The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

the room and push the door. I don’t close it, leaving a gap just enough for her to peek through, because I’m convinced she will.

My mind flits back to the information we got from Billy. A fucking priest is stealing girls. Now all I need is to find the bastard and end him.

But it won’t be a quick job. No, he deserves more than just a quick annihilation. He should get a torturous biblical killing. With a smile on my face, I step into the shower and turn on the taps. It doesn’t take long for them to heat, and soon enough, steam fills the room.

The hot spray calms my tense shoulders. I’m lost in lathering the blood off my hands when I think back to the bedroom next door, remembering the woman who’s livid at me for capturing her against her will, and I smile.

My hand grips my shaft, thick and hard from just her scent, and I stroke myself with one hand on the tiles to hold me steady. I don’t look toward the door; my focus is on my need to find release. Because if I don’t, I’ll most certainly walk in there and fuck her into my mattress.

And that’s when I feel her heated stare fueling the desire coursing through every fucking inch of me.

6

Scarlett

His body is so different from Lycan’s. There are more scars. Ink runs from his shoulders to his wrists, and his back is a canvas along with his chest. But he’s as beautiful as his brother. I shouldn’t be here, spying on him while he’s in the shower, but my curiosity got the better of me. I’m almost certain he knows I’m looking. Still, I can’t drag my gaze away from his big strong hand gripping the thickness of his erection as he strokes himself.

I wonder what he’s thinking of. He’s obviously just killed or tortured someone. Does that turn him on? His hand on the tiles slips, but he shifts it upward, and I can’t stop watching his muscles bunch and tense as he finds pleasure.

My thighs squeeze together at the sight, and guilt churns in my stomach as I stare. The man is rugged. There’s a violence in him that expels itself every now and then, something that calls to me, and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.

I can’t do this.

My feet carry me swiftly to the bed where I settled cross-legged against the headboard. The door is still ajar, the promise of Darius naked and wet just a few meters away. That thought has me squirming on the bed once more, and I pray Lycan will be okay, that he’ll wake up and save me.

But what would he save me from?

My own deceitful thoughts?

“Did you enjoy the view?” Darius smirks from the threshold of the bathroom. His hands holding onto the top of the doorframe, as he leans forward wearing only a towel. The dips and peaks of his body dripping wet, and I can’t help but note the tattoos that adorn his body.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond, turning my attention to the window instead. Although the view outside is nothing like the one I’m trying my best to ignore.

He knows he has an effect on me, which is bad.

He moves into the room and it’s as if his cologne is an entity—leather and wood. It fills my nostrils, the intoxicating warmth that it provides has me shivering. Not from temperature, but from the pure need to have him closer.

“Come on, little one,” he coos as he stands at the foot end of the bed and I’m thankful he hasn’t come closer. All I can do is pray he puts some clothes on, and quickly. “Tell me what filthy thoughts are dancing around in your mind right now.” He tugs the towel, and my breath catches when I see the fluffy material on the carpet inches from where I’m sitting.

Shutting my eyes, I breathe deeply, trying to calm my racing heartbeat. “Just get dressed and leave me alone.” My voice is a low whisper, but he heard me because he chuckles in response.

I hear the closet door click, and the ruffling of material as I exhale a deep breath that I’ve been holding since the moment his towel landed inches from me. When I hear his soft footfalls on the carpet, I peek through my lashes to find him dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants I didn’t expect him to own, along with a t-shirt which hugs his muscled arms and torso.

“Little spies are meant to be spanked, little one,” he tells me. “I think you need a good seeing to.” Darius settles on the chair at the window, watching me as he twirls the key to the bedroom around his finger.

“Why are you being like this?” I question, trying to focus on the here and now and not that he knows I was watching him in the shower. “You don’t have to act like a dick all the time.”

He pushes to his feet so quickly, his hand wrapping around my throat in seconds, forcing a squeal of surprise from my lips. “I’m hurt, sweetheart,” he says, his thumb circling my rapid pulse along the column of my neck. “Why would you call me a dick when all I’ve done is be nice to you?”

“Nice?” I spit the word, then laugh as he steals my breath with the tightening of his fingers. “You’re far from nice.” I croak my response as I glare at him, but I don’t give in. I don’t cower when he leans in closer, his mouth at my ear and his scent enveloping me.

“Was I nice when you were watching me jerk off in the shower?” he questions in a whisper, low and feral. “Did it make your little cunt wet when you saw my cock, little one?” His hand blocking any air that my lungs try to pull in, and for a moment, my vision gets