Chapter 8
8
I nara
When I leave the club, the night air is fresh on my face. The clubs have closed, and the coffee shops still have a few hours until they open. The city sleeps. It’s well past midnight and into the small hours where shadows hide so many horrific deeds.
My mentor, also a detective, had a saying, “At three a.m., no one is up to anything good.”
But I feel good.
After the scene, I fell asleep in the dom’s lap and woke up an hour later feeling sore but like I’d slept a year. He left a bottle of water and painkillers, plus arnica cream. I used the last sparingly. I want to keep my bruises. I’ve earned them.
When I went to leave the club, the front desk attendant told me there was a car waiting for me. I assumed it would be a taxi, but the car was sleek and black and pristine, like a hired car a rich businessman would use to travel the city.
In the darkness of the backseat, I catalog my souvenirs from the scene. There are red marks on my arms. It’s warm enough in this nice car that I can slip off my coat and admire the beautiful lattice from elbow to wrist. It’ll fade by tomorrow, but I’ll still have my other marks. My hip is sore, twinging with every movement. And when I press my boots to the floor, my cropped arches scream beautifully.
I lose track of time, and when I look up, we’re a block away from my townhouse.
“Stop here,” I tell the driver, pointing to the bodega on the corner.
“Here? Miss, are you sure?”
“Yes.” My apartment is right around the corner. I’ll be fine to walk.
“I can run in for you,” he says. “It’s not safe.”
Two young men are standing on the curb, dark hoodies shadowing their faces. The street light glints on the right’s lip ring as he and his buddy move off.
“It’s all right. I have pepper spray.”
“I’ll wait for you, then,” he says.
“No need.” I unzip my coat to access my purse. I pocket my pepper spray and reach for my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”
“No charge. It’s been covered.”
That gives me pause, but I nod and slip out. Energy thrums through me, and my stomach has woken up enough to remind me I skipped dinner. The shop has a lovely rotisserie in the window, showcasing a giant skewer of meat. There’s nothing like a late-night kebab.
On my way inside, I pass a lady huddled in her sleeping bag between stacks of her belongings.
I order my kebab and eat it right away, wandering the shop. Remembering my empty fridge, I grab a few frozen dinners, oat milk, bread, and a jar of peanut butter. At the counter, I throw in a few apples and bananas so I don’t get scurvy.
When I exit, the hired car’s still parked on the curb. I ignore it and head to the left, toward my townhouse. The lady is awake, and I hand her my remaining cash.
I turn the corner, and the car follows. It creeps along beside me like a needy Labrador. The driver sticks his head out of the window.
“Miss, I was paid to take you all the way home.”
I stop. “Who paid you? The club?” I’ve never heard of a BDSM club doing that before, but Club Empire is in a league of its own with its high-class clientele. Maybe it’s a perk they offer.
“I can’t tell you that,” the driver says. Alarm bells go off in my head.
He sees my narrowed eyes and shakes his head.
“Look, I know it sounds suspicious, but it’s a free ride. At least let me?—”
There’s a shriek from around the corner. I drop my grocery bags and race back to the shop. The lady on the pavement is screaming, hanging onto her bag as one of the young men in a hoodie tries to wrench it away.
I rush him, shouting, “Police! Get away from her.” I push his shoulder, sending him off balance down the sidewalk. He staggers to his feet. His hood falls back, and he turns, twitching, to stare at me with dead eyes. He’s hopped up on something.
“I have pepper spray.” I hold it up. I can defend myself, but I’m hoping he’ll realize his easy target isn’t worth it.
Someone slams into me from behind. I go down, hard, but my self-defense training kicks in, and I use my body as a fulcrum, launching my attacker off of me.
He goes flying into his friend. They flail in a tangle of limbs, fighting to find their feet. The driver rounds the corner, cussing up a storm. The second attacker—the one with the lip ring—sees the driver and takes off, while the first one pauses to pull his hoodie up over his shaved head. “Bitch,” he snarls at me. Then he races off, disappearing into the shadows with his friend.
The lady is still screaming. The driver hovers between me and the curb, looking like he wants to run after the assailants. After a moment, he returns to my side to help me up. “Fucking tweakers. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Check her.” I nod to the lady. If she wants to press charges, she can talk to the cops. I just want to go home and sleep for a week.
If word gets around the police force that I was blindsided by a couple of drugged-up thugs, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Hopefully, I can keep my name out of things, and no one will be wiser.
The shopkeeper rushes out. “I called the cops!” he shouts as two units round the corner and squeal to a stop, bathing us in red and blue flashing lights.
* * *
In the fluorescent lights of the police station, my eyes ache with exhaustion.
I feel tired and grimy, tainted from the attacker touching me. His dank stench clings to my coat and hair.
Only the sore points under my clothes and on the soles of my feet hold me together.
“Is that it?” the officer working the desk asks, and I bob my head.
“All right. We’ll do our best to catch these fuckers.”
Sure. “Thanks.” I stand up, ready to disappear.
“You’re working the Martin case, right?”
Crap. So much for escaping attention. Everybody’s going to know about this by morning. Burgess and Cuccinelli will love it. Worse will be Bonds, studying me, silently evaluating whether or not I’m okay. Treating me like I’m fragile.
“Yeah,” I say.
He nods. “Sarge says go home, get some rest. You’re off duty tomorrow.”
“Fine.” I can’t argue with Sarge. Maybe I can go home, get some sleep, and be up in time to do some door-knocking in the afternoon. I don’t want to show my face at the station again until I have more evidence for my case. I made strides getting that tape of the UNSUB, but this will set me back.
“I’ll get a unit to take you home.”
I want to tell him not to bother, but I’m too tired.
The day is dawning by the time I’m back at my place. I do my routine of checking all the locks on the doors and windows. My gun is still on the bedside table where I left it, thinking I didn’t need to take it to the club. A mistake I won’t make again. I pull out my pepper spray and Taser, too, and place them by the gun.
Finally, I strip and step into the shower.
With the water pounding on my head, I examine my marks. The ones on my arms have faded, but my hip bears a giant bruise. A bluish-purple watercolor. Beautiful.
I stroke it, letting the pain bleed through me. It calms me enough that I can stagger out of the shower and straight to bed without doing my lock-checking routine a second time. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m out.
* * *
Him
She sleeps like a child curled in on herself. Tuesday night, she’d been too restless for me to visit. I stood in the empty townhouse next to hers, straining as if I could hear her soft breathing.
The cameras I installed aren’t enough. I need more of her. I need to be closer.
But I have to go carefully. She’s isolated herself so completely. She craves intimacy yet fears it. She’s erected thick walls, a princess in a tower. I can be the one who breaches them, but I must be gentle. Careful. Like a tiny vine winding between cracks in the stone.
I’ve been planning our meeting since I found her again in California. I’d love to reveal myself fully but If I move too fast, too soon, she’ll run.
She’s run so many times before. Her history is a bleak, empty expanse. Everyone she’s loved has died, so now she pushes away the ones she loves. She has no friends. No contacts.
Tonight’s scene was a breakthrough. She allowed a repeat scene. She allowed me to touch her.
And then, the thugs almost destroyed everything.
I received news of the attack almost as soon as it happened. My powers extend to infiltrating the police department, but I couldn’t get close to her there. I’ll have to wait until she returns here. To her home, that’s safe. Safe from anyone but me.
I stand over her bed and give myself a few minutes to watch her sleep.
I can’t stay.
I want to, but monsters are prowling the city, and two of them hurt my little bird.
It’s time for them to meet a bigger predator.
It’s time for me to hunt.
* * *
Inara
My first thought when I wake up is, "Someone’s in my apartment.” My fingers are on my gun before I’ve fully opened my eyes. I palm the cool, smooth weight and scan the corners of my room. Naked, I rise from the bed and approach the door at an angle, gun extended. I clear each zone and continue through the house, searching every room just like my mentor, Detective Collins, taught me.
The place is empty. The doors and windows are locked. The light on the security system panel blinks its message confidently—“Armed and Secure.” But it feels like someone has been here.
I close my eyes and sense the shadowy presence. A large figure, moving with panther-like ease, down the hall. The picture of the intruder is strongest in my bedroom. I can picture them standing at the end of my bed, gazing down at the rumpled sheets with a fondness that takes me by surprise.
But I’m just imagining things. I need to get moving. A check of my phone reveals that I slept until almost noon.
I dress quickly and clip my badge to my belt.
It’s late morning but dark and gray. My body is rested but sluggish from so much sleep. I’ll grab a coffee at the bodega and check on the lady sleeping outside. If she hasn’t moved on after the attack last night, that is.
I’m so preoccupied thinking about this that I blow out the door at full blast and stumble over a body crumpled on my doorstep.
I curse, losing my balance and going down on one knee. “Gods, I’m so sorry?—”
The body is curled up, long legs tucked halfway up in a fetal position, wearing a black hoodie and jeans. I edge around it, and I don’t need to lean in to check a pulse to know that this person is dead. But then I get a glimpse of the face. Pale skin, silver lip ring, mouth open in a silent scream. A stranger’s face but unmistakable.
The dead body is one of my attackers from last night.