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Author Carolyn Arnold holding a Stiles Police Detective badge and an image of police tape with a blurred out police car in the background

Excerpt from FBI profiler novel, VIOLATED

by | Mar 17, 2016 | Brandon Fisher FBI Series |


Enjoy the first published excerpt of my upcoming release, Violated. This book releases April 28th, but is available for pre-order now.

Graphic in nature and may disturb some readers.




THE MARK WAS IN HIS FORTIES, had no kids, and worked a white-collar job. Average height, average looks. Nothing was truly memorable about him except for his uncommon first name, and that was only because it belonged to a character from a popular eighties movie.

Ferris Hall.

She had followed him to some honky-tonk in Canyon Country, an unsavory location at any time of day, but factor in the late hour and it was even worse. But Ferris had chosen this dive as his hunting ground. Women were easier to lure in with a little chemical persuasion, and that was easy to pass off around here.

He entered the bar with head held high, his back straight, the tease of a smirk on his lips—the end of the evening a foregone conclusion in his mind. He was sipping on his first bourbon, though he was acting as if he was on his third by slurring his words and talking loudly. He’d even thrown a sway into his swagger. Somehow he always managed to make his eyes look bloodshot, too, furthering the charade. And the women would come. And the women would fall for his tricks.

Tonight, she’d be that woman, but she’d be his last. He had to learn there was a price to pay for his actions.

She was sitting down the bar from him. Occasionally, he’d pass her a look—the predatory kind that made her blood boil. She smiled at him, doing her best to convey carnal hunger with her gaze, smearing on a seductive curve to her lips. She dipped her finger into her manhattan and sucked on it—the cherry juice sweet, the whiskey bitter.

Ferris was off his stool and sidling up her to within three seconds.

The ruse worked every time. It also helped that she exploited what nature had given her—a slender frame and shapely legs. High heels accentuated her well-defined calf muscles, and men stared when she walked into a room. When she paired even higher stilettos with a short skirt and crossed her legs, men’s mouths tended to fall open. She utilized all these virtues tonight.

She flashed another sultry smile, and he lifted his glass toward her before tilting his own back and draining it. He set it back on the bar and knocked on it to get the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have another on the rocks and—” he rolled his head toward her “—get the lady whatever she’d like.”

Time to feign innocence and flattery.

She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “I really shouldn’t.”

She saw the quick look he gave her glass before meeting her eyes again. “Nonsense. Please, it would be my treat.”

If she stripped his voice of its candy-coated tone, his words were pushy and controlling.

“Well”—she angled her glass, showing how little of her drink she had left—“only if you’re sure.”

If she had actually been given a chance to prove her acting skills, she could be living in a sprawling mansion by now.

“Absolutely. What will it be?” Ferris asked, a grin teasing his lips as he tugged down on his left earlobe. It wasn’t hard for her to figure out what was going on. Ferris was asking for something “special” to be added to her drink—the “special” being some kind of date-rape drug.

She lifted her glass to the bartender. “Another manhattan.”

“Coming right up.” The tender left to make their drinks, and she watched him, taking the time to calm her heartbeat and flow of adrenaline.

“I like a woman who can handle her whiskey.” Ferris was looking quite comfortable beside her now. He was fully facing her, his left elbow perched on the counter, and he wasn’t discreet about his drifting gaze, which gravitated to her thighs.

“What can I say? I’m a little whiskey girl.” The words from the country song rolled off her tongue, cinching her gut, but she had to do what was necessary to pull him in.

“Toby Keith,” he said.


“Toby Keith.” He pointed to a speaker on the ceiling. “The singer who sings that one.”

“Ah, yes.” And here, she thought she was doing well by knowing it was even a country song. She smiled at him again. He truly thought of himself as a woman’s man.


“Have I seen you here before?” he asked.

She dipped her head.

“I knew it. I never forget a beautiful face. So what’s your name?”

“Names really aren’t important, are they, baby?” She extended her hand, her long, narrow fingers bowing before him in feminine elegance.

“Oh, she’s mysterious. I like it.” He kissed the back of her hand, and she was proud of herself for not rolling her eyes.

The bartender returned and placed their drinks in front of them. “Here you go.”

From her observations, Ferris seemed to keep a running tab here. Rape now, pay later?

Oh, and Ferris would pay…

“You never told me your name,” she said, falling into her role.

“Oh, I can tell you mine, but you can’t—”

“Uh-huh.” She sucked on the tip of her finger again.

“Ferris.” He still held onto her other hand, and she pulled it back shyly.

“Are you from around here?” she asked, resorting to the necessity of small talk.

“I just fly in from time to time for business.”

“Ah.” She’d have to call upon her acting skills for this performance. She knew he lived less than three miles away from this place. “What business?”

He tapped his jacket pockets, then slid a hand inside one. “How embarrassing. I don’t have any cards with me. Besides, I don’t really want to bore you. Why don’t we talk about you?” He leaned toward her and lifted his rocks glass. “To a fun night.”

“To one we won’t remember.”

They toasted, and he took a long pull of the amber liquid. She pressed her own glass to her lips and pretended to take a sip.

“Wow, this is good stuff.” She licked her lips and hopped off the stool.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To the washroom. Wanna come?” She knew he’d decline. He liked to carry out his acts of violation in privacy.

“Nah, but I’ll be waiting here for you.”

I’m sure you will.

She grabbed her glass and sauntered off to the restrooms. “A girl can never be too careful,” she tossed over her shoulder to him.

The bathroom reeked of cheap perfume and urine. Grime was embedded in the tile, which was likely unredeemable even if someone used a heavy-duty scrub brush on it.

She dipped her fingers into her glass, splashed the whiskey on her neck as if it were a fragrance, and dumped two-thirds of the drink down the drain. Afterward, she studied her eyes in the pitted mirror, but she dared not to look too deep or she’d get swallowed by the darkness in her soul. Her irises swirled with pent-up rage from a lifetime of heartbreak and betrayal.

She left the restroom and staggered back toward Ferris. When she saw him watching, she bumped into an unoccupied table. She went to set her drink down on the surface but let go of it. The glass rolled across the table, stopping shy of going over the edge, but the alcohol spilled. She grabbed the table to right herself and saw that Ferris was hurrying over.

“How embarrassing. Whiskey goes right to my head.” She slapped her forehead and laughed huskily.

“It is good for that.” He put his hands on her sides, copping a feel of her breast while “helping” her straighten up. There was no apology for the grope—not that she expected one.

She ran her hands along her skirt. “How about we get out of here?”

“Sure thing,” he said with a wink.

“Wonderful.” She touched his brow, brushing back a strand of his hair with her fingers. Then she leaned in toward him, his arm around her, and they left the bar.

In the parking lot outside, Ferris helped her into his car, and before she could buckle her seat belt, he had his tongue down her throat. It was time to pretend she was enjoying this and somehow manage not to throw up in his mouth.

Minutes later, he pulled back, breathless, his eyes narrowed in arousal. “So what do you say? Should we take this someplace else?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why not.”

He peeled out of the lot, wheels squealing on the pavement, and not long later, flickering orange lights announced they’d reached their destination: MOTEL. It was a seedy place where rooms were rented by the hour.

He parked in view of the lobby and went in while she stayed in the car. She watched him hand over some cash, and he was quickly on his way back to her. His steps were lighter now, and any pretense of feeling the alcohol was gone. As far as he was concerned, the show was no longer necessary.

She leaned against the headrest and lolled her head toward him. She pretended that she wanted to smile but couldn’t quite form the expression, giving the impression that the drug was setting in. He helped her out of the car and into the room.

Inside, she could make out a double bed across from a dresser and TV. A couple of chairs and a round table barely big enough for two were in front of the window that faced the parking lot. The curtains were already drawn, and when he hit the light switch to the left of the door, she winced and covered her eyes.

He laughed. “A little bright for you? Come on, let’s sit on the bed.”

Yeah, let’s sit.

She slipped out of her heels and pretended to stumble a bit as she headed toward him. She was giggling as she dragged her purse by its strap behind her.

He patted the mattress. “Come on, baby.”

“Why don’t you take your clothes off, and I’ll—” She sucked on a finger.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He wasted no time tossing aside his clothing and lying back on the bed. His white body obviously never saw the sun, and his erection was already full. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Even though violators like Ferris normally preferred to dominate liaisons like this, most men couldn’t refuse the offer of a blowjob.

“How about a little bondage?” She eyed the barred headboard. This would be too easy…

“Nah, let’s just—”

She pulled out a pair of cuffs from her purse and snapped one end on his wrist and the other to the headboard before he could protest.

“Hmm, you like to be in charge? Well, so do I.” He whipped his body off the bed as far as he could and yanked on her hair with his free hand, pulling her to him, mouth to mouth—all tongue and domination. She pretended to like it for a few seconds and then pulled back, teasing him.

“Let me see your tits.” His eyes were narrowed slits, and a mischievous grin twisted his lips.

She was still standing, and she rocked on her feet in an attempt to break free of his hold. She stumbled backward, but he never let go of her hair and pain seared her scalp.

“Get naked.” His tone held impatience now.

She needed to fully restrain him before she could put the rest of her plan into action. Body size alone indicated that he could overpower her. She was about five foot nine and 130 pounds, and Ferris was six foot two, 220. At least one wrist was already bound to the headboard.

He let go of her, and she stepped well out of his reach. His swipes at the air to reach her kept coming up short. She ducked and picked up her purse again.

“Please, just a little patience. I promise it will be worth the wait.” She walked around the end of the bed and pulled out another set of cuffs.

“This is not fucking cute anymore.” Anger coated his face, wrinkling his brow and darkening his eyes.

“I get you off, and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

“I say that happens now.”

“Lie back on the bed again. Please.” She played coy and teasing, tossing in another deep-throated suck on her index finger just for the hell of it. Men were so simpleminded.

Ferris relented and got back into position.

She moved stealthily around the other side of the bed and secured his other wrist to the frame.

Any hint of modesty now gone, she assumed the role of dominatrix. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“Oh, I can handle you.” He thrust his hips forward and clenched his jaw with hunger. “But can you handle me?”

The sound of his voice was nauseating. She couldn’t wait to silence him.

With both his arms pinned, she returned to the end of the bed.

“Take your fucking clothes off!” he barked.

“Why rush things?” She pulled out two more sets of cuffs. The chains on these ones were long enough to reach the bedframe. She restrained his legs, even as he squirmed.

“Now, take your fucking clothes off,” he hissed.

“First things first.” She took a roll of duct tape out of her purse and ripped off a strip.

“What the—” His impatient squirming had turned to resistant bucking, but she got the tape in place.

She casually looked at him from the end of the bed. His erection was softening, his eyes finally showing fear. And she hadn’t even given him anything to be afraid of.


It must have been something in her energy and what she was communicating without words. It would have been clear by now that she wasn’t drugged, that she was actually the one in control here.

She drew her knife from its sheath and studied the blade.

He was trying to say something, but from behind the tape, it came out as mumbling. He jerked his body as if pure determination would free him. His eyes widened, and fear transformed into outright panic.

“Let’s get on with this night we won’t remember, shall we? Or should I say you won’t remember it, because you’ll be—” She thrust the blade into his testicles. His screams weren’t much more than a whisper behind the tape, though tears streamed from his eyes, terror streaking through them.

She stabbed him a few more times and then, with one swipe, rid him of what had been his weapon. It would take him awhile to bleed out, but she was prepared to stay with him until the end.

You can pre-order Violated from the following retailers:


Barnes & Noble



This excerpt is copyright protected, 2016 Carolyn Arnold.



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