Their Summer Heat (14 page)

“This is a lovely site. All dark and tight.”

Max leaned over, covered her back with his chest, and whispered, “You know I’m bigger than the butt plug.”

“I hope so.”

Smack!

Heat bloomed from the pleasure sauced with pain.

“Spank her again, bro,” said Logan. “My cock likes her pussy clamping down on me.”

It was true. The bite of pain was so sexy, punishment with a benefit.

Slap!

“Again,” said Logan.

Slap! Slap!

Summer wiggled on Logan’s cock, trying to create friction against her little nub. Logan snaked a hand between them, pinched her nipple while a wicked finger breached the puckered entrance.

“You like that,” said Max.

She couldn’t hide her enjoyment even if she wanted to.

A second finger plunged into her rear, pumped in and out. The erotic sensation bloomed, spread across her ass and down her legs. Jeez, she’d come before Max was in.

“Are you ready for me?” asked Max.

“Oh, yes, but hurry it up.”

“It’s gonna hurt, but the pain will subside. I’ll go slow; I promise.”

When his broad head pressed against her hole, she sucked in a breath. The pain was intense, more than she’d anticipated. He breached her inner ring, and the sound of a hand on her ass cheek filled the room. A moan escaped her, as his length eased inside.

“Damn, she’s tight,” said Max.

A twist of her nipple competed with the slide of Max's cock. When his thighs were firmly pressed against her ass, her body coated with perspiration, she was hornier than she’d ever been.

“You okay?” asked Max.

“Yes. Please, fuck me hard, both of you.”

Max pushed in and then pulled back out. “Man, it’s erotic as hell, seeing my cock slide in and out of your dark hole.”

She eased up on her knees, mindful of her arm, and when Logan pulled out, Max filled her. They set up a rhythm, one retreating and the other plunging in. Chills skimmed across her skin as the strokes got harder. Faster. Gone was the pain, only intense pleasure remained. Max’s thighs slapped against her ass, and when Logan reached between them and teased her clit, she unraveled with a high-pitched “
ooooh.”
Her muscles clamped down on both cocks, and her whole body convulsed with a mind-blowing orgasm.

Max shoved in when he erupted, and Logan quickly followed. For a span of time, she was stuffed with cock and could feel their pleasure as well as her own. She collapsed against Logan, tried to breathe, to focus her mind.

She knew she’d never get enough of them.

The next morning, Summer teetered on virtual pins and needles along with her two experiments. Waiting to hear if another poor woman had died last night was worse than getting a root canal. If one had, this would be the eighth unfortunate young woman.

Max whipped up eggs, sausage and toast, and ordered her to eat, and she tried to do as he said.

“Relax,” said Logan.

She cocked a brow at him. “You’re tellin’ me you’re not bothered about the possibility of there bein’ another victim? You should be; and if there is one, you and Max both have probably fucked her.” Oh, good Lord, why did she utter that? She sounded snippy.

“I am, but I can’t change whatever happened, and that sounds like jealousy to me,” said Logan.

Perhaps she did feel jealous—just a little bit—but she wasn’t about to admit it. “I’m just sayin’ you should be itchin’ more than I am, because she could be someone you’ve slept with.”

“No,” said Max. “You’re itching ‘cause you think you’re responsible for this madman’s actions.”

“True. I do feel responsible, and true, I shouldn’t, because I know a person is responsible for his or her own actions. But my emotions are my subjective response to stimuli, and that stimuli is a direct threat to me and to the women whom this individual thinks he needs to punish, for some reason. Emotions are good. I understand them, and I also understand I don’t control this bastard.” She sucked in a massive breath. “But I still feel responsible, even though my head says I’m not.”

Max pointed his fork at her. “Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like trying to save these women.”

A normal person would be offended, but she understood Max was used to speaking his mind without thinking of the emotional consequences. “I am not
stupid
. I suspect he’s got an addiction to the power of fear, and he wields that power by terrorizing his victims. He couldn’t stop if he tried.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid; just don’t
do
something stupid. There’s a difference.”

“In an attorney’s mind, probably; to a layperson, it sounds the same.”

Max shrugged as he snagged a bottle and fished out her antibiotic. He enjoyed handling her meds, and she wasn’t sure why. It could be a control issue.

With the chiming of the doorbell, her gut tensed. Sending up a silent prayer, she waited with Logan at the breakfast bar. When Dan and another man entered the kitchen, they didn’t have to say a word; she saw the answer in their sorrowful eyes and in the grim lines on their faces.

She exchanged pleasantries with FBI Special Agent Carver Benson with the Behavioral Science Unit. Summer recognized the victim’s name Benson uttered, but neither Logan nor Max had ever dated her. It pissed her off they still asked the Prestons that question, but it wasn’t her place to object. The agent stopped talking and fidgeted.

“Sir, I’ve seen the crime scene photos. I know what’s goin’ on. So, what are the circumstances around Miss Edwards’ death?”

He arched a brow and looked at Max. Max nodded.

“Miss Edwards was visiting a friend in Virginia. The FBI was sitting on her. Somehow, this bastard managed to slip into the guest bedroom, rape her, and kill her.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” muttered Logan.

“Can I see the photos?”

The agent pulled pictures out of a folder and handed them to her. The knife work looked like the other snapshots, with slashes to the breasts and vagina. She needed to research the psychosis of raping and genital mutilation.

“How long had it been since Miss Edwards decided to go to her friend’s house?”

“Two days.”

“So, in two days, he had time to decide Miss Edwards was the next one to die, find her or follow her to Virginia, and avoid the FBI. Is that even possible?”

“The team patrolled outside, but I admit we only had three agents because we didn’t think he would follow his target out of state. He’s smart, there’s no doubt about it.”

“How many agents were on the other ladies?”

“Six each.”

“Perhaps, that’s why he did it. Maybe he knew Miss Edwards was less protected than the other ones. He just had to outmaneuver the periphery agents. When he was inside, he was home-free,” said Summer.

“Maybe, but how did he know her detail was less than the others?” asked the agent.

That was the conundrum. Surely, the FBI experts had considered all scenarios. “What was the message on the wall?”

Summer didn’t miss the pity in the agent’s eyes as he handed her the photo.

I’m comming for you Summer!

Reading the words caused the hair on her arms to rise. Miss Edwards, the eighth victim, was dead because of Summer.

And she was powerless to stop him, to prevent the next murder.

She swallowed hard and handed back the picture. “It seems I’m bein’ stalked by someone who flunked grammar and spelling.”

“I assure you, the remaining women are secure, and the bureau will gladly provide protection for you if you decide you need it.”

“Not necessary,” said Max. “Wallace is handling it, but we appreciate your offer and will take you up on it if anything changes.”

God, what would happen when he couldn’t get to any of the rest of the ladies? He wouldn’t give up; he’d just find other victims. But would they be random? “You should protect the girls I’m in college with. They might be the next people on his list.”

“We’ve already thought of that and are in the process of contacting them.”

“And there are two girls at the deli, and I don’t know how many operators at DG.” She moved to the fridge and leaned against it. “And my landlady. She doesn’t fit the profile, but desperation could make him lash out at anyone.”
Even the Prestons.

Logan’s phone beeped, quickly followed by Max’s. They exchanged looks as they picked them up. Max’s lips formed a thin line. Logan’s “damn it” echoed in the vast space. The FBI agent got the first look, Wallace the second. By the time it was her turn, her gut was in a knot. Logan’s cell had a picture of her standing on the balcony last night. Max’s showed her dancing in the living room.

“We’ll get a team in here to recreate the angle and distance.”

“The balcony overlooks Central Park. That has to be a high-powered lens,” said Logan.

God, this guy was everywhere. Or was he? “What time was Miss Edwards murdered?” asked Summer.

“The coroner estimates TOD between one and four.”

“This picture was taken around eight, if I remember correctly. So could he get from here to Virginia before four a.m.?” she asked.

All the men regarded her.

“There’re two of them.” She had no evidence to substantiate the statement, but it would certainly make things easier to understand.

“Or more. A cult,” added Max.

If there were two, one would be the dominant and the other the subservient. More than two would suggest a more organized social structure.

But why her? Why these women?

The lyrics from
Hell, Yeah
sounded from somewhere over near the couch. She frowned. Logan grinned.

“I put the song on your phone as your ringtone, but who knows the number?”

She shrugged.

“Did you give it to anyone at school the other day?” asked Max.

Shaking her head, she peered at the phone, which was so weird to her since she’d been without one her entire life. She slid the bar to access it, and stared at the number flashing on the screen.

Summer pressed the button to answer the call. “Hello.”

“Ah, my sweet Summer. You’ve been a naughty girl.” The voice on the cell was distorted, reminded her of something out of a spy movie.

She pointed to the phone to indicate it was
him,
and Max put on the phone’s speaker so they could all hear.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“Can’t tell you yet. That would spoil all the fun.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.”

“Nope, you sure don’t, but that’s part of the game, doll.”

Summer knew her mouth was agape. What should she do? Agent Benson spun his finger in a circle for her to keep him on the line. Max showed the agent her number. Logan held his phone close to hers, but she had no idea why.

“Are you…are you the one leavin’ the messages on the walls?”

“I sure am, but that’s not all I’m leaving.” The madman had the audacity to laugh.

“Why are you doin’ this?”

“Because I can.”

“You can’t just murder innocent women.”

“Yes…I… Can.”

Summer tried to extricate herself from the individual and approach him as she would a client, but it was difficult to do. Fear clogged her throat. “There has to be some other reason for you doin’ this.”

“There is… It’s fun. Do you know what it feels like to stalk prey? See the fear—no, the fucking terror—in their eyes when they realize they are no longer in control, that they will die, and they can’t do a damn thing about it?”

She swallowed hard. “No, I do not know what it feels like. What do you feel when you stalk your prey?”

“I feel invincible.”

Some of the common traits of serial murderers, including sensation seeking, a lack of remorse or guilt, the need for control, and predatory behavior fit this guy. His motive was either the thrill or the sex, maybe both.

“But why me? Why them?”

“They are nothing but whores.”

“Why do you mutilate them?”

“Because they’re whores.”

“Was your mama a prostitute?”

“Do not try to analyze me, Summer. I know what your major is. And tell your little FBI friend he can’t trace this call. We can talk for days, and he’d never find me.”

The agent’s face didn’t show any emotion. The brothers looked as if they were borderline having a stroke.

“I ask again, why me?”

“Because you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” The use of girl instead of woman made her think this evil creep was older than she was, or he was someone extremely immature.

“What will it take for you to stop?”

“Stop? Nothing. But I
am
extremely upset with you.”

She wanted to ask why, but forced herself to remain quiet. She couldn’t play into his hand every time.

“You’re letting those two bastards fuck you.”

She would have been mortified if she wasn’t scared out of her wits. She stole a glance at the FBI guy, but he seemed unaffected by the slutty information.

“And you know this how?” What could she say? Yes? Oh, hell no.

“I know everything, sweet Summer.”

“I think you’re jumpin’ to conclusions. You trashed my apartment, wrote shit in blood on my bedroom wall. I had nowhere to go.
You
are responsible for me bein’ here.”

Should she berate a serial killer?

“I know those two bastards’ type. They’re used to getting everything they want, and they want you, just like I do.”

“But they ain’t killin’ innocent women.”

“No, they just use them like they’re using you. Don’t worry, sweet Summer. I’ll save you from them before they throw you away.”

Chills skated down her spine at the comment, making her wonder how much danger the Prestons were in. This homicidal maniac may go after the two men in her life.

“But you’re the one who cut my arm.” With her elevated tone, she knew she sounded a little hysterical.

“A well-placed slice. No permanent damage to your beautiful body. When we’re together, I’ll kiss it all better. I need to go, sweetness. Got to stalk my next kill.”

Summer berated herself for not being quick on her feet, doubted she’d even be a good therapist. “Don’t bother takin’ pictures tonight. We’re goin’ out.”

She purposely didn’t look at the men in the kitchen, but one of the brothers uttered, “Damn.”