Chapter Three

Beth jolted upright on the lumpy motel bed, the creak of the door yanking her from a restless sleep as Warren strode into the room, balancing two Styrofoam coffee cups in his hands.

The red satin nightdress she’d slipped into after last night’s failure clung to her sweat-dampened skin, its thin straps slipping off one shoulder as she moved. The glossy spandex strapless tube top, black pleated micro skirt, and four-inch black stilettos from the night before lay strewn across the floor near the chipped dresser, a chaotic reminder of her humiliating performance on the corner.

Warren’s faded black T-shirt, emblazoned with a cracked skull graphic, stretched across his broad chest. His worn blue jeans and brown boots left faint streaks of dust on the stained carpet as he approached. He extended one of the coffee cups toward her, the bitter aroma wafting up as he smirked, his gray eyes raking over her disheveled state.

“You were a disaster last night, kid,” he drawled, setting his own cup on the dresser with a clatter as Beth reluctantly accepted the coffee, its warmth seeping through the cup into her trembling hands. “You’ll never catch the Toymaker if you can’t even fake a smile out there.”

Beth’s grip tightened on the cup, her dark brunette hair falling into her face. “I’m not your damn puppet, Warren,” she spat, her voice rough with sleep and anger as she set the coffee on the bedside table, its surface scarred with cigarette burns. “I did my best with those creeps, but this damn cover isn’t exactly my forte—”

He cut her off with a chuckle, stepping closer until the stale scent of his cologne mingled with the room’s musty air. “Best? You looked like a deer in headlights. We need to loosen you up, and I’ve got just the trick.” He crossed his arms, his smirk turning wicked as he continued. “How about you practice flirting, with me?”

Beth recoiled, her stomach turning as she yanked the satin nightdress back onto her shoulder, the fabric whispering against her skin. “You’re disgusting,” she hissed, her blue eyes flashing with fury. “I’d rather throw you back in jail than play that game.”

Warren grinned and leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone that sent a shiver down her spine. “Want me to order you to do it? You know I can.” His eyes glinted with the knowledge of her conditioning, the subliminal hold he’d already tightened around her mind with whatever was in those cursed headphones she had woken up to previously.

Her breath caught, the memory of her forced obedience at the breakfast table flashing through her mind, and she knew resistance was futile. She’d rather play pretend than have her body act against her will.

With a grimace, she straightened, forcing a shaky giggle that sounded more like a choke as she adjusted the hem of her nightdress. She flicked her hair with a clumsy hand, her voice faltering as she muttered, “You’re… um… looking good, I guess?” The words felt weird and unconvincing in her mouth, her attempt at flirtation stiff and unnatural, her eyes narrowing with every syllable.

Warren burst into laughter, the sound bouncing off the cracked walls as he slapped his thigh. “Oh, that was pitiful, kid! I can still see the cop from a mile away, or a teenager trying to flirt for the first time. You’re too damn rigid, straight out of the academy playbook.”

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small plastic case labeled “Session 2” and the familiar black wireless headphones, tossing them onto the bed beside her. “These tapes will help. They’ll soften those edges. Use them tonight, or we’re both wasting our time here.”

Beth’s hands trembled as she snatched the case, her nails digging into the plastic as she fought the urge to hurl it at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she growled, her voice thick with rage as she glanced at the untouched coffee, its steam curling in the dim light. “Turning me into some Barbie whore for your sick game.” She called him out. He wasn’t taking this gig seriously.

He shrugged, picking up his coffee with a casual grin. “Just doing my job, Bambi.” He replied with her fake whore name. “You want to catch that killer; you play the part. Now, get some rest—you’ve got work to do.”

With that, he turned and sauntered out, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Beth alone with the tapes, the coffee, and a burning hatred that threatened to consume her.

❖

As early afternoon approached, Beth adjusted the low neckline of her tight black crop top as she perched on a weathered bench across from the precinct. Her pulse quickened when Beth’s fellow rookie colleague, Melanie Sachs, stepped out of the glass doors, her crisp uniform catching the midday sun.

Beth’s top, with its plunging neckline paired with low-rise denim shorts, hugged her frame, a stark contrast to the baggy hoodie she’d worn the day before. Her white sneakers tapped nervously against the cracked sidewalk.

Melanie’s blond hair gleamed under the bright light as she laughed with another officer, the sound carrying over the hum of passing cars. Beth’s chest tightened with a desperate need to confide in someone who knew the real her. She rose to her feet, her legs moving almost on their own as she started across the street, the heat of the sun warming her exposed midriff.

Before she could close the distance, and Melanie’s gaze could swing her way, Warren materialized at her side, his strong hand clamping around her arm with a grip that brooked no argument.

His gray Henley shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms, clung slightly to his chest, paired with khaki cargo pants and black sneakers, as he yanked her into the narrow alley beside a shuttered pawn shop.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he hissed, his voice low and furious, the faint scent of motor oil from a nearby garage mixing with the alley’s stale air. “You want to implode this mission before it even begins?”

Beth pulled against him, her dark brunette hair whipping across her face as she glared into his eyes. “I need to talk to someone, Warren! I can’t keep doing this alone, Melanie’s my friend and colleague. She would understand!” Her voice cracked, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. Still, Warren’s hold only tightened, his jaw setting with determination.

“It’s just you and me, kid,” he snapped, his tone leaving no room for debate as he leaned closer, the sun casting harsh shadows across his weathered face. “No one else can know. You’re Bella Horton now, not Bethany Shaw, and if you blow this, we’re both finished.”

He released her arm, stepping back to point a finger at her chest. “I really didn’t want to have to do this,” he warned. “Go back to the motel and listen to those tapes. That’s an order.”

Beth’s hands balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to scream, the sun’s heat intensifying the flush of frustration on her cheeks. Suddenly, she spun on her heel, storming back toward the street. The sound of Melanie’s laughter as the young cop spoke on the phone faded behind her, and tears of anger stung her eyes. When this mission was done, she was going to destroy that criminal asshole. Warren wouldn’t know what hit him, she thought.

❖

Beth sat on the edge of her motel bed, her fingers trembling as she picked up the “Session 2” tapes and headphones, the weight of Warren’s midday command pulling her into action despite the fury still smoldering in her chest from their alley confrontation.

The tight black crop top with its plunging neckline clung to her frame, the fabric slightly damp from the afternoon heat that had followed her back from the precinct. At the same time, her low-rise denim shorts hugged her hips, the denim edges fraying slightly from her restless pacing earlier. Her scuffed white sneakers lay discarded near the sagging armchair, a silent testament to her earlier desperation to reach Melanie, and the room’s stale air carried a hint of mold from the dirty trimmings along the skirting board, mingling with the faint mustiness of general neglect.

Her blue eyes narrowed as she glared at the plastic case, her mind churning with the urge to hurl it against the wall and break free of Warren’s insidious control. The memory of his commanding voice echoed in her ears alongside the breakfast table ordeal where her body had betrayed her will.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, as she wrestled with the impulse to resist. Still, the conditioning Warren had inflicted with those damned tapes left her no choice, the invisible leash tightening with every passing second.

With a shudder of resignation, she traced the edge of the case with a hesitant finger, the cool plastic a stark contrast to the heat building in her chest, before finally lifting the headphones with a sigh that seemed to carry all her frustration.

As she slipped the headphones over her ears, the crackling audio filled the silence. This low hum masked the subliminal messages—“be seductive,” “let go”—seeping into her subconscious without her conscious mind registering a single word.

Her body responded against her will, her shoulders slumping as the unseen instructions took root, a warmth spreading through her limbs that she couldn’t explain, her breath evening out despite the rage still simmering beneath the surface.

The faded floral pattern on the walls seemed to blur at the edges, the curling paper catching the afternoon light in a way that made the room feel both oppressive and surreal. She leaned back against the creaking headboard, her head tilting as the audio’s influence deepened.

The process stretched on, the crackling sound weaving its spell, and Beth’s thoughts drifted to the mission, to the Toymaker’s victims. A flicker of purpose cut through her anger as her body surrendered to the conditioning.

She didn’t hear the words or feel the shift consciously, but her posture softened, her hands resting limply on the bedspread. Beth’s eyes were half-closed, the headphones still in place, her mind a battlefield she couldn’t fully navigate, until eventually she fell asleep.

She stirred as the afternoon waned, the light softening through the tattered curtains. Her mind was foggy and disoriented, and a vague sensation of warmth and confidence lingered without explanation.

The crop top clung to her skin, and she rubbed her temples with a groan, her fingers brushing against the headphones as she pulled them off. Oblivious to the tapes’ influence now woven deep into her psyche, she stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of traffic outside a distant reminder of the world she was becoming entangled with. Her body was poised to reshape her actions when the day demanded it.

❖

Beth pushed open the door to Warren’s safehouse, the cloying scent of her heavy jasmine perfume trailing behind her as her black 6” stiletto heels clicked against the worn hardwood floor. Her body already betrayed her with a sway of her hips and a flutter of her lashes.

The semi-sheer black lace dress she’d slipped into after a cold shower clung to her freshly scrubbed skin, its plunging neckline, and thigh-high slits revealing more than they concealed, a stark departure from the tight black crop top and low-rise denim shorts she’d worn earlier, now discarded in a damp heap back at the motel.

The dress’s intricate patterns shimmered faintly under the soft glow of a hanging lantern, its edges brushing against her thighs with every step. Her dark brunette hair teased up in a seductive style, cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves.

Her handler lounged in a sagging armchair, a glass of bourbon in hand, his worn plaid flannel shirt with rolled-up sleeves stretched across his broad chest, paired with black cargo pants and polished combat boots.

He looked up, a slow grin spreading across his weathered face as he took in her new poise. The room’s air was thick with the mingled scents of tobacco from an ashtray and the overbearing jasmine smell emanating from the undercover cop’s body.

“Well, damn, Bambi,” he drawled, setting his glass down with a soft thud. “The tapes worked their magic. Look at you—finally starting to play the part.”

Beth’s stomach churned as she fought the urge to punch the older man in the face, her blue eyes narrowing with a fury she couldn’t voice, her conditioned smile twitching at the corners of her lips despite her rage.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, her voice tight as she crossed her arms, the movement only accentuating the dress’s revealing cut. She caught her reflection in a tarnished mirror on the wall, the smoky makeup from Trixie’s lessons now paired with an unconscious seductiveness that made her skin crawl. Her posture softened against her will as the subliminal messages from the afternoon tapes took hold.

Warren rose, stepping closer until the faint scent of his bourbon breath mingled with her perfume. He handed her a portable mirror with a mocking flourish. “Take a good look, kid. That’s Bella Horton staring back at you—not some stiff, angsty cop that’s gonna get us fired or, worse, killed.”

The former detective reached into a duffel bag, pulled out a pair of fishnet stockings to complete the outfit, and tossed them onto the couch beside her. “Put those on. We’re testing this on the street tonight, and you need to sell it.”

Her hands shook as she snatched the stockings, the silky fabric slipping through her fingers as she glared at him. Her mind screamed to resist, but her body moved to obey, sitting down to roll them up her legs.

“You’re enjoying this too much, cutie.”  Her eyes widened. She said exactly what she intended to say, except attaching a pet name to the end and her tone laced with sensual joy. It gave the complete opposite message to what she was attempting to convey.

She absently adjusted the lace hem, silently doing as she was commanded. Warren chuckled, stepping back with his glass in hand, clearly savoring her discomfort as the early evening shadows lengthened across the room, preparing her for the night ahead. Tonight, she would become Bambi.

❖

Beth leaned against a flickering streetlamp on the corner, the violet neon glow casting jagged shadows across her semi-sheer black lace dress, its plunging neckline and thigh-high slits accentuating her every curve as she adjusted her fishnet stockings, the 6” stiletto heels making her legs ache with each shift of her weight.

The evening air carried the sharp tang of spilled beer from a nearby dive bar, mingling with the hum of cicadas in the distance, while the cracked pavement beneath her glistened with a sheen of grease under the artificial lights.

Sweetlips, her blond hair teased into a high ponytail, stood nearby in a violet leather mini-dress that hugged her frame. Her red-painted lips curled into a smirk as she eyed Beth’s nervous stance.

“Back for round three, huh, Bambi?” Sweetlips drawled, her voice dripping with mockery as she crossed her arms, the neon light catching the glitter on her nails. “You ready to embarrass yourself again, or did you learn to put on some big girl’s pants?” Her laughter rang out, sharp and cutting, as Ginger, in a red sequined top and matching skirt, giggled softly beside her, her red hair catching the glow like a flame.

Beth’s stomach twisted, her blue eyes flashing with irritation, but her conditioned response kicked in. A sensual smile spread across her lips as she tilted her head, her voice taking on a sultry tone she barely recognized. “Oh, I’m ready, baby girl,” she purred, her hips swaying as she pushed off the streetlamp, the jasmine perfume from earlier still clinging to her skin.

Sweetlips raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. Still, before the established whore could retort, a balding businessman in a rumpled gray suit pulled up in a rental car, his tie loosened and his eyes hungry as he leaned out the window, beckoning to Beth.

Her heart pounded as she sauntered over, the subliminal messages from the tapes weaving through her movements—lashes fluttering, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a distinctive sway in her hips—as she leaned toward his window, her voice dripping with seduction.

“Name?” The man in the car asked her as she approached.

“Bambi, handsome, looking for a good time?” she murmured, her fingers trailing along the car door as she locked eyes with him. The warmth of her conditioned confidence masked the revulsion churning inside her.

The unknown man grinned and nodded, offering $50. She slid into the passenger seat, directing him back to the Desert Inn, her mind racing during the journey. Was she really prepared to go through with it?

Inside her dingy motel room, her previous clothes carelessly strewn across the floor, Beth led the businessman to the bed. Her body moved with a practiced ease she didn’t feel, the jasmine scent now mixing with the room’s stale air.

“Mind the mess, sugar,” she cooed in his ear. “I’ll be sure to show you a good time.”

Beth sat the businessman on the edge of her bed and dropped to her knees, her fingers fumbling with his pants zip. She shuddered and reconsidered her actions. Was she going to actually go through with this? Beth knew she wasn’t on some random sting operation cutting down on illegal activity; she was searching for something bigger, and she was expected to do what it took to get there.

The man’s already hard cock bounced free, directly in front of the undercover cop’s heavily-made up face. He stroked her head possessively. “You’re new here, right? Ain’t seen your pretty face around here before.” He asked before guiding her head towards his member.

Before Beth could answer, her red-painted lips were wrapped around the john’s rigid dick. “Mmm, yes, those damn warm lips,” he encouraged. Beth thought she’d gag, but the conditioning tapes appeared to have taken care of that as well. With the unknown man’s encouragement, Beth bobbed her head up and down, tasting the warm texture of his member.

Beth had always been career-driven and shied away from romantic relationships. She had previously had a thing for bad boys. Eventually, Beth resolved that it wouldn’t do her career any good, becoming entangled in messy relationships. She hadn’t sucked a cock in over two years.

“Glad to have you with us, Bambi,” the perverted client spoke as she serviced him. “Not been getting many new girls around here since that sicko appeared on the news.” Beth’s ears perked up as he mentioned the Texas Toymaker. “I like to try out the new blood when I can; I like variety.”

Beth muffled out an incoherent thought as the john pushed against the back of her neck, a solitary tear in her eye from the wide girth filling her mouth and throat.

“You should be fine, though; you’re not his type.” He grinned down at the scantily clad ‘whore’ kneeling before him. “He likes them stacked and blond.”

The businessman twitched; he was close. “I heard many of the blond Vegas whore have been dyeing their hair and strapping up their tits,” he said. “I don’t mind, though, I prefer a brunette or a redhead.”

The man was disgusting, talking so casually as he had his member inside Beth’s mouth, when actual lives were at stake. The brunette undercover cop shuddered, the client’s cock twitching violently, before shooting down her unprepared throat.

As Beth attempted to pull back, the john pushed her head further down, ensuring she couldn’t miss a drop. “That’s a good girl,” he praised. “You got a real talented mouth.” The compliment burned in Beth’s skull. How had her police career come to this?

The man patted her head condescendingly, allowing Beth to slide her mouth from his dick, saliva connecting her bright lips to the rigid member. “$50 well spent, Bambi,” he said, putting his cock away. To add to the humiliation, the john pushed the $50 bill inside Beth’s slightly parted mouth, the woman too dumbfounded to react.

He chuckled. “I’ll definitely be seeing you around, doll.” He grinned. “Take care of yourself and keep safe.” He cautioned her before sauntering out of the room. Beth slowly pulled the bill from her mouth, a stark reminder of the act she just committed.

While she received no concrete information, the session wasn’t entirely hopeless. She had learned that the news had been putting off women from taking up the profession, and that blonds were hiding their hair color and downplaying their appearance. Busty and blond used to be a prized staple in this line of work, but now escorts were running in fear. She could use this information; she just needed to figure out how.

❖

Beth pushed through the door of Warren’s safehouse after her nightly encounter, the more subtle jasmine perfume still clinging to her semi-sheer black lace dress, its plunging neckline and thigh-high slits catching the dim glow of a lava lamp in the corner.

Warren lounged on the couch, a can of beer in his hand. His dark green bomber jacket was slung over the armrest, revealing a fitted gray T-shirt and faded jeans that clung to his frame.

“Well, damn, Bambi, you were a hot little number out there,” he teased, his voice dripping with condescending praise as his gray eyes raked over her, a smirk curling his lips. “Those lips of yours worked that john like a pro. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”

Beth’s stomach churned, her hands clenching into fists as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, the taste of the encounter still lingering. “Keep your creepy comments to yourself, Warren,” she snapped, her blue eyes flashing with annoyance. The dirtiness of the night settled like a weight on her chest.

Warren chuckled, leaning forward to set his glass down with a soft clink, his smirk widening. “Hand over the cash, Bambi. Let’s see what you made tonight.”

Beth blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion as she crossed her arms, the lace dress shifting against her skin. “What the hell are you on about?” she demanded, her voice sharp with irritation.

The former detective leaned back, his tone casual but firm. “I’m posing as your pimp, kid. We gotta keep it authentic. Now, the money.”

Her jaw dropped, fury rising as she spat, “Go to hell, you bastard.” She wasn’t prepared to play his dumb game and dirty fantasy, even as she absently thrust her deep-lying cleavage out as she spoke.

Warren’s eyes narrowed, and he commanded, “Every time you get paid, you’ll hand the money to me the very next time you see me.” His words were slow and determined, as if he was making an example out of her.

Instantly, Beth’s conditioning kicked in, and she immediately rustled in her clutch bag with a hopeless sigh, pulling out the crumpled $50 bill and handing it over, her hands trembling with rage.

Warren grinned, slipping the cash into his back pocket. “This’ll help our cover,” he said, clearly enjoying her seething glare.

Beth took a shaky breath, trying to focus as she shifted her weight. Her voice wavered as she felt the unease still gnawing at her.

“I got something from the john,” she began, her tone tight as she recounted the intel. “The news about the Toymaker has scared off new escorts. There are fewer girls joining up. The blond ones are dyeing their hair, downplaying their looks to avoid his type.” She sighed, “And he mentioned a ‘sicko’ on the news, so the street knows something’s up.”

Warren nodded thoughtfully, his fingers drumming on the couch armrest. “We need to alter our strategy to work with that,” he said vaguely, avoiding specifics as he met her gaze. His tone was noncommittal.

Beth pushed back, her disgust fueling her insistence. “We should focus on gathering rumors from johns, honey—ugh, I mean—or maybe target corners with blond girls who haven’t changed,” she said, pausing in disgust at the pet name that slipped out, her conditioned sensuality clashing with her anger.

Warren hid a faint grin and grunted, neither agreeing nor dismissing her idea, his authority a silent weight in the room.

The silence was unbearable, but Beth’s frustration boiled over as another flirty comment escaped her lips to break the tension. “You look really nice tonight, sugar,” and she froze, her face twisting in disgust.

“Ugh, I didn’t mean that either!” she snapped, her voice rising as she turned on him. “What the hell did those tapes do to my head, Warren?”

Warren waved a hand dismissively, his tone casual. “Don’t worry about them, kid—just focus on the job.”

The undercover cop pressed further, her voice trembling with anger. Those subliminal words were inside her head, and she had no idea what they were saying. “No, I need to know what’s happening to me!” She barked.

Warren’s patience snapped, and he snapped, “Forget about the tapes!” An unintended command born of frustration.

Instantly, Beth’s memory of the tapes and their effects vanished. Her expression was blank as confusion clouded her eyes. However, her sensual demeanor persisted, and her chest thrust forward as she shifted.

Warren noticed the brunette’s vacant stare, a wry chuckle escaping him as he muttered, “Well, I’ll need to be more careful with that command in future,” a hint of amusement in his voice as he realized the unintended power of his words.

Beth shook her head, trying to clear the fog. Her conditioned smile twitched as she forced herself to focus, and her voice softened against her will.

“We need to connect with the other girls, sexy—ugh, I mean, the streetwalkers who knew the dead women. They’re our best shot at digging up more intel.”

Warren nodded, his expression serious for once as he sipped his bourbon. “You’re right. Those whores might know something we can use. You need to get close to them.”

Beth reluctantly nodded back; until more developments occurred, it was their only option. The scantily clad undercover cop turned to leave without so much as a goodbye to her partner, her sensual gait lingering as she walked out, the door closing softly behind her.

Warren chuckled to himself as he watched her leave, her shapely ass swaying from side to side. The great John Shaw’s daughter acting like a whore. The offspring of the man who screwed him over and destroyed his life on her knees with a cock down her throat. He couldn’t think of a sweeter fortune. He was going to find that serial killer, but he was going to have some fun along the way.

End of Chapter Three.