Pleasure's Fury Read online

  Karl stiffened. She was talking about the mastermind.

  Grigoris frowned at her.

  “I agree with your assessment that he is a serial killer rather than just a multiple murderer,” Nyx said with a considering air. “But I posit that there is even more than that we can consider.”

  “Tell me,” Grigoris demanded, but the tone was softer than it had been.

  “Damn, I think you’re going to win the bet,” Karl murmured to Leila.

  “Mmm-hmmm.”

  They went back to watching Grigoris and Nyx, who seemed to have forgotten the rest of them were even in the room.

  “His psychology is unique,” Nyx said. “He grew up in a world with absolute answers. That surety and clarity of purpose is a cornerstone of the appeal of cults. And religion in general, but cults often ignore the complexities of reality to a point major world religions don’t.”

  “But Ciril wasn’t the cult leader,” Grigoris said. “He wasn’t—oh!” Grigoris sat back in surprise, then a slow smile worked its way across his face. “I see what you’re driving at, Dr. Kata.”

  “Your assessment of him as a fully formed serial killer brings it all together. Though were you able to establish a victimology pattern?”

  Grigoris cleared his throat and glanced at them. “No victimology pattern, besides prebooked travel.”

  “Access and planning. That’s how they were chosen,” Nyx said.

  “Is she talking about us?” Leila asked.

  “Yes.” Karl leaned forward, not wanting to interrupt the flow of the intellectual work that was happening.

  “Back to cults.” Grigoris leaned forward, his head barely a foot from Nyx’s. “He grew up in them, but to him, they were merely a direction.”

  “Pointing the weapon,” Nyx said.

  “What are they talking about?” Leila hissed.

  Karl’s mind was working so fast, he had to close his eyes to eliminate the sensory input of sight. He wasn’t used to, and didn’t like, feeling like he couldn’t keep up with an intellectual conversation.

  Ciril grew up in a cult, but he was also a serial killer. Those didn’t normally go together, so…

  “Oh!” Karl sat forward, elbows on the table. “I know what you’re thinking. And that confirms our theory about—”

  “The mastermind.” Nyx smiled like the sphinx.

  Grigoris whirled on her. “How do you know about that? The security alert from the fleet admiral just came out.”

  “The who?” Leila asked.

  Antonio rose to his full height then loomed between Leila and Karl, forcing them to both lean out to the sides. He planted his fists on the table.

  “Someone is going to explain.” Antonio looked at Nyx. “I used a full sentence, just for you.”

  She opened her mouth, but closed it again. From this angle, Karl couldn’t see Antonio’s face, but he had to assume the expression wasn’t friendly.

  “Chorbaji,” Antonio snapped, using Grigoris’s title. “Explain.”

  Grigoris rose slowly from his seat, then casually crossed his arms. The stance made him look less dangerous, which probably meant he was more dangerous. “I do not take orders from you, Praetorianus. However, I am concerned for your health. Your eye appears to be twitching.”

  Karl hooked his hand in Antonio’s butt pocket—he had a very nice ass—and pulled him back, urging him to resume his seat.

  Grigoris cleared his throat, then motioned for the guards around the edges of the room to come in closer. “Come on, it’s time you all hear this.” Once everyone was in place, he began with, “We are no longer hunting the Domino.”

  It took Grigoris about an hour to answer everyone’s questions. He did an…acceptable…job of explaining the reasoning behind the idea of the mastermind.

  Karl and Nyx kept exchanging glances, taking turns warning one another with nothing more than a look not to interfere, or give anyone in the room reason to ask where the fleet admiral, who had sent out a security alert, had gotten the information.

  Karl waited, tense, to see if Grigoris would say anything about who the possible suspects were. What he said was that the mastermind was someone inside the organization, with power and connections.

  Given the nature of who and what they were, it was hardly a criteria that would help them narrow down a suspect pool.

  When the discussion of the mastermind wound down, Nyx cleared her throat, then stood and looked at Grigoris.

  He bowed slightly to her, yielded the floor, and took a seat.

  “Ciril Novak is a violent psychopath, who escalated to serial killer.” She nodded to Grigoris in acknowledgement. “But he is also insecure, with low self-esteem.”

  “I’ve met him,” Leila said quietly. “He wasn’t any of those things.”

  “Wait, just listen,” Karl told her softly.

  Antonio leaned over and pressed a long kiss to the side of her head.

  “What Ciril found in the cult—first of his father’s extremist political group, then in the insular community he moved to—was clarity of purpose. He knew who the enemy was. He knew who was to blame, and that gave him implicit, if not explicit, permission to act out his violent urges. When it was political, it was immigrants and minorities. When his village was accused of being Satanists, the enemy was the persecutors, or Satan, if he chose to believe the stories being told about his community.”

  “But he would have been on both sides of that argument,” one of the guards pointed out. “Someone who hated anyone who was different, and someone living in a community of those considered different.”

  “Yes, and for someone with more clarity of thought/a better worldview/isn’t a nutjob, the disconnect would have made it an unsustainable mental landscape. Instead, the mindset that made him vulnerable to the cult would also allow him to disassociate or justify his killing.

  “A killer is seeking release, the same way people with a normal mental pathology seek comfort. By himself, he would not have had the organization and intelligence to execute the murders in Rome or the kidnapping of Karl and Leila.”

  Karl didn’t move as he felt gazes shift to him.

  “The killings that took place when he was young were violent spree killings,” Grigoris added. “Disorganized. His recent activity is very organized. Precise. Cold.”

  Beside him, Leila shivered.

  Nyx continued, “That is where it becomes important that he is, for the sake of this discussion, operating as a devoted cult member. And the mastermind is the leader of this cult.”

  “Are you saying he might have accomplices?” someone asked.

  “No,” Grigoris and Nyx said at the same time.

  “Then he’s just the apprentice to the Domino.”

  “Again, no. There is a difference. The Domino has, in the past, operated with a clear objective—exposing the Masters’ Admiralty, killing members of the Masters’ Admiralty. The apprentice becomes the Domino, becomes the cult leader. Ciril could never do that.”

  “He didn’t know what the Masters’ Admiralty was,” Karl said.

  “The mastermind would have realized Ciril was not capable of being an apprentice. That word is important. In the past, the Domino has looked for another whom he could train and teach. Someone worthy of one day wearing the mask, of having the title of Domino.

  “He met Ciril, and he may have realized what he would or could be—a serial killer. Instead of making him one of many apprentices, he equipped Ciril with resources—time, money—and gave him targets.”

  “He wanted to be remembered,” Leila said softly. “And feared.”

  “Exactly. That aspect of it was puzzling to me, because the desire for fame, or infamy, is not a component of cultist behavior. It also doesn’t fit with the Domino. A major component of the Domino’s behavior is to give up one’s own name to take on the mantle of Domino, to subsume the id. But a desire for the immortality of fear can be a characteristic of a serial killer.”

  Karl had had several days t
o grapple with the idea that what had happened these past few months wasn’t just the Domino—a foe, but a known foe. Everyone else looked as shell-shocked as he’d felt that day, standing above the cave.

  “Then how do we catch him?” Leila asked. “And I want you all to know, once you are done with him, once you ask him who the mastermind is, I will kill him.” She paused, then looked at Karl. “I’ll share, of course.”

  “Ah, no, I’ll pass on the premeditated murder.”

  Antonio and Leila looked at one another and shrugged. The subject was grim, the situation was dire, and yet Karl wanted to smile. The fact that he understood and even appreciated their need to avenge the dead spoke to how much his time in the basement had changed him, how much these two had changed him. In the past, the pacifist in him would have rejected the thought of killing anyone—justified or not.

  “Dr. Kata, I think we’d all like to hear your plan,” Grigoris said.

  “Ciril wants to be feared. He wants to be known. We make sure he knows he is neither of those things.”

  “How?” Antonio asked.

  Nyx looked at Karl.

  Uh-oh.

  “Dr. Klimek goes on TV. He announces he’s here to investigate something discovered in a recent demolition. Perhaps right here in Old Town. A world-famous archaeologist. A potential mystery. It will be a good human-interest story.”

  “She’s right,” Leila said softly. “That’s good clickbait.”

  “Bait,” Karl said.

  Leila winced. “I’m sorry.”

  Karl sighed. “So I go on TV, show that I’m in his city, and he’ll come after me.”

  “That is the first level of the plan.”

  “The plan has levels?” Antonio thunked his forehead against Karl’s shoulder. “I hate all the levels.”

  From the expression on Grigoris’s face, he did not hate the idea of a plan with levels.

  “You will not be the only bait, Karl. Leila, Antonio, you will also be bait.”

  “You want us to stand with him at the press conference?”

  “No, I want you to walk around Bucharest.”

  “And…maybe we’ll stumble over Ciril in a coffee shop/tea room?” Leila asked.

  “No. You two are not bait for Ciril. You are bait for the mastermind.” Nyx took a moment to look around the room. “There are many within our membership who have the resources to tap the same systems your task force is using—facial recognition scanners on security feeds, bank tracking. If Ciril comes after one of you, it will not be because of chance, but because the mastermind fed him the information.”

  The room sucked in a collective breath.

  “We tried tracing the mastermind based on who accessed travel records and calendars for Karl and Leila, but the systems were too easy for any competent hacker to access. We weren’t able to narrow it down. But tracking someone in real time is very different, and we’re more likely to find success if we have a fresh digital trail. And from there, we start to figure out who he is.” Grigoris rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Or she is. English is so imprecise with the pronouns. Only two genders in a language is barbaric.”

  Nyx looked at Grigoris, biting her lip as she looked him up and down. “I agree. Most fervently.”

  “Just give me your money now,” Leila told Karl.

  “Damn it.”

  “It is a good plan. But no.” Antonio rose. “They will not be bait.”

  Nyx looked mildly surprised. “Why not?”

  “They have been through enough.”

  “And you speak for me?” Karl asked gently, not sure this was the time or place to push this particular button.

  “Yes,” he murmured to Karl before addressing the room again. “They are mine.” Antonio paused. “They are mine.” This time the words were soft and almost…pleading.

  Leila slipped her hand in Antonio’s and did what Karl couldn’t. She rose and looked at Grigoris. “You’ll have people protecting us, watching us? Especially Karl? No offense meant.”

  “None taken. I’m not dangerous and have no problem admitting it.”

  Grigoris nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then yes, we will do it,” Leila said.

  “No, you won’t,” Antonio countered.

  Leila turned slowly on one heel and looked up at him. It was almost comical, the short, blonde, pixie-like woman and the dark, brooding man. Antonio looked away first.

  He glared at Grigoris. “We don’t do this until I am satisfied your plans will keep them safe.”

  “I understand,” Grigoris said. “We’ll start arranging it now.”

  Antonio looked at Karl and Leila. “Come with me.”

  Karl watched their asses as they preceded him up the stairs. He wanted to see them naked. He wanted to put his hands on them again.

  Antonio opened the door. The room had a massive bed, big enough for three people to be comfortable. A benefit of staying in a facility owned by the society was that the beds would be the right size.

  Bed.

  His libido got shoved to the back by his physical and emotional exhaustion. Leila walked over to a chair and dropped into it. She pulled the hair tie out of her hair, then ran her fingers through it.

  “Take off your clothes,” Antonio ordered.

  Karl took a step to the side, putting himself between Antonio and Leila, not because he needed to protect one from the other, but because he wanted Antonio’s full attention. When Leila was soft and vulnerable, it was hard not to watch her. Want her.

  Before he could say anything, Antonio continued, “And then put on your pajamas. We’re going to bed. To sleep. We’ll talk…tomorrow.”

  Karl relaxed and nodded. It felt natural and right to walk over and kiss Antonio’s cheek, laying his hand on his shoulder, then walk toward his bag.

  Tonight they’d sleep.

  Tomorrow they’d talk. They’d deal with everything else.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Antonio rubbed his eyes as they returned to their suite in the safe house. It had been a long day.

  Grigoris had pulled some pretty powerful strings, managing to set up the press conference where Karl talked about the newly dreamed-up fake archaeological discovery. Portions of the conference were set to air again twice more in the later news slots. They hoped it would catch the attention of Ciril.

  Arms reached around his shoulders and Leila’s soft hair tickled his cheek as she pressed a kiss there. “You’re quiet tonight. Even for you.”

  “It was a long day.”

  When Leila’s fingers drifted to the top button on his shirt, unfastening it, it was clear she wanted more tonight than the chaste kiss.

  He placed his hands over hers, stopping her.

  Karl was sitting across from them, reading some book he’d seen in a bookshop window and had to stop to purchase. He pushed his glasses up, then turned the page, wholly absorbed by whatever he was reading.

  “Antonio,” she whispered, trying to free her hands so she could continue undressing him.

  He had agreed to Grigoris’s offer of this suite because he refused to leave them alone. While he’d taken the time to check the safe house’s security—it was state of the art and extremely impressive—he knew he wouldn’t rest easy if they were in other rooms. They were in Bucharest and Ciril was here. It was going to be difficult enough to go through with Nyx and Grigoris’s plan for tomorrow without adding a sleepless night away from Karl and Leila to the mix.

  So, he would continue to share this room—and bed—with them.

  He wanted Leila and Karl with a desire that burned so hot, he expected to be reduced to ash. But he couldn’t follow through on it.

  Not again.

  He had been consumed with guilt ever since their night together in his father’s villa. He was bound to two others. True, for now it was more of a political alliance, not a romantic relationship, and Rosa was undoubtedly sharing a few more nights with Toma Rossi, but…

  But Karl and Leila were not his to
keep.

  And though they had both assured him they were aware of the time limits on this love affair, Antonio couldn’t continue it knowing…knowing he would be required to pledge his life to two women he could never love.

  Not when his heart belonged to Karl and Leila.

  He turned his face to look at her. She misinterpreted the move, her lips there, kissing him. Antonio’s chest tightened even as he returned the kiss, pressing her mouth open with his, his tongue dipping in for a taste.

  He still retained his grip on her wrists, and his body reacted instinctively, pulling her around the chair and onto his lap. She straddled him as they continued to kiss. She pushed her jeans-clad pussy toward his erection, thrusting against him, driving his arousal higher. He needed her naked, under him. His dick thickened as he imagined pounding into her tight, hot pussy.

  “Il mio,” he whispered.

  Mine.

  It was wrong. This was wrong.

  Antonio broke the kiss, pushed her away until she was standing before the chair. He rose rapidly, before she could resume her place. He’d never have the strength to pull away from her a second time.

  Leila was confused by his hasty retreat.

  Then he realized Karl had stopped reading and was watching him, his brows furrowed.

  “We can’t continue this affair.” Five words had never been so painful.

  “Of course we can.”

  He shook his head, taking a step back when she moved toward him.

  Leila pulled up short, her expression turning angry…and hurt. “Antonio, we already discussed this. Forever is not possible. But we’re together now. Let’s make this time count, make memories that will warm us through the rest of our lives.”

  Antonio continued to shake his head, trying to deny the effect her argument was having on him. Everything she said was true. However, Karl and Leila weren’t aware of just how soon their affair was going to end.

  Karl stood up and crossed the room, standing next to Leila, his arm wrapping around her waist. “We’re putting ourselves in the path of a madman, Antonio. None of us knows…”

  Leila turned to Karl and embraced him, her cheek resting against his chest. “We’re not going to die, Karl. Ciril has taken all he’s going to get from us. Now it’s our turn for retribution. He’ll never take another life. Not as long as I have breath in my body.”