Chapter 17
ADRIAN
Ididn’t shower before meeting Parker for our scheduled meeting. Why? Because I was too busy patching up the slit on my fucking neck, and then YouTubing how the fuck to cover it.
It was not an easy task.
And it’s a reminder that I let some random woman with delicious pussy cut me open, just because she wanted to. That’s fucked up. It goes against everything I’ve ever stood for.
But I’m so addicted already, I don’t want her smell to leave my dick.
“You good?” Parker nudges me as he pops open the driver’s side door of the car. “You seem off today.”
“Nah, I’m fine,” I say, clearing my throat as I wait for Parker to exit so I can check the collar of my dress shirt in the drop-down mirror. Lucky for me, the cut fell just below my collar, but the redness from it was still visible.
So I spent a lot of money on concealer to hide it.
I shudder at the embarrassment and then shove the door open, grabbing for my wool coat. The morning is strikingly chilly, and as we head for the towering attorney’s office, I feel the cold all the way to my bones.
Something about lawyers does that to me.
“I think we should keep the focus on Blueson,” Parker talks strategy. “We can push into the Longley connection once we see what he knows about the affair with Marissa.”
“Smart,” I mutter, pulling my coat around me as we make our way across the parking lot. “He may not want to talk to us at all though.”
“Based on the extent to which the two of them worked together, I think he’s going to expect this.” Parker’s all business this morning, probably pissed about something that has to do with Alice, his little fuck buddy that I think he’s in love with.
Fucking gross. Love.
I grab the handle of the door and pull it open for Parker, who ducks inside without even looking at me. I step in behind him, the blast of warmth making me nauseous. My mind fights to run back to the woman that I let sit on my face and cut me, but I try to brush it off.
I flipped the script on her to help my ego, but I can’t shake the sick realization beneath it all…
That I liked her sitting on me, taking control.
Damnit. My cock starts to grow, and I’m borderline disgusted with myself.
“Good morning, detectives,” a woman chimes from behind a desk. “We’ve been expecting you.” She has eyes with icy blue irises, her gray hair pulled up tightly in a bun on top of her head.
“Morning,” Parker says. “Are we good to go back?”
She nods. “First door on the right.”
“Thank you.” He gives her a nod, and I don’t look at her again at all. That’s the perk of being the quiet, bad cop. It makes my role so much easier. Granted, Parker doesn’t exactly seem like he’s in a good cop mood today.
He'd better not switch our roles.
That would be too much fuckery for twenty-four hours.
“Ah, right on time,” a baritone voice fills the space in my head as we step into the office. I’m met with the dark, beady eyes of Jonathan Newson, a short, overweight, and generally kind of creepy guy.
He’s the exact defense attorney I would expect for a man like Richard Longley.
“You two can have a seat,” Newson gestures to two red leather chairs across from his desk. The whole room is stupidly bare, and I wonder if that’s because he doesn’t want any of his potential clients knowing much about him.
It would make sense. Maybe.
“So, I guess you know why we’re here,” Parker begins, taking a seat and crossing his legs.
“I’m surprised I’ve only spoken with uniforms,” Newson said, plopping down in his desk chair and lifting his mug to his lips. “I was waiting for the big guys to show up, but I know how it goes. You two probably have some theory in your head on who did what, I’m sure.”
Definitely a defense attorney. I press my lips together. “We don’t have a solid working theory,” I decide to clarify. “And we’re hoping you’ll help us learn more about Blueson.”
“Hmm,” he narrows his gaze at me. “Adrian Shaw.”
I don’t like the way he says my name, and before he goes there, I already know.
“Astrid Shaw is your mother.”
I should’ve changed my last name too, Liliana.
“His past is irrelevant to this interview,” Parker speaks up for me, the annoyance evident in his voice. “In fact, I think it’s highly unprofessional even to bring it up.”
“I was simply going to state that I admire him for pursuing such a career, when so many felt like the sentencing was unfair for Mrs. Shaw.”
I click my jaw, the tension painful. “She murdered my father.”
“Yes, she did,” he sighs, running his fingers along his clean-shaven jaw. “But the circumstances around it were fuzzy, don’t you think?”
“With all due respect, I watched her hit him with a cast-iron skillet.” I keep my voice clipped, ignoring the rage simmering deep in my chest along with Parker’s disgusted look. “It wasn’t an accident.”
Newsom nods. “I can agree with you. It was not an accident… But was it second-degree murder? See, I don’t think so.
” He clicks his tongue against his lip and leans back in his chair.
“Maybe involuntary manslaughter. Your father’s abuse of your mother was evident from every other perspective except yours. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let it go, Newsom,” Parker echoes my sentiment. “Let’s just focus on the case. Astrid Shaw killed her husband in front of her two sons. I think that’s enough to warrant her stay where she’s at for the rest of her life.”
“I suppose.” Newsom’s expression is unmoving, as if whatever we say won’t change his mind. “But anyway, let’s talk about Victor.”
Now that we’re all distracted, of course. I clench and unclench my hands, taking a silent deep breath that Newsom probably fucking notices. I don’t know what his strategy is, but if it’s to get me pissed off before the interview ever starts, he’s doing fucking phenomenal.
“Tell us what you know about him—his character, dealings, whatever you feel might help.” Parker is monotone, and I can’t tell if he’s as uncomfortable as I am, or if this just further points to his mood this morning.
“Well, he was a good attorney, and that’s about as far as I’ll go with that,” Newsom mutters, his lips turning downward.
“In fact, that’s the only good thing I have to say about him.
We partnered up right after our first internship, and if I could go back, I would.
He’s a bull in the courtroom, but he’s a snake outside. ”
“Interesting,” I hum, somewhat surprised to hear it from a partner.
“I didn’t know him outside of the firm for that reason. I kept our relationship strictly to work. I never knew what he was up to on the side, so I won’t be able to help you there.” Newsom shrugs his shoulders. “I think your best bet is to look into his personal life.”
“Which you can’t help with,” Parker deadpans.
“I think it’d be best for you to consult with his family and friends. I don’t place myself in that category.” Newsom folds his hands and rests them on the desk, giving us both a polite smile.
I’m not totally sure if I agree with him. He might be bullshitting us.
But there’s nothing we can do about it.
“Can you tell me what you know about the Monroe Street Gallery?” Parker perks up, and I jerk my head toward him. “I would presume you know the owner.”
Something shifts in his face, and it actually looks like he cares suddenly. “I do know Liliana Wilson, and it’s a fucking shame what happened there.”
“So you’re aware that you represented her father?”
He gives Parker a weird look. “Well, no shit. I think I know who my own clients are. He was a creep. He deserved what he got, and Liliana and her mother were just as much victims as the little girls he murdered.”
“You don’t think she could be following in her father’s footsteps?” Parker’s question hits a nerve in me I didn’t expect.
Don’t get me wrong, I have my fucking suspicions.
But still. I don’t like her being talked about like this by others.
Fucking hypocrite in me.
“I don’t think Liliana Wilson murdered Victor Blueson,” Newsom snaps. “I think it’s an audacity even to consider such a thing. I hope like hell you aren’t harassing the poor woman. She was significantly traumatized, and I can only imagine how this is weighing on her.”
“You’re quite protective of her,” Parker notes, and I have to admit, maybe Newsom and I both have something in common—and I’m disgusted with myself for it.
Which seems to be a growing trend.
I’m fucking losing my edge. My mind returns to the little killer I fucked last night, and despite the desperate urge to have her sit on my face again, there’s embarrassment boiling beneath.
I should turn the tables on her more and show her what murder play really feels like. The thought sends my cock hardening, and I shift quickly in my seat, now pissed at myself for even going there.
“Leave the Wilsons out of this investigation,” Newsom’s voice draws me back into the interview. “I guarantee those two women are nothing but docile. They don’t have a mean bone in their body. I’m sure it was very triggering for Liliana to be exposed to such atrocities.”
I blink a few times at him, thinking back to the jumpiness and the eccentricities of Liliana over the course of the investigation. I don’t see a scared little girl in her.
But maybe she puts on a different front to mask it.
And I… like the idea of her being scared, pathetic, and weak.
It’s the opposite of the treacherous, sadistic control freak I expect her to be.
Maybe she’s both? My brain is swimming, and I know I should stop. I should fucking stop right now with Liliana Wilson. I just thought I fucked her out of my system, and now, here I am, contemplating what’s underneath that pretty painted exterior.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Newson cuts Parker off from whatever he was saying, and I don’t hesitate to stand up, taking the exit.
“Thank you,” Parker grunts at him, giving me a glare I don’t understand.
I slip out of the room and reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone. I scroll quickly to the KinkMe app and pull up my little killer’s profile.
Fuck it.