Page 17 of No Mercy In Red

Chapter 16

Connor

MMaxine Pochon was anything but a regular woman, with her pouty dark red lips, long black hair that glistened in the sun, and a figure I’d been craving to get my hands on since I first laid eyes on it.

But she was predictable in her patterns. Café. Work. Café. Home. She had started to notice me, had started recognising me. I saw it in the moment her eyes scanned over my direction the second time, the way her fingers curled just a little tighter around her coffee cup. Yes, she recognised me. She didn’t know why yet, why I was there again, but she would, I could see her usual self-assured composure was starting to slightly crack. I always kept my posture relaxed, except for the casual flex of my hands when I turned the pages in the book, the veins protruding just a little, showing the strength behind them. How they were made for gripping, especially pretty little throats of pretty little killers. I wonder if she noticed them when her eyes trailed over me, I wonder if she thought about them gripping her too. I smirked at the thought. Max was a hunter in her world, but in my world, she was purely prey. I had had been turning another page, letting the weight of her stare settle over me, making my cock twitch slightly, when as if she’d caught herself watching me just a little too long, she looked away. But not before I had chance to catch the way she pressed those beautiful lips together, a small crease forming between her brows. I knew that look, it was doubt. She was trying to place me, she was questioning herself, questioning hermemory, her ability to remember a face. I had a memorable face, one that often attracted a lot of women my way, but Maxine wasn’t just any woman, she was built from something darker, something untouchable. Someone that wouldn’t be lured in by the way my presence overtook a room, who wouldn’t be intimidated by the way I was built, or the way my eyes burned into someone. I’d have to work harder to destroy those walls, because I wanted to be the man that made her walls crumble. I was too careful to make the first proper move other than the occasional black rose. Not yet anyway, I needed to take my time with this, not let my obsession scare her away.

I let her watch me for the rest of the week, letting her get used to seeing me, let the idea of me sink under her skin. Sometimes, I would glance up at just the right moment, catching her before she could look away. A silent acknowledgement to the fact that I now existed in her world, and she was starting to realise it. I kept Joe as sweet as I could for those weeks, promising him that I was working as hard as I could to uncover who was doing the murders. I had bailed on all of our morning coffees, making up a lie that I was doing overtime at work, when instead I was sat at Melinda’s watching her. She still hadn’t made another kill, which was buying me time, because I could lie and say I had a few ideas, pointing my finger at different people. But I told Joe I couldn’t be sure, not until they struck again. He thankfully agreed, explaining that everyone at work agreed that they were all waiting for the next move. That apparently, other people had their own ideas about who was committing the murders. I’d have to investigate that; I couldn’t have anybody leaning towards Max. She was mine, and no cop looking for a promotion and an ass kissing from the higher ups was going to ruin that for me.

Like clockwork, she followed a routine so perfectly structured that I had never needed to stray too far. I knew where shed be, I knew her patterns, I knew her. Until today. Until she didn’t show up. I sat at Melinda’s, one hand wrapped around my coffee, the other drumming impatiently against the table. She was always here after work on Fridays.She finished at 3pm, which meant by 3:15, she should have been walking through that door, ordering her usual, sitting in her usual corner. Except today, she didn’t. I checked my watch. 3:20. Still nothing. A slow, tight coil of unease twisted in my gut. Where was she? Was she with someone? Was she in trouble? I ground my teeth, irritation crawling up my spine. This wasn’t normal, how dare she miss our coffee date. I paused, the fact that this was bothering me so much was the first clue that my obsession was starting to go way too far, or maybe that was when I fucked my hand in her bed after breaking in… But I was too wrapped up in Max’s web to stop now. By the time I got home, my pulse was too fast. I barely shrugged off my jacket before I was in my room, fingers flying over the keyboard, pulling up the live camera feeds from her apartment. Maybe she was sick and went home early.

The second she appeared on the screen, my entire body locked up. What the fuck? She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t hurt, she was getting ready. Her hair was slightly curled, cascading down her back. Her curves wrapped in a tight black, no, a dark red dress, hugging her perfect fucking body. Her lips, painted the usual colour that made my pulse thrum. A slow, antagonising heat rolled through me. But it wasn’t the sight of her that had me clenching my fists, delectable as she was. I had watched her turn down Lara, I heard her say she wasn’t going out. So, what the fuck was she doing dressed like that, and where was she going? I exhaled sharply, trying to keep my focus, calming my breathing, my hands gripping at the desk.

Had I missed something? Was this a date – or a hunt?

I had watched her, she had been reading a file, one I didn’t get to see properly through the cameras, but I watched as she sat for hours looking through it night after night. I needed to know. I had hacked into her social media weeks ago, but Max wasn’t particularly active online. I had scrolled through her old dm’s, reading the way she sometimes flirted with men had me angrier than I had expected, but it had led me to her phonenumber. She had given to some pretentious looking asshole called Tim a year or so ago. I hadn’t had chance to find out if it was still current, but it had left me with an option, one I hadn’t yet had to resort to because she was so predictable in her routine. Or at least, I thought she was. But here she was, surprising me again. I pulled up a blank text message screen and started typing out a fake fraud alert:

‘BANK ALERT: Suspicious transaction detected. Click below to review and secure your account.’

I inserted the link to a software I’d learned to use when I needed to keep an eye on my ex. The link, of course, led to nothing, just a blank page stating[Error. Web page not found.]But once she clicked it, I would have full tracking access on her phone. I pulled up the software on my PC and anxiously waited. My eyes slid to the live feed of her living area, she walked over to the counter where her phone was resting, her hips swaying to a sensual rhythm that only she could manoeuvre. Her brow furrowed, thumb sliding across the screen as she opened the text.

Come on, come on, come on. Click it.

My PC pinged. The software sending me an alert.

[You are now tracking iPhone 7394648.]

Bingo. Now I knew exactly where she was going.

The night club was packed. Bodies pressed disgustingly close together on the dance floor, music pulsing through the air as neon lights flickering across drunken faces. Night clubs hadn’t been my thing for a long time. I preferred my drinks in a quieter sort of environment, home, Karina’s. Fuck, I was getting old. Thirty-three really had turned me into a self isolated grumpy bastard. I sat in the furthest, darkest corner of the bar, my baseball cap low on my brow, blending into the shadows. I’d spotted her almost instantly, even in a room full of people, she stood out in the same way a flame would in a pitch-black room. She wasn’t drinking, shehad a glass in her hand, sure. But I watched her carefully, she had ordered an orange juice with lemonade. I’d watched the bartender make it, ensuring he wasn’t pulling any shit. She was alone, but she was staring at someone across the room, her eyes screaming ‘come fuck me.’ That alone ignited a fire in me that I could barely contain, the fact she was looking at someone else that way. Unacceptable. My eyes narrowed, trying to focus on whoever the fuck she was staring at. And then he appeared mere steps in front of her, he didn’t waste any time, the moment his hand touched her waist, I saw red. My fingers curled into fists beneath the bar, my entire body tense. He leaned into her, whispering something into her ear, and she laughed. A soft, sultry giggle that… that wasn’t real. I knew the way she laughed; I saw it when she spoke to Lara, and Mel, saw it when she fucked that asshole a few weeks back.

It was bait. My jaw ticked. Was this how she did it? She swayed a little too much, especially for someone who was only drinking orange juice. She let him guide her, let him think she was drunk, too drunk to resist him. Men like the ones she killed only preyed on the vulnerable, and she knew this, and was using it to her advantage. My clever little fox. I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay rooted to my seat, even as his hands wandered lower, even as her hands moved over the waistband of his jeans. If I stepped in now, I’d ruin everything. So instead, I watched, waited, and when they left, I followed, hopping into my car, speeding home. I barely made it through my door before I had the cameras up, her phone tracker showed her heading towards her father’s house, it had taken everything in me not to follow. Seeing the tapes, I knew she had it under control. But knowing she was anywhere near a man that was capable of anything sinister? It made my skin crawl. I pulled up the live feed, just as she entered the houses basement. His look of confusion as he looked around the room, the way she just stood, watching him, letting him take it all in. She almost moved too quick for me to realise what she had done, but I saw her slide the needle into his neck. Holy shit, she was fast, lethal. She was death wrapped in apretty dark red dress. I stilled, watching as someone else entered the basement. A broad stocky guy, with whispy hair. It wasn’t her father, I’d learned that he had passed, that’s how she inherited the house, so who was he?

I watched as he heaved Chris’s limp body into the chair, not a hint of struggle in his movements. He was strong, very fucking strong, Chris easily had a foot on him. He helped strap his arms and leg to the chair before nodding once to Max and taking his leave. I smirked, so she had the muscle do the heavy lifting, but she was the one behind the mastery of it all. Electricity coursed through me as I watched her double check his straps. His body slumped to one side, his head hanging pathetically whilst she worked.

Around an hour had passed, I’d watched the entire time, watching as she lined up the tools she was clearly planning on using against him. Watching as she meticulously polished the large knife whilst she watched his limp body, waiting. His head lolled to the side a little, his hands beginning to twitch. I could barely hear her when she began to speak, but then –

“Chris Whitmore.”

I froze, hearing her speak his name in such a cold, calm way, the way she slowly annunciated his name. It hit me that I was finally about to see her work. After months of waiting, it was finally time to see my little fox at work, and Chris was the unsuspecting chicken about to be devoured. I pulled his file up on my pc after going back into the law firms database, looking over it, my eyes scanning the words with disbelief.

Rape. Abuse. Drugging women. There was even notes about a missing woman.

He had gotten off every time. Case dismissed. Case dismissed. Case dismissed. Now he wouldn’t, now he wouldn’t walk away, because he wasat the mercy of Maxine Pochon, and I knew she was not merciful when it came to men like him, the monsters of the world, the lowest of the low. I turned back to the feed, watching as she circled him. The illusion of him shattered, he wasn’t the big man at the bar, grinning like he owned the world. Now he was in her world, and I was excited to watch.

Chapter 17

Max

He stirred, groaning as consciousness dragged him back in. His head lolled to the side, a thin line of drool trailing from his lips.

The drug was wearing off a little faster than I expect. Good, I always hated the waiting part. I stepped forward, the click-clack of my heels against the concrete snapping him alert. He lifted his head sluggishly, eyes squinting through the dim light being cast by the swinging bulb above him.

“Wha…?” His voice was thick, groggy. Then his muscles tensed, and I watched as fear slithered into his gaze as he took in his surroundings.

The basement was bare boned, built for function, not theatrics. Concrete walls, exposed pipes, a single drain in the centre of the floor – darkened, stained from all the men who came before him. The scent of iron and sweat clung to the air, the atmosphere alive with anxiety and anticipation. I watched his eyes fall on the workbench, the meticulously lined tools, the blades, pliers, hammer. The gun. His jaw clenched when he saw it. He began tugging at his restrains, the old leather straps digging into his wrists and ankles. His breaths turned short, sharp, desperate. His panic was setting in.

I smiled, slow and patient. “Hello, Chris.”

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