Free Something Wicked by Lisa Jackson Page B

me. Fuck me. Fuck me.
    But she wouldn’t. Ironically, she held all the power. She didn’t feel for him what he was feeling for her. She wouldn’t let him have her. Nor would she release him. She just kept him on the island until finally she was ready and he was half mad with sexual desire.
    â€œTomorrow,” she told him, her blue eyes glowing with anticipation. “We’ll go together.”
    But tomorrow came and the winds were up and the rowboat he’d used to get to the island wouldn’t hold up. For a long, angry moment she looked upward, her blond hair flying, whipping around her head in wild strands. Her hands were fists, which she shook skyward as she railed against the dark heavens and the gods who held her prisoner.
    And that was when she let go. Just a little. He felt it, that special tingle, and he was on her in an instant, wrestling her to the ground and the weeds of her garden. A flash, and he saw the knife that had been hidden in the folds of her dress. She raised it high, intent on taking his life, but he was stronger. Forcefully, he yanked the weapon from her fingers, then slipped the blade between her ribs in one fluid motion, watching her die, watching her eyes, feeling her power shrink down to a tiny dot and die out, feeling it enter him and make him even stronger.
    He carried her back inside the cottage and laid her on her bed. Then he went into the bathroom and masturbated, filled with a wondrous sexual power far greater than he’d possessed before. Once he was finished, he returned to the bedroom, and with a rag he wiped the hilt of the knife clean. Then he pressed her right hand around it and held it until rigor mortis set in hours later. Before he left, he took a thin strip of cloth ripped from the bed and wrapped her hand to the hilt. Surveying his handiwork objectively, he decided that maybe she’d given him his mission in life. Find these women, screw the hell out of ’em, and then kill them, one by one. And maybe take some others, too.
    After all, she was his mother. It was the least he could do.
    Thinking about it now brought on another erection, and he struggled to tamp down his libido, bring the galloping horses under control, turn his thoughts around, but it was no good. He was in his black Range Rover and driving away, thinking of who he could have sex with. He was too jazzed to call it a night just yet, but he knew another kill was too risky.
    But that didn’t mean he couldn’t find some woman ready to spread her legs and moan and thrash like an animal. He didn’t have to be quite so careful if he didn’t kill ’em. They always came back for more.
    There was one in particular who couldn’t get enough of Good Time Charlie.
    With that thought in mind, he turned the nose of his car west, out of Portland and toward the coast.

CHAPTER 5
    B y the time Savvy got to Kristina’s, it was going on nine o’clock and she could feel her own tail dragging. How long had she been up? Too long for her condition, that was for sure. She needed a bath and a rest, and it would be nice to have a drink, but since that was out, a cold Perrier sounded fantastic.
    But first ... Kristina.
    She knocked on the door and peeked through the sidelight windows that ran along each side of the mahogany door. She looked past the entry toward the kitchen and sunroom beyond, but there was no one in sight. She rang the bell again and heard approaching footsteps—Hale’s probably, as the sound was heavier than her sister’s—and sure enough, Hale St. Cloud came into view and threw open the door.
    He’d dressed down from work into a collared gray sweatshirt with a zipper at the throat and a clearly beloved pair of jeans, if the worn-white areas near his knees were any indication. “Hey, Savvy. How are ya?” he asked, giving her a quick hug, the most affection she ever got from him, as he seemed to be one of those guys who was naturally