White Collared Part Three:Revenge

By: Shelly Bell

Chapter One

HE LAID THE new acquisitions on his bed. Quirts, crops, rattan canes, floggers, knives, signal whips.

All for her.

It was a shame he’d had to discard his collection after Alyssa’s death in order to eradicate any DNA evidence, but in a way it excited him. He had the chance to start fresh with Katerina.

Katerina. The name suited her.

Strong. Captivating. Unusual.


A woman like her deserved the finest in life. Silk sheets. Private jets to Paris. And a collar of flawless diamonds around her neck.

His dick hardened at the thought of her suspended from his ceiling, bound and blindfolded, her thighs open in invitation. He’d beat her until she floated as high as the stars, and then he’d fuck her, torturing her bruised body with every thrust. When she couldn’t tolerate any more, he’d release her from bondage, tend to her wounds, and make love to her slowly. Gently. Merging their bodies and hearts and minds into one.

But what to do about him?

Sighing, he unlocked his silver case and lovingly stroked the weapon inside.

There was only one choice.

He had to be eliminated.

Chapter Two

HANNAH’S BLOOD STAINED Kate’s trembling hand. The scent of violence wrapped around her like a boa constrictor, squeezing her chest and crushing her racing heart. Hannah lay face down with a knife in her back, blood fanning around her abdomen.

Kate gagged, the copper scent filling her nose and stealing the air from her lungs. Black spots flashed in her vision, and the room spun faster and faster. She counted to ten, breathing deep, and then opened her eyes.

She sighed, relieved the world had steadied. “Hannah?” She shook her friend by the shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

Did she have a pulse?

She placed two fingers on Hannah’s still-warm neck and felt a weak flutter under her fingertips.

Thank God.

Hannah was alive.

“Hold on, sweetie. I’m going to get you some help.” Leaving bloody fingerprints behind with each shaky touch of the cell phone screen, she dialed nine-one-one.

“What’s your emergency?” the female responder asked.

“My f-friend was stabbed. She’s n-not moving and she’s b-b-barely breathing.”

“What is your location?”

“One-zero-two-six Wayne Street in Detroit, apartment three-oh-two.”

The clatter of fingernails typing on a keyboard reverberated through the phone. “EMS and police are on their way. What is your name?”

Her mind went blank. What was her name? “Kate Martin.”

“Kate, can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t know. I came home a couple minutes ago and found my door unlocked.”

Hannah must have used her key. Why hadn’t Kate asked for it back? If she had, maybe Hannah would’ve been safe.

“When I came inside, I found my friend lying on the carpet. There’s so much blood.”

Will Hannah bleed out? She’s lost so much already. “Should I take the knife out of her back?”

“No,” the woman said gently. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but you need to leave the weapon or you could do more damage. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Hannah Watterson.”

“Kate, I don’t want to alarm you, but I need for you to make sure you’re safe. Are you certain no one else is in your home?”

Her entire body shook. She was so cold. “N-no.”

“If you haven’t already, I want you to lock your door and then stay on the line while you check. Can you do that for me, Kate?”

She wasn’t sure her legs would work. She couldn’t feel them. Besides, what if Hannah needed her? “I don’t want to leave her.”

“You’re not leaving her, but you have to check your place to keep you both safe.”

Safe. No one else could keep them safe.

She kissed Hannah’s cool cheek and tried to stand, but her legs buckled. She wiped the sweat from her brow and tried again. Why was she sweating when she was so cold? This time her legs held her weight and she stumbled to the door.

It took her a couple of attempts before she engaged the locks. Nick and Jaxon had both warned her about her building. About her locks. She’d blown them off because she wasn’t worried. She should’ve listened to them.

“I’ve locked my door. Did you tell the police?”

Had she asked that already? How long had she been on the phone?

“I’ve dispatched both EMS and the police, and they’ll get there as soon as they’re able.”

She laughed. She’d once heard it took an average of sixteen minutes for EMS and more than a half hour for police to show in Detroit. A report on the news had explained that the city didn’t have enough working ambulances. People died while waiting for transport to the hospital, and sometimes the police didn’t show at all. If she’d had a car, she could’ve carried Hannah outside and driven her to the hospital herself. She should’ve bought a car. Nick was right. Her Harley, her baby, was dangerous. It wouldn’t help save Hannah’s life.

With her heart hammering and her pulse roaring in her ears, she roamed around her apartment. She started in her bedroom, checking under her bed, in her closet, and behind the door. It was still a mess, and it didn’t look like anyone had been in here. Next she checked in her bathroom, trying to forget all the shower scenes from horror films as she pulled open the shower curtain.

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