Page 8 of Savage Seduction (Finding His Forever #2)

CHAPTER 8

Max

T he test takes its toll on my stamina for the day, and after running errands and the adrenaline leaving my veins from the scare in the parking lot, I am dragging.

“Yes,” I say as I pull into a parking spot near my apartment; something rarely found this time of day. Traffic has been heavy from the homeward bound commuters and the stop and go of it all has left my nerves a bit frayed. I grab my backpack and the two bottles of red wine I purchased at the Wine Express down the street and make my way to the stairs leading to my second-floor apartment.

I am met by Chubs, the all-black stray tomcat with a large head, thick neck, and huge paws. He’s the one who adopted me this past year. “Hey, Chubby,” I say, reaching down to scratch him behind the ears. He flinches but then leans into the affection. “You still mad about getting neutered?”

Chubs purrs and continues to rub around my legs in a figure-eight pattern. He can be cantankerous with strangers, but he is always gentle with me. This is a good thing since he still has all of his claws. I open the door to the apartment. “Want to come in?”

Chubs looks inside like he always does, then sits at the threshold and meows. “Okay, fine. I’ll get your dinner. You know, Chubby… I’d love to have some company tonight.”

Chubs doesn’t budge from the entrance. “Okay fine.” I keep the door open while I put the backpack and bag of wine on the floor and hurry into the kitchen to grab a saucer of water and a bowl of cat food. Scooping a cup of kibble into the cereal bowl, I add a can of wet food and mix it together.

Meow .

“I’m hurrying, buddy.” I fill a saucer with water and hurry back to the doorway. “You wouldn’t be so hungry if you’d stop gallivanting around town. How many times have I offered you a nice cushy place to live?” I place the dishes down on the ground outside the apartment.

Chubs dives headfirst into the feast, starting with the wet food. I sit on the ground and pet him while he eats, his tail wrapping around my hand with each soft stroke. “I love you, Chubby.”

A few minutes pass while he eats before he finishes and curls up onto my lap. “I’ve never met a cat who loved his belly rubbed as much as you.” I check him from head to tail for possible injuries, ticks, or sores. Chubs even lets me check the pads of his feet after that time I removed a sticker when we’d first met. Healthy and happy. I commence tickling his tummy while his legs twitch before playfully attacking my hands and arms.

My stomach growls. “Sorry, buddy, that’s my cue to eat.” I put him down next to me and stand. “Last chance… want to come in?”

Chubs flicks his tail from side to side and flops himself down on the welcome mat, rubbing himself against it.

“Suit yourself.” I step inside but look back. “See you tomorrow.” I close the door, pick up the wine and go into the kitchen.

After opening the fridge, I sigh. A jug of milk, liter of orange juice, half a loaf of bread, and some margarine. Old habits die hard. Not going to the grocery store on a regular basis has been one of them. I laugh to myself. How many times had Dominique Rivera and I shown up to work on an empty stomach, bellies rumbling, moods faltering, simply because we’d been too lazy to go to the store and pick up breakfast foods? I smile. Good times.

I take out two slices of bread and put them in the toaster. A minute later they pop up, a nice golden brown. I take out the margarine and recoil when I remove the lid.

“Spaghetti?” I say. “When’s the last time I even made that?” From the multi-colored mold and fur growing inside the container, I guess it’d been at least a month, maybe two.

Tossing the entire container in the garbage, I pull the dry toast from the toaster and take a bite. Not great, but it will do for tonight. I’ll go to the store tomorrow. I pop the cork on the Rosé and pour myself a full glass. After a satisfying sip, I take the toast and glass in one hand, and the rest of the bottle in the other, to the living room.

I flip on the T.V. and sip some more wine. Flipping through the four channels the pair of rabbit ear antennas manage to get, the disappointment grows. The Bachelorette, Big Brother, America’s Got Talent. Who cares? Ugh . I stop flipping and let the local news play as background noise while I scroll through social media as I finish my first glass of wine. Other than Suzie from high school celebrating the birth of her fifth child, there isn’t much good news to be found. “Good for you, Suzie. Now keep your legs closed for God’s sake.” I laugh at my own joke and put the phone down beside me. Pouring a second glass, I yawn. I put the wine down on the coffee table and stretch my arms overhead. Still a little sore from the night before, I stand, grab my glass, and make for the shower. The idea of scalding-hot water pounding on my shoulders, upper back, and neck would feel better than sex right now.

Behind me, the news continues to play as I walk away. “In other news,” the female newscaster says, “The body of a homeless woman was found just after midnight last night. Local officials are not ruling out homicide but have not released any further details at this time.” I close the door to the bathroom and turn on the water.

As soon as the steam starts floating over the curtain, I step inside. The blast of heat burns at first, but as always, feels good within a few seconds. I close my eyes and relax into the rivers of lava that flow over my tight muscles. Focusing on my breathing, I take long inhalations through my nose and exhale through pursed lips. A few seconds later, I hang my head and let my shoulders slump. If the rest of the evening goes well, sleep will greet me tonight. May the dreams be as peaceful as I feel now.

The steady stream of hot water rolls down my back, soothing away the tension in my muscles. I close my eyes, letting my forehead rest against the cool tile as steam swirls around me. The shower has always been my escape, a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, where I don’t have to pretend or hold back.

My thoughts quickly drift to Ben. Damn, he’s gorgeous.

It’s impossible not to think about him. He’s been on my mind since we met. Ben, with his piercing eyes and strong hands—the kind of hands that are trained to heal, but all I can think about is how they might feel on my skin. The way he moves, so precise and controlled, yet there’s something underneath, something simmering just below the surface. I wonder if he ever loses that control, if he ever lets himself just feel, like when he thinks of me .

My stomach tightens and I press my lips together, exhaling sharply as my body starts to react. The water cascades over me, rivulets tracing over my shoulders, my chest, my abdomen, heightening my awareness of every inch of my skin.

My fingers glide over my stomach, slow and teasing, as I let my mind wander freely. I picture Ben standing in front of me, water dripping down what I imagine his sculpted chest to be, his dark hair damp and messy. He’d watch me with that knowing gaze, the one that says he sees right through me, past all my walls and defenses. My breath hitches as I imagine him stepping closer, the heat between us hotter than the water pouring down my back. His fingers would ghost over my skin, barely touching, but enough to send a shiver through me.

I shiver as goosebumps spread across my chest, arms, and back.

Now, I lean back against the tile, one hand bracing myself as the other slides lower. My head tips back, lips parting as I imagine his voice, deep and smooth, whispering my name. He’d take his time, dragging his lips along my throat, tracing his tongue down over my pounding heart, just to feel it jump beneath his touch.

I lean my head harder against the tile as my fantasy continues. Closing my eyes, I see him. The water beading on his skin, sliding down his chest. My cock hardens as I imagine how I’d follow the path with my hands, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.

A low sound escapes me, lost in the hiss of the shower. My body is thrumming now, my hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes as I sink deeper into the fantasy. Ben would press me against the cool tile, his breath hot against my ear as our breaths quicken with desire. My knees tremble as I feel the weight of him, the way his body fits against mine, the electricity surging between us setting me on fire.

I groan, hips rolling into my own touch. My mind spirals further, picturing the way his hands would grip my hips, his fingers pressing into my skin, marking me. He’d take his time, making me beg, making me come undone just for him. The way he’d look at me afterward, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world—that’s what undoes me completely.

The pressure builds, winding tight in my core, my strokes becoming more desperate. I chase the feeling, lost in the imagined sensation of Ben’s mouth on my skin, the rasp of his voice in my ear, the heat of his body pressed against mine. The pleasure crests, and I let go, shuddering as waves of bliss crash over me. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my body trembling from the intensity of it.

For a long moment, I stay there, letting the water wash away the evidence of my desire, grounding me back in reality. My limbs feeling heavy, my heart still racing as I press my palm to the tile. The fantasy lingers, the ghost of Ben’s touch still burning on my skin. I swallow hard, blinking against the steam.

And that’s when it happens. A thump from outside my inner peace brings me back to the pain of reality. What was that? I pop my head out around the curtain and listen.

Thump .

My eyes open wide. Turning off the water, I slowly pull the curtain back and look to the bathroom door. Unlocked. Fuck. Heart pounding and on shaky legs, I slink out of the shower without grabbing a towel and tiptoe over to the vanity where I keep a knife taped under the sink. With a soft click, the cabinet door opens, and I fish around for the weapon without taking my eyes from the bathroom door.

It’s gone. Fighting against the rising panic, I duck my head under the sink to get a better look. The Velcro straps that secured the blade are loose and empty. Someone’s been in here… watching me?

Straightening up to stand, I curse myself under my breath for leaving my cellphone in the living room. Looking back to the door once again, I feel frozen in place, fear winning out over strength and experience. Stuck in the bathroom, the gun in the top drawer of my dresser wouldn’t do shit for me, if it was even still there. Dammit. Think, Max.

I look up to see myself in the mirror and immediately step back in terror. An ankh had been traced in the center. The steam thick across its surface except for where it’d been drawn. My vision tunnels and my breath catches in my chest. Rushing around to the side of the vanity, I slink down to the floor, my back pressed up against the wood cabinetry. Head in my hands, I shake. Trying to clear my mind and focus on what I need at this moment, I let out a long breath through pursed lips. Why is this happening to me? Why now? My hands tremble as I press them against the side of my chest as if the wound had suddenly reopened.

Memories flood back against my will, playing like a movie in my mind. The bathroom décor fades away as I remember. I follow the suspect into an abandoned warehouse in East Los Angeles. I quickly call for backup before entering the premises. I start to creep through the damp rat-infested structure, stepping through a large doorway into an expansive portion of the crumbling building, and stop. The only light shining in is from the full moon that illuminates the cement floor through a gaping hole in the roof. Water endlessly drips through cracks and holes throughout the facility soaking my clothes and hair and I continue to search. It’s not long before I shiver and wipe the water from my face, my other hand on the gun I hold close to my chest—finger near the trigger. Now, pressing my back against the far wall I strain to hear any sign of the killer or the victim I’ve come to save. A creak of wood and scrape of metal-on-metal sends a shiver up my spine as I slide up the wall to full height. Against my better judgement, I catch a glance around the corner of the wall. Suddenly, wood splinters just above my head, sending me reeling away from the attack. I turn to the left, but the second blow doesn’t miss. Something heavy slams into my stomach and I fall to the floor like a ragdoll, head impacting the cemented ground, my gun skittering away out of reach. My only means of self-defence.

I jerk back to the present, away from the nightmarish recollection. Yet my heart’s pounding and my breaths are coming in ragged spurts. Fuck. This was the second flashback in as many days. I’d thought I left those memories behind, moved past them. So, why were they resurfacing now?

I stand, dripping wet and naked. Creeping toward the door, every minute sound sends shockwaves of fear through my brain. With a trembling hand, I reach for the doorknob. Hand securely in place, I turn it and slide the door open.

Every muscle taut, fists clenched, and jaw set, I step out into the hallway, hands up, ready to fight. The glow from the T.V. flickers from the living room, but no sound meets my ears. Taking one step at a time, stopping to listen, look, and plan, I work my way toward the living room. As I get close enough to see the front door, my stomach lurches to see it cracked open. A quick glance behind me, then I take another step into the living room, eyes searching every nook and cranny for hidden dangers.

I rush the front door and slam into it, shoulder first. Securing the lock, I run to the kitchen and grab a knife from the butcher block. I’m not going to run away. Not this time. This might be a shitty fucking apartment, but it’s mine and I’m not going anywhere. Sweat mixed with water from my damp hair trails down my spine and makes me shiver. Tightening my grip on the knife hilt, I flip on the hallway light. No one charges me. No one jumps out from the bathroom or bedroom, so I continue moving, slow but sure, my confidence building with each step. Holding the blade close to my body, I bend my knees and widen my stance as I step into the bedroom.

With one stride, I reach the light switch and flip it on. My bedroom appears untouched. Bed unmade, laundry piled on one side of the queen-sized mattress. It is how I’d left it. Without pulling my gaze from the potential dangers of the room, I clench the knife in one hand and open the top drawer of the dresser with the other. I pull it completely free of the dresser and toss it on the bed. The gun I’d secured to the back of the drawer is still there. I snatch the gun and shove the knife between the mattress and box spring, hilt sticking out enough to grab in an emergency.

Gun in hand, I breathe a sigh of relief—first time I’d felt that way holding my firearm in a very long time. I flip off the safety and go in search of the demons haunting me. First the closet and then under the bed. I systematically secure the premises before allowing myself to rest. Making my way through the apartment to the front door, I double-check it is locked before grabbing my cellphone.

“Max?” London says, a touch of surprise in her voice. “We didn’t have a study date, did we? You alright?”

“No.” I swallow down the rising emotions. “Can you come over?”

“What’s going on? Are you safe? Where are you?”

“I’m at my place,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t explain over the phone… please, can you come over?”

“Right now?”

“Now… please.”

There is a long pause on the other end. I know my best friend well enough to know she is trying to decipher the situation. “On my way. Twenty minutes, tops. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“Thank you, London. I owe you one. ”

“More than one if we’re keeping track.” She clears her throat. “You’d better hope I don’t try and collect all at once.”

I smile. “See you soon.” I disconnect the call and look down at myself. Nearly air dried, but still naked, I turn and rush into the bedroom to throw on some clothes.

My phone rings and I jump. “Hey, you’re here?” I ask.

“Yeah,” London replies. “Can you come get your cat?”

“Chubs is still out there?”

“He’s flicking his tail back and forth at me as we speak.”

I open the front door, and there's Chubs, backed up to the door like he's guarding his castle. I reach down and pick him up. “Chubby, she’s one of the good people.”

Chubs yowls and won’t tear his glare from the perceived intruder.

“You know he really is harmless, just doesn’t trust too many people,” I say with a shrug.

“Yeah, I know. He seems a little more aggressive tonight than he usually does.” London slips past us into the apartment. “Excuse me if I don’t pet your attack cat.”

I smile at Chubs and scratch him under the chin. He purrs under my touch. “You’re a good boy.” I put him down on the ground and close the door. “I’m surprised he was there. He usually disappears to wherever he beds in for the night by dusk.”

London steps closer to me with outstretched arms. “I at least get a hug for coming all the way down here, right?”

“Of course.” I lean into her embrace, wrapping my arms around her in return, starting to feel like maybe I overreacted. I pull away from her and look at her black leather jacket and designer jeans. “Looking pretty snazzy for a weekday night. You smell good too. ”

She turns away and shifts her stance like she does whenever she feels questioned. “I was planning a date night tonight.”

“You were?” Guilt and self-loathing sink in as I realize my fear and insecurity have now also ruined my best friend’s evening plans. “Have you mentioned him to me before?”

“Nope, we connected on an app tonight, and after a thorough background check including bank account balances, previous work history, and a snoop through his socials, I accepted.” She walks over to the sofa, sits down and looks at the TV, which is still on but muted. “I never knew you to watch reality television. What’s this anyway?” She reaches for the remote.

“There’s so much I need to tell you right now, but I have to ask… why did you snoop through that poor guy’s online life before accepting a date? Isn’t getting to know the person the entire point of going on the date in the first place?”

“Yes,” she sighs. “I tried… I really, really tried this time. But when it’s so easy to take a peek, it’s hard not to.”

“Even when it’s illegal?” I cringe, hearing my Abuela’s tone in my voice.

She winks at me and says, “Enough about me. Let’s talk about you and why you dragged me over here tonight.”

“I think he’s alive.” The knot in my stomach tightens as I say it aloud for the first time.

“Who’s alive?” She looks at my hands. “You’re shaking, Max. What’s the matter?” She stands and leads me to the sofa. “Sit with me.”

I sit and shove my hands under my legs to keep from wringing them. London’s my best friend in the whole wide world. So why haven’t I told her about what’s been happening to me? She’ll believe me, won’t she? “The… Butcher.” My voice is raspy with fear and disgust.

London’s face contorts, her mouth pinched, eyes narrow. She opens her mouth but doesn’t speak for a second. She wipes her brow, sighs, and shakes her head. “No. Have you talked to someone about this?”

“I called you.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Max.” She crosses her arms. “Your shrink. Have you talked to your shrink?”

Anger pushes away all the complicated feelings I've been having. “I’m not crazy. He’s back and he’s fucking with me.”

“How can that be? Think about this logically for a second. You saw with your own two eyes. He was shot four times. At least two of those times in the chest. You said so yourself… you felt his body shudder each time the bullet entered his body. You felt the blood spatter on your face. Remember? How the hell could he still be alive?”

“They never recovered the body.”

“He’s fish food. You know the LA River was raging that night. His corpse washed out to sea where he was consumed by the bottom feeders, the ones that eat shit off the ground, and crapped out like the worthless piece of shit he was. End of story.” Her eyes are intense and filled with justifiable anger for what happened to me, her best friend.

I put a hand on her knee, and she flinches under the touch. “I wouldn’t have called you here if I wasn’t sure… or at least really hoping someone with your ability to find anyone… anywhere, could explain it away.”

She lets out a long sigh. “Okay, fine. Let’s hear it.”

“I think it’ll be easier to show you,” I say then stand and offer a hand to London to follow me. I lead her to the bathroom. “He left me his calling card.”

She steps into the small bathroom and quickly glances around the room. “I don’t see anything.”

I turn on the hot water and wait. The room quickly fills with steam, and I point to the mirror. “Look.”

The image of the ankh appears as the steam reaches the mirror. London clears her throat and looks away. “There’s got to be another explanation.”

“Like what?”

She doesn’t speak, but I can tell by the way she crosses her arms and taps the heel of her shoe, London is working hard on a solution.

“Who else would do this?”

“I don’t know, Max. I watch a lot of true crime on TV and there is always some fucking psychopath out there who either wants to get attention or has fallen in love with a serial killer and they start doing copycat shit.”

I hadn’t thought of that possibility before, but it doesn’t negate the fact that someone who is crazy has been in my apartment and is currently taunting me.

Her shoulders slump. “I believe you.”

“There’s more,” I say. “A few nights ago, someone hung an ankh pendant from my driver side mirror at Taco Caliente.”

“On a chain? Because you specifically told me it was on…”

“Twine.”

Her face flushes red and she shakes her head. “This is some wacko shit right here, my friend. I am going to do some research and see what I can find for you. My guess is it won’t be as easy as checking up on my dates. If The Butcher is indeed alive, he will have gone deep underground.”

“And if it’s not him, then it’s someone who knows way more than the general public. They’ll probably be equally as hard to find.” I look away for a second while I gather my thoughts. “Someone is following me, showing up at school, Taco Caliente, and now my apartment. I’m freaked out.”

London rushes over and gives me a solid hug. She holds me like my Abuela always had, firmly and with a little bit of a sway. I soak in the love while I can.

She pulls away but keeps her hands firmly holding my shoulders. “Don’t you think you should call the cops? I mean, they’ve got to be brought in on this at some point, right?”

“Not until we have more to go on. I can’t show up at the station and ask them to investigate the most notorious killer the city of Los Angeles had seen in its entire history based on a necklace and my bathroom mirror. They pretty much already think I’m the biggest loser there is for quitting the police force. Not to mention, my former partner who shot the guy dead has really benefited from the fact the serial killer is in fact dead. All of that would be questioned and no one would be happy.”

“Damn, I hadn’t even thought of that.” London sighs. “Dude, you’ve got a lot going against you.”

“I know.”

“One good thing though is you have me. And I’m not giving up on you… We’re going to get to the bottom of this.”

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You can thank me with an iced coffee the next time I see you,” she says with a laugh.

“Deal.”

“One more thing,” she says. “You were a cop, and I’ve seen enough true crime shows to know that if The Butcher is back, or if someone is trying to be a copycat… this kind of thing only ends one way.”

“Someone’s going to end up dead.” I nod. “When it comes to The Butcher, someone always ends up dead.”

“You’re brilliant,” London says, the enthusiasm in her voice contagious. “Maybe that’s why this is all happening.”

“Why?”

“It’s like the movie Final Destination. Those people were supposed to die. It was the way of the universe. Right? Same for him. He should have killed you, but by some miracle, you survived. He, or someone who is obsessed with him, is hell-bent on setting the universe straight. ”

“By killing me?”

“No offense, buddy. I’m just theorizing here.”

I think about it for a moment. She was actually probably onto something, not that I think the universe is out to get me, but surely a narcissistic psychopath who bloodlusts after killing people would want to finish the job.

“I’m going to get right on this tonight.” She turns to head for the door, but stops and turns back to me. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Get your shit… you’re spending the night with me an Nana.”

I shake my head. “I have stuff I need to do. Plus, once you go out that front door, I’m not opening it again until tomorrow morning. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Nodding, I say, “I don’t want to stress Nana out about it either.”

“Okay, fine, but if something happens to you… I’ll be so pissed off at you.” She turns back to the door and is about to open it.

“London?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” I rush over and hug her again.

“You’re welcome, bestie.”

I fight back tears as she hugs me back. We stand for a couple of minutes wrapped in each other’s arms, her head on my chest. She lets go and takes me by the upper arms.

“I’m glad you called me.” She smiles.

“Me too.”

I walk her to the front door to see her out when my cell phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket. Ben.

“Who’s the late-night caller?” She ribs me with her elbow and makes googly eyes at me.

I send the call to voicemail and shove the phone back into my pocket. “Ben. I’m sure he’ll leave a message if it’s important.”

“Doctor Dimples? I’ll get out of here so you can go get your booty called.”

We both laugh.

“And I expect details.”

“Of course,” I say, blowing her a kiss and waving goodbye.

The clear evening air is dry, and a few stars manage to peek through the massive amount of city light pollution. A siren blares somewhere in the distance and the ever-present sound of traffic fills the emptiness I feel inside as I close the door to my apartment.'

Once inside, I pour myself another full glass of wine. I can almost hear my Abuela now. “No Mijo, not so full. Classy people don’t fill the glass” . I take a second to look at the drink, then put it down on the counter instead of enjoying it. Pulling out my phone, I return Ben’s call.

“Hi, Max,” Ben answers.

“Hey there. I saw I missed a call from you.”

There is a little pause on the other end before Ben clears his throat. I'm beginning to realize it as Ben’s tell. He is about to say something risky.

“I was hoping you were free to come over tonight?” Ben asks, his voice unsteady.

I look around my miserable apartment, think about the crazy night I’ve already had, and realize sleeping would be the easiest and smartest thing to do tonight. “I would love to come over. Text me your address and I’ll bring some wine.”

“Perfect,” Ben says.

I rush around and get together an overnight bag; in case things go better than planned. Of course, I’ll leave it in the car, so I don’t look presumptuous. Once I close the front door behind me, I lock it. Outside my apartment, alone, a tingle of unease washes over me, making me shiver. The slight breeze doesn’t help either. Something about the wind blowing through the trees, hearing them creak and groan, always makes me find danger lurking in the shadows even when there isn’t anything there.