Burning Kiss Read online

  Burning Kiss

  Angela Addams

  About Burning Kiss

  Rehabilitation doesn’t work. Prison therapist, Jade Harris, learns this firsthand, after one of her paroled patients came looking for her, only to find her best friend instead. Driven by rage, Jade sets out to hunt down potential predators, baiting them into attacking her, and then ensuring they’ll never rape again.

  Fighting the lure of her own demons, Jade finds herself sucked into a gruesome murder investigation that drags her back to the grounds of her old university. There’s a man hunting women on campus the police have no real leads, but Jade doesn’t have to play by the rules. And she knows just how to entice a predator.

  Trapped in a triangle of toxic lust, driven by her need for retribution, Jade will risk not only her life, but the obliteration of her sanity, in her quest to take back the night.

  WARNING: Jade is ruthless and daring. She will make you squirm. She will make you doubt. Whether you trust her or not is up to you, but she’s going to make you question everything you think you know about justice. Contains explicit adult content, graphic depictions of rape and other violent crimes, psychological mind games, and vigilante justice.

  Copyright © 2018 by Angela Addams

  Edited by Holly Atkinson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  If you see yourself in my words, it’s because this story is about you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  A Conversation with Angela Addams

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Angela Addams

  1

  Her eyes were a soulful blue, beautiful in their innocence, glistening as she stared up at him. He knew that this was the moment—the night had finally come. She would give herself to him completely and he would accept her body, heart, and soul.

  “I love you,” she said, a sweet smile playing on her lips.

  He smiled back as he gazed down at her. “How much do you love me?” He ran his fingers through her hair; she was a rare natural blonde, a glistening gold that fell down her back.

  “To infinity.” Her smile widened, cheeks rosy. “I wish these nights could last forever. That I could freeze them in time and relive them in my dreams.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, pressed his lips to hers in a chaste and gentle way, teasing her as he ran his fingers along her collarbone, circling her shoulder. She opened her mouth as if to let him in.

  Not yet.

  “Let me brush your hair before it gets tangled.” He pulled away, adjusting the hardness in his pants. He wanted her, had wanted her for months. And tonight was the night. The perfect night for her to worship him and him to worship her. “If you’ll let me.”

  She nodded, reached forward and grabbed her hairbrush from her purse. “I love it when you brush my hair. You know that.”

  Her hair was beautiful, thick waves, strong strands that he loved to curl around his fingers. To twist along his knuckles and tug ever so gently. She moaned when he did that, like she wanted him to hurt her a little.

  He tugged away the loose braid she’d woven and ran his fingers from scalp to tip. She’d had long hair when they’d met. It had been what attracted him to her in the first place. She was like a genie with swirls of gorgeous locks. Stunning as it swished in a ponytail that first day, teasing along her exposed skin, her low cut tank top showing him how pale she was. Pure, unblemished, natural. And just as he suspected, no…wished, untouched. So innocent. Perfect.

  He stroked her hair, his fingers following the brush with each pass. It made his cock harder, tight behind the zipper of pants, pulsing when he slipped his hand beneath the heavy strands. Her locks caressed his flesh as he let it fall to her back once again.

  “That feels so good.” She moaned like she was having an orgasm.

  He shuddered. Not yet. Not yet.

  “Your hair has grown so long since we met.”

  “It has.” She giggled. “I know you like it long.”

  “The longer the better.” He bundled a handful and brought it to his nose. His cock pulsed again. “It smells like apples.” It always smelled like apples.

  “I know you like that scent.”

  She was his. Completely his. She would do anything to please him. She gazed up at him like he was her god.

  “I wonder how many times it can wrap around your neck.”

  Uncertainty flashed in her eyes. He winked. She smiled again, love clouding any gut instinct she might have had. Any doubt that passed through her mind only a wisp and it was gone.

  “Like a scarf.” She giggled again. “I bet it goes around three times.”

  Always giggling. So innocent.

  “How much are you willing to bet?” After gripping two handfuls, he wound the hair loosely once around his fists and then wrapped them once, twice, three times around her pretty little throat, letting her golden locks slide from his hands briefly with each pass.

  “I told you.” She gazed up at him and smiled. “I win.”

  “You win?” His eyes grew wide in mock shock. “And what is it you want?”

  But he knew what she wanted. Before she could answer, he leaned down to kiss her again, pulled a gasp from her when he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, delving deep, as he explored her from within. She tasted so sweet; he’d known she would. Minty and hot. Her lips were a soft cushion against his. He pressed into her harder, wanting to devour her.

  She had held her breath at first but was now breathing in small pants, like a kitten, her throat letting out a tiny purr with each exhale. He knew she was aroused, her tongue entangling his with a kind of desperate ferocity. If he stuck his hand down her pants, he would find her hot and wet there, too. Ready for him to pierce her core. To make her his completely.

  Tonight was the night. But not yet. Not yet.

  As their kiss went on, he wrapped her tresses around his fists again, securing his hold. He pulled her hair taut in one swift motion, knowing that it would clench tightly, the strands strong in his grip.

  She gasped into his mouth, her last breath into his lungs as he closed her throat off with her hair. It was only then that he lifted his lips from hers, staring into those soulful eyes, now wide with surprise as she struggled to pull some air into her body. But there would be no more air for her. Not unless he willed it so.

  She didn’t fight, not a whimper or a scream, no struggle, just her body growing limp. Her eyes dimming, no blood vessels bursting, no grotesque bulging like that last girl, no screeching like the
one before.

  “You die so prettily. I knew you would,” he whispered then leaned down to kiss her lovingly. “This is our moment, frozen in time forever just as you wished, Porphyria.”

  2

  Trap shooting was an old man sport. Old men or misplaced hunters—the guys wearing camo from head to toe who were desperate for some shooting action in-between animal killing seasons. They were also the ones who looked at me like I was some kind of impostor. Like they had more of a right to hold a weapon than I did.

  I liked those guys the best. They were the most fun to fuck with.

  “Who’s shooting?” One of the scraggly looking teenagers approached from the line, hand out, waiting for tickets.

  I stepped forward, gun under my right arm, cradled with the muzzle pointing down.

  “Shouldn’t yours be pink?”

  I glanced over, knowing that the burly, long-haired, six-foot mass of blubber was talking to me as I was the only woman there.

  I cocked an eyebrow, gave him a long once over, and curled my lip in distaste.

  “I don’t think she likes you.” His buddy, also a wall of unprocessed meat, chuckled.

  I handed my ticket to the kid and walked away. As much as that kind of shit burned me, I had nothing to prove to assholes.

  Sadly, the fucking idiots didn’t get the hint.

  “She’s taking first position.” One of them snickered. “Hey, blondie, you sure you want to lead the group?” A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, enough pressure to make me sway as I walked.

  I stopped, glanced up. Ahh, Long Hair it was.

  “I’m just worried that your gun might be too much to handle.”

  “Yeah.” His friend chuckled. “We’d probably be able to find something more manageable for a pretty little sweetheart like you.”

  Long Hair adjusted his pants, making a show of moving his cock. It was not impressive.

  “Don’t worry about me.” I smiled as I turned toward him, raising my barrel slightly so that it was just at level with his crotch and gave him a nudge. “I can handle my guns.”

  “Whoa there!” he grumbled, one hand raised as he stepped away, his eyes still mocking although uncertainty flashed behind the cocky assurance. “I can take a hint.”

  I smiled again. No, not yet you can’t. I turned, adjusted my stance and didn’t wait for him to take his position. Instead, I slipped a shell in my gun and lifted the barrel to close it. I winked in his direction as I raised my weapon before nuzzling it into my shoulder gap, cheek welding to the stock. Ahh, yes. Home.

  “PULL!” The clay came out of the trap house, I tracked it, sucked in a breath, fired, and obliterated the thing in a cloud of red dust.

  I could feel the idiots staring at me. I didn’t need to look at them to know. They got the message.

  I could handle my guns.

  We did our rounds—five shots, five stations, twenty-five clays in total. I winged two, missed one, twenty-two obliterated. Pretty damn good, I’d say. The camo twins didn’t fare so well. It was embarrassing, really. Totally made me think less of them, if that was even possible. Fucking losers.

  “Been a while since I’ve seen you shoot. You’re kicking some serious ass today.”

  I knew that voice, fuck. I knew it well.

  “Detective Bronson.” I turned, hiding my cringe before he could see it. He was a good man, just not one I ever wanted to see again.

  “Ouch, that hurts,” he teased, his hand out to shake mine. “I thought we were past the formalities.”

  He meant because we’d fucked. I’d met him nine months ago at the range. We’d gotten along, shot together a few times, had a few drinks at the bar. Shared some stories. Then I’d taken him home and fucked him. He’d called it making love, but love had nothing to do with it.

  “Eddie,” I corrected as I accepted his hand briefly. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

  Probably because I’d told him in no uncertain terms that any ideas he might have about a relationship were off the table where I was concerned. I was not a commitment kind of girl. Not anymore.

  He pulled his hand away, rubbed the back of his neck, his face scrunching. “Yeah, been avoiding the place.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Didn’t think you really wanted me around.”

  I nodded, brushing away the invitation to stroke his ego. “So what are you doing here now?”

  He dropped his hand, blinked hard and then shook his head. “Anyone ever told you you’re a little on the cold side?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I hear that a lot lately.”

  “Strange for a therapist.”

  “Former therapist,” I corrected. “Well, nice seeing you again, Eddie, I gotta go shoot some stuff.”

  “Jade, wait.” He moved quickly, halting my escape by shoving a folder in front of me. “I need your help.”

  I glanced at the folder, saw the corner of a photo peeking out. “Not interested.”

  He lowered it so I could see his face. His devastatingly handsome, lickable, gorgeous face that was pulled into an expression even a puppy dog couldn’t beat. “I need your help. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate.”

  “That’s not selling me. I hate desperation.”

  He blew out a breath, dropping the pathetic look. “Listen, I’ve got this case that I can’t get a lead on. A girl, raped and murdered, second one in the span of six months, similar MO.”

  Okay, I’m listening. I crossed my arms, my gun nestled between them. A shiver racing over my body. Anticipation? Fear? Intrigue, probably. Darkness held my attention more and more often lately.

  He only let the smallest smile creep onto his face. It must have taken a hell of a lot of control.

  “You specialized in sexual deviants, and there’s a strong sexual connection in this case that I can’t quite figure out. Strangulation or sexual asphyxiation of some sort. I was hoping I could give you the details and see if you could give me some insight. It’ll only take a few minutes. We could go to the bar, have a drink, catch up.”

  No. This was an attempt, a sad attempt at reconciliation. I’d had it happen before. The tender-hearted ones that I sometimes fell for. I knew it was a mistake every single time but I did it anyway. Sometimes I wanted soft. But I always regretted it almost immediately when I gave in. The romantics predictably wanted more. Could never let go. I didn’t have a heart to give anymore. Or maybe I never had one in the first place.

  “I specialized in rapists and sex offenders.” I uncrossed my arms. “And I’m on leave indefinitely.” I sidestepped him, started walking toward my car. Time to go.

  “You can’t avoid it forever,” he called after me.

  “Avoid what?” I didn’t turn around.

  “What you were meant to do.”

  “And what’s that?” I made it to my car and popped the trunk before sliding my gun into the case.

  “Fix broken people.” He leaned against the frame of my car, arms crossed, a smug look all over his face.

  “You can’t fix broken people, Detective. You can only make them see how broken they are.”

  “And stop them from breaking everything in their path. Which is what I want, too. Help me on this case, Jade. I need your insight.”

  “I’m not interested in helping fix people anymore, Detective.” I gave a hard shake of my head, my lips curled into a sneer. “And besides that, I’m not especially good at repair.” I lifted my arm toward him. “And I have the scars to prove it. You’ll have to find a therapist who actually cares because I’m out of the rehabilitation business.”

  “You keep telling yourself lies like that, and sooner or later, that’s all you’ll believe.”

  3

  It’s not like I was a terrible person. Fucked up beyond repair, yes, but not terrible.

  Eddie was a clinger. Mid-thirties, super attractive with his military style buzz cut and hard as rock abs. He was also substantially taller than me, which was a total plus, given that I was 5’9” and liked to we
ar heels. We’d hit it off because of the guns and then because he was hot and had a rockin’ body, knew where my g-spot was and wasn’t afraid to use it. Sex had been explosive and frequent over the course of a few weeks.

  But when the lovey-dovey-let’s-build-a-future stuff started up, I went cold. I swear he’d been at the point of uttering those terrifyingly complex three words when I’d asked him to leave my condo and not come back. No. Thank you.

  Sex with no strings attached. That was what I needed, wanted, and sought. Eddie had been a mistake and his little ploy to get me talking to him was just a tactic. One I’d seen many times before. The clingers took longer to get the hint so I had to be colder. Ice cold.

  But Eddie wasn’t just a clinger. He’d taken it a step too far, bringing up what he knew or thought he knew about what had happened. I bet in his fucked up, typical hero guy head, he thought my personal tragedy was the reason things didn’t work out between us. Why I’d pushed him away. The very reason why he was going to be the one to save me. And like most men, he didn’t understand. My best friend had been raped. I had been attacked. And it was totally and completely my fucking fault. My fault. No man would ever understand the level of guilt that came when you betrayed one of your clan. One of your closest allies. Kassey, my heart and soul, was damaged beyond repair. Permanently scarred.