Erotic Paranormal Romance Novel
Whiskey Creek Press Torrid
(ebook) ISBN# 978-1-60313-954-0
Word Count: 61.5K
If you were murdered by a stranger, wouldn’t you want the chance to be able to come back and find out who killed you? And why?
J was born blind, but she could "see" things. Her gift has always helped the police find such things as missing persons, serial killers... a ghost or two.
Detective Kiel Stark has worked homicide for eight years, but he has never met this mysterious Seer his fellow officers claim could almost perform miracles. Not until a gruesome triple homicide has his superiors calling in the reserved woman to help with the case.
Now Stark is faced with a double threat. Not only is he finding himself dangerously attracted to the mysterious beauty, but she could very well discover his own carefully guarded secret—a secret that could bring an end to his career, his way of life, and any future he had hoped to have.
Warning! Contains disturbing images, the living dead, revenge gone wrong, drug deals gone bad, and two people facing an impossible love without any chance for a future.
The attack was swift and relentlessly brutal.
“ Cop! The guy’s a cop!”
The words rang like doom overhead as he heard the screams reverberate louder than the warning inside the big building. And then he dimly realized the screams were his.
He tried to get up on his knees. Tried to raise his hands to ward off any more pounding blows from the length of iron rod that rained down upon him. Beating his flesh into jellied pulp, and shredding his skin and muscle from the bone with every downward slash. But rain was pouring into his eyes, mixed with his blood and…
More blood. He was on his knees, on a concrete slab, and his life’s sustenance was running like a river overflowing its banks.
Pain was in every movement. There was more screaming, and this time he knew it wasn’t his. The killer or killers had gone on to other game.
Falling forward, he was vaguely aware of his face hitting the cement. There was practically no feeling left in his body. Every nerve had been beaten into submission. Into numb, weightless submission. He couldn’t even feel his hands or fingers anymore to reach for the small snub nose he’d tucked into his boot.
The attack had come from nowhere. Where was he? Who was attacking them?
For the only time in his life he felt sorry for the bastards who had dragged him in here, thinking they were going to be his judge, jury, and executioner. It had to be their wet, gurgling screams he heard above the steady whipping noises.
He couldn’t open his eyes. Even if he could, the place was black as a tomb. Somehow he knew he was in a warehouse. An abandoned, dilapidated one, if he could feel the rain splatter over him from overhead.
The mushy sounds of the beatings continued, but the screams had stopped. Quietly he remained where he lay like a broken doll. He was growing cold, but there was no way he could find a warmer place. A safer place.
After what seemed like hours the bludgeoning ceased. There was no sound, not even the raspy breathing of whoever had done this carnage. The guy had to be pumped full of adrenaline. After beating three guys into dog food, the man had to be gasping for air. But there was nothing. The place was so quiet, he could hear a soft rumble of thunder in the distance.
And then the guy was there, standing next to him, over him. His boots crackled on the gritty cement floor.
“ You were not to be. You are not one of them,” a dark growl said. The timbre was smooth and unhurried. Tearing into three grown, heavily armed men, and reducing them to little more than roadkill, and the guy was as calm and unaffected as if he’d just gotten up from a nap.
The killer poked at him with the rod. There was no pain.
“ You were a mistake,” the growl told him. “You were not to be.”
Well, it’s a bit late to discover that, don’t you think? he wanted to answer. But he couldn’t. His skull must have been caved in. There had to be bits of his brain matter speckling the floor around him.
“ Gotta fix you.”
Oh, yeah? How?
The killer walked away, heavy tread echoing in the empty building, until—
Suddenly the steps were gone. Disappeared. Which was impossible. There hadn’t been the sound of a car door, or a maintenance door, or even the crunch of feet upon dirt and gravel to let him know which way the man had gone.
The rain started up once more, sending cool droplets down on him.
He was dying. Death was a quiet blanket hovering over him, ready to descend, ready to envelope him, ready to claim him. It would be a welcome respite from the unrelenting agony.
One unfocused eye managed to open, his final glance upon the world.
Far, far away there was a tiny incandescence, like a single candle flame. Oh, great. Now the guy’s going to torch the place. It would be his last coherent thought.
A breath later, Detective Kiel Stark was dead.