Resisting the Bad Boy - A Standalone Bad Boy Romance

by Gabi Moore

  No one knew what had happened to Amy, yet. There were no witnesses, at least none that had stuck around to speak to police. Some psycho in the alley, probably. High on meth or PCP or some crazy street drugs. That was all the police could guess so far, when Chip asked.

  “It’s going to be all right, Aurora, it’s going to be fine.”

  First Madame Moreau, and now this? How much was one girl supposed to be able to handle?

  Aurora struggled to sit upright. She seemed to be succeeding when an officer approached.

  “You the owner? Christopher Henson?”

  Chip’s real name; he answered in the affirmative.

  The officer sighed. “Sir, do you know an Aurora?”

  Both Aurora and Chip stiffened and exchanged a glance. “Well… yes.”

  Another sigh. The officer, also, seemed to be having a long night, and looked truly sorry when he said, “There’s no easy way to tell you this, but I’m afraid we found her body in the alley behind the bar.”

  Aurora forgot to breathe again. Chip looked at her, then at the officer. “That’s not possible. Aurora… well, this is her. Right here.”

  The cop stared at Aurora for a moment, and frowned. “Well, we got an adult female, probably twenties, eyes and tongue missing, lying dead in the alley behind your establishment.”

  Confusion, then realization. Aurora’s eyes welled up again and Chip closed his eyes. In a whisper, Aurora voiced what they both knew.

  “Katrina.”

  Chapter 5

  The interrogation room wasn’t like the gray metal and stone ones Aurora had always seen in Law and Order. The table and chairs (and the two-way glass) were about the only parts in common. It was getting on towards eleven and Aurora was feeling extremely tired. If she were to venture a guess, her adrenaline and the terrible shock of seeing Amy and hearing about Katrina had wiped her of energy. She sure felt wiped of energy.

  The officer sitting across from her was a middle aged black woman, overweight and plainly dressed and slacks and a polo, more resembling a DMV clerk than a plainclothes detective. She looked fully uninterested in being at work at eleven on a Friday, or perhaps any day, and she asked Aurora a string of questions in a deadpan tone that suggested obligation.

  “How long did you know the victim?”

  “Which…?”

  “My apologies, Ms. Potier. Ms. Katrina Gersham. How long were you two acquainted?”

  “Uh…” Aurora was having the hardest time pinning down dates, hours. “I only met her when I started at Witching Hour, about a year… and… a half ago?” Had it only been that long? Aurora felt like she had been bartending for Chip forever. What would happen to the bar now?

  “Ms. Potier?”

  “Yes! I’m… I’m sorry. It’s been a long night.”

  “Did you hear the question?”

  Had there been another question? Aurora felt like she could put her head down on the desk and fall asleep, and they were here asking her questions. Worse, they were mostly the same questions she’d answered for the police on-scene. Was there anyone suspicious in the bar tonight? Did you notice any strangers out front or out back when you arrived at work? Your boss informed us you were late—could you provide details of that, please?

  “No, I’m sorry,” Aurora replied, dry-mouthed. “What did you ask?”

  The officer nodded her head slowly, neither annoyed nor sympathetic, and repeated, “Please recount the last time you saw the victim—Ms. Gersham—alive.”

  Aurora bit her bottom lip, thinking. That was a tough thing to do, although she remembered it clearly, as if it had only happened a moment ago.

  “I arrived at work late, and joined Amy and Katrina behind the bar, probably around 8:45—PM. There were a lot of customers at the bar right then, so I jumped right in to help. We hardly spoke for the first half hour, we were so busy. And then, when it slowed down a bit, they wanted to go out and smoke before the real rush arrived…”

  Aurora’s throat closed. Tears welled up in her eyes. “I don’t smoke, see… They know I don’t… They… knew… That’s why they kn-knew I could w-watch—the bar—while they—” Unwelcome, images of Amy stumbling back without eyes, without a tongue, came rushing in. And Katrina—poor Katrina—she’d gotten engaged last month…

  If only she’d told them no! Aurora cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. If only she’d refused! If only she’d been on time, then maybe someone else, another smoker, would have been behind the bar and they wouldn’t have been able to agree on who to stay—something, anything!

  “Oh, God,” Aurora coughed miserably. The officer waited, face softening for the first time that Aurora had seen. Here she was, answering a police inquiry in her bartending outfit, recounting the events leading up to the death of one coworker and the maiming of another. They still hadn’t found Amy’s tongue or eyes.

  No, Aurora stopped herself. Don’t think of that. Anything but that. Determined, she put her mind in the office outside. It had looked like a normal government office space. It could have been an accounting office, or the back room of the IRS. Cubicles, computers, suits and ties and office casual. A man and woman flirted over a cubicle wall. Papers and files were being run, work was being evading with varying degrees of success. Everyone seemed ready to go home, some more than others.

  Movement. Action. Life. Aurora focused on it, refusing to be sucked back into the empty holes of Amy’s missing eyes.

  “Ms. Potier? Was that all you remember?”

  Aurora nodded, still focusing on the hustle of office work she was envisioning outside the interrogation room.

  The officer blinked slowly, as if she had all the time she could ever need, and leaned forward. “You failed to mention that Katrina Gersham was wearing your jacket when she died.”

  Shocked, Aurora snapped out of her daydream. “Well… yes. She’d borrowed it before I arrived.”

  “Without your permission?”

  “Yes, I hadn’t gotten to work yet,” Aurora repeated. She was beginning to hear something like suspicion in her interrogator’s voice. “How much longer is this going to be? I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Almost finished, Miss.”

  But for the next minute, she said absolutely nothing and proceeded to write what looked like pages of notes on her notepad, leaving Aurora to try and remain calm. The clock seemed to grow louder with each tick. Why was she still here? Aurora smoothed her hands over her leather pants anxiously. She’d answered all their questions, hadn’t she? Why was she being kept here? Why?

  She watched the officer jot note after note, never once looking up. What was she writing? Aurora had the sudden and unwelcome thought. Was she a suspect? Why had they asked about Katrina and the jacket?

  Without warning the door burst open like an explosion and slapped flat against the opposite wall. Aurora nearly jumped to the ceiling. In strode a second officer, this one looking even less the part than the one who’d finally paused her writing to look up in annoyance.

  This officer was younger, perhaps in his late twenties. White and with a wide, obnoxious smile, his short blondish hair was cropped like he still thought N’Sync was a thing. He was wearing jeans instead of slacks, and a blazing red-patterned button-down shirt. His holster was still over his shoulders, weapon and all, though he wasn’t wearing a coat to hide it.

  “Hey! How’s the interview?”

  Aurora had no idea if he was asking her or the other officer. She just sat there, staring open-mouthed. The older officer glared, mouth thinning into a sharp line.

  “Officer Milo, please have a seat.” She sighed heavily. “You have been asked repeatedly to please dress according to code.”

  “Aw, don’t be like that, Dora. Jeans are more comfortable.” He said this as he pulled up a chair on the table edge between them. “And they flatter my legs better.”

  He did have a nice body. Aurora wasn’t really in a position to admire officers’ physiques at the moment, but the jeans s
uited him nicely. Sort of a Wild West feel. She was relaxing, which was a relief, because a moment ago her skin had been threatening to leap right off her bones. Her breathing was settling back into a normal rhythm; Aurora hadn’t realized she’d been breathing any differently until she’d gotten back to her usual rate.

  “Did Dora ask you about the victims yet?”

  Aurora nodded. “Yes. I told her everything I know. I was inside at the bar when it happened.”

  Officer Milo looked at her closely; his wasn’t exactly an intimidating face, so the effect was more comical than anything, like Ace Ventura. This, she judged, would not be a good time to point that out.

  “So you deny any connection to the assaults?”

  “Milo!” Dora hissed warningly.

  “What?” he asked, turning to her in confusion.

  Aurora blinked. She didn’t understand at first. “Of course I didn’t have anything to do with them. That’s… that’s sick, what happened to Amy… to Katrina.”

  Milo swiveled back to face her. “So you didn’t commit, or have any knowledge of, these crimes?”

  Understanding began to dawn on her, and Aurora’s breath huffed out in an incredulous hiss. She had been so anxious just a few minutes ago—where had all that gone?

  “Are you suggesting that it was me?” she asked flatly, raising her eyebrows.

  “Well, the victim was wearing your jacket—”

  “That she borrowed from me, without asking, before I even arrived,” Aurora snapped, cutting Milo off. She glared at both of them. “Should I call a lawyer?”

  Not that she could afford it. Maybe she could find someone to defend her pro bono; how did you find someone like that? How did people go about procuring lawyers? It came up all the time in Law and Order and CSI—which Aurora loved to watch when she had a split second off work—but really, how did you find one in real life?

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, Ms. Potier,” Officer Dora replied. “You’ll have to forgive my partner. He was dropped on his head as a child, and many times since.” The last she drawled with a level stare at Milo, who barely looked sheepish.

  “Yeah,” he added. “We’re just having a conversation, right?”

  “There were dozens of people in the club,” Aurora continued, unconvinced. “I’m accounted for—the entire time that the crime must have happened. I was at the bar when Katrina and Amy went out to smoke, and I didn’t leave until… after.”

  “The witnesses at the club have all vanished,” Dora replied. “Many disappeared into the night the second that poor girl made it back behind the bar. The rest are claiming they weren’t even there.”

  Aurora stared, dumbstruck. “The… the cameras. Chip has cameras…”

  Dora shook her head. “It seems Mr. Henson had been having some technical difficulties with the security cameras. He says it’s been going on for a day or two—hadn’t gotten around to having someone out to look at them just yet. We’ve checked his contacts; the company has an appointment for Witching Hour on Monday, but trouble always happens when you aren’t ready for it, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I didn’t do it,” Aurora insisted. “That’s crazy! Why would I? I’d have to be nuts to want to hurt either of them like that.”

  “Honestly,” Milo shrugged. “We’re just low on suspects.”

  Fury welled up Aurora’s stomach like a fireball. “That’s why I’m being given the third-degree? Because you’re low on suspects?”

  Milo exchanged a look with Dora, who looked at him with the same flat expression she’d been wearing for most of the interview.

  “So, you don’t have any proof—or—or whatever?” Aurora snapped. “You don’t have any reason to suspect me at all? Just, there’s not really anyone else?”

  “Well, it’s not—”

  “Are you even allowed to hold me here?”

  Dora stiffened, and Milo shook his head. “Now, don’t get too excited. You’re involved in a violent crime investigation, Ms., and we’d appreciate it—”

  “No,” Aurora slammed to her feet. “If I’m not under arrest, I’m leaving. I’ve told you everything I know. Don’t contact me again without a warrant.”

  And with that, she snatched her purse and stormed out the door of the interview room, heart pounding in terror and triumph. She couldn’t believe she had just done that. Nerves twittered over her skin like ruffled feathers as she walked with her chin up out into the office.

  “Hey, wait up!”

  Aurora didn’t even turn around. It was Milo, of course, catching up with her. But she’d had a long night, and a long night is even longer in heels, and she was in no mood to mince any more words with this particular nuisance.

  “What’dya want?”

  “To apologize.”

  The nerve! Aurora spun around furious, but before she could say a word, Milo pressed on. “Look, we wanted to push you a little, make sure it wasn’t you. We can learn a lot from how someone denies an accusation. It takes a little acting, but you passed. You weren’t involved.”

  “I told you that from the beginning!” Aurora almost yelled it in his face, but she was painfully aware of the room full of cops that she was standing in. They had nothing to indict her with, at present. Even strung out on adrenaline and horror, she had the sense not to hand them a sentence.

  Milo looked down at her, not in wariness or anger, but in sympathy. That made Aurora even more furious.

  “I’m sorry for all you’ve gone through tonight, but we needed to be as sure as possible that you weren’t the killer before we let you walk out.”

  “Well, it’s not me. And I’m walking out now.” Aurora spun on her clunky boot heel and stomped out into the freezing rush of a New York winter night.

  Immediately, Aurora felt foolish. Her own clothes (and her sweaters) were in her locker at Witching Hour. Well, it was a crime scene, now, so there was no point in trying to go back and get them. She’d been lucky to snag her purse before she was driven downtown. And now, she was standing in front of the police station, her purse over her shoulder, dressed like a hooker, or a dominatrix, out alone on the streets of New York. And home was a long way away.

  Had any night ever dragged on so long? Aurora dug her phone out of her bag. Maybe she could get an Uber. Then again, with Madame Moreau sick at one job and Witching Hour closed for the foreseeable future, maybe it would be better to save her money. The next few weeks were going to be pretty slim.

  Thoughts of rides and money dropped from her mind when Aurora opened her phone and saw the notifications.

  You have 7 voicemails

  All from her mother.

  It had been one shock after another from this morning to now, and it is a testament to Aurora’s character and sanity that she didn’t panic. After all, has any good news ever come from seven missed calls? But Ramona worried, sometimes excessively, and had a small inclination to overreact.

  Aurora called her back immediately. If she waited, she’d lose her nerve completely.

  “Aurora?”

  It was her mother’s voice, shaky and frail on the other end of the line. Soothing, Aurora answered in the affirmative. “Yes, it’s me, Momma. How are you? Is everything all right?”

  “You’re all right, baby? I was watching the news, and I saw your work—where are you? Do you need me to come get you?”

  She was very upset, then. Aurora hadn’t ever been a troublemaker, but she could remember often in her school years when her mother would swoop in and save her. If she was ever ill at school, or injured at softball. From fights with friends and bad dates, and everything in between. But they had sold the car years ago, and Ramona seemed to have forgotten that she hardly even owned any clothes except pajamas now, and hadn’t ventured farther than the stairs in the hall for months.

  “No, Momma, I’m all right,” Aurora insisted. “Everything’s… I’m safe. I’m on my way home now, so don’t you worry.” No, Aurora wasn’t about to explain what had happened at the club.
No, she wasn’t about to explain about the police station, how they tried to get her to confess. No. None of these things; Ramona Potier was not in any condition to handle such information.

  It wasn’t fair. Aurora was so shaken herself, she felt like a snow-globe, with all her myriad pieces flying in every direction, nothing going right. When had it become her job to look after her mother? She knew, of course. She could name the date and time. But it still wasn’t fair. None of it.

  “Aurora?”

  She sniffled and tried to settle her voice. “Yes, Momma?”

  “I love you, Aurora. More than anything. Anything, anybody in the whole world.”

  A choked sob ripped out of Aurora’s throat; she managed to pull the phone from her lips just in time. It wasn’t only the stress of the day turning her head, squeezing her heart. In her gut twisted the guilt of her thoughts, of how badly she wished she was free of her mother and yet how terrified she felt at that wish ever becoming real. What would her life be without Ramona? Everything, and nothing.

  “I love you too, Momma,” Aurora replied finally, and it was the truest thing she’d ever said, ever felt. Nothing was ever simple, not when the cost of freedom was the person most precious to her. Not when the weight holding her down was the person she loved the most, who had given up everything on Aurora’s behalf. No fairness here. No ease.

  “I-I’ll be home soon, Momma,” Aurora told her. “I’ve got to go, now. I’m going to be home soon. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Aurora hung up and took a deep breath, then another. The air was cold on her skin, but it stabbed her lungs as she filled them. She breathed deep anyway. For a moment, she could pretend that her world wasn’t a cage.

  Her phone was out and the Uber app open when a car pulled up to the sidewalk, just beside her. Aurora moved away from it automatically, but the window rolled down and Officer Milo’s face grinned out.