Page 156 of Bake the Town Red

Her taunting didn’t anger me. It turned me on.

Key in her mouth. I pushed her chin up to clamp her lips together.

“Such a good fucking girl.” My hands spread her thighs. “Don’t swallow.”

My mouth was on her pussy, and I sucked on her clit.

Suddenly, she did have time to stay. Dahlia’s fingers dove into my hair, and desperate moans burst from her perfect, pursed red lips.

But I’d said we’d compromise. I said this wasn’t about sex.

And I was a man of my word.

She growled without dropping the key the moment I pulled back.

“Ass up.” I licked her sweet taste off my lips. “Now.”

Her fist decked me in the cheek for leaving her like this. The blow wasn’t as harsh as the one she gave to my jaw earlier. Hardly ever hurt.

I was hard as a fucking rock. That was what I felt when she hit me.

Then she let me restrain her pretty pussy with our chastity belt.

That was this morning. I haven’t heard from or seen her since.

While I’m fully capable of going over there to watch and stalk her, I don’t. I know I have other things to do. Problems to take care of.

The FyndUsHere killer is still out there. Still a threat to Dahlia and me. We’ve been searching for him for the past few days. Not enough, though. Between killing people and fucking and needing to sleep, we didn’t have much time to really delve into this.

Which is why I stay right here, perched on my couch and doing what I do best. Searching for clues.

Earlier, I started by scouring the internet for his FyndUsHere screen name, ImEverywhere. It was the most obvious search. It brought up nothing.

After that, I tried different variations of his username. Switched up the letters or added dashes and dots between ImEverwhere. Looked for a similar handle with the letters NY added to them.

Nothing. For the past five hours, nothing.

Five. Yes. The exact amount of hours Dahlia hasn’t been here and—

Got you.

ImEveryNYWhere on Instagram. That has to be him. A man. A man who’s smart but not smart enough. Otherwise, why the fuck would he leave his location settings turned on for his photos?

He’s an arrogant prick, Johnathan Sanders. That’s why.

A defense lawyer, it says in his bio. There are photos of him from the last New Year’s party at their offices. High ceilings, marble floors, expansive space in the background. He and two other men wear expensive dark suits, not a hair out of place.

He’s rich. Good-looking with his sandy blond hair, dark brown eyes. He looks tall.

And smug.

No wife or husband appears in any of his photos. With a fucked-up hobby like his, it’s no surprise that he’s not married. It takes a special person to accept a mind like ours. That is, if he’s even interested in sharing his life with anyone.

Don’t know. Don’t care.

I snatch my phone from the cushion and text Dahlia.

Me:We have him.

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