Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2) Read Online Lee Savino

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Billionaire, Dark, Erotic, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: His Perfect Darkness Series by Lee Savino
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
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“Yes.”

After the greeting, “Dear Swallow,” the writing degenerates so much that Bonds can barely read it. Only a few passages—“Your doom” and “Come to me”—are even legible.

“This is like the others.”

“Yes.”

Bonds tucks the letter back into the case. He’s been staring at letters like this for so long, he’s practically memorized them. It makes him sick, but he can’t stop hoping they’ll reveal more clues.

“The Bondage Killer sticks to his MO. But he’s never used a delivery boy before.”

“Raider swears he received these letters anonymously, with instructions to hand deliver them personally to Mrs. Roy.”

“You’ve spoken to him?” Bonds looks up sharply.

“This is the third time Mrs. Roy has been personally targeted,” the man continues without acknowledging the question.

“Well, he’s fixated on her.” Bonds can’t keep the worry from his voice. Whatever he thinks about the enigmatic Detective Ramos, he feels protective of her. He tells himself he’d feel that way about any of his colleagues, but the truth is this detective is special. “What about this Ted Raider?

“He claims he’s never had personal contact with the Bondage Killer, that the serial killer left these things for him to deliver. He’s scared out of his mind, afraid he’s the Bondage Killer’s next target. He’ll insist on witness protection.”

“Gods.” Bonds’ brain is skipping ahead, thinking about the next steps. Tracking down the potential witness, coaxing him in for an interview. It seems like this stranger—this warrior of the night or amateur detective—already shook Ted down. Bonds should be protesting the breach of protocol and harassment of a citizen, but practically, he knows that Ted will be spooked and ready to talk. It’ll be easy to play good cop.

“He’ll be delivered to you in thirty minutes. You can question him then.”

The statement is so bizarre that Bonds’ mouth goes slack and he almost loses his cigarette. This is the first time the figure has promised to deliver a witness along with evidence. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Rex Roy is personally interested in this investigation.”

“He is, huh? I’m not in the business of bending to a billionaire’s requests.” Bonds knows the way the world works. He knows oligarchs rule, and the rest of humanity scrambles under the table for scraps. He’s always tried to keep a low profile, but there are things he won’t compromise on. “Tell him to keep out of my case.”

“He only wants to help.” There’s a note of approval in the man’s voice, but perhaps Bonds is imagining it. “Roy will do anything to protect his wife.”

“And I want to solve this case. We want the same thing, right?” Bonds glances down at the file in his hand. He looks away for only a moment, but when he looks up, the figure is gone. Disappeared.

The hardened detective isn’t unsettled by much, but this makes his mouth fall open. He turns in a circle, peering into the shadows to figure out which way the stranger went. He looks out onto the city, half-expecting to see a fleeing stranger racing over the roofs, but there’s nothing but the tired glow of the city lights, the darkness before dawn.

Somewhere else in the city. . .

* * *

A man sits in a room filled with photographs of the Blackbird murders. Carefully arranged limbs, naked in death, surrounded by feathers. The room has a sour, smokey smell. The man is a silent sentinel, sitting with his head bowed in an almost reverent state. The silence shrouding him is broken by an infrequent, hacking cough.

An old-timer wakes before dawn and rubs his bleary eyes. His dreams are a long parade of faces that belong to people now long gone. Old friends, victims in cases he never solved. But as sleep recedes, the vivid images fade to muted colors. By the time he’s walked from his bedroom to the kitchen to start making coffee, the memory of his dreams is all a muddle. Only the lingering sense of horror and sadness remains.

Three bikers in skull masks race up the road. They swerve toward the police precinct, and the middle rider dumps the bundle draped over his lap on the sidewalk before they all speed away.

Silva, walking in with his chai, hears the groans and rushes up to the writhing bundle. It’s a man, bound and gagged. A press badge clipped to his shirt reads, “Ted Raider.”

“Damn,” Silva says and waves to a pair of uniforms to help him get the poor prisoner untied.

Rex

* * *

My car dashboard displays the feed from cameras in front of the police precinct. I watch Fraternitas dump Ted at the front doors, right on schedule. Satisfied that Bonds has his witness, I lean back to enjoy the ride back to the Manor.

“Call Hamish,” I order.

“She’s still sleeping,” Hamish reports before I say anything. He knows this will reassure me, even though I have Alfie monitoring her. Still, I switch the camera feeds to show Inara’s sleeping form.


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