Page 11 of No Mercy In Red

Leaning back against the booth, I played the part. “Nothing yet, every time I think I’m close, it’s either a dead end, or you guys have already checked it out. And yeah, sorry, bad headache.” I offered him a half assed smile.

Joe sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fuck, man. The higher-ups are losing their shit, we thought for sure there’d be another body by now, but it’s like the guy just… stopped.”

Orshejust stopped.

I took a slow sip of coffee, masking the way my stomach twisted, letting it burn as it slid down my throat. “Maybe they got spooked. Maybe they knew the police were getting close.”

Joe huffed out a humourless laugh. “Yeah? Then why does it feel like we actually haven’t even been slightly close at all?”

I didn’t answer, I couldn’t answer. Because I was holding back the one piece of information that could blow this whole thing wide open. Joe ran a hand through his hair, looking more exhausted than id ever seen him.

He sighed, “Listen, man, I appreciate you helping me with this. I know its not your problem, but I need this case. If we don’t crack itsoon, they’re gonna pull me off it. I can’t have that. I can’t go back to desk duty.”

I nodded, offering him the only reassurance I could. “I’ll keep looking, I already had a dig around a few of the missing guys social media accounts, but I’ll go back. I’ll look through their emails too, just to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

He shot me a tired smile through weary eyes. “Thanks, man. It just all feels fucked. It feels like the higher ups are hiding things from us, everyone seems so shifty and on edge, I don’t get it.”

Yeah, hiding the fact most of them were probably involved in covering up these assholes crimes. Of course they’re desperate to find out who’s getting rid of these pieces of shit, it could reveal everything. It could reveal how they’ve dismissed cases thanks to bribery, it could reveal that they know that every single one of these men that have gone missing, all were abusers and rapists. That certainly wouldn’t be a good look for the police force. He slunk out of the booth, giving me a half assed smile before leaving the diner. And just like that, the guilt sank its claws even deeper into my chest. I was lying to my best friend, lying straight to his face. The one person who had stood by me through everything. But I wasn’t ready to hand her over, the mere thought of it set me on edge. I’d laid claim to a woman who my best friend was hunting, a woman who was brutalising men before filming their confessions and getting rid of them. I knew my obsessive tendencies could get out of hand and make me do questionable things, but this? This was bat shit crazy, even by my standards.

It started not long after I left my father behind for good. The need for control was never ending, my therapist told me it was because my father took away my control for so long, and because I couldn’t stop my mother from dying. It didn’t make sense to me at first, but as the years went on, I saw just how badly my childhood had fucked up my wants and needs. My relationships weren’t extremely unhealthy, I was nevercontrolling over my girlfriends. They could wear what they wanted, practically do whatever they wanted to, I just needed to know about it. I needed to know where they where, who they were with, and why. But I knew that made me an asshole, so I started doing it secretly, installing trackers on phones, hacking their social media accounts. My need for control was one of the things that got me into tech in the first place —the ability to control large systems, to see whatever I wanted to see, just by a few simple programmes—it thrilled me. After my ex I vowed I wouldn’t get in another relationship again, I couldn’t keep my obsessions under control, and it wasn’t healthy for me or them. So I kept away from commitment, and kept sex casual, cutting shit off straight away if it felt like anything other than just fucking. But now here I was, in a situation that was messed up, even by my standards. Because I was infatuated with a woman I had never even formally met, a woman who hunted men for sport. And the thrill I got from that was intense, higher than ever as I could feel my control slip more each day.

Breaking into someone’s home was a new low, even for me. But it wasn’t just someone’s home, it was hers, and I needed to know everything. The old townhouse sat in eerie silence, the kind that felt heavy. Maxine didn’t live here, that much I knew, but she returned often enough, and I had to confirm my suspicions as to why. The lock on the back door was easy to pick – too easy. If she wasn’t careful, someone far worse than me could get inside. But maybe she wasn’t worried about break-ins, maybe she knew that anyone who stepped inside wouldn’t make it back out. The thought sent a cold shiver down my spine. Once inside, I kept my steps light and careful, the air was stale, filled with dust and something else almost metallic, mixed with a hint of bleach. I moved through the rooms slowly, absorbing every detail. The house itself was nothing special – old furniture that looked like it was once well loved but now it was barely lived in by the looks of it. But I wasn’t here for the house, I was here for the basement.

I found the heavy door tucked away, looking to a normal set of eyes like maybe a closet of some sort, which creaked as I eased it open. Stepping slowly into the dark abyss below, my steps echoed slightly, my breathing loud in my ears as my heart started to beat just a little faster. The second I hit the floor, I moved my hands around looking for a light switch, when my fingers brushed across a chain. Pulling it apprehensively, the yellow light buzzed to life, illuminating the room before me. As soon as I saw the space, the chair, the workbench, I knew, this was the room in the videos, this is where she brought those men to die. A small fucked-up part of me became excited at the thought, partly because I was right, partly because of how much closer I was to her now I was inside of her space. I took my time planting the mini cameras I’d bought the week prior around the room, making sure they were hidden enough out of view that you’d have to be really looking to find them, but they were perfectly positioned. If she came back here, I’d see it, if she killed another man, I’d know. My gaze swept over the room – the rusted pipes, the stained floor, the meticulously organised tools, and a wall filled with files. I moved over, carefully pulling one from the end of the long lineup. Craig Smith. I opened it carefully, reading the file, his details, and at the very end, the date of his death. I released a shaky breath as I gently closed the file back up, placing it back exactly how I found it. It really was her, holy shit.

A chair sat in the centre, worn from use, the restrains hanging loosely at its side. I swallowed hard, my pulse spiking. My mind betrayed me as I pictured myself in that chair, bound and helpless, completely at her mercy. I imagined the way she’d move around me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the blade that was sat on the workbench, trailing it over my skin, watching my reaction. Would she be curious? Would she enjoy it? Would she touch me? I exhaled sharply, running a hand though my hair, this wasn’t what I came here for, I wasn’t here to indulge in my twisted fantasies. But damn, the image wouldn’t leave my head. I forced myself to finish planting the last camera, then made my way back upstairs and out of the backdoor, locking it behind behind me. I had work to do.

I just pulled up outside of her apartment block when I saw her. Maxine stepped out, and for the first time, I saw her in something other than her sweats or usual work attire. She wasn’t even wearing that leather jacket hat she loved to wear. No, tonight, she looked fucking sinful. Her dress—if you could even call it that—was tight, black, and short enough to make my mouth dry. Long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing that beautiful face and pouty mouth that was painted deep red, like blood. I instantly imagined what that would look like smeared around her mouth. Her tits looked fucking incredible, barely hidden by the stretch of fabric that plunged deep and low. My cock twitched instantly. I gripped my steering wheel, watching as she laughed at something the blonde with her had said, her head tilting back just slightly, exposing the long line of her throat. My stomach clenched, my fingers twitched as I imagined myself wrapping my fingers around that pretty little throat. I wanted to see those dark red lips part on a gasp – wether in fear or pleasure, I hadn’t decided yet. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be watching. But fuck if I could look away. The car was silent, nothing but the sound of my own ragged breath as without so much as a second thought I began to palm at myself through my jeans. The pressure wasn’t enough, I needed more. I popped the button, unzipping enough just to wrap my hand around my cock, the image of her in that little black dress burning into my skull.

“Max.”

Her name curled in my throat like a sin, burning like whisky. I imagined her knowing, imagined her watching me, those captivating dark eyes holding mine as I fucked into my hand, desperate, starved for something I shouldn’t want. A groan slipped past my lips as I came, hips jerking, cum spilling over my fingers. My body shuddered with the force of it, but the ache remained, it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. I exhaled, tucking myself back into my jeans, cleaning myself up on a napkin I’d had in my car from Melinda’s. If I wanted to get closer to her, I needed more than the town house, I needed to be inside of her most personal space, so that’s exactly what I was going to do. I waited until thecab she hopped into drove away, and then I made my way inside of her building. Thanks to those beautiful files I found online, I knew exactly which one belonged to her.

Breaking into her apartment was easier than I expected, her locks were standard shitty apartment locks, and within minutes I was inside, invading her space. It smelled like vanilla, but there was another scent, something that was uniquely her. Coffee and a hint of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I inhaled slowly, letting it settle in my lungs, igniting my senses. My eyes drifted over the space, it wasn’t what I expected, it was lived-in, warm even. A stark contrast to the house she inherited, with cozy blankets draped over the couch, a half-empty cup of coffee sat forgotten on the counter, a stack of books left on the nightstand. The evidence of her pre-night out antics littered across the space, empty wine bottles, shot glasses, and a healthy dose of perfume filling the air. She didn’t just exist here, she lived here. And now, so would I, not physically, of course, but she’d never be alone again. I pulled the cameras from my backpack, planted the last of them quickly, making sure they were hidden enough to not be noticed. Two in the bedroom and two in the living room, not in her bathroom of course, I wasn’t that much of a sick fuck, despite debating it with myself for a second. They were everywhere I needed them to be, everywhere I needed to see her, to get to know her. By the time I left, my pulse was still thrumming, my skin still tingling with adrenaline.

I had done a lot of fucked-up things in my life. But this? This was a whole new level of fucked, but I wasn’t stopping now. Because at some point in the last month, I decided I had to have her, and I wouldn’t stop until I did.

Chapter 11

Max

The club pulsed with life.

Bass-heavy music vibrated through the air, rolling through my body like a second heartbeat. The scent of alcohol, sweat and expensive cologne thickened the atmosphere, wrapping around me as I moved through the crowd. Lara had already disappeared in the throng of bodies, her laugh echoing somewhere near the bar as she undoubtedly worked her magic on some poor bastard to swindle more drinks. I wasn’t worried about her, she always landed on her feet. I, on the other hand, was drinking to try and forget my life, even just for a moment. Forget work, forget responsibilities and to forget the way my life had narrowed into a cycle of hunt, kill, clean, repeat. Tonight was aboutme. The tequila burned as it slid down my throat, but I welcomed it, licking the lingering taste of lime from my lips. I tilted my head back, rolling my hips as the music shifted – slow, sensual, attention demanding movements. Bodies pressed close, the club was a jungle of sweat-slicked limbs tangling together under the strobed lighting. Strangers grinding against each other like they knew already how their nights would end, part of me felt just a little too old for this now, but then I saw him. Tall, broad shoulders wrapped in a fitted black button-up. A jawline dusted with the perfect amount of stubble. Blue eyes that held a flicker of amusement as he caught me watching. His lips quirked, as if to say, come get me - my kind of man. I arched a brow, tipping my glass, letting the ice wet my lips before setting it back down,never breaking the eye contact. He moved first; they always did, cutting through the space between us like he belonged there, confidence in every swaggering step towards me. “Been watching me all night, gorgeous?” He murmured, his voice deep, his words slightly slurred from the effects of the alcohol he’d been consuming.

I smirked, running a hand through my slightly sweat slicked hair, “Bold of you to assume it was you I was watching.”

His grin was sharp, teasing. “Well, I was certainly watching you.”

Smirking, I look up at him through my eyelashes, “Then maybe I should be flattered.”

“Maybe you should,” He responded as he leaned in, the scent of whiskey and cologne rolling off him. His fingers grazed my waist, testing, teasing. “You gonna let me dance with you?”

I didn’t answer, I just turned, pressing my back against his chest as I moved my hips to the music. He followed seamlessly as his hands settled on my hips, gripping just tight enough to make my breath hitch. The touch reminded me of Craig, the way he held me like I was his. I pushed the thoughts to the back of my mind, reminding myself that not all men were like the men I killed. But this was exactly why I struggled to have casual sex, because when you spend your time around poison, it’s hard to forget that not everything around you is trying to harm you. We moved together, falling into the rhythm of the music, bodies flush, heat curling between us. I let my head drop back onto his chest, exposing the long line of my throat. His fingers tightened, I could feel his breath against my neck, warm, teasing, promising.

“Fuck, you’re dangerous.” He groaned into my ear.

He had no idea. I turned into his hold, pressing my palms against his chest. “Buy me a drink, then I’ll tell you how dangerous I really am.”

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