Marked (A Dark Serial Killer Romance)

A speck of blood marks my knuckles.

After licking my thumb, I wipe the spot clean, then climb out of my car. Even with my sunglasses on, the sun glaring down on me from high in the sky is blinding.

Rounding the back of my car, I tap on the trunk. “We have some time. How about a cup of coffee?”

A grumble and a thud respond. I leave it behind, hopping up onto the curb and heading for the door.

Inside the coffee shop, the windows have a heavy tint, not allowing much of the sunlight to creep inside.

I tuck the arm of my sunglasses into the front of my black T-shirt as I step into the short line at the cashier.

We’re over an hour outside of Chicago, past the suburbs, nestled deep into the corn crops and soybeans of the Midwest. But even way out here, the coffee chains have made a home.

I can see the appeal of a town like this. A twenty-minute drive will bring you to all the modern conveniences, but you’ll still have the simplicity of a small-town community.

Not that I’d ever consider settling down in one spot for too long.

Too much work to do all over the country.

Fuck, the world. It’s a dark place, and a man like me thrives in th darkness.

“Sorry.” A soft voice comes after a shoulder bumps into mine.

I turn, finding the offending shoulder attached to a woman. A blonde-haired beauty with soft caramel eyes, and they’re focused on me.

“Sorry,” she mutters again, her eyes fleeing my gaze as soon as they land.

“Not a problem,” I say, watching her scurry to the corner of the coffee shop with her covered paper cup. She tucks herself into the booth, and pulls a paperback from her bag before moving it to the seat across from her.

Not interested in company.

Message received.

I move up in the line, still watching her as she turns the pages of her book to find her last page.

She sips her drink, licking away a bit of foam that escaped through the lid and smeared across her bottom lip. The name ‘Harley’ is scribbled on the side of her cup. An ID badge has slipped out of her bag, dangling from a lanyard tucked inside. Her full name is Harley Turner, and she’s a teacher at the local elementary school.

As though she can feel my attention, she glances up from her book just enough to survey the room. I keep my stance loose, my attention on a spot where I can see her in my peripheral vision.

When her eyes land on me, they linger.

Heat builds just below my skin the longer she stares. I turn a little more in her direction, making it look as though I’m checking out the mugs on the wall not far to her right.

She still stares.

I almost smile.

But I don’t want her to know that I see her.

I want her to have herself a long look. I want her to feel me in the room before I approach her.

If I approach her.

I’m on a deadline.

No time for flirtation today.

“Can I help you, sir?” the cashier calls to me. My turn.

“A small coffee, cream and sugar.” I hand over a few bills to cover it. No credit cards. No debit cards. Nothing that can be traced to me.

Even my fingerprints on that bill won’t get anyone anywhere.

I move over to the waiting area for my coffee, still keeping my eyes on the book beauty in the corner. She’s back to reading.

Her face tenses. She winces, and pulls her hand from the book. She’s given herself a paper cut.

Her middle finger disappears into her mouth, leaving a small smudge of blood just below her bottom lip. It’s a tiny amount. I doubt anyone around her sees it. But I’ve got an eye for blood. Seeing every bit of it helps when cleaning it up.

She puts her book down with a sigh, and takes another sip of her drink. Her eyes line up with mine again, and this time she doesn’t dart them away.

There’s something in her gaze, something familiar. She’s fearful, but she’s forcing herself not to hide.

She’s strong.

But I doubt she can see it.

A moment goes by, then another. We’re just staring at each other. I won’t look away first. I want to see how long I can hold her attention.

Fear is an aphrodisiac. People may not like to admit it, but it’s the truth. And truth is what I’m all about.

The scent of fear is strong, and gets stronger the longer she stares into my eyes.

Slowly, I arch my eyebrow, tilting my head in her direction.

A dare.

Will she come to me, or will she dive back into her book?

The pull between us increases the longer this little standoff of ours continues. Like two magnets inching closer and closer, until the force of attraction is too strong to be fought and they smash together.

“Connor.” The barista calls out the name I’ve chosen for this job.

The blonde beauty breaks eye contact to look at the barista. When she swings her eyes back to me, the fear is gone.

I give her a hint of a smile.

She thinks she’s safe now.

I grab my coffee from the counter.

What a curious little bird.

I glance back at her as I head to the door. Her eyes dart to her book.

Hmmm. She’s watching me.

I push my sunglasses back on and head back to my car, stopping at the trunk.

Popping it open, I hold it to keep it from opening all the way. No need to give the neighbors a full view of my work.

“It’s a hot day. Hope you’re keeping cool back here.” I take a casual sip of my coffee before looking down at him. Sweat mingles with the dried blood around the duct tape keeping his mouth shut.

Keeping the lid as closed as possible while holding my coffee, I reach inside and rip the tape off. Little droplets of fresh blood appear around his mouth.

Duct tape is not kind to the skin.

“How well do you know the people in this town?”

“Where are we?” He tries to get up, but with his hands bound to his feet, it’s not so easy.

I tilt my head. “Think, asshole. I told you we’re retracing your steps. We’re about ten minutes from your secret playground.” I take another sip. Shit, this coffee is good. I might need to make a second trip for another cup.

“I don’t know. I don’t hang out in town.” He brushes his cheek against his shoulder, wiping away some of the blood and sweat, smearing more dirt onto his shirt.

“Didn’t think so.” I sigh. “Shame.”

“Please! Just fucking let me go. Let me up. If you need information, I can get it for you, but you gotta let me out of this.” He tugs on his binds.

I close the trunk a little more.

The desperation is just pathetic at this point. He’s begged so much in the last day, I’m a little bored with it.

I don’t take on any job unless I know, without a doubt, the fucker has it coming.

And this fucker has everything coming to him.

“Jessica was in your trunk for how long?” I tilt my head a little. “The report was vague.”

He pales.

“Please.” His eyes narrow. I think he’s trying not to cry. Doesn’t matter. As soon as we get started with his actual punishment, he’ll be sobbing like the pussy he is.

“Tell me.” I lift a shoulder. “Let’s see if you’re starting to learn how to be trustworthy.”

He sniffs. “Five hours, I think.”

I check my watch. A gift from the last commander I served under in the Marines. It’s one of those sport kinds that takes one hell of a beating and doesn’t die.

“Looks like you have another hour.” He starts to wiggle around, but no one’s ever gotten out of one of my hog ties. He won’t be the first.

I slam the trunk, then take my coffee to the front seat of my car.

With the added fuel from the fresh cup of coffee, I can finish the drive to Mr. Carpenter’s little playground. The place where he enjoyed himself two years ago.

There’s a price of admission for every party, even if it comes years later.

I couldn’t stop the horror he’d brought to Jessica Hamilton, but I can bring her justice now.

An eye for an eye.

And when I’m done with him, every second of terror he made that young woman live through will have been revisited upon him.

As I pull away from the coffee shop, I notice Harley stepping outside, the sun hitting her face. She tilts her head back, letting the sun bathe her skin as she slides on a pair of sunglasses.

I’ll be done with Mr. Carpenter by morning.

And then, Harley Turner will get my full attention.

A tingle of excitement trails up my spine. I woke up today like it was any other ordinary day of work. But now, thanks to Harley, it looks like there’s going to be some fun in my life.

Until tomorrow, Harley.

Until tomorrow.