Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DOM
I'm in the kitchen making coffee when the call comes through. Roxy's still asleep, as we were up late in the darkroom planning our next moves.
But this is what we need.
I grab my phone and pull up the map to pinpoint the location. Gang territory. The kind of place where violence is common and police response is routine.
I let the coffee finish brewing and carry a cup to the bedroom. Roxy's sprawled across the bed, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, wearing nothing but my t-shirt, somehow my t-shirts are her new daily attire.
"Roxy."
She stirs, her eyes opening slowly. "What time is it?"
"Just past ten. I got a scanner earlier and it’s just picked up a shooting."
She's awake immediately, sitting up. "How many victims?"
"Multiple. Gang-related, probably."
"When can we go?"
"Not yet as we have to wait for the scene to clear. Let the police do their work, remove the bodies, process the evidence. Then we go in after."
She nods, understanding the strategy. "How long do you think that will take?"
"A few hours, maybe, it depends on how complicated the scene is."
"Okay."
She gets out of bed and crosses to me, taking the coffee cup from my hands and drinking deeply. She's beautiful in the morning light, sleep-soft, a total paradox to who she is at the core.
"You ready for this?" I ask.
"I’ve been ready since we got here."
"Remember, it's different from the road. We're not just passing through. We live here. We have to be extra vigilant."
"I know, I know."
"I know how impulsive you can be."
"I get it, trust me. I’ll be fine."
I pull her against me, grabbing her hair.
"Go get dressed, nothing colorful that’ll make you stand out," I say. "We'll grab breakfast and monitor the scanner. When the scene clears, we move."
She smiles before turning to get ready, her face is lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
I hope she gets the gifts she wants today. I’m brimming with excitement to get back to where we belong. Mr. and Mrs. Fucked Up.
The Alpine Diner is exactly what we are looking for, a small, worn place off the 8 freeway where truckers and construction workers stop for cheap coffee and greasy food. Nobody pays any attention to anyone here.
We take a booth in the back corner. I position myself where I can see the door and the parking lot, old habits from a life I'm supposed to have left behind. The only difference is I’m not being paid to track people and be violent. I’m doing it because it makes us both happy.
Roxy has her sketchbook out, drawing the other customers. An old man at the counter, hunched over his coffee. A waitress with tired eyes and a forced smile. A construction worker in the corner booth, staring at his phone with the kind of emptiness that speaks to something deeper than fatigue.
"Sad people," she murmurs, her pencil moving across the paper. "This is what I need. The despair. The brokenness. The truth they're trying to hide."
I watch her work, this woman who sees real pain everywhere and calls it pure. Her hand moves with absolute certainty, capturing the workers’ expressions in a few quick strokes.
The scanner sits on the table between us with the volume low. We've been monitoring for two hours, listening to the police process the scene on Leonard Avenue.
"Scene is clear. CSI finishing up. Units can return to patrol."
I glance at Roxy. "This is our window."
She closes her sketchbook and we leave cash on the table. Time to go hunting.
I park two blocks away and we walk to the scene. Roxy has her camera, which is a small digital one that’s easy to carry and not something that would draw attention.
The scene at a corner store is exactly what I expected, the shattered windows, yellow crime scene tape fluttering in the breeze, blood stains on the sidewalk.
The police and bodies are gone, just leaving that hollow feel of loss.
We approach carefully, where there are a few people lingering, I’m guessing neighbors, curious onlookers, people with morbid curiosity and those who just want the gossip.
"Stay close and don’t linger after you get your shots.”
She nods and starts photographing the area, paying attention to the crime scene tape, the trail of blood on the sidewalk, shattered glass from the windows and the bullet holes left dented in the storefront. She works fast, completely in the zone, knowing what it is she is after.
I keep watch, scanning for police and potential witnesses, basically anyone who might remember us. A sheriff's deputy pulls up just as Roxy's finishing and my hand finds her waist immediately, grabbing her attention.
"Time to go," I say quietly.
We walk away casually, just like another couple out for a morning walk. Looking to my side, the deputy doesn't even look at us, but fuck, my heart is pounding, adrenaline rumbling through my veins, all because of the risk.
We make it back to the car and I drive away like any other casual driver in the area, with no haste or lingering. Always blending in with the city around us.
"That was close, but we got it. I got the shots I needed," she says, grinning.
"Good."
I drive to a turnout in the hills above the city, to a quiet spot where we can see the ocean in the distance. The adrenaline is still coursing through me, making my hands shake slightly on the wheel. Roxy notices, and her eyes glaze over in understanding. With arousal.
"Pull over," she says.
I don’t ask why, because I already know.
This is a dance we have danced many times.
I find parking in the shade of a eucalyptus tree, and as soon as I turn off the engine, she's on me.
Her mouth latches on to mine and I groan into the kiss.
My hands slide into her hair, gripping hard, pulling her closer to me so I can feel her whole body.
"Backseat," I growl.
We scramble into the back like teenagers in the night, but without the inexperience. I pull her onto my lap, with her legs straddling my hips, and she grinds down against me with a gasp.
"We did it," she pants.
"We did, baby."
"This is what we need, to take risks, to feed the void.”
I pull her shirt over her head and toss it aside. She has a black lace bra on today and I nip at her nipple through the material, making her yelp while groaning with delight.
"Yessss."
"Fuck you’re so sexy."
"I need more…." she moans again as I bite down gently on her nipple and she arches into me, her hands fisting in my hair.
"Today is the start of a new phase, baby. Gonna feed you death, and enjoy the rewards."
"Fuck yes, but now I want you to feed me your cock.”
I unbuckle my belt and free my dick, lifting her enough to pull her leggings down. She's soaked, which makes my dick pulse with eagerness.
"Ride me," I demand. "Show me how much you need this."
She sinks down onto me with a long, loud groan, taking me to the root. The car rocks slightly as she starts to move, her hands braced on my shoulders and her eyes locked on mine.
"You feel so good inside me," she says, panting as she picks up pace.
"Fuck…you’re so wet and tight for me, baby.
I love that this shit turns you on," I say, unable to keep the sounds of pleasure from leaving my mouth.
Her pussy feels so damn good, sucking me in with each bounce.
Her ass fills my hands as I hold onto each cheek, squeezing the flesh as I try to restrain myself from cumming too soon.
"Only turns me on with you, baby. I only want your dick. I want no one else."
"No one. Just us."
She rides me fast, chasing her pleasure, and I watch her face scrunch up as her eyes dilate, revealing the hunger and satisfaction, with the absolute certainty that this is right.
When she cums, she cries out my name, her body clenching around me, which in turn causes me to follow her over the edge. I burst like a fountain inside of her, feeling the mixture of our orgasms leak out of her pussy around my groin. The car smells of nothing but sex, and it’s all I want.
I stay inside of her as we kiss, enjoying the comedown of the rush. She rests her head against mine and we both breathe in sync, morphing into one person.
“Just us, Dom. I can’t live without you,” she whispers over my lips and I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, before releasing with a pop.
“You’ll never live without me. And we won’t die without each other either.”
She pulls back and looks at me, understanding how deep this goes between us. Toxic and unhealthy in all ways. But it’s our way.
“You promise?” she asks.
“I promise.”
Over the next two weeks, we establish a pattern on my days off.
Mornings, I monitor the scanner while Roxy works in the darkroom or sketches in diners and bars.
Afternoons, if there's a cleared crime scene, we scout it. Quick documentation, no lingering, always conscious of anyone who sees us.
Evenings, we return home and Roxy develops the photos, creates the drawings, builds the portfolio piece by piece.
Night falls and we fuck.
The portfolio is growing. Post crime photographs from Leonard Avenue, a body discovered in Japatul Valley, an overdose in an abandoned building in the East County.
Environmental death studies from forgotten places like cemeteries.
Sketches of sad people in diners and bars, showing the human suffering that exists in plain sight.
Roxy's work is extraordinary. It really hits you with how unsanitized it is. Uncomfortably real where there is nowhere to hide.
And nobody will know who she is, or who I am. Wanted murderers who thrive on the thrill. They don’t know we died and reincarnated, but now we're invisible. Ghosts journalling reality and calling it art.
A few days later brings a complication.