Stolen Beauty


Detective Wes Ellis’ life consisted of mixing kink and pleasure, even where his job was concerned. That is, until the death of a young Jane Doe rocked the core of the BDSM community. Her untimely demise becomes Wes’ new case. Was it a kink scene gone horribly wrong, or was there a serial killer on the streets of his city? The answer is intertwined in the delicate balance of Wes’ life, and everything could come crashing to the ground in an instant.


This could be fun, she thought as she separated herself from the group, seeing if her watcher would follow her. As she made her way away from the crowd, she definitely felt someone in her peripheral vision moving alongside her a few dozen feet away. She grinned to herself, thinking how she’d successfully baited her handsome suitor.

The problem with clubs like this was there weren’t many places to be alone, unless you wanted to brave the rest of the warehouse, which was usually dilapidated and in shambles. However, there was usually one place in every warehouse that she could utilize.

She pushed a door open, leading to the fire escape. Fortunately there weren’t any smokers on the metal landing at the moment, and she was able to be alone to see if her stalker would follow. She leaned on the railing, positioning herself in a coy and demure pose, trying to play innocent, with the intentions of ravaging him upon his entrance. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The minutes crawled by. Where was he? She was beginning to get impatient, and that would soon lead to aggravation. Just as she was about to turn to go back inside, she heard the click of the door as it opened behind her. Finally, she thought to herself.

“It took you long enough.” She grinned into the night air, still facing away from the door.

She felt his hand trace along the side of her body, warm and smooth against her skin, cool from the night’s breeze. Suddenly his light caresses ceased and he grabbed her from behind, pulling her into him, yanking her back so hard her fingers slipped from the fire escape, her nails scratching the metal railing and making an awful noise.

Instinctively she tried to pull away and turn to face him, but she wasn’t strong enough as the leather-gloved fingers dug into her arms. Something in her brain instantly knew this wasn’t play. She was now prey. All of those stories about the dangers of the city flashed through her mind, and instantaneously she knew she was in trouble.

She kicked and struggled, trying to get out of his grasp. One of her platform shoes flew off in her attempts and clattered down the fire escape stairs, where it descended into the darkness beneath them.

The leather-clad hands moved to her throat where they began to squeeze, literally taking the breath from her before she could scream. She struggled fruitlessly as the grip tightened. She opened her mouth to yell for help, but all that came out were the last gurgles of air she had being pushed out of her lungs.

Her eyes went wide with fear and she desperately tried to claw at the hands that kept her captive. She could feel the adrenaline begin to fade from her muscles, and the lack of oxygen was closing in on her vision. She desperately tried to stay conscious, thinking if she struggled hard enough or stayed conscious long enough, someone would find them and help her. After what seemed like fifteen minutes of struggling and not being able to breathe, which realistically was probably less than a minute, she could feel herself slipping. Her muscles were becoming tired and her lungs screamed in pain. She was wrong; no one was coming for her. Suddenly everything went black and her fight was over.

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