Chapter Twenty-One
The talk all day at the clinic is about the second murder this week. And while it’s alarming and terrifying, my mind keeps drifting back to yesterday and then last night.
I can’t believe we did those things.
Since I didn’t get to talk to Rowdy this morning, I have no idea how he’s feeling about it. Does he feel like I do? I’m equal parts ashamed and pleased. It’s a stupid combination I’m not proud of.
He’s my brother and I’m dating Weston. I should be disgusted with myself, especially for putting on my little show for him in my room.
Regret doesn’t rear its ugly head, though. My core throbs at the memory of touching myself knowing he was watching.
I’m hardly able to focus during any of the trainings today, and when it’s finally over, I all but run to Weston’s car parked out front. My eagerness to leave amuses him and he lets a chuckle loose as he shuts the car door behind me.
“I can tell someone missed me,” he says once he climbs into his seat and turns on the vehicle. “Come here, baby.”
His hand finds the back of my head and he draws me to his mouth. I part my lips and kiss his minty mouth. He tastes good, but the spark is barely a flicker.
Because you can’t stop thinking about Rowdy.
“You okay?” Weston asks, voice low. “Am I moving too fast?”
“No,” I rush out. “You’re great.”
It’s true. He’s a wonderful guy. I don’t deserve him.
“I was thinking we could go someplace quiet,” he murmurs. “Have some alone time.”
A sliver of fear cuts through me, but I quickly squash it. Weston isn’t Jace. Getting me alone is because he wants to do more than simple hand holding or kissing with tongue. This is normal. And maybe it’s just what I need to get my brother out of my head.
It’s the smart thing to do.
“I’d like that,” I tell him with a smile.
He drives, playing some songs I don’t recognize. My mind continues to circle back to last night. I got myself off in front of Rowdy. Who does that? I’m a disgusting girl.
Several minutes later, Weston pulls up somewhere and then puts the car in park. The heater blasts us, making me hate having my coat on. I unbuckle and slide it off my shoulders. Weston moves around in his seat and then I hear the mechanical sound of him adjusting it.
“Come here,” he rumbles, voice deep and filled with need. “I want you in my arms, Destiny.”
It’s so sweet, but I don’t immediately jump over to him. My skin prickles with sweat and the sensation of spiders crawling all over me makes me shudder. I’m hesitant because…
Why, Destiny?
Because you think it would upset Rowdy? Because you wish it were Rowdy instead?
I force down the nerves bubbling up inside me and clumsily climb over the console toward him. His hands find my waist, pulling me the rest of the way.
“You can straddle me if it’s more comfortable,” he murmurs, breath tickling my ear. “I’d like that if you’re into it.”
Dread washes over me. I’m uneasy, but I don’t want to upset him. Weston has been great to me. I can give him this.
Yourself?
I’m nauseous as I straddle him. His hands on my hips are gentle as he guides me to sit. He’s most definitely hard beneath me. The groan he makes is one filled with pleasure.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Weston praises, palms sliding to my ass. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I want to squirm in his hold, but I force myself to remain still.
He grunts as he moves my body against his length.
I cry out in surprise when his mouth latches onto my neck and he sucks.
A jolt of pleasure shoots to my core, but it cools too quickly after.
Now he’s sucking hard on my neck as though with purpose.
It’s wet and weird, and the excitement is gone.
“Can I put my hand under your shirt?” he asks while tonguing my neck. “Please, baby. Fuck, I need to touch you.”
“Mhmm.”
He slides his hand under my shirt and cups my breast. It’s gentle and sweet. And I hate it.
“Weston,” I start to say but am cut off when his mouth finds mine.
His kissing is deep and desperate. I can’t find it in me to match the passion he’s exhibiting. It’s as though I’m betraying Rowdy in some way and that’s a severely messed-up thought.
Would he be happy to know this is what I’m doing right now?
Absolutely not.
Would I be happy if he were doing the same with Lila?
Anger surges hot through me. Again, no.
I have to stop this.
“I want to make love to you,” Weston murmurs. “We can go slow. I’ll get you off first.”
This is too much.
“No,” I say sharply, words icy cold. “Stop.”
He jolts at my sudden change of heart and immediately removes his hands from under my shirt.
This is what makes me feel so horrible. Weston truly is a good guy.
Problem is, I’m not a good girl. We don’t match.
I’m twisted in the head. Too much has happened to me and none of this feels right as a result.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, regret in his tone. “If I pushed too hard, too fast, please know I’m sorry.”
“It’s not you,” I assure him. “My mind is all over the place. I just need some air. Stay here, please. Give me a minute.”
He starts to argue, but I’m already climbing out of his vehicle and slamming the door shut behind me. It was probably stupid not to grab my coat or my cane, but I need cold air to clear my head.
The snow is thick and I stumble a few times in my effort to escape. Reaching in front of me, I make sure I’m not about to slam into something. My hip grazes something hard and I run my fingertips over it. Feels like a concrete table. I continue on my trek until I can’t hear the car running anymore.
This is better.
But then I trip over something.
I land hard on my hands and knees, sinking deep into a snow drift. A strong scent of something assaults me and I scramble to sit up on my knees. It’s familiar. Metallic. Blood.
An animal?
My heart hammers wildly in my chest as I reach out to see what it was that tripped me. To my horror, I learn it’s a body. Cold, big, muscular. I’m pretty sure I touch a man’s exposed genitals too.
Terror lodges itself in my throat.
He’s hurt. No one lies in the snow, half naked and bloody, and not be injured. I crawl closer and run my palms up the man’s chest. He’s wearing a flannel shirt much like the one Rowdy wears a lot.
No.
No, no, no, no!
When I reach his neck, I feel a massive, stiff hand that’s sticky with blood. My fingers slide along an open wound in the man’s throat that he died trying to hold closed.
Rowdy?
I scream at the top of my lungs.
“Can I wash my hands?” I ask, voice hoarse from crying. “Please?”
The woman detective sighs heavily. “We’ll deal with that later. What is your name again?”
Later? Why is she making me sit with blood caked to my skin? They already swiped my flesh and bagged any evidence they found. I just want to clean up and get this dead man’s blood off me.
“Destiny Jamison. I’m visiting my uncle.”
“Right. But you don’t have any identification or an address or anything?”
“No,” I mutter. “Can I talk to my uncle’s brother? Will Knox?”
The woman grunts at my questions. “You know the chief?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “He’s family.”
Not exactly, but close.
The detective leaves the room and is gone for an eternity. I’m no longer wearing the clothes I put on this morning. The police confiscated those for evidence. I’m wearing a stiff, paper-thin top and bottom set that smells like strong clothing detergent.
I wish I had my phone, but they took that too.
They even took my cane.
And where is Weston? We were separated straight away once the cops arrived and were brought in for questioning. I’m feeling less like someone who stumbled upon a dead body and more like the one guilty of killing him.
Thankfully, Weston calmed my fears about it being Rowdy.
Still, someone died horribly, and the cops are treating me like a suspect.
Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t try to swipe them away. My hands are sticky and gross feeling. That man’s blood is still on me. I want to wash it away.
I need Rowdy.
He would know what to do in this situation. At the very least, he would demand they let me wash my hands. A sob catches in my throat. I don’t like being here all alone.
A few minutes later, the detective enters the room again. I stiffen, waiting to be grilled with more questions like earlier. But, to my surprise, she sets something down in front of me on the table.
“I grabbed you a bottle of water, hon. I’m trying to locate your cane now and then I’ll show you to the restroom where you can clean up.”
Why the sudden change of demeanor toward me?
“My phone?” I choke out. “I want to call my brother.”
“I’ll get that too,” she assures me. “But don’t worry. Your family has been notified you’re here and are on their way. Chief Knox isn’t on site, but he asked me to see to it that you’re comfortable until they arrive.”
I relax, relieved to finally be treated like a human and not a criminal. “And Weston?”
“We’re still questioning Mr. Simmons,” she says tersely. “Sit tight while I locate your things.”
After what feels like an eternity later, and when my water bottle is completely empty, the detective returns with my cane and phone.
I shove the phone into my pocket, eager to get washed up first before calling my brother.
She guides me out of the cold, sterile room and into a hallway that’s bustling with activity.
I’m shown to the restroom, and thankfully, she stays outside the door.
I fumble around until I locate the sink.
Then I turn it on and begin profusely scrubbing at my hands.
I’m not sure how long I stand there with my hands under the scalding hot water, but eventually, the woman comes inside and turns the water off.
“Paper towels are over here,” she says gently. “I’m going to get you something from the vending machine. You have a preference on candy?”
Since I don’t have any desire to eat anything at the moment, I shrug off her question. I shakily make my way over to where she said the paper towels were and dry my now throbbing hands. I’m overwhelmed and exhausted and distraught over finding a dead body. I just want to leave this place.
“Come on,” the woman says. “This way to the break room.” She continues to chatter about dumb things like the weather and the upcoming basketball season, which I’m pretty sure she’s doing for my benefit of knowing where to go while following by the sound of her voice.
With my cane sweeping the area in front of me, I trail after her. The break room smells like soggy onions and stale coffee. I slow to a stop and listen as she mashes buttons on what must be the vending machine. Then she hands me a wrapped snack.
It feels like a Snickers bar maybe. I’ve had those a lot. Dad is a fan and Uncle Knox always makes sure to bring them to him when he visits.
“I’m going to take you to the lobby now,” the woman explains, “where you can wait for your family. You just let me know if you need anything else, hon.”
Before we can exit the break room, I hear a commotion down the hall. It’s as if a grizzly bear burst into the police station and is roaring.
“Where the fuck is my sister?”
Rowdy!
Thank God he’s here.