Without Pity (A Dakota Steele FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 4)

By Ava Strong

MMA champ-turned-FBI Special Agent and BAU specialist Dakota Steele is as tough as they come—with brilliance to match, able to catch serial killers no one else can. But when a new victim appears, trapped in an elaborate maze, part of a killer’s lair, Dakota realizes she is up against a killer more diabolical than she’s ever seen.

“The plot has many twists and turns, but it is the ending, which I did not see coming at all, that totally defines this book as one of the most riveting that I have read in years.”
—Reader review for Not Like Us

WITHOUT PITY is book #4 in a new series by critically-acclaimed and #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Ava Strong.

Still chasing the unsolved murder of her sister, Dakota is burning the candle at both ends, trying to solve the present while trying to fix her past.

Using all the skills at her disposal, Dakota is one step away from entering the killer’s mind and decoding his plan.

But will she be fast enough to save another life?

A complex psychological crime thriller full of twists and turns and packed with heart-pounding suspense, the DAKOTA STEELE mystery series will make you fall in love with a brilliant new female protagonist and keep you turning pages late into the night.

Book #5 in the series—WITHOUT HOPE—is now also available.

“This is a chilling, suspenseful page turner that just might leave you scared at night!”
—Reader review for Not Like Us

“Very intriguing, kept me turning page after page… Lots of twists and turns and a very unexpected ending. Cannot wait for the next in this series!”
—Reader review for Not Like Us

“A roller coaster ride of events… Can’t put down until you finish it!”
—Reader review for Not Like Us

“Excellent read with very realistic characters that you become emotionally invested in… Couldn't put it down!”
—Reader review for The Death Code

“An excellent read, lots of twists and turns, with a surprising ending, leaving you wanting to read the next book in the series! Well done!”
—Reader review for The Death Code

“Well worth the read. Cannot wait to see what happens in the next book!”
—Reader review for The Death Code

“Quickly became a story I couldn’t put down! I highly recommend this book!”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

“I really enjoyed the fast-paced action, plot design and characterization... I didn't want to put the book down and the ending was a total surprise.”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

“The characters are extremely well developed… There are twists and turns in the plot that kept me guessing. An extremely well written story.”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

“One of the best books I have ever read… The ending was perfect and surprising. Ava Strong is an amazing writer.”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

“Holy cow, what a rollercoaster… Many times I absolutely KNEW who the killer was—only to be proven wrong each time. I was completely surprised by the ending. I have to say, I am thrilled that this is the first in a series. My only complaint is that the next one isn't out yet. I need it!”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

“An incredible, intense, spellbinding, enjoyable story. It will keep you captivated until the end.”
—Reader review for His Other Wife

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ava Strong
• Release date: Dec 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094395418

Book preview

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w i t h o u t   p i t y

(a dakota steele fbi suspense thriller—book 4)

a v a   s t r o n g

Ava Strong

Ava Strong is author of the REMI LAURENT mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the ILSE BECK mystery series, comprising seven books (and counting); of the STELLA FALL psychological suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); of the DAKOTA STEELE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); and of the LILY DAWN suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Ava loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.avastrongauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2022 by Ava Strong. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Joeprachatree used under license from Shutterstock.com.

BOOKS BY AVA STRONG

LILY DAWN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

STILL ALIVE (Book #1)

STILL HOPE (Book #2)

STILL AWAKE (Book #3)

STILL HERE (Book #4)

STILL MAD (Book #5)

REMI LAURENT FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE DEATH CODE (Book #1)

THE MURDER CODE (Book #2)

THE MALICE CODE (Book #3)

THE VENGEANCE CODE (Book #4)

THE DECEPTION CODE (Book #5)

THE SEDUCTION CODE (Book #6)

ILSE BECK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT LIKE US (Book #1)

NOT LIKE HE SEEMED (Book #2)

NOT LIKE YESTERDAY (Book #3)

NOT LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOT LIKE SHE THOUGHT (Book #5)

NOT LIKE BEFORE (Book #6)

NOT LIKE NORMAL (Book #7)

STELLA FALL PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

HIS OTHER WIFE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER LIE (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER MISTRESS (Book #4)

HIS OTHER LIFE (Book #5)

HIS OTHER TRUTH (Book #6)

DAKOTA STEELE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITHOUT MERCY (Book #1)

WITHOUT REMORSE (Book #2)

WITHOUT A PAST (Book #3)

WITHOUT PITY (Book #4)

WITHOUT HOPE (Book #5)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

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

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Madison stumbled forward, tripping on tangled roots. She hit the ground, but held back her sob. No crying, no screaming. She bit her lip, drawing blood, but refused to make a sound. Where she fell, her hands pressed into the mud, fingers gouging into rough ground. Her breath came in soft wheezes, partly from the cold, partly from her aching lungs.

Her gaze darted back, full of attention and terror. Tall hedges rose around her, but it was a strange combination of both trimmed leaves and corn stalks, as if someone had grown corn between the hedges, or, perhaps, woven it through in some braided pattern.

All Madison remembered was tottering away from the bar. Drunk, stumbling. Then darkness.

And she'd woken up, under the cover of night, trapped in here.

Wherever here was. This strange, hellish maze. She'd tried climbing over the hedge for a good look at her surroundings, but the branches had snapped, tumbling around her.

Please... please... she murmured under her breath, desperate. But she didn't know who she was even speaking to. She didn't know how she'd ended up here to begin with.

Her heart continued to pound, and the vestiges of her hangover continued to follow the same rhythm inside her skull.

She pushed shakily back to her feet, sobbing once, but then biting back the sound. She was going to see her mother again. Things had been rough between them... but she was going to see her again. She had to.

Madison pictured those smiling eyes set in a stern face. An old-fashioned woman, a woman who hadn't approved much of Madison's nighttime forays.

But how much would Madison now trade in exchange for enduring a lecture in that warm home, inhaling the scent of cinnamon granola.

Crack!

A sound behind her. A shattered branch? She stared, like a startled doe. And then came movement.

She bolted again, her heart in her throat. Thoughts of her mother's homemade breakfast vanished, of the tongue-lashing she'd receive, undoubtedly, if she made it out.

When. Not if. WHEN.

When, when, when! she chanted between gasping breaths. But she eventually abandoned sound altogether in favor of preserving her energy and sprinting breakneck through the strange maze. Her shoulder scraped against jutting branches which hadn't been trimmed back.

She winced, but went quiet again. She should've stayed quiet. She thought she'd lost it. Whatever it was... Big, though. Very big.

If she didn't know any better, she would've thought this was some sort of drug trip. Had she been drugged at the bar?

A jolt of horror. But the pain in her arm was real enough.

She ricocheted off the branches of the tall maze. The hedges were at least ten feet in height. No way to see where she was going. She sprinted forward, turning left, then right in this hedge maze.

She cursed, paused, skidding on the muddy terrain. A glance to the left.

Too dark to see far. To the right: a dead end.

She went left, and behind her now she could hear heavy breathing. Thumping footsteps. A steady sound, like war drums. The thing behind her was getting closer.

She kept moving, heart in her throat, willing herself not to break down sobbing and pleading. Whoever had brought her here wasn't going to care if she wept.

Perhaps they'd even like it. She'd had boyfriends in the past—more choices her mother hadn't approved of—who'd enjoyed inflicting pain.

She scowled and determinedly put on another burst of speed. Faster, faster. Turning down the maze one way, then the next. And then, as she picked up speed, faster, her heart beginning to fill with hope—

She stumbled to a stop.

A dead end.

Her eyes widened. She turned back. Where had she made the mistake? Left—left... Shit... She should've gone right at that last...

She froze, staring as she tried to double back.

There, approaching her from where she'd come, still chugging gamely along, was a monster. She blinked a few times, forgetting briefly to scream out of sheer curiosity.

She stumbled back. Her shoulders pressed into the thick foliage and jutting branches of the dense hedge.

She even reached up to rub her eyes, certain something was wrong... There were no such things as monsters... Not real monsters...

What the hell... she said, and her voice sounded far thinner and hollower and terrified than she'd wanted.

But the thing was coming towards her. Thump, thump—each footstep shaking the earth. It was almost as tall as the hedges—well... perhaps not that tall, but to the five-foot-even woman, it seemed so. The thing towered over her...

The body of a man... Muscled, ripped, bare-chested. But the head? The head was a strange mask... Not some cheap Halloween imitation. But the sort of thing that might have been a prop in an A-list movie. She could see the small, prickling hairs, each individually crafted.

Could see the way the eyes glistened as if wet...

The head of some bull. Horns jutting on either side.

But it was a mask... it had to be... wasn't it? The eyes weren't moving. No breath vapor from the nostrils. But there was the sound of breathing. A dull, puffing sound from within the giant monster mask.

Please—you've had your fun! she said, holding out a hand and trying to stave off the approaching figure. P-please! Even as she pleaded, she shoved back as if hoping the hedge would swallow her.

But the bristling branches against her spine didn't give way. Her shoulders jutted against the fragments of wood, the tumbling leaves, but they rejected her, sending her back out into the dead end.

Now, the monster had slowed, approaching her, his long arms spread so wide as he walked towards her that his fingers grazed leaves on either side of them.

He wasn't speaking, just breathing heavily. The sheer enormity of the figure speaking volumes.

Madison tried to plead again, but she realized it was futile. And so she spun, scrambling at the hedge, trying to pull herself up in desperation. Weeping now as she did. And finally, the scream—which had lodged in her throat—erupted, piercing the night. Under a distant, cloudy sky, witnessed by nothing except this grim reaper behind her, she tried in futility to scale the hedge.

But the branches wouldn't support her. They just ripped and fell. And then... she caught a thick branch. About six feet up. She held up, desperate, hope flooding her. She pulled herself up, muscling towards the top of the hedge, towards a chance at freedom. Towards—

A thick, hairy hand landed on her shoulder. Hot breath against her neck. A grunt in her ear. And then she was ripped from the hedge.

And this time, her scream died in her throat.

CHAPTER ONE

Dakota Steele frowned at the binder on her bed which held the secret to her sister's disappearance, staring at the thing as if it were some ugly creature that had crawled from beneath the bed.

Some of the files were organized to the left of the binder, other files still scattered to the right.

She paced back and forth next to the bed, staring down, a scowl twisting her features. Some of the papers were old, stained, and had clearly seen much use and handling. Other papers were cleaner, neat—suggesting they'd been recent acquisitions of her father.

What does that even mean? she snapped, lifting one of the papers and scowling at cramped handwriting in red ink which was barely legible. She tried to sound it out. "...two voi...voices? What the hell. No. Two... victims." She nodded, that made sense with the file.

She placed it neatly on top of the other, organized papers.

She paused now, lifting her head and massaging the bridge of her nose.

She'd gotten up early, at four a.m. Now, the small digital clock next to her bed read 12:02 p.m. She sighed.

For eight hours now she'd been combing through the folders and files her father had collected over the course of more than a decade. 

Mostly, she'd resigned herself to organizing the various files. Some were familiar to her, given her own research into the matter. Other pictures, interviews, and newspaper clippings, however, were new material. In many, she couldn't see the connection.

She gave a long, resigned sigh, wearily staring at the bed, certain it would take far more than just the morning to properly sort through it all.

Plus... the memories kept coming back. She closed her eyes against another flash of recollection. Smiling eyes, that quiet laugh.

Dakota's fault...

She hadn't been there to escort her baby sister back from school. Dakota had gotten into a fight, was then sent to detention, forcing her sister to walk home alone...

They'd never seen each other again.

A crinkle of paper—another newspaper clipping. This one about bean sprouts, dated five years before Carolina went missing.

God dammit! Dakota yelled, bunching the paper up into a fist.

She stood still for a moment breathing heavily, her eyes sealed tight, her heart pounding. Her hand remained bunched around the paper, closed into a fist. The tattoos along her arms went taut with her skin over tight muscles from a lifetime of working out, of fighting.

The fist was a familiar grip to Dakota.

Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, sighing softly as she did, doing her best to exhale and release the tension.

And then her phone began to ring.

She scrambled for it, darting to the bedside table, and snatching the phone while tossing the crumpled bean sprout paper to the bed.

Yes? she said, hoping she didn't sound too eager.

Dakota?

Yeah, Marcus? she said, picturing the smiling face of her tall partner.

We... he exhaled slowly and Dakota tensed. We have... Marcus swallowed and for a moment Dakota thought the line had gone dead.

Everything okay? she said hesitantly, feeling a slow prickle along her back.

Fine, he said quickly. Well, no. Not fine. Got a case. Need to meet you at this address—I'm texting it now.

Marcus, what's wrong?

Just... you should hurry, Dakota. And then her usually gregarious partner hung up.

Dakota stared at her phone as if it were somehow a foreign object. She blinked a few times, glanced at the bed, but then straightened, exhaling slowly. Something was off... But if her partner said to be quick... she'd do just that. There were few people she trusted more than Agent Marcus Clement.

Dakota turned now, hurriedly approaching where she'd left her suit jacket and pants folded over the metal bar in the bathroom, allowing some of the steam from the shower earlier to remove the wrinkles.

Appearances mattered. Something Dakota had long believed. She always wore long sleeves, hiding her tattoos. Always dressed as neatly as possible.

She had a cauliflower ear from her cage-fighting days and so she preferred her hair neat and cut shoulder-length, hiding the ear. With sea gray eyes and blonde hair, save a single strand of white from stress, she was still passably attractive save a faint scar along the underside of her cheek which had never properly healed.

Now, getting dressed, she suppressed the frown attempting to curdle her features. Appearances mattered, but so did controlling one’s emotions.

Dressed quickly, she shot a final look towards the bed, frowning at the items there. Was there some hidden gem she hadn't discovered on her own? Some clue to her sister's past?

Her phone buzzed again. Marcus had sent the address a second time...

Attempting to rush her? Or just out of fear the first one hadn't come through.

And why weren't they meeting at HQ, but rather at a residential address?

Dakota frowned, shaking her head, grabbing a coat, and hurrying out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

The scene on the steps broke her heart as Dakota pulled her car up the driveway outside a large, beautiful suburban home. Two-story, red brick, with a black fence in the backyard behind which she glimpsed a large pool cover.

Marcus Clement was standing on the porch, talking to a woman. The woman leaned against Marcus's chest, sobbing, and