Chapter Five
LEONI
Soft lips brush against mine, and my whole body arches instinctively toward the warmth. His fingers slide into my hair, gripping just enough to make me groan, desperate for him to move lower—to touch, to quiet the ache building between my legs.
My eyes flutter open. The room is dark, unfamiliar. I sit up fast, heart racing, realising I’ve been dreaming of him. Of Warren. Heat floods my cheeks.
“It sounded like an interesting dream,” a gravelly voice mutters from beside me.
I yelp, spinning toward the sound.
He’s lying there, hands behind his head, the faint city glow from the window catching across his bare chest and the tattoos inked over muscle and skin.
“You were moaning,” he adds lazily, and I thank every God in existence that the room is too dark for him to see my face.
“Where am I?” I manage.
“You were very drunk,” he says, voice rough with sleep. “I carried you out of the bar.”
I rub at my temples. Bar. Shots. Nancy. The memories hit all at once, and so does the hangover. My head throbs. “I need to get home. My brother will be worried.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he murmurs. “Wait until morning.”
I swing my legs off the bed. “No. I can’t stay here.” My voice shakes more than I mean it to.
He sits up, pulling on a pair of joggers, and the shadows shift around the hard lines of his body. I try not to look. I fail miserably.
“I have to scan the elevator card,” he says.
I follow him through the apartment, still stunned by how impossibly him it is — sleek, expensive, dangerously clean. The kind of place that looks like it’s never seen chaos, even though its owner probably lives for it.
When he presses the button, the elevator doors slide open with a soft hiss. I step inside, trying not to notice the way his eyes linger on me, or the tension buzzing between us like static.
Then he moves closer. Slowly.
I should step back. I should say something, stop him before this spirals. But my breath catches, my heartbeat stutters, and when his lips find mine, every logical thought disappears.
He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s wanted to do it for a long time.
I hit the wall of the elevator, and his hand fists in my hair, tugging gently as his mouth claims mine.
I grip his shoulders, nails biting into warm skin, dizzy with need and confusion and the wrongness that feels far too right.
When he finally pulls away, we’re both breathing hard. He swipes his card against the panel, the soft beep breaking the silence.
He steps back, eyes unreadable. “Sorry,” he mutters.
The doors start to close, and I’m left staring at him, chest heaving, mind spinning.
Sorry for what? For kissing me?
The elevator clicks open, and for a second, I’m dizzy from the motion.
I step out onto the corridor, and my stomach flips.
This is my landing. Warren lives in my building.
How the hell did I not know that?My hands fumble through my bag for my keys; they’re always impossible to find in amongst the crap I keep in here.
I look up, and my heart drops into my feet—my apartment door is wide open.
“Isaac!” I hiss, half a laugh of irritation ready to hit him for leaving it like this.
If he’s gone out and left the door unlocked, I’ll kill him.
I stomp across the hall and push inside, then my eyes land on him and the world tilts.
Isaac is folded forward, slumped by the couch.
His T-shirt is dark with blood; a knife stuck through the side of it like a brutal punctuation mark.
Time stands still, and my heart beats loudly in my ears.
All at once, everything becomes both unbearably loud and horribly distant.
For a long, stupid second, I don’t move.
My mouth is dry, my legs leaden. My breath has dropped out of me, and I taste metal even though I haven’t touched anything.
I take one step closer, and the smell hits me, copper and iron and the clean, along with the choking scent of panic.
My knees threaten to give, and my phone slips from my hand, clattering on the floor.
It bounces, skitters, and I don’t even register it until it slides to a stop beside his still hand.
I scramble after it, my fingers find it somehow, whilst my eyes never leave him.
I’m shaking so hard the numbers blur on the screen as I dial.
My voice is a raw thing when it comes out, half-sob, half-howl.
“Please–yes, my name’s Leoni Dove. Please come quick.
My brother… he’s been stabbed. He’s not breathing.
He’s at The Riverside Apartments, flat Six—please hurry! ”
As I speak, images trip over one another in my head.
Us laughing, playing hide and seek, the way he’d tease me over boys.
A smile pulls at my lips as tears slip down my cheeks.
Then a cold, gut-clenching guilt claws through me.
Why was I at the bar? Why did I leave him alone?
My throat closes, and I gag on a sound that’s more like grief than words.
I crouch beside him, ignoring the wet slick on my palms, and put my hand to his cheek.
It’s sticky and warm. He doesn’t move. The reality of it presses down, heavy and obscene.
I’m sobbing now, a sound I’ve never heard myself make, and the voice of the dispatcher cuts through my sobs, “Stay with him. Help is on the way.”
Stay with him. Stay with him. I repeat it like a prayer and press my forehead to his, because there’s nothing else to do but be here, and wait while the room spins and everything feels terrible and broken.
I don’t know how long I sit there, a minute, an hour, the sound of my heartbeat louder than anything else. I rock slightly, my palm still pressed against Isaac’s cheek, whispering nonsense I can’t even hear myself say.
The knock on the open door barely registers at first. Then a voice, firm and calm.“Emergency services.”
Two paramedics rush in, followed by a police officer. The hallway fills with noise—shoes squeaking on the floor, a radio crackling, someone asking me to step back. I can’t. I can’t move.
A gentle hand touches my shoulder. “Miss, please, we need space to work.”
I blink and realise I’m still clutching Isaac’s hand. It’s slick with blood, but it’s his. I force myself to let go.
The paramedics drop to their knees beside him and work quickly. One starts cutting off his t-shirt, the other checks for a pulse. Their voices are low but urgent, numbers, codes, instructions I can’t keep up with.
I back away slowly until my spine hits the wall. My whole body is shaking. The air feels too thick, too hot.
A police officer crouches down beside me. He’s talking, but I can’t focus. The words knife, wound, and scene drift through my head, meaningless.
“Miss, can you tell us what happened?” he asks gently.
“I… I don’t know,” I manage, voice breaking. “I just… I just got home. The door was open. He was—” My throat closes. “He was just there.”
Someone brings me a blanket and wraps it around my shoulders. It smells like disinfectant. My world becomes a blur of movement—gloves snapping, lights flashing, a stretcher wheeling in. I can’t look.
“Time of death,” one paramedic says quietly.
The words slice straight through me. Everything stops.
I shake my head, covering my mouth. “No. No, he’s not—you can’t stop—” The sob tears out before I can hold it back.
The officer glances away, his expression softening. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry. That’s all anyone ever says when it’s too late.
I sink to the floor again, pulling the blanket tighter around me, and the only thing I can think of over and over, is that I left him alone. I chose wine, banter, and Warren Baxter over my brother.
Now Isaac’s dead, and I can’t undo any of it.
A police officer offers me a kind smile as she sets a cup of tea down in front of me. “I know you must be in shock,” she says gently.
I’ve been at the station for hours, and I’ve told her everything I can. About Isaac’s busted knees, the shady new job, and how he turned up at my place needing help. My voice is hoarse from repeating it all.
I pull the scratchy blanket tighter around my shoulders and take a small sip of tea. It’s too hot, but I welcome the burn. At least it’s something I can feel.
I’m tired. Confused. My brain’s foggy, and my body feels like it’s shutting down. All I can think about is my mum and Jordan and what they’ll say when they hear. How they’ll fall apart the way I’m trying not to.
The police are still at my apartment, combing through every inch. I was brought here hours ago, though time doesn’t feel real anymore.
“When can I go home?” I ask quietly.
The officer shakes her head. “You’ll need to arrange a place to stay for a few days. Your apartment’s a crime scene. It won’t be released until the investigation team is finished.”
I nod slowly, staring at the tea as my stomach churns.
Then my phone buzzes across the desk, making me jump. Warren’s name flashes on the screen.
He’ll be wondering where I am with his cup of coffee and croissant.
I answer, but he doesn’t even give me the chance to speak before his voice cuts through the quiet room. “Where the hell are you? I’ve got back-to-back meetings all day. Are you avoiding me because of the kiss?”
The words hit like a slap. Of all the things he could’ve said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say flatly. “I’m taking some time off.”
I hang up before he can respond.
“Your boss?” the officer asks.
I nod.
“He sounds like a delight,” she says dryly.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “Complete wanker.”
The phone buzzes again, the vibration loud in the silence. We both stare at it for a second.
“Shall I answer that?” she asks, “I can tell him for you.” I nod. He’ll only keep calling if I don’t.
She picks up the phone and steps out into the corridor. I lean my head into my hands, staring at the table, feeling hollow.