Chapter 23
Alex
Morning comes slowly, the realization of where I am only hitting when a familiar scent registers. My eyes flit open to see her, Liv, curled up in my arms. She’s still asleep, breathing softly against my chest. My legs are locked around her, like I was unconsciously trying to keep her close.
The room still smells like heat and skin, even though everything happened in the living room. But her scent still lingers on my fingers, like they belong to her now.
They do, especially after the look on her face when she came on my tongue.
I don’t move right away, lingering in the memory of last night, of the sound of my name on her lips with that tone, of the look of her knees for me.
My arms wrap tighter around her. This is the part I’ve never been good at before, the quiet after the physical part. This closeness and lack of armor, that’s where things get complicated. But it’s easier with her, maybe because she’s seen me, because she knows the darkest parts of my job.
Because she knows what she’s getting involved with.
She shifts slightly, her fingers brushing over my forearm like she’s checking that I’m still here.
Silly Liv, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.
I tighten my hold without thinking.
She huffs out a light laugh. “You didn’t disappear into the night like a cliché?”
There’s just enough humor in her voice to tell me she doesn’t mean it, and that it would have hurt more than she would have admitted.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
She goes still for a second like she’s trying to figure out if I mean it. But then she relaxes again.
“Good,” she murmurs.
Silence settles in the room again. The bed is soft and warm beneath us like it’s threatening to suck us both back to sleep.
This feels dangerous but in the way I’m used to. I stare at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks in the paint like I can map them out and figure out how to handle this.
It doesn’t work. Unsurprisingly, the ceiling doesn’t have any answers.
“You’re thinking too loud.” Her voice is softer now.
I huff out a quiet breath. “Didn’t realize I was making noise.”
“You’re not,” she says. “But I can feel it.”
Of course she can.
I don’t respond right away because I don’t know how to. I don’t know what to say to that.
She shifts in my arms slightly, just enough to look up at me. “Talk to me,” she insists.
There’s no pressure in it, no demand. Which somehow makes it harder.
I study her for a second. Her hair’s a mess, her lips still a little swollen. There’s a mark near her collarbone I definitely put there, and that I’m proud of because the sight of it does something dangerous in my chest and mind that I have to ignore right now or risk getting hard again.
This isn’t about that. “Last night changed things,” I affirm finally.
Her gaze refines slightly. “Yeah,” she agrees.
“That wasn’t just another victim,” I say, steering the topic.
“No,” she laments quietly. “It wasn’t.”
I exhale slowly. “It’s organized,” I continue. “Structured. That drug…”
“Succinylcholine,” she supplies.
I nod. “That’s not something you stumble into,” I say. “That’s access to medical suppliers through a medical professional. It’s knowledge and planning.”
Her expression tightens slightly. “They’re controlling everything,” she says. “Not just the victims. The experience.”
That word lands just as heavily as it should.
“Yeah.”
I can feel her breathing stutter.
“She was conscious,” Liv adds, quieter now. “The whole time.”
My jaw locks. “Exactly.”
Her gaze drops briefly, like she’s seeing it again. “I can’t even comprehend how horrible that was,” she admits, “what that must have felt like.”
“They’re escalating,” I point out. “And we’re behind.”
Her eyes flick back to mine. “You’re not.”
I let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen.”
“I saw her-”
“It’s not the same,” I cut her off. “It’s…”
She studies me for a long second. “Tell me.” The words are simple, but they’re a challenge in disguise.
I look away first, examining the curtains far more intensely than is needed. I know where this conversation is going, and I’m not sure if I’m ready.
But she deserves to know what we’re facing and what’s weighing on my shoulders.
“The deceased victim… her and the woman last night… and all of the missing persons cases for the last three months, all look just like you.”
The words sit heavy in the air. She doesn’t move, just lays there watching me like she’s waiting for me to say “sike.”
I wait it out, giving her the time she needs to process it. Then she finally speaks again, in a painfully fear filled whisper. “All of them? I thought it was just the dead woman.”
“All of them, Liv. Every single victim or possible victim for several months.” I trail my fingers through the chocolate brown strands twining over her pillow, thinking about how it matches every single woman involved in the case.
“Is that why your boss warned you against being around me?”
I nod once. “Yeah.” I wait a moment before adding, “he’s not wrong.”
Her expression shifts, sharpness taking over the fear she’d been trying to hide. “But you still came here…”
“I did.”
“Why?”
I don’t hesitate this time. “Because staying away doesn’t change what’s happening out there. And it doesn’t change this.” I tighten my arms around her slightly. “It just makes it worse.”
Her breath catches, silence settling into the limited space between us. Her eyes widen just enough to tell me that she’s still thinking about the continued concern since the first time I came to her apartment. “If they see a cop hanging around here…”
“Then I’ll put them down. If anyone so much as puts a hand on you, I’ll put a bullet between their eyes.
” I mean every word; she just wasn’t expecting it.
“You’re not alone in this, Liv. I’m working this case, I’m watching this neighborhood, and when I’m not, there’s a stakeout, or patrols. Something. Someone watching.”
“Okay,” she’s sounding like she’s still figuring out if she believes it or not.
“I mean it,” I add. “I’m not going anywhere.”
There it is again, the line I probably shouldn’t say. The promise I don’t know if I can keep but want to so fucking badly because it feels true right now. And that’s enough.
Her hands come up, resting lightly against my chest, over my shirt and over my scars. She hasn’t commented on them since last night. Not a single question even though I’m sure she’s full of them. Like she’s already got some kind of understanding without needing the details.
“I don’t know what this is going to look like,” she says quietly.
“Neither do I.”
“But I don’t want to pretend it’s not happening,” she adds.
“Good.” Because neither do I.
I need to get up, get ready for work, and leave her apartment.
But what I need even more is ten more minutes with her in my arms.