Goldie(Night Rebels MC Romance Book 4)(32)

And it was all because of Goldie.

Knowing she was letting her emotions get the better of her, she didn't care. For that one moment, she wanted to feel all the loving, raunchy, and happy emotions until she tried to talk herself out of getting too involved with him.

That night, she would let herself be ecstatic.





Chapter Twenty-Two





The brown-haired man stood in Nadine Bretoux's family room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He'd been in the room earlier that day, but at night, everything looked different. He'd had his eye on the physical therapist ever since he'd seen her at Cherry Vale. She was his type: long blonde hair, big breasts, and rounded hips. She sort of reminded him of Hailey in that they shared some of the physical attributes he preferred. He hadn't given up on Hailey, of course; he was just waiting for the right opportunity to present itself. Securing all the locks on her windows and doors had thwarted him, but it hadn't defeated him. In his mind, it just made the pursuit more challenging and exhilarating. He wanted to take his time with her, to savor each moment of her terror as he did terrible things to her.

The tightness in his pants brought him out of his reverie, reminding him that he had an unsuspecting victim at the end of the hallway. Anticipating her fear overwhelmed him, and he quickly made his way to her room.

From the hallway, he could hear the deep breaths of sleep, and he slowly entered her room. The full moon shone in through the sheer curtains, covering her body in a white glow. To him, she looked as though she were made of alabaster. It reminded him of the time he and his wife had gone to New Orleans. It was before the kids were born, and he remembered how frightened his wife was when he took her to the cemetery after dark. All the graves were above ground and many had ornate carvings and statues of angels, gargoyles, and human forms. His wife's fear had been so great, he'd pushed her against a tomb and fucked her, loving every moment of her cries and protests. The louder she pleaded for him to stop, the harder he hammered into her until he was spent. It was the best sex he'd had with Trisha in the twelve years they'd been married.

He glanced at Nadine and smiled, thinking she looked like one of the white marble forms on the tombs. It was funny how something as inconsequential as moonlight basking over his prey could inspire such comparisons.

Then she bolted up. It was like she'd sensed him. All thoughts flew from his head. He was in predator mode.

"What do you want?" Nadine asked. The slight tremor in her voice hit him in the groin. He slowly walked to her, his gaze locked on her. As if trying to disappear, she pressed closer to the headboard, her fingers gripping the sheet she held up in front of her.

"Do as I say and I won't kill you," he hissed.

"Please don't do anything to me. I have money in my purse. I have some jewelry. You can take whatever you want, but please don't hurt me." Her voice shook and fright spread across her face. She was exactly where he wanted her to be.

Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her down toward the edge of the bed. The blade of the knife caught the moonlight and gleamed in the dark.

"Please don't do anything to me. Please," she whispered as he cut her nightgown off. Her begging was an aphrodisiac to him, and the more she pleaded, the harder he became until he couldn't stand it anymore. At that point, the monster was unleashed.                       
       
           



       

A few hours later, he removed her panties from her mouth. "Get up," he ordered.

Groaning, she pushed her naked and bruised body up. Tangles of her hair covered her face as she stared vacantly. Grasping her arms, he dragged her to the bathroom and turned on the shower. "Get in and wash up." He shoved her inside the stall and then leaned against the wall, watching her wash away all evidence of him. When she was done, he dragged her back into the bedroom. As he picked up her nightgown and shoved it in a black bag, she went over to the bed and lay down.

"Get up."

For a brief second, determination burned in her eyes, but then she stood up and he gathered the sheets, placing them in the plastic bag. The way she stood, shoulders slumped, defeated, made him sloppy-something he would berate himself about later. Without warning, she rushed over to him; he caught it in his peripheral vision, but before he could react, she'd grabbed his ski mask and pulled it off.

Shock mixed with contempt and disgust washed over her face. "You? Why did you do this to me?" Without a word, he pulled her to him. "No, oh no, please. I won't say anything. I promise."

She struggled a bit, but it was hard to do when he was squeezing her trachea. It sounded a bit like Styrofoam peanuts crunching. Letting go, he took out his knife from his back pocket. Nadine didn't scream, only yelped like a whipped dog. With one movement he slid the knife across her neck, watching the blood gush out, his penis harder than it had ever been. As he ejaculated, he watched her blood seep into the carpet, taking her life with it.

Throwing his head back, he breathed in and out as he tried to regain his composure. After several minutes, he went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, then stuffed his clothes and shoes in the plastic bag with the soiled bedsheets. Making sure to steer clear of Nadine's bloody body, he stuffed whatever he thought could be used to trace him into the bag and took another look around the room.

Satisfied that he'd cleaned everything up, he went down the stairs and left the house. He'd burn everything he'd taken in one of the ash pits at an abandoned farm he'd discovered the year before. The farm was about thirty miles from Alina, and the inspectors never bothered to check out all the illegal burning of trash that was rampant in the rural area of the county. As he drove home, he replayed the scenario over and over in his mind, mad at himself for being sloppy and not securing his victim before he gathered the evidence.

The house was dark when he arrived home and entered the garage. That night, he had blood on his clothes. It felt funny driving home naked. He chuckled when he thought about what would've happened had he had a flat tire or been stopped by a cop. He slipped into the house and crept up the stairs, positive his wife would be fast asleep.

As he gazed up at the ceiling, he came to a startling revelation: the fear in his victim's eyes right before he snuffed out her life had given him the biggest thrill of his life.

He was hooked.





Chapter Twenty-Three





Goldie sat at the bar watching two guys play pool at Balls and Holes pool hall. He'd had an hour to kill between appointments, and with Skull, Tattoo Mike, and Jimmy all at the shop, he figured they could handle any walk-ins. Weekdays could be slow, so an hour shooting the shit with Muerto and Crow seemed like a good way to break up his day.

"I heard you're looking to get a new bike," Goldie said as Muerto came over to him.

"Yeah. Ever since you got your new Road Glide Special, it's been on my mind."

"You gotta do it. My new bike just hums when I ride her. Just like a fine-tuned woman."

"Damn. I gotta check them out. I wanted to wait for the rally and check out some of the bikes."

Goldie felt his phone vibrate against him. A smile spread across his face when he saw Hailey's name pop up.

Hailey: R u going 2 see ur grandma tonite?

Goldie: Ya. Probably bout 6.

Hailey: I missed u last nite.

Goldie: Had work. What u doing now?

Hailey: At the shop. Working.

Goldie: Send me a pic of ur nipple.

Hailey: R u serious?

Goldie: Ya. Want 2 see it up close.

Hailey: I'll think about it. Customers. Gotta go.

Goldie laughed as he set his phone on the bar counter. "What?" he said to Muerto, who stared at him.

"That was a chick who was texting you."

"So?"

"Chicks don't text you. Remember your rule?" Muerto smiled.

"Are you trying to piss me off? I came in here for a beer and to relax, not to discuss my fuckin' rules and chicks texting me."

"Which chick's texting you?" Crow asked as he came from the back room.                       
       
           



       

"None," Goldie said.

"I just mentioned his rule about chicks texting him and he went apeshit," Muerto said to Crow.

"Why're you pissed about that?" Crow asked.

"Why the fuck are we still talking about this?" Goldie gulped down the last of his beer and slammed the bottle on the counter. "Later." He marched out, anger pricking his skin as he heard the guffaws behind him. "Fuckin' assholes," he muttered under his breath as he headed back to the tattoo parlor.

The brothers were having a real heyday with him ever since they'd seen him and Hailey together at Cuervos a couple of months before. He couldn't blame them; he'd done the same shit to Muerto, Diablo, and Steel when they were hung up on the women in their lives. Is that what I am? Hung up on Hailey? Never being serious about a woman, he was at a loss as to what the hell was going on with him in regard to Hailey. They'd been wanting to tear each other's clothes off from the moment they'd seen each other, and they'd finally done it two nights before, but was that something more than just lust?