Chapter 23 #2
No one has ever complimented my brain.
Except…
“Thanks, I like it when people notice,” I say, making him snort. “All right, Mr. Smooth Talker. Socks or Cheetos dust? And let’s be honest, anything other than Cheetos dust is insanity.”
“Fair point,” Nico concedes with a nod, smiling so brightly at me while he searches my face. A little quieter, he says, “It’s the only right answer.”
He’s seeing me, the real me, and he doesn’t seem to mind.
Maybe he even likes it.
And that’s terrifying and amazing all at once because it’s so much easier to let him see behind the walls than to put on a mask. It’s easier to be me than to keep up the glittering facade.
If he likes this version of me, the one who tosses out ridiculous would-you-rather questions and laughs without calculating the angle of her smile, then maybe I can let myself breathe around him.
He won’t see the difference. He won’t realize that the girl in front of him is closer to the truth than I ever let anyone get.
And if he likes this version of me, is it really so bad if I’m not constantly playing a role?
“Your turn,” I challenge when the pause gets too long, and his eyes linger on my lips while he licks his.
“Hmm, let me see. Would you rather—”
He gets cut off by the ringing from inside my purse, the sound breaking the bubble we’ve created.
“I’m so sorry.” I fake a sigh as I fish it out and glance at the screen. I let my face fall as I cringe. “The assholes are looking for me.”
Nicholas laughs, but it’s not sweet or soft. “Of course they are.”
I decline the call and slip my phone back into my purse with an audible exhale. “It was nice, though,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Thanks for helping me dodge bad company for a bit.”
He smiles, the warmth returning to his gaze. “Anytime, Rosie.”
As I walk back toward the twins, I smile to myself. He’s not an asshole. At least he wasn’t tonight. He seems genuine, kind, even. And the strangest part?
I could see myself liking him.
Thankfully, it doesn’t matter what I think of him. That’s not my job.
Koen is the first to spot me, his sharp gaze flicking from me to where Nicholas had been standing moments ago as he smirks. “Appears you were successful.”
“How would you know?”
“I could practically see his infatuation from here.” Koen’s eyes glint with amusement. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
“How could he fucking not? It’s her.” Sylus snorts. “I’m surprised he wasn’t drooling.”
Koen throws a quick, annoyed glance at Sylus. I ignore them and pull out my phone to open my messages and text Captain Bossy.
Done.
His reply is instant.
Captain Bossy
Good.
Now, ask one of the guys to point out mark two for you.
I want the card in his chest pocket without him noticing.
I’m about to put my phone away when another text comes in, several seconds delayed from the others.
Be careful.
I smile softly to myself as I tuck my phone away and palm the hotel card.
Let’s get this over with.
I turn to Koen, my pulse already starting to quicken again. “All right. Who is mark two?”
Koen steps close to me and slides an arm around my waist in such a familiar, intimate way that shivers skate down my spine.
Then he pulls me in front of him, his front flush to my back, and the heat of his body warms me all over.
The sudden proximity sends my newfound nerves into overdrive, erasing any calm the conversation with Nicholas provided.
He turns us, his hand on my waist as he directs my focus toward the far side of the room.
“See him?” Koen murmurs, his lips dangerously close to my ear. “Off alone, leaning against the wall as if he owns the place, wine glass in hand.”
I follow his gaze, though it takes more effort than it should to concentrate on anything other than how Koen’s body feels pressed against mine.
Across the room stands a man who fits the description perfectly—sharp features and a suit that looks as though it costs more than I’ve ever made in a week. His posture radiates arrogance, the kind that makes my stomach churn, but it’s nothing compared to Koen’s grip tightening on my waist.
“That’s your mark.” Koen’s breath grazes my ear as he steps back, leaving me cold in his absence.
God, I hate that feeling.
“Tall, dark, and handsome.” Levi grins.
Sylus snorts as I shake off the lingering sensation of Koen’s touch. “Don’t fuck it up, Sparkle.”
“Thanks for the confidence boost.” I snark back at the guy I know best in this motley crew. And I only learned his last name minutes ago. And his first name a few minutes before that.
Shoving that all away, I take a deep breath.
You’ve got this, Nova. Focus, distract, plant the card.
Easy.
“Be careful.” Koen leans in, his lips brushing close to my ear once more. “He’s not just some guy.”
I glance up at him, reading the warning in his eyes, then turn my attention back to the mark.
Who the hell are you?
With my game face on, I slip through the crowd, brushing past clusters of people until I’m standing in front of him.
Tall, impeccably dressed, with wavy, dark brown hair. His shoes are spotless, polished to a shine, and even his tie knot is precise like he took his time to get every detail right.
Everything about him screams control.
I smooth my dress and offer a flirtatious smile. “Hey.”
He barely glances at me, dismissing me with a curt nod and shifting his gaze elsewhere.
Okay, rude.
Undeterred, I step closer, dialing up the charm. “Need a breather from the crowd too?”
Still nothing. His attention stays elsewhere as if I’m part of the background.
Come on, work with me here.
I need him to engage, to drop his guard long enough for this to work, and it seems flirting isn’t going to break through that wall of indifference. I scan him once more. There’s a tiny wine stain on his sleeve, almost imperceptible, but there. A neat freak like him would hate it.
“That’s such a beautiful suit,” I compliment as I lean in to point to his sleeve. “But you’ve got a little something right there.” I lower my voice like it’s a secret between us. “I know a trick to get stains out if you want some help.”
“What?” His dark eyes finally meet mine briefly, then trail to the stain, his brows instantly furrowing when he spots it.
Hook, line, and sinker.
I smile sweetly as I lean in and pretend to fuss over him. With one smooth motion, I slip the card into his chest pocket. The fabric doesn’t so much as whisper together as it disappears.
I’m triumphant until his hand snaps out, gripping my wrist with unexpected force. My heart seizes, and I freeze. His eyes narrow on me as he pulls the card from his pocket with his free hand, holding it up between us.
“What’s this?” he asks rhetorically, his voice measured, betraying nothing.
“I—” I blink, my expression as blank as my mind. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly pulls back his suit jacket, revealing a police badge glinting under the dim light.
My stomach drops. Shit.
“Detective Hill,” he introduces himself needlessly, his voice edged with cold authority. “And you and I are about to have a very serious conversation.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Look, I don’t know what—”
“Save it.” He cuts me off as he pulls me toward the exit. “We’re doing this somewhere more private.”
I stumble as he drags me through the museum. Panic sets in as I glance back and see Levi’s pale face, his expression stricken. Koen holds Sylus back, his hand gripping his upper arm to keep him from rushing forward. The look in Koen’s eyes says it all.
I fucked up. Big time.
But how? It was perfect. There is no way he would have noticed. No way he…
“Come on.” Hill pulls me down the hallway and into what appears to be a security room filled with screens monitoring every corner of the building.
He turns me and wrenches my wrists behind my back, the cold metal of cuffs snapping into place. I breathe through the sting, but their tightness presses deep, pinning my arms uncomfortably.
Maneuvering me over to a metal table, he shoves me down onto its edge, the chill from the surface seeping through the silk of my dress. I tilt my head, eyes fixed on his, determined to swallow down the panic pressing at the edges.
I glance around, assessing my surroundings. The room is cold, sterile, and smells faintly of stale coffee. No obvious exits apart from the door he pulled me through and now stands in front of.
Fuck.
“You want to tell me who sent you?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of frustration.
I meet his eyes but stay silent, my resolve hardening under his scrutiny. He waits expectantly for several long minutes, probably thinking that’s all it’ll take for me to crack, but I won’t.
I’ll take the fall if I have to.
And I won’t drag anyone else down with me.
Hill’s jaw tenses as he slowly realizes I won’t start blabbing. He steps into my space, looming over me, his gaze menacing. “I’m not playing games here. You’re going to tell me who you’re working for.”
I remain silent, keeping my eyes forward, trying to steady my breathing.
“All right. You want to do this the hard way?” The calm veneer starts to crack as he comes even closer. “You think you’re clever, don’t you? That you can walk in here and play games with me?”
Again, I say nothing. My heart pounds, but I refuse to give him anything.
He slams his hand down on the table beside me, the sharp crack making my pulse spike, but I don’t even flinch.
“You’re not scared? You should be.” His tone is cold now, full of warning. “This isn’t a game. Who gave you the card?”
When I still don’t say anything, he lets out a harsh breath and runs a hand through his dark hair before pacing the small space as if trying to rein in his temper.
He’s not a good detective if he’s letting this make him go off the rails. It’s almost as if he’s taking me targeting him personally.
Maybe he is.
How the fuck would I know? The bastards didn’t even tell me he was a cop.
His shoes squeak against the tile as he turns abruptly, eyes blazing as he strides over to me. “You’re protecting someone.” His voice is louder now, the simmering anger bubbling to the surface. “Do you really think they’d do the same for you?”
Probably not.
To them, I’m simply a tool, one they’ve managed to bring some life back into. God, I’m pathetic.
I let out a small, bitter laugh at myself.
“You think this is funny?” he growls out.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with.
” He leans in so close I can see that his eyes aren’t black but dark brown.
“You’re not walking out of here until I get answers.
So you better start talking, or this is going to get a whole lot worse for you.
I know what kind of girl you are. You won’t last a week in jail. ”
Oh, fuck you.
I think about how he, Sergeant Sterile, would do in jail, and a small flame of defiance soothes my nerves and has a real smile, though small, breaking out on my face.
I watch in real time as that tiny gesture snaps something inside him.
Fury flashes in his eyes as the back of his hand swings hard across my face, the sting radiating through my cheek, my head snapping to the side from the force.
My skin burns where he struck, and I’m left panting, tasting the metallic bite of adrenaline.
Oh, you want to play?
Then let’s fucking play.
If I’m not getting out of this, I’ll make sure to give as good as I get.
Slowly, I turn back to face him, a cold, amused smile curling my lips.
“Does hitting women make you hard, Detective?” I ask, my words dripping with bitter mockery as I glance down at his crotch. “Got a little God complex, huh?”
When my gaze travels back up to his, his eyes have narrowed even more, but there is no flicker of attraction, no shift in his expression, no sign that the power got him off.
Strange.
Even when they hate me, especially when they hate me, men still want to feel as though they have power over me. Half of them want me. The other half hate that they do. This guy? Nothing. Not even a hint.
Is he…
Ace’s voice echoes in my mind. “People are always giving themselves away, whether they know it or not.”
“Ohhh…” I raise my brow, my smile sharpening, “… sorry, I didn’t see it before. Still in the closet, are we?”
It’s a bluff and kind of a dick move, but the way his face hardens confirms it. Before I can react, another backhand slams across my cheek, and that one was personal. Ouch.
Thankfully, my satisfaction soothes the hurt.
“Oh, Detective.” I chuckle, the sound bitter and taunting. “It must be hard, huh? Pretending every day… wanting something you can’t admit.”
I don’t give a flying fuck if this guy is gay and hates himself for it, but I will use it.
Sue me. The fucking asshole hit me.
Twice.
His face twists with rage, his control slipping further as he begins to totally unravel. The cracks are showing, and it’s only a matter of time before he breaks completely.
Good. If I’m going down, I’ll drag him with me.
“Tell me who sent you!” he practically screams.
I glare back at him and reply tauntingly. “Make. Me.”
For a split second, uncertainty flashes in his eyes. Then his hand moves behind his back, revealing a gun I hadn’t noticed, and aims the barrel straight at my head.
This is it.
I expect fear, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, a strange, eerie calm settles over me, a weighted blanket smothering the fire of adrenaline. My breath steadies until my pulse quiets to a whisper, and it’s as if I’m both here and not.
The barrel seems so small and insignificant, compared to the weight I’ve carried inside for so long. All the fear, anger, grief drift away like smoke.
My eyes flutter shut, and I let out a long, measured breath. The name escapes my lips in a toneless whisper, a soft prayer—a long-awaited greeting.
“Rosalee.”