Tonight, the only thing the cell contained was death.
Cavin circled the woman's savaged body. She was blonde, but blood matted her hair and stained the remains of her clothes. Whoever had attacked her had feasted but hadn't fucked. There was no sex scent among the stench of blood and human waste.
"How long ago?" He asked, studying the white cloth she'd been laid upon. The outline of blood beneath her hadn't spread far, which meant she'd done most of her bleeding at the site of the crime.
"Sometime around nine, ten o'clock." Cavin turned away from her and pulled up a map on a tablet. "Tomlin found her behind a Dumpster, here."
Jude glanced at the series of lines that made up the city grid. The street Cavin indicated was close to an old power plant, human gang territory.
"A matter of fucking feet," he said, zooming out in order to see the bigger picture. He was no detective, but only an idiot wouldn't look for a pattern. Cavin had already linked the kill sites with red lines on the digital map but the obvious thing to look for first, a central point that might be a den or other home base, was the Jungle itself. "The location was deliberate. It's closing in on us, but we knew that. The difference with this one is he meant for someone to find her, even knew the timing of the patrol along that border. Did Tomlin see anything?"
"No," Cavin said grimly.
"Scent?"
But he knew the answer to that. If their patrol had caught a scent, Cavin would have brought in a wolf to track the son of a bitch.
"There's never a scent," Jude said, answering his own question. He ran a hand over his face and thought of Hawk. "A bird?"
"You tell me." Cavin went to the door and opened it to admit two males, feline shifters from a lesser breed. The pair wrapped the victim in her shroud and removed her from the room. They would take care of disposal in such a way that the woman would never come off the human missing persons list. Cavin didn't often interfere with human law enforcement, but some things were better left in the shadows.
"Find Hawk," Cavin said. "I want to question him. He's here tonight."
With the scent of death still in his nose, Jude headed back into the club. He knew exactly where to find Hawk and his predictable fetish. Voyeurs tended to haunt the dungeon, which was where the people into traditional BDSM fare went to play with their paddles, crops and spanking benches. Jude had done his time there, learning the tools like any good club master did, but he preferred his sex with more atmosphere and fewer rules so he rarely frequented those rooms for pleasure.
* * *
When she'd made the decision to revisit her sexual vice, she hadn't intended to form a habit again. Oh, she wouldn't call submission an addiction, but a good session in the hands of a skilled top left her with the same emotional release a lot of women found at the bottom of a pint of premium ice cream or at the end of a satisfying day in the mall. From time to time, she'd thought of taking up yoga or running, but … no. This was her thing, her style. She just plain preferred lace and heels to yoga waistbands and running shoes.
It was all the same in the end, anyway. Running until her lungs gave out or writhing beneath the lash of a flogger, she was pursuing the same end-a place where there was no room for anything except the moment.
Unfortunately, she hadn't found that place on her first try. The break-in was no longer a concern. Nothing had happened even though she'd changed her security company and her plan to something a little less expensive, and even home life was mostly quiet. Jude, though. Jude. Why couldn't she shake him? He hadn't made a physical appearance in her life but as much as he occupied her thoughts, he didn't have to be right in front of her.
The only time she managed to escape was when she shuddered under an expert hand, so what else could she do but go back?
Nothing, which was why she visited the Jungle four more times over the course of a week. The club became her doctor's office and the anonymous men became top-notch professionals administering excellent medication. The underground therapy was so good, she had mostly stopped forming Jude's image in the few moments before the assault on her physical senses lifted her out of her head. That, at least, was progress.
The night things changed started out the same as every other session at the Jungle. Ares helped her set up before handing her over to the man who'd become her regular top and her pulse quickly melded with the beat of drums. For all that the Jungle was different from other clubs, it was also the same. Music vibrated from the walls and leather pounded flesh. When the man was good with his arm and had enough stamina to maintain a steady rhythm, the two sounds twined around each other and became one-and the guy who'd been taking care of her needs had proven himself pretty damn good.