Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1) Read online

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  ©Urban Renewal

  ©Urban Elite Series

  Copyright © 2013 Suzanne Steele

  Published by Suzanne Steele

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of Fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales, are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. The author acknowledges the trademark status of various products and locales referenced in this fictional work, which have been used without permission. The use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover photo © Dollar Photo Club

  Cover Copyright © Suzanne Steele

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  Edited by Eda Price Editing

  Formatting by Suzanne Steele

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  All content herein is protected under copyright law.

  This e-book is Rated 17+

  To the Reader

  The men I write about are Alpha males in every sense of the word. They are the men society warns you about. They are dominant males with controlling tendencies. They are the men you know you should stay away from even as

  you are drawn to them like a moth to a flame.

  Each and every character I create has demanded that their voice be heard. I have been true to that calling and I have stayed true to their personalities, which the reader may not always agree with. If you are looking for a sweet romance, you won't find it here. What you will find, however, is dark passion. Often my heroes carry what would be considered an obsession for the women they love. They are dark, they are gritty, and many times their love is dysfunctional but, nonetheless, it is real.

  Stalk Me…

  Suzanne Steele’s Blog: http://suzannesteelesblog.wordpress.com/

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  https://twitter.com/Suzanne_Steele_

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  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Suzanne-Steele/160387180790420?ref=hl

  Acknowledgements

  First and foremost I want to thank God. Without him, none of this would be possible.

  I want to thank my family, who carry the weight of everything so I can write. I love you guys and I couldn’t do what I do without you.

  I want to thank Eda Spivey Price, my editor, who came at a time I needed her most. Eda, you are a Godsend and I will forever be grateful to you for believing in me at a time when I wanted to give up. You were just what I needed to keep writing and pursuing my dream.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  His Trinity

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty One

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Chapter Fifty Seven

  Chapter Fifty Eight

  Chapter Fifty Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty One

  Chapter Sixty Two

  Chapter Sixty Three

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  His Lair

  “Eeeny, meenie, minie, moe, who will be the first to go?” I whisper the words into the silence, my sing-song lilt wobbling slightly as I sweep the knife wildly through the air toward the two women cowering there on the floor. The knifepoint arcs back and forth, from one to the other and back again, with each word of my rhyme. Poke, poke, poke -- just enough to penetrate the skin and draw a bit of blood, over and over and over.

  I step back and tilt my head to the side, admiring the crimson mosaic I’ve created. It’s nothing short of glorious.

  “Maybe it’s you…Boo!” I laugh as the first one jumps as far back as her restraints will allow, her glossy black hair swinging wildly around her shoulders. Tears roll down her face into the fabric I’ve shoved in her mouth and tied at the back of her head. Bandanas work quite nicely. I love the way the pleading sounds when they’re gagged. With no words, their eyes become so expressive. Funny how a woman is still capable of begging when she can’t utter a word. More so, really.

  I go back and forth between their two nude bodies, poking and probing at their skin with the tip of my knife, taunting them with jabs to the chest just sharp enough to draw more blood. I pout dramatically, slowly shaking my head as I resume my rhyme, “I can’t let you go, no, not today, I’m not finished with my game, I still want to play.”

  The second woman squeezes her chocolatey brown eyes shut, sobbing in defeat before glancing over at her companion. She seems desperate for some shred of hope against the inevitable. I do hope she doesn’t lose her will to survive—it’s no fun when they don’t fight.

  “Not yet, not yet, you can’t go free, your freedom comes when I have three.”

  There’s that spark of hope again. Stupid girl doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand that I have to kill three so they’ll take me seriously. I stab the knife into the workbench, far enough away from where they’re tied that they won’t be able to get their grubby little fingers on it. They’ll still look at it while I’m gone, probably strain against the ropes. They’ll try to figure out a way to grab it in hopes of cutting the ropes to free themselves – but it won’t work, just won’t work. So close and yet so far. I’m almost sorry to miss it, truly. But the night is young and there is much to be done. With my quarry secured for the night, I can focus my attention on the mat
ter at hand.

  “Now, don’t go getting into any trouble while I’m gone, ladies,” I chuckle as I turn toward the door. I grab the hoodie hanging on the back of the door and slip it on, zip it up and pull the hood low over my face as I head out. With my features obscured like this, someone could be forgiven for thinking I’m just some schmuck walking the streets of Louisville, the kind of guy no one takes notice of until it’s too late.

  But I’m not just anyone. Fuck that.

  The cool air of early fall feels good as it bites at my senses, making me hyperaware of my surroundings even as my nondescript clothing keeps me invisible – irrelevant, even -- to any passersby. It’s not like I’m dealing with upstanding members of society here—not once the sun goes down. As darkness falls, the city streets become a playground of debauchery and degradation, the perfect place for a predator on the hunt. Like me.

  Jack

  I’m driving through downtown Louisville, Kentucky, as if I’m on auto-pilot. Twenty years of working this beat as a cop makes it easy to spot anything out of the ordinary. I know these streets like the back of my hand, hell, I grew up here. This is my town.

  The place is going to hell in a hand basket, though, despite my efforts to the contrary. It’s been a steady decline, year by year, with no salvation in sight. More than once I’ve heard it referred to as a baby-Detroit of sorts, but I’m convinced that its moral demise is right up there with the Motor City.

  There have always been the whores, the pimps, and the dope dealers, but lately it’s getting worse. As I slowly roll down the street, it’s as if a dark foreboding of evil has descended over the city like a shroud.

  I pull up at a red light, my car window down out of habit so I can listen to the sounds of the city. All the better to hear you with, my dear. I chuckle to myself and shake my head at my lame joke. Around here, Little Red would probably be wearing cheap stilettos and sporting a black eye, compliments of the Wolf himself. With my elbow resting along the open window, my fingertips tap out a lazy rhythm along the upper edge of the car door while I wait for the light to change.

  I see her approaching long before I hear her sultry voice ask a little too loudly, “Hey, baby, you looking for a date?” She bends down by my shoulder, revealing ample cleavage that’s barely contained in the unbuttoned shirt that’s tied in a knot in the front. In a voice intended for my ears only, she whispers urgently, “Detective Jack, I need a word.”

  I drop my gaze from her impressive rack to the shiny red short-shorts that ride up her thick hips to reveal black thigh highs. There’s no place for subtlety in her line of work.

  “You got it. Hop in.” She hustles around the front of my car and slides into the passenger seat. “Buckle up for safety,” I tell her with perfect deadpan delivery, just to see her cut her eyes at me with a look that probably puts all the johns in their place. I chuckle as I drive down to the next block and pull the Crown Victoria into the far corner of a parking lot where low hanging tree branches provide some cover. We need to talk but there’s no sense in causing problems for her.

  My best information comes from those who live and work on these streets. The hookers or small time dealers usually know more about what’s going on downtown than the cops do. A few of them are willing to talk in exchange for a little cash or a hot meal. The streets have taught me to pick and choose my battles. Rather than locking up every offender for some minor transgression, I do much better building a rapport with the people who see firsthand what’s going on out here.

  I roll up my window and turn to face my passenger. “What’s up, Lady?” I ask quietly. Lady Luck prides herself in telling her tricks she’s the lucky charm they need to change their future. Though she’s been on the streets for the last few years, time has been kind to her. She hasn’t aged like so many of the other girls because she doesn’t do heavy drugs, and I have a hard time imagining her letting anybody take a swing at her. She’s adamant that she smokes a little weed and has a drink every now and then, but none of that heavy shit, as she had put it. She’s somehow managed to avoid the usual pitfalls that turn good women into junkies. I’ve seen drugs wreak their havoc, first crack cocaine, then ice. Now heroin is making a comeback. I never get in Lady’s way, but I keep an eye on her from afar.

  “I’m worried, Detective Jack. Chineka took off with a trick last night and I ain’t heard nothing from her since.”

  “No luck trying her cell phone?”

  “I tried everything. You know her old pimp, Willy -- he’s still mad ‘bout her going solo. I’m worried he done beat her up or ‘sumpin.”

  It wouldn’t be the first time a pimp beat the shit out of a stable girl for trying to leave and actually make a little money of her own. More than likely, Lady’s right. But I try to reassure her anyway because you just never know. “Listen, I’ll be out here riding around for a while. If I see her, I’ll tell her to call you. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  I don’t have a clue if Chineka’s okay or not. The girls are usually pretty good about staying in touch with each other, but they can also be hard to track down if they get caught up in some shit going down around them. If the right trick with the right amount of money comes along she might get caught up in the moment or immediately move on to the next john, maybe even an overnighter. Overnighters are usually a more demanding gig, but at least it’s a place to stay for a few hours and the pay is better. Hopefully, she’s just somewhere sleeping off the night before and she just hasn’t made it back out to work tonight.

  Lady Luck smiles, revealing a gold tooth with an L pressed into it. “You alright for a white man,” she says softly before she reaches out and rubs my bicep, squeezing the muscle seductively. I arch an eyebrow at her and laugh when she drops the sexy act and hoots with laughter, “Ooooh, baby’s been working out! Feel all that!” And for just a moment I get a glimpse of the rare beauty that the street hasn’t touched yet.

  “Don’t you mean I’m alright for a cop?” I ask as she climbs out of my car. She makes a show of straightening her clothes for anyone who might be paying attention. It’s not unheard of for local law enforcement to partake of the services offered on the streets, and I don’t mind if Lady sullies my reputation if it helps her out. Hell, from here on out, after today, I couldn’t care less.

  “That, too,” she says over her shoulder as she sashays away.

  “Hey…Lady…”

  “Yeah?” She answers, turning and slowly walking backwards to face me when she catches the somber tone in my voice.

  “You be careful, sweetheart. These streets are gettin’ mean,” I say in all seriousness. My concerned scowl quickly turns into a lopsided smile when she rolls her eyes.

  “Don’t I know it, baby,” she says wryly before turning back to the sidewalk and disappearing around the corner, working those shorts the whole damn way. I stare after her for a moment or two before I shake my head to clear it and swing my car back onto the street. I’m not at liberty to tell her that some working girls have gone missing recently and that there’s speculation that we may be dealing with a collector, someone who enjoys kidnapping and keeping women, or a killer who is targeting working girls. We haven’t found any bodies yet, but people don’t just go missing with no explanation—even if they are street people. If it’s true and we’re looking at a kidnapper/killer, she’ll hear about it soon enough. The streets have eyes and ears; they always reveal what’s going on sooner or later.

  Chapter One

  Jack

  It’s my last day on the job—as a cop, anyway. I haven’t shared my plans for how I’ll be spending my retirement years with any of my colleagues—or anyone else for that matter, no one but Valerie, my partner. She’s the only one who won’t think I’m crazy for what I’m about to do, and maybe I am, but I’m still going to do it. Even when I second guess myself about it, she has faith in me. When you work beside someone in situations that randomly deal out life and death like a deck of cards, you connect—and, damn, have we ever connected.r />
  I take a minute to check myself out in the bathroom mirror, running my hands through my thick salt and pepper hair. It’s hard to believe I’ve been doing this long enough to officially retire. I’ve managed to keep the physique of a much younger man due to rigorous workouts at the gym; not that I was ever out of shape, but I’ve stepped it up in the last six months and it’s really made a difference. My dick gets hard as I think about the more intimate workouts I get on a regular basis. Yeah, hard fucking is the new cardio.

  It isn’t just about aesthetics for me, though, it’s about being strong enough and fast enough to take down criminals. I’ve never understood why cops give in to that ‘coffee and donuts’ bullshit when they know that someday they’re going to be chasing some asshole down an alley. There’s nothing worse than huffing and puffing while you try to explain ‘the one that got away’. It’s never happened to me but I’ve seen it, and a cop never lives that shit down. That’s why I’ve given up the donuts – now, the coffee? Well, that’s not up for discussion. I’m never giving that shit up.

  For my last day on the beat, I’ve paired a baby blue button down shirt with a contemporary tie and slacks for the professional look I pride myself in. But, since I’m going for a more relaxed look today for my retirement party, my sleeves are rolled up and the cufflinks I usually wear are stashed in my trouser pocket. I take one more look in the mirror. All things considered, I’m not looking half bad for forty-three -- at least, that’s what I’m told. There’s plenty of time to settle down and maybe have a couple of kids, but for now I’ve got something else in mind.

  I grit my teeth when one of my dumb ass colleagues bangs on the door and shouts, “Hey, numb nuts, how long does it take to get pretty? In case you’ve forgotten, this retirement party is for you.”

  “I’m coming,” I growl in the direction of the bathroom door. I’m convinced half these guys never made it past puberty; they still act like they’re in high school. Yeah, well, they’ve got their way of dealing with the horror they see on the streets day in and day out, and I’ve got mine. They want to laugh it off? Good for them. I fuck it off. Works for me.