It was beyond belief! She was here, knocking on the door of this place he'd chosen to hide out in with his latest captive. Harlee! Santos! No, not the figment of his feverish imagination, who fanned the flames of his delusions, kept him up at night, pacing the rooms he bided his time in. She, the real thing, was on the other side of this door, in the flesh! The phantom paled in comparison, blighted in form and appearance by the real thing. The woman he had tied up and gagged squirmed in her hard, rigid chair, gurgling, struggling to warn Harlee about the madman bent on conquering her. Robert glared at her over his shoulder; without words, only with the hard look on his face, he warned her to clam up. His bound prisoner froze, bullied into submission.
He pressed his body into the barrier that separated him from the prize. His head and heart all awhirl, he grinned, feeling her exquisite heat through the door he felt vibrate against his body. The sweaty pads of his fingers embedded themselves in the door. He absorbed her and her delicious warmth through the door, though she stood back from it. While running his tongue over his bottom lip, he pictured Harlee as she'd been when he'd held her captive, under his complete domination. That was...until she'd managed to do the unthinkable. Cut herself, get free and she had escaped, having made it look like child's play. The force of nature had nearly bled to death, and she would have if he hadn't made the call, bringing medical attention to her that had saved her life.
She owed him, he judged, while he continued to sensually stroke the door, hearing Harlee speaking. The next time, she'd never get away. He would make sure of that. Once she was his prisoner again, he was never letting her go. No way would she escape him a second time.
He liked what she was wearing, jeans and a blouse that showed off her femininity in a most flattering way. She always wore clothes like that, clothes that spotlighted her innate beauty.
Who was she speaking with over her phone?
In the back of his mind, a Jennifer Lopez tune, one of her many hits, played in his head, played unceasingly, of late...'My Love Don't Cost A Thing...' Inflamed, Robert nearly flung open the door to haul Harlee inside, kicking and screaming, of course. She would fight him off tooth and nail. Which would only feed his bizarre addiction, his mania to possess her in every sense of that word. Harlee, pursing her lips, sent Robert into a frenzy of needing to plaster his to hers, savoring them, searing them with his fire. Just looking at her through the peephole set his soul ablaze. Harlee's eyes grew wide; so did Robert's. She was nodding, looking intent about something Robert knew nothing about. She was probably talking to her obnoxious superior, that pigheaded Wozniak. He was her corrupter. How could Harlee not see and know that?
Harlee looked good, always so good. Robert's hand went to the doorknob; his peeking through the peephole still going on. He was moments away from opening the door and snatching her inside. He never got the chance, though. All at once, she was walking away, making tracks fast. Feeling more than a little letdown, Robert soured. His heart sinking just as fast, he felt his ire spark. Where was she going? He hadn't given her permission to leave. What nerve she had, thinking, she could just walk away without there being any consequences. He turned hard, dark eyes on the Harlee lookalike. Her name meant nothing to him. She wasn't a real person to him, just a poor substitute for his hot-blooded Latina, who needed him every bit as much as he needed her. His ultimate obsession, La Reina...Santos.
He needed to show her who was really calling the shots. She must be punished so she would learn there was no escaping the inevitable. They'd be together again, and this time...he would prevail. He plucked up the knife amid the cluster of others near the sink. He studied it as though it had a mind, a mind truly of its own that willed it plunge itself into the trembling woman who'd again begun squirming and whimpering in the chair. Robert told her it wasn't her fault, nor was it his. The knife cried out for retribution. Robert kissed the crown of her head before complying with what the knife was ordering him to do.
Plunge the knife through her heart!
Poor Gina Romano. Her only sin was looking so much like Harlee. When the atrocity had been committed, Robert, cathartic, never wiped the knife clean. He had another use for it. A use that would ensure Harlee would be free of her filthy life forever. She'd thank him.
"She'll thank me," he insisted over the dead woman's bloody body. "It'll all be over soon. Very soon..." Sighing, he recalibrated, lowering his eyelids. "Completion, at last."