8. Flynn Rider, Love of My Life
FLYNN RIDER, LOVE OF MY LIFE
Hazel
I don’t want to risk Flynn listening in on our conversation, so I drive us to Banshee, the local bar.
Olivia managed to get out of work early and apparently Wright messaged her because she’s waiting in one of the booths when we arrive.
I narrow my eyes at Wright. “Is this an intervention?”
Wright’s barbell piercing catches in the light as she raises a brow. “Should it be?”
I groan and make my way through the late-night crowd to the bar because I firmly believe interrogations should come with alcohol.
Light bulbs of various sizes hang down above the bar, their amber glow shining against the varnished wood below. I catch Kacee’s eye, and she jerks her chin in greeting as she pulls a pint.
She must be a good five hours into her shift, but her hair still sits in a perfect Afro halo around her thin face. “Hey, hey, what can I get you?” she asks as she comes over, wiping her hands on the towel over her shoulder.
“Tequila shots.”
Kacee looks between me and Wright who’s appeared at my shoulder. “What’s the occasion?”
Oh, not much, it’s just my three-day anniversary of being stalked by a serial killer.
“Hazel’s got some explaining to do,” Wright chips in.
Kacee smirks. “Sounds fun.”
“Kill me now.”
“Go take a seat,” Kacee says on a smile. “I’ll bring them over.”
Wright snags my hand and drags me away from the bar, calling over her shoulder, “Thanks Kace, bring lemons too because Hazel can’t stomach her tequila.”
We reach the booth in the back corner and Livi looks up from her phone. She scoots over and signs, “Thanks for rescuing, Wright.”
I hum. “I might regret it in a minute.”
“Sit,” Wright orders, and I slide into the booth opposite Liv, shimmying up until I’m against the wall.
Categorically speaking, Banshee is kind of a creepy place. It has sort of a gothic vibe, and the walls are covered with writing scratched into the dark paint, like a message board for the afterlife. Somehow though, the look Wright pins me with is far scarier.
“Explain.”
I tip my head back against the torn leather of the booth. “It’s… complicated.”
Livi taps the table. “What is?”
“Yeah, Hazel, what is so complicated about calling the Vigilante Choker to come and help get me down from a fire escape?”
Livi spurts water across the table. She slams down her glass and Wright hits her on the back as she coughs.
I wipe specks of water off my neck and glower at Wright.
“What?” Livi squeaks, the fact that she was able to actually speak out loud a testament to just how bad the situation I’ve found myself in is.
Not that I didn’t already know that. It’s hardly like with Tommy, where I didn’t see the red flags until too late.
Flynn’s wearing his red flags like a badge of honor, waving them at the bull.
Three signs the guy you’re dating is no good: 1. He puts cameras in your house. 2. He follows you out at night and 3. Oh yes, he’s a convicted serial killer.
“I’m serious, Hazel, start talking,” Wright demands.
Kacee arrives then, a tray of tequila shots balanced on one hand.
“Oh, look, drinks,” I say, using the distraction like a pro to delay the inevitable.
We take the shots off the tray, and I slam one back before Kacee’s even left. Then I snatch desperately at the lemon slices because oh my god tequila is disgusting.
The sourness bursts through my face but when my eyes clear Wright and Olivia are still pinning me with dual “start talking” stares.
I draw in a deep breath, like the air itself can shield me, and begin. “The night he broke out of Drayford, I didn’t hear the alarm. He climbed in through my bedroom window.”
“Holy shit.” Wright’s jaw drops.
Livi reaches for one of the shots.
“Yeah, not exactly how I planned to spend my evening.”
Gunfire flares in Wright’s eyes. “Did he hurt you? Because if that motherfu—”
“He didn’t hurt me,” I rush to reassure her because once Wright gets started there’s no stopping her, and the last thing this situation needs is one slightly unhinged vigilante hunting another, more unhinged, wanted by the FBI, vigilante.
“So… what did he do?” Livi’s fingers trip over one another as she signs.
I take another shot. “He watched Friends with me. Then I fell asleep and he, uh, carried me to bed.” I tell myself it’s the alcohol making my chest heat because it can’t be the faint memory of being held in Flynn’s arms. It just can’t be, because it’s insane that the first place I’ve felt cared for in years was in the arms of a serial killer.
“Well, shit,” Wright blinks and leans back against the booth.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Is he threatening you?”
“Kind of the opposite? He got me a new alarm system. One with window sensors.”
Wright snorts.
“It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“A serial killer is stalking me!”
Wright lifts a shoulder, her tongue playing with the piercing on her lip. “I mean, technically, tonight, you called him.”
I cross my arms and look between my two best friends. “Okay, you guys are not nearly as freaked out by this as you should be.”
Wright shrugs again. “Vigilante honor code?”
“He’s not a vigilante, he’s a murderer,” I snap. Someone coughs and I look over to see the guy at the table next to us staring at me with wide eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. I force a smile and wiggle my fingers at him. “We’re, uh, writing a play,” I say.
I’m not sure he believes me, but he turns back to his friend, and I glare at Wright. “There is a big difference between what you do and what the Vigilante Choker does,” I hiss.
Wright’s posture softens. “I know that, but Hazel, you’re the most goody-two shoes person I know and even you haven’t turned him in. You wouldn’t do that if he was a bad person.”
My fingers dig into the seat cushion. “Good people don’t commit murder.”
“Some of them do.” Livi’s voice is quiet but sure. Wright and I glance at each other because it’s when Livi says things like that, that we wonder what exactly happened to her before she appeared in Seattle three years ago. Because Livi doesn’t talk about her past. Ever.
She goes back to signing. “Plus, all his victims were DMW’s.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I say.
Wright grumbles, “Makes it a hell of a lot better.”
I slump onto the table and talk into the sticky surface. “What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
Forget that Flynn exists. Go back to a time where I can no longer picture his stupid boyish smile or feel his forehead against mine or his arms around my waist.
Sleep, Little Lilac.
A foot jabs into my shin. “Uh, Hazel, Detective Derek at six o’clock.”
I sit up and twist around, peering over the top of the booth to see Detective Derek Pierce heading towards us.
“Think he’s going to ask you out again?” Wright asks.
I grimace. Pierce is a good-looking guy. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. We got to know him through work and on paper he’s great. Steady job, good person. But apparently, these days, I’m only attracted to men who like to choke people.
He slips his hands into his suit pockets as he stops by our table and dips his head at me. “Hazel.”
I smile and steal Livi’s water so I have something to do with my hands.
Pierce turns to Wright. “Wright.”
“Detective Derek.”
Livi presses her lips together to stop from laughing while I die inside because of course Wright insists on calling him that to his face.
I guess Pierce gets points for not letting it bother him though. Not even the slightest tick of his jaw as he talks to Wright. “I just thought you might like to know we caught the fucker from your call the other day.”
“Really?” I ask, hope blooming in my chest because more often than not DMW’s get away scot-free.
Pierce rocks back on his heels and nods. “Yeah. It was rather strange actually, the guy turned up in the hospital with four cracked ribs and a broken penis.”
I shoot Wright a look, but she just watches Pierce.
“The nurse reported it when she found scratches on his neck and a bite on his hand. Your girl was able to ID him, but see the strange thing is, he wouldn’t say who had beat him up. Claimed he walked into a wall.”
Wright snags her tongue piercing on her teeth. “Huh, strange.”
Pierce arches a brow. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Wright?”
Wright’s hand comes to her chest as she flutters her eyelids. “Who, me?”
Pierce crosses his arms and holds his ground. “You know, I took a look back through the records and every time you or Hazel have gotten a rape call, it’s ended with an arrest. Funny, huh?”
Wright drops the innocent pretense and locks her stubborn gaze on Pierce. “I guess we’re just good at our jobs.”
My pulse thrums in my neck, panic for Wright racing through me.
Pierce runs his tongue over his bottom lip then sighs. “Yeah. Maybe.”
I relax a little, thinking that’s it, but then he shifts to face me. “Do you have a second?”
“Uh, sure.”
Have a private conversation with the cop who suspects your best friend of grievous bodily harm, Hazel. What could go wrong?
Pierce nods his head to the side and I slide out of the booth. We walk over to a quiet corner by the raised platform where they host live music and poetry slams and I smile awkwardly at him.
Pierce glances back at Wright. “She’s going to get herself in trouble if she’s not careful.”
I frown in a show of confusion, which if it’s anything like my first-grade talent show performance, is less than convincing. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Pierce drags a hand through his hair. “Hazel… Just, do me a favor and don’t get involved, okay? I really don’t want to have arrest you at some point in the future.”
I blink up at him. “Well, that makes two of us.”
Pierce’s shoulders drop and he gives me a half-smile. “Would make things kind of awkward, especially given I’m still hoping to take you on a date sometime.”
I sigh. “Derek…”
He holds up a hand. “I know. You don’t like mixing work with pleasure, but we hardly even work together, and we can go slow. Just a coffee. You really want to turn down free caffeine?”
I open my mouth to do exactly that but then my phone buzzes against my thigh and I just get this feeling.
“Sorry,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. The Croc Jibbitz on the case dig into my palm, my grip tightening as I read the message.
Dexter
Pretty sure I told you to go home, Lilac…
My nostrils flare as I breathe in through my nose because either Flynn’s following me, or he’s broken our deal and checked the cameras.
I click the screen off and look back up at Derek. “You know what, sure. Coffee sounds great.”
Pierce half smiles like he’s trying to hold back how happy he is and guilt twinges in my gut.
I need to ignore the little voice in my brain telling me I’m doing this for the wrong reasons though, because it’s the same voice daydreaming about how good it would feel to have Flynn’s hand around my neck.
So clearly, that voice is fucked the hell up.
“Saturday morning at Bean Me Up?”
I smile. “Perfect.”
Two sets of nosy eyes track me as I walk back to the table.
“Sooo?” Wright asks.
I plunk myself back down in the booth. “I have a date.”
Wright’s eyebrows climb high. “Seriously?”
“He’s sweet,” I defend. “He draws me cute little sketches on my birthday.”
“He’s Detective Derek.”
“Derek is a perfectly normal name.”
“Uh huh, talking about names…” Wright plants her elbow on the table and twists to face Olivia. “You know what the Vigilante Choker’s real name is, right?”
Livi frowns and finger spells “Flynn Fletcher.” Her mouth rounds in an ‘o’ and she spins to face me.
“Flynn! It’s fate.”
“It is not fate!” I argue. “I am not fated to be with a man who has killed at least eight people purely because he shares a name with a movie character I have a crush on.”
“You’ve been obsessed with Flynn Rider since you were six.”
I hold up a finger. “Okay, firstly, everyone had a crush on Flynn Rider—”
“I didn’t.”
Wright’s gaze tapers on Livi. “Who did you have a crush on?”
“Kylo Ren.”
“The guy who killed his father in cold blood?”
“Hazel’s the one dating a serial killer!”
I gape at Livi. “I am not dating a serial killer,” I hiss. “You guys are supposed to be telling me to call the police or something!”
Wright finally looks a little chagrined. She fiddles with her lip ring. “Okay, serious question. Do you really think he’s going to hurt you?”
I rest my head back against the cushioned booth. Flynn’s stalked me, broken into my house, stolen my work schedule. The answer to Wright’s question should be obvious and yet I’ve never once felt unsafe with him. He could have hurt me so many times already and all he’s done is take care of me.
I know what abuse feels like. I’m all too familiar with the thread of fear that runs under every action, never quite knowing what might trigger their anger.
It’s not like that with Flynn. The man has no understanding of the word boundaries, but the only part of me I think he might actually hurt is my heart.
And that, is terrifying.