Zero and Beauty's Breath (A Satan Sniper's Motorcycle Club Series Book 3 - 4) novel Chapter 51

“Just drive,” I snap and he grins before pulling into the ongoing traffic.

“Michael is sending his jet. We’re leaving straight to Liston Hills. We'll take the bikes the rest of the way to Kanla. Zero is back at the hotel packing. Grab my phone, Spade sent us some pictures. I want you to have a look at these ones and tell me whether you see anything we might have missed. If Harley is innocent, and this is the same person, my guess is it could be more than just a test subject gone rogue.”

I silently grab his phone from the centre of the console of the car. I swipe my finger across the screen and puncture his code, then I scroll through his gallery.

The first one I see is a red-headed naked girl. I stare long and hard at her body, “Unlike the other girls, her pubic hair is shaved off, there is a pink scar right there, so it probably happened when the killer was shaving her. Could be intentional.”

Mercy and After taught me a lot about looking at the ‘bigger picture when it came to these things.

The nails are what I examine next, as the other girls before.

I catch it, but it is so small. I zoom in on the picture, trying to see what is on her arm, it looks wrong.

It isn't clear, but it looks like a black dot from the picture.

“Squinting and frowning at the image doesn’t help Beggar.”.

“Can we see the bodies in person, once we get there? I see something but I can’t make out what it is.”

“Yeah.” That is the thing about Killer, he never questions me for no reason. There is trust between us.

Something I don't have with Zero.

“This one is stabbed on the shoulder, the other girls all have the same marks on their arms, and the nail isn't all off, it looks like a sloppy job, either the killer is getting sloppy or they were in a hurry. I don't think there could be more than one, I hope not.”

“Hope and facts are completely different, look at the next picture, that one was sodomized.”

“I'm not looking at a girl’s ass.” I snap, and glare at him.

And we both go quiet, me with the phone in my hand, and I shit you not I do as the bossy devil driving next to me says. I look at the girl’s anus.

I enlarge the screen when I spot a shiny object sticking out.

“What the fuck is that?”

“A teaspoon, cunt poured sugar in her ass.”

I know it is bad when I grimace, and worse when I laugh, because Killer smacks my thigh, “That isn't very nice, imagine if that was you.”

I do, and try hard to straighten my face, “Point taken, why would someone do that.”

“How the fuck should I know.”

The rest of the ride is quiet, and I strongly consider what will be the reason someone would do that to a young girl barely seventeen.

I stop looking for answers when my body remembers what was done to me.

It was a sick person who would do something like that. Their deepest desires tainted in their minds, matching the sick repulsive needs they choose not to withhold any longer.

Once that registers, any light mood I had vanished as the seriousness of the situation become a reality in my head, and also a ticking time bomb.

We need to put this to rest. Which means I would have to postpone my revenge on Lucca and Thorn for now. But I can't do it forever. I have a deadline with their names on it.

It is late afternoon by the time we make it back to the hotel. I jump out of the car and walk to the door to push it open.

I don't see the person on the other side and take a step back as the man mumbles an apology and brushes his hands against my coat pocket.

I snatch his hand in an instant and twist it. Putting his arm behind his back, I take the device out of his fingers.

Killer's heated body is close to my back. He leaves me to it, watching the show as I knee the thief in his stomach.

“That wasn't very nice,” I say in my gruff voice.

“Sorry, please, sorry.” I let him go and boot his butt as he rushes off.

I slip my phone in my pocket and smile at the man’s retreating form.

“Sleight of hand, do I want to know how you know?” The voice coming from the now open hotel door gets my attention.

I walk up to Zero as he crooks his finger, and I kiss his cheek. It stuns me as much as him.

“NO, you really don't,” I say to him as his big hand engulfs my waist in a quick caress. Zero is very possessive at times, but he still hasn't touched me much since we've left.

I brush the arm he is using to hold me lightly with my fingers and just as he has done this month, he drops it.

“I packed up, let's put this shit in the car and get a move on, did Killer give you a breakdown?” He questions me as he joins me in the hotel lobby.

We pick up the bags at the same time Killer joins us.

“I did, Beggar thinks that it's funny having a spoon in an ass filled with sugar.” Killer moves to take the bag next to mine and I swing the black suitcase at him but the idiot is fast and takes a step back in time.

“That isn't very nice Beauty.” Zero says and makes a tsk tsk sound.

I groan as I take the black suitcase, leaving the two of them laughing behind me.

My smiles with Killer and Zero come easy these days.

Even though something is up with Zero, doesn't mean he can't crack a joke and though they would never admit it, Killer and Zero have gone closer.

Whatever feud that caused a rift between them has dissipated like a passing storm, and I am glad, as both of men are very important to me.

It takes us two trips to get the bags. I stuff the packets of food Zero bought for the trip into the back-seat of the car.

A man that I recognize as the guy who brought us the car when we got into Seattle two weeks ago walks toward me.

He greets me with a nod of his head before jumping into the sports car.

Killer and Zero go to get their bikes and I hear the hums of the engines before I see them.

Zero stops right next to where I am standing on the pavement and I see the women on the street turn their heads to get a look at the bikers.

Something in my belly flutters as Zero hands me my helmet and riding jacket.

I take my coat off and shove it in the back of the car, feeling like the world is watching me.

If they only knew that I used to be the girl who was once on the street not too far from here, begging them for a buck or left-over scrap they'd give to their dogs, they wouldn't bother, but they don't.

Many of them are just standing looking at the girl with the long black hair, slip on her jacket, put her helmet on, and swing her long legs over the big machine with the imposing man already sitting on it.

I wonder what they think when he grips the top of my thighs and squeezes it as I place my hands around his cut in a quick hug.

Do they wish they were me?