lap as she leaned back against the headboard. Grayish in color, Wes became stoic before beginning to shake.

  The teen rubbed his arms and chest soothingly. “Calm down. Everything will be okay. Soak in the change. Embrace it. What you will become is indescribable.”

  She stopped to lick the excess blood coming from her wound, which was already beginning to scab. Making a sound of satisfaction, she went back to cuddling the metamorphic man.

  “I have everything planned out. You will see,” she said. “First, though, we need to meet up with some help I’ve already acquired. Don’t worry, you two will get along fine.” Brushing his hair back, she leaned in close, “You’ll be my favorite, though. I can tell.”

  Wes shook violently, and Constance reacted by hugging him tighter.

  “Don’t worry, I’m here. I’ll make sure you get through this,” she said, giving him a reassuring grin. “Of course I will – you’re mine.”

  34

  Spying Dwayne’s SUV pulling into the department parking lot, Laura turned to Roofy and reminded him, for what felt like the hundredth time, what script to stick to for their story before they exited her car. Although the repetitious naggings had drawn no complaints, she knew the Russian was probably getting sick of hearing her repeat the instructions, but she could not resist. Tampering with a suspect like that could get her booted out the door real quick, yet she had to do all she could to get Roofy through the current situation – to protect him.