by Shandi Boyes
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Demi would have to be hungry. From what I picked up between keeping Estelle up to date on our unexpected guests and making sure Dimitri’s crew has everything they need, it appears as if she shot her intruder three days ago. If she’s been as closed off the past three days as she has the past three hours, not all the grumbles I’ve heard seep from her mouth have been whimpers. Some may be from her hungry tummy. “I can whip up a batch of mean pancakes. Ask Dimi, he ate them and survived.”
My heart flutters in my chest when the briefest smile creeps out from behind locks of dark hair. It’s only faint, but her smile reminds me that the world does spin.
“If you change your mind, my kitchen is open twenty-four-seven.”
Before she can thank me for an offer she shouldn’t class as friendly, a much more dangerous situation than my horrific cooking skills confronts us. A fleet of five police cruisers is blazing down the driveway. Their brutal speed kicks up as much dust as my feet when I race toward Dimitri to tell him the quickest and safest exit.
I’m not the only one moving fast. Max is on his feet in an instant, growling and barking at the procession of cars as if they’re the enemy. It’s weird to see him acting so violent. He’s been fine with Dimitri and over a dozen of his armored goons the past three hours, so why is he acting so irritated by men sworn to protect?
“It’s okay,” Dimitri assures me before he quiets Max’s ruckus with the swiftest lift of his hand.
Although his vicious gaze remains locked on the fleet of vehicles coming to a stop at the front of the ranch, Max licks the dribble his vicious growl instigated before he returns to his protective post by Demi’s feet.
Confident he has one disaster diverted, Dimitri shifts his focus back to me. “They’re not here for me.” I choke on my spit when he nudges his head to Demi and says, “They are here for her.”
From the corner of the room, I watch the scene unfold. The dozen or more police officers don’t approach my home. They maintain their stalk from outside when a man with blondish brown hair exits the convoy from the final vehicle. Although the stranger is dressed differently than the prisoner I saw in the wee hours of this morning, I’m confident he’s one and the same. Not only does he have a distinct set of tattoos, when I was ushered past the Warden’s office, I watched him like a hawk when he went toe to toe with Dimitri. Excluding Rocco, I had never seen a man stupid enough to go against Dimitri.
I was fascinated by their exchange and somewhat worried. Don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t worried Maddox would hurt Dimitri. I was panicked how turned on I was watching Dimitri in his element. He was as bossy and domineering as he was in the parking lot, but for once, his annoyance wasn’t focused on me.
“Who’s Maddox to Demi?”
Dimitri doesn’t need to answer my question. Maddox’s dart across the room tells me everything I need to know, much less Max’s blasé response to his quick approach. Furthermore, Demi responds to Maddox as if he’s the only man in the room, so I won’t mention the loving way Maddox cups her bruised cheeks, or you’ll think I’m a creeper.
I can’t help but watch. The fireworks sparking between them is out of this world. It’s almost as explosive as the ones that forever bristle between Dimitri and me.
“Is there somewhere they can go… for privacy?”
I glance up at Dimitri with playful mocking beaming from my eyes, adoring the unease of his question. I didn’t think he knew what awkwardness was, let alone have the ability to display it. “We don’t have any sex pods here. My nanna was miles ahead of her time, but she wasn’t that advanced.”
When his lips furl at the ends, I suck in a relieved breath. Even with his smile being as ghost-like as Demi’s, it’s better than the downward trend his lips have been wearing the past three hours. I still have a lot of anger to work through for how we departed, and why, but seeing how he coerced Demi from her hiding spot has me seeing him in an entirely different light. His naturally engrained protectiveness already makes him a great father, not to mention his ability to nurture when required.
“Perhaps my grandparents’ room would work?”
After jerking up his chin, Dimitri runs his hand down my arm in thanks, then makes his way to Demi and Maddox’s side of the room. I want to continue soaking up their tear-producing display of affection but lose the chance when the heat of a gaze captures my attention.
I’m assuming Estelle has noticed my body’s response to Dimitri’s briefest touch, so you can picture my shock when I realize her stare isn’t directed at me. She’s peering past me, eyeballing the last person I ever anticipated for her to watch. She’s gawking at Clover, and if the fizzle of their stares going to war is anything to go by, he’s watching her just as closely.
“That’s not a good idea,” I warn after joining her on the couch.
The hiss zapping in the air weakens when Estelle drags her eyes to me. “What isn’t a good idea?” She’s been super quiet this afternoon like visiting prisoners and being surrounded by gangsters isn’t an everyday occurrence for her. She works at an establishment owned by no other than Mr. Monroe. He’s as well-known amongst the locals of Erkinsvale as the Petrettis are to Hopeton inhabitants, so she can’t play the innocent card.
“Giving gaga eyes to a paid hitman.”
Estelle rolls her eyes like I didn’t hit the bullseye. “Puh-leaze. I was warning him to stay away.”
I wiggle my finger around her flushed cheeks. “If this is your threatening face, what was the one I saw when you and Brayden went to town Thanksgiving weekend?”
“Don’t you dare judge me.” The humor on her face weakens the intensity of her snapped tone. “You were all, ‘good riddance, I can’t stand him, how dare he treat me the way he did’ to, ‘hey there, good-looking, can I get you a cup of coffee? One clump or two?’”
I sock her in the arm, doubling her smile. “I was trying to be helpful.”
“You were trying to take the focus off your pressing thighs.” When the truth of her statement lowers my shoulders, she jabs her elbow into my ribs. “I can’t blame you. He’s fucking hot, they all are, but…”
When she fails to find a reason for my insanity, I help a girl out. “It’s crazy to think this is any type of normal?”
After breathing out of her nose, she nods.
“Would it make you feel any better if I said it’s not close to being normal because it’s not meant to be? There’s bad and good in every person. You’ve just got to find the one who makes your flaws less obvious.”
“What are you saying, Roxie? You’re the concealer for Dimitri’s blemishes?”
I shake my head before I can stop myself. “He’s not the one with the marks, Estelle. I am.”
Before the shock of my confession can register, the man we’re talking about steals my focus from across the room. The briefest glance Dimitri awards me under hooded lashes isn’t responsible for my utmost devotion. It’s the tick of his jaw when he stares down at a tablet Smith shoves under his nose.
My brows spike as quickly as my heart rate when Dimitri instructs Rocco to take me to my room. He only ever does that when he’s going to hurt someone I love or punish me. With his narrowed eyes locked on a group of officers mingling on the front porch, I doubt the latter is a contender. He’s so worked up, Smith’s tablet barely dings before he races across the room like a bullet being fired from a gun.
I sidestep Rocco just as quickly, certain the cause of Dimitri’s aggression has something to do with me. The image Smith showed him was blurry from a distance, but several parts of it were distinct—the most obvious, my recently dyed flaming red hair.
“Roxie…” Don’t misconstrue the annoyance in Rocco’s tone. If he didn’t want me to sidestep him, he wouldn’t have let it happen. From what I’ve overheard the past couple of hours, he encouraged Dimitri to let me stretch my wings, unaware Dimitri’s growth would come in the form of his possessiveness. He feels somewhat responsible fo
r the six-week gap in whatever the fuck you consider my relationship with Dimitri to be. I assured him he has nothing to feel guilty about. He disregarded my offer on the basis I didn’t know all the facts. Supposedly, the bender Dimitri went on weeks ago wasn’t his lowest low. The past six weeks were.
“Dimitri!” I shout when he pole drives an officer in the middle of the group. The man he’s assaulting is in uniform, his colleagues are surrounding him. I don’t see him coming out of this with anything less than an extremely long rap sheet.
When the group of twenty-plus officers part to watch the charade unfold, I’m given an uninterrupted view of Dimitri clambering off the unnamed officer. He isn’t satisfied he beat his face to within an inch of recognition with only a handful of swings. He’s moving for the old rope swing in the front tree.
He doesn’t yank it out of the tree. He merely curls the frayed end around the officer’s throat before he hauls him onto his feet with inhumane strength. The dark-haired man’s feet dangle an inch from the soggy ground within seconds, and his friends do nothing but stare when he clutches at the rope burning his throat.
His imminent death already looks painful, but I realize it’s about to get worse when Dimitri knots the rope so that the officer is suspended mid-air without Dimitri needing to maintain his grip on the pulley. It isn’t just the wet patch on the front of the man’s pants responsible for my beliefs, it’s the deadly gleam in Dimitri’s eyes when he removes his suit jacket and commences rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He’s set to punish this man, his endeavor only thwarted when he spots my watch.
“Get her out of here!” he yells at Rocco, his voice unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
Rocco doesn’t ignore his command this time around. He wraps his arm around my waist and hoists me away just as Dimitri hits the officer’s ribs with a punishing left-right-left combination.
As the officer slowly asphyxiates, his eyes protrude out of his head. It has nothing on the bulge mine do when I see Smith’s tablet screen head-on. The man who swore to uphold the law wasn’t tempted by the bounty on my head. He put my license on a rape-play site. The address of the apartment I share with Estelle is on a website specifically designed for men to connect with women who fantasize about being raped, clear as day for all to see.
It isn’t the only identification card on display either. There are several beneath me. One I recognize almost as immediately as I did mine. It’s a photo identification from what appears to be Demi’s place of employment. It states she enjoys being taken unaware, and the rougher her unknown john is, the better.
Oh. My. God. Is that why Demi was assaulted? Because the man Dimitri is killing made out she fantasizes about being raped? If that’s the case, what would have happened to me if Smith hadn’t found his disturbing website? I don’t have a dog nor a gun to keep me safe.
I only have Dimitri.
In all honesty, that’s all I need. It doesn’t make my anger any less violent, though. What if I weren’t home when the men came looking? What if they hurt Estelle believing she was me?
As the anger inside of me evolves, I fight with everything I have. “Let me go,” I seethe through clenched teeth when Rocco refuses to relinquish his grip around my waist. “I’m gonna pull his insides out of his nostrils.”
“You’re too late, Princess P,” he informs on a laugh. “He’s already met with his maker.”
My eyes jackknife back in just enough time to take in the fatal flop of the officer’s head. Although he’s still hanging from the tree I climbed as a child, I don’t believe he died from strangulation. There’s too much blood oozing from the many nicks and cuts on his body for the coroner to place anything but torture down as his cause of death.
Twenty-Five
Dimitri
My blood is boiling hot. I’m pissed, frustrated as fuck, and reasonably sure one kill won’t cut it. I want to murder Officer Daniel’s entire precinct. Do you truly expect my anger to be any less? He didn’t arrive with Maddox’s fleet. He’s been here since the start, standing mere feet from Roxanne for hours, drinking her coffee, and nibbling on the only morsel of food she had left in her cupboards. But instead of thanking her for her generosity, he put her information on a rape fantasy site. All her information—date of birth, height, weight, and exactly how you can sneak into her apartment via the fire escape ladder on the west side of her building. He even made out she likes being sodomized with household equipment.
Why, you ask? Because Officer Daniel Packwood works for the special victims’ unit branched under Ravenshoe PD’s umbrella, meaning he wouldn’t just be in charge of Roxanne’s case if one of the sick fucks on that site believed her kink was rape, he’d hear every sickening detail of her assault directly from the source—just like he did with Demi.
That’s his kink. He isn’t a rapist. He just wants to hear the fear in the woman’s voice when she recalls her nightmare firsthand, then he’d go home to spank one out before climbing into bed with his wife—a rape victim and advocator for women’s rights.
And you thought I was sick.
“Has the site been taken down?”
Smith waits for me to remove some of Officer Packwood’s blood from my hands with the towel Clover tossed at me before jerking up his chin. “A new one will be back up by tomorrow. That’s how these sites operate.”
“His wife?” I question through a tight jaw.
“Had no fucking clue why her hosting server was being hit with a million views per week,” Rocco answers on Smith’s behalf. “She isn’t in the wrong here, Dimi. There’s no need to punish her, too.”
Even confident he’s right doesn’t weaken my agitation. It will take Smith hours to comb through the website’s visitors to see who screenshot Roxanne’s information. That’s hours he will be off Fien’s case, but hours I can’t refuse to give. Roxanne hasn’t been to her apartment building in months, but that doesn’t mean she’s safe. You won’t believe the lengths men go when they’re on the hunt. Nothing is off-limits. If they want to find her, they will. No fear.
“Send two guys to watch out front. Officer Packwood wasn’t working alone, so he’ll have a visitor or two show up when he fails to arrive for duty Monday morning.”
“And them?” Clover asks, peering at the officers who did nothing to help their boy in blue, too grateful it wasn’t them to risk punishment by intervening.
He stops rubbing his hands together like a kid in a toyshop when I say, “They’re on payroll, so they’ll keep their mouths shut. If they don’t…” When he spots the murderous gleam darting through my eyes, he recommences rubbing his hands. “When another site pops up, what are the chances of tracing the source of the server?”
Smith pulls a face I’d rather not see when I’m itching to kill for the second time. “Not good.”
“Why not? You traced that one.” This question didn’t come from me. It came from Rocco, who’s just as pissed as me. Men like Officer Packwood are the worst of the worst to him. If he didn’t need to keep Roxanne contained in her room, I’m reasonably sure he would have joined me in punishing him.
“I followed a ping off Daniel’s phone. If I hadn’t, I would have never found the site he was posting to. It was buried too deeply in the dark web for standard searches.”
Smith doesn’t say it, but I felt his underhanded jab that he’s struggling to do every task I’m assigning him on the mobile equipment he only uses when we’re on the road. His hub was built on my compound for a reason. I get the best from him when he’s in an area specially created for him.
With that in mind, I nudge my head to the door. “Head back to the compound. Roxanne and I will join you there shortly.”
I can see on Rocco’s face how badly he wants to rib me for backpedaling on the decision I made six weeks ago, but since he knows better than to annoy me when I’m fuming mad, he keeps his mouth shut. It’s for the best. I’m so fucking angry right now, I can’t guarantee I won’t take it out on the wrong person—Roxanne and
my second-in-charge included.
I’m about to head for the room I hear running water coming from when an earlier incident pops back into my head. I crank my neck to peer at Rocco so quickly, I give myself whiplash. “Why are you here? You were meant to sign Megan out.”
His face whitens as his panicked eyes shift to Smith. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?” I ask when Smith shrugs, my temper short-fused.
“Fuck, douchebag. I thought you were on the ball.” Rocco whacks Smith in the gut before giving him and Clover their marching orders, and then he walks away from a group of men acting as if they didn’t just witness a murder. “Megan skipped bail. From what I coerced out of a medical team accepting no liability whatsoever for her misdiagnosis, it occurred a couple of weeks ago. She knocked a guard out cold. Chair straight over the fucking head.” He scoots in even closer. “We’re not the only ones hunting her.” He glances toward the corrupt cops without moving his head. “They even brought in sniffer dogs.”
“Who ordered the search?” Rocco’s stern facial expression answers my question on his behalf. “So Theresa’s act this morning was a ploy.” I’m not seeking clarity. I’m stating a fact. “She isn’t worried about Maddox—”
“Because she already knows she has that boy in check.”
Since I agree with him, I don’t voice annoyance about his interruption. I merely continue as if he never butted in. “She’s petrified we’re getting close to the truth.”
Rocco whistles out an agreeing tune. “That’s why we need to squeeze her a little harder.”
“Or I could just kill her. Get the inevitable over and done with.” My tone is as flat and bothersome as I’d feel knowing Theresa was lying in the bottom of the ocean, held down by bricks. That’s how inconsequential her life is. No one would care if she were dead, not even the little boy she’s trying to palm off as Isaac’s.