“Whoa, hold on,” Rueben said behind her. “What did I say?”
Deep sobs racked her body and she was unable to speak.
“Hey, if it was what I said about the sex, I was joking. I didn’t touch you. I swear.”
“What?” Tasha asked, looking over her shoulder.
He shrugged and offered her a lopsided smile. “It was a joke. We had such a good time last night joking around I didn’t think you’d think I was serious.”
She used the hem of one sleeve to wipe her eyes and shifted her position so she could see him without craning her neck.
He skimmed a hand over his bald head. “The truth is that I drove you home because you didn’t need to drive yourself. You got sick as soon as we got inside the house and passed out. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and his own followed.
“Did I mention you got sick on me?”
Tasha whimpered and hid her face again.
Rueben chuckled and pulled her hands away. “I got you in bed, washed my clothes, and took a shower. I lay down here with you so I could keep an eye on you and must have fallen asleep. I swear I never laid a hand on you for any other reason.”
Staring into his coal black eyes, Tasha believed him. Snippets of their conversation at the bar were coming back to her. He’d kept her company in between sets with the band while she waited for—
She jumped to her feet and began searching through the pile of clothing on the floor. “Where is it?” she muttered, turning pockets inside out. “No, no, no … come on … be here …”
“What’s wrong?” Rueben asked from the bed.
“I had a journal, a little pink leather-bound book, last night. I have to find it.”
“I didn’t see a book.”
Tasha stopped her search and stared at him.
“I’m sorry, but I think I would’ve seen a book.”
Fear and guilt slithered up her spine like twin snakes and she collapsed on the bed. As soon as it was discovered that she was the one who’d stolen the journal from the lab, her career would be over.
Without the journal, her mystery callers were bound to withdraw their offer of assistance. Without their assistance, she couldn’t fight Caleb.
And she’d lose Maya.
Kirk was fucked and he knew it. He’d let Piper get away. Now he had to find the bitch before she went to the cops and told them everything about his operation.
He parked his silver Porsche down the street from her apartment, making sure he had a good view of the exit. When she left, he’d follow her, and when the time was right, he’d swoop in and grab her. The scenario that would follow played out in his head like a movie scene. He’d take her somewhere secluded, fuck her until she begged him to kill her, and then he’d fuck her some more. Only when he was satisfied he’d had her every way he could imagine, then he’d drain her dry and leave her battered corpse for the birds.
A car approached the entrance of the apartment complex and he tensed for a moment, but it wasn’t Piper. He sighed and picked up the small Thermos beside him. The mixture of blood and vodka burned his throat as he swallowed. Images of the fight he’d had with Piper, seen from above and intensified by the alcohol, flitted through his mind and he shuddered.
It’d been a shame to kill the new bunny—Jennifer, wasn’t that her name?—and leave her body behind an abandoned hardware store, but she’d seen and heard too much after Piper’s outburst. At least her blood was useful. He capped the Thermos as he settled in his seat to wait with the lingering taste of blood coating his tongue.
His thoughts once more turned to his plans for Piper. Anticipation made his dick hard and had him squirming in his seat. He’d need to be careful and not kill her too quickly. He’d made that mistake in the past and the satisfaction hadn’t been nearly as intense as he’d hoped.
No one turned on Kirk Beljean and lived. No one.
Another car approached the complex’s entrance and he perked up. A white Nissan Sentra paused at the entrance as a garbage truck passed and then turned right, heading up the street and away from Kirk.
“Gotcha, bitch,” he muttered and started the Porsche’s engine. He waited until the Nissan had reached the stop