by Mac Flynn
I reached my apartment just as the setting sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The streetlights flickered on and people scurried from the streets as the muggers and gang members slithered out from their daylight hiding places.
I stumbled from my car and up the stoop. My body felt like it was on fire. All I wanted was to get to my apartment and drowned myself in an ice-cold shower. My hands fumbled with the keys, but I finally managed to get the door open and get myself inside. The small lobby was draped in shadows and I hurried across to the stairs.
One of the shadows beside the stairs moved, and out stepped Druggy, as I now called him. He leered at me with his yellow-stained teeth and stepped in my way.
"Where ya going, baby?" he cooed.
"Get out of the way," I growled. My long fingers itched to give him a wider grin, but I fisted them and shoved them against my sides.
He leaned against one of the stairs walls and looked me over. "Why don't you and I go up to your apartment and get to know each other better?"
My hand snapped out and grabbed him around his throat. I pulled him off the wall and flung him behind me. He slid ten yards across the dirty floor. I spun around and growled at him. The man's eyes widened and he scrambled back with one of his arms raised in front of him.
"W-what the hell?" he yelped.
What the hell was right. I could see myself in his wide eyes. I was a monster. My eyes were narrow and wild, and my teeth were long and sharp. My clothes pressed tight against my body and some of the seams were burst open.
I turned away from that terrifying sight and hurried up the stairs. My vision was hazy, distorted. Everything looked brighter than it used to be, a little bit warmer. Like my body. I ground my teeth together and tried to will the heat away, but it was too deep within me, like it was a part of me.
I reached my floor and leaned against the wall of the landing. My heart beat like a hard-rock drummer and sweat flowed down my forehead in waterfalls. I wiped the salty water away and pushed open the door.
The hallway was quiet, but the building wasn't. I could hear my neighbors moving around in their apartments. There was the chinking of dishes and glasses, the low murmur of voices. People talked about their ugly coworkers, their stupid bosses, and those god-damn meter maids, and I could hear all of it. I'd never heard this much noise before. It buzzed in my head like a fly I couldn't swat or a bee I couldn't run from.
I clapped my hands over my ears and rushed down the hall. My apartment door was the entrance to my salvation. I fumbled for my keys and my shaking hands had trouble inserting the damn thing into the lock. I grabbed the knob to steady myself and froze. The knob turned in my hand. It was unlocked. I swung open the door and revealed my apartment.
The man, or whatever the hell he was, sat in the chair like last night. There was a bottle of wine with two glasses on the end table beside him. He picked up one in his hand and swirled the contents. There was that devilish smile on his lip. The heat inside me yearned to jump at him, but I held myself back.
He bowed his head to me. "Good evening."
I didn't reach for my gun. That hadn't worked last night. Instead I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I leaned my back against the entrance and glared at him.
"What the hell do you want?" I questioned him.
"What we both want," he returned. He gestured to the second wine glass. "Care for a drink?"
I ground my teeth together and shook my head. "I don't want a drink, I want you to get out."
The man took a sip from his wine glass and set it beside the other. His eyes fell on me and it was as though he struck me with a flamethrower. The heat inside me increased two-fold. It swelled over me like a thousand hands that touched all of me at the same time. My leg muscles thickened and I felt the seams of my pants tear open. I groaned and arched my back. The added pressure popped some of my shirt buttons and revealed my pert, swollen breasts. They were trapped inside the bra, but much of my fleshy mounds were exposed above those flimsy pieces of cloth.
The man's eyes widened. He stood and walked over to me. His eyes swept over me and I shuddered beneath their heated gaze.
"I see. So you're already going through the change," he commented.
He reached me and grasped my hips in his hands. My nostrils flared as a thick, woody scent flowed off him and over me. The heat inside me flared up and I whimpered. He bent down and planted teasing kisses on my neck. His whispered voice was strained and held a tinge of a growl in each word.
"You're a quick learner. I wonder how quick you will come when I take you."
His words broke my restraint. I lost myself in his scent and touches. He pressed his body against mine and slid his hands down the ripped seam of my pants. They tore in two and fell to the floor, along with my underwear. He leaned down and kissed the exposed flesh of my bulging breasts. I whimpered and clutched his head in my hands. He growled and thrust his hips against mine. I groaned when I felt his stiff, throbbing need hidden inside his pants.
He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. My shirt and bra were torn away, and were soon joined by his clothes. He covered my naked body with his own and thrust deep into my hot, wet core. I moaned at the feel of him stretching my walls, completing me like no one else could. He penetrated me again and again, thrusting hard and long into me. This wasn't a night for slow love-making. I needed him to take me rough and make me his.
Because I was just his, wasn't I? All day I'd craved his touch, his scent. I'd denied it to myself, but now, with him inside me, I couldn't deny him anything. My body ached for him with a burning desire that could only be quenched by this wild, sexual frenzy. We were consumed by our lust and rutted like a pair of wild animals. The sheets and pillows were shoved aside. The mattress rocked and heaved beneath us.
I clutched onto my lover and reveled in the complete feeling of belonging to someone else. He was the alpha, and I the beta. Every one of his firm, hard thrusts spoke of his dominance over me. My hips rocked with him, but only with his will. I did nothing without him. I was nothing without him. At that moment he was my world, my lover, my only one.
When I spoke I hardly recognized my own voice. There was a deep, guttural tone to the words that belied the tense, sexual animal need that burned inside me. I was more animal than human, and oh god did it feel good.
"Yes! Yes!" I growled.
My beastly lover grunted and thrust harder into me. Each push of his hips drove me deeper into this animal existence, this primitive need to be taken and filled by a dominant male. I clutched onto him and squirmed beneath his hard, sweat-soaked body. I'd never given myself so completely to someone else but to him I gave everything, and in return he showed me a pleasure like I'd never known. My body shook with the trembles of my orgasm. I was consumed by his body, his flesh, his being.
My orgasm swept over me like a hot pool of water. I threw my head back and let loose a howl that echoed off the bedroom walls. He joined me soon after in this wonderful bliss and let loose his own loud, echoing howl to tell the world of his conquest.
My lover collapsed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me and brought me close to his chest. His warmth washed over me like a soothing blanket. I tried to keep my eyes open, but I couldn't. Wild animal sex was too exhausting not to sleep. I closed my eyes and slowly slipped into a deep slumber.
The last thing I knew was his voice calling from the darkness a few words of warning. "Don't try to find me."
CHAPTER 9
It was like a bad rerun. I woke up naked in my bed with a delicious sex hangover. The warm sun through the windows told me I was late to work, if I had work to go to. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through my wild hair. This was getting nuts. I had this murderer wooing me like he was some sort of midnight Casanova. And what the hell was with that warning?"
"Don't try to find me. . ." I whispered.
I raised my head and grinned. Ominous and probably good advice, yes, but a stupid thing t
o say to me. Anyone who gave me an order was daring me to disobey it. That meant Challenge Accepted, and to hell with the consequences. That is, if I could actually pull it off. I had bits and pieces of the puzzle, but no picture yet and the box was lost. That meant a lot of footwork for me today.
But first, I had to play with an old enemy of mine: paperwork. I still had to turn in my statement to Howard, not that it'd help him much. Still, I had one hell of a problem, and it had to do with a certain shadow.
I stood and paced the room. To tell them or not to tell them about my liaisons with not only a murderer, but the murderer they were looking for. I had proof it was the same guy. The hair did that. I was an upstanding-well, I was a fellow cop. That counted for something.
I heard a knock on my door.
"Selena? You home?" It was Randy.
I glanced down at myself. Still naked. I peeked my head outside the bedroom and looked to the door. "Gimme a sec!" I slipped back into the bedroom and hopped into some clothes that weren't torn to shreds. Those got tossed under the bed with the monsters.
"If you're just getting dressed, I could help you," he called back.
I hopped into one sock and rolled my eyes. He was happily married and had a kid. I hopped into the other sock and to the door, and opened it. Randy stood on my threshold with a small yellow envelope in his hand. He held it out to me.
"Happy birthday!" he quipped.
I raised an eyebrow, but took the envelope. "It's not my birthday," I reminded him.
He grinned and shrugged. "I know, but Jim wanted you to have this. He called me up and asked me to hand it to you personally. Something about he didn't want you to ask him any questions."
I frowned and tore open the envelope. "He's pretty sneaky for a geek. . ." I muttered.
"I think it's because he's a geek that he's so sneaky," Randy commented. He looked past me at my apartment. "How you doing, anyway? The chief told me you were off for a couple of days. Needed a vacation or something?"
I snorted as I pulled out a slip of paper. It had Jim's handwriting on it. The hair samples were at the bottom in a small plastic bag.
I turned the paper around so it faced Randy. "You ever able to read Jim's writing?" I asked him.
"Never tried." Randy leaned forward and squinted. "Looks like something about no much found in the bagelbase."
I flipped the paper around and tucked it back into the envelope. Randy's partial decryption told me what I wanted to know, but not what I wanted to hear. "Maybe I'll just go bother him about it later," I mused.
Randy straightened. "Don't you have a statement to turn in today?" he reminded me.
"I was just about to start it when I heard this knock on the door," I told him.
He grinned. "Glad I could help. Anyway, the chief said to take that down when you're done. Be seeing you." He turned, but paused halfway and glanced over his shoulder at me. His eyes narrowed and studied me. "You do something different?"
I frowned and shook my head. "No, why?"
"You just look different. I don't know, just something about your hair or your clothes." He studied me for a while longer and then shrugged. "Guess it's just me. Anyway, good luck on the statement. I know how we all love doing paperwork."
I grabbed the door and smiled. "And we never do it enough," I quipped.
He smiled and nodded. "Yep. Anyway, see ya."
"See ya." I closed the door behind him and turned away. My eyes widened. I swung the door open and jumped into the hall. Randy was halfway down and near the stairs. "Hey!"
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "What?"
"You answer the call about the bodies they found in the river?"
Even at this distance I could see him roll his eyes. "Really? Here?"
"Did you?" I persisted.
Randy threw up his arms. "No, I was too busy with this idiot detective who doesn't know when to call for backup. Besides, the chief said no-go on telling you anything. You're on vacation, remember?"
I snorted. "More like solitary confinement, but I get your point."
"Later."
"Bye."
Randy walked down the stairs and out of sight. I returned to my apartment and shut the apartment door, this time for good.
"Damn. . ." I muttered.
There went the easy way to learn the location, and Jim wasn't talking, either. I'd just have to go to another source for the info. It wasn't reliable, but it was a source.
My source was located in the seedier part of the old downtown where the buildings had flat roofs, few floors, and a clientele that made the Wolf's Den look chic. Skyscrapers were those dark shadows far away in the sky and the shadows in the alleys weren't as tantalizing as the one that haunted my nights.
The particular hangout for my source was a small bar at the corner of hopelessness and desperation. The city blocks around the squat, single-floor building were filled with vacant apartment buildings and office buildings with false fronts and false advertisement. Some said they were lawyers, others shoemakers, but they were all holes for drug dealers and swindlers. Maybe not in the order, but you get the picture.
The name of the bar was the Rusty Knife, a fitting name for a building that was held together by rust and bird shit from the pigeons that hung out on the roof. I walked through the stained wooden door and into the dark, smoke-filled room. The walls were paneled in a depression black color that probably increased their customers' consumption of their cheap liquor and cheaper beer. Round tables sat in odd spots around the small room. Some had chairs, some didn't, and some had broken chairs that had limped through their sorry existence for more years than I'd lived.
The place was its usually rowdy self. Some people sat in their chairs slumped over the tables, others were slumped over the bar or coddling a large mug of the cheap alcohol. There were a few pool tables at the rear of the place. That was where the best light was to be found so nobody could cheat with weighted balls.
My target was a table in one of the darker corners at the far back. It was close to the bar, but not close enough that somebody on the stools could get a good look at the guy who sat there by himself. I walked through the mess of tables and some of the unconscious figures revived themselves enough to give me some tasteful compliments.
"Wanna fuck?" one slurred man asked me.
"Go fuck yourself," I quipped as I, like life, passed him by.
I came up to the table drenched in shadows and folded my arms across my chest. Before me sat a man in a heavy overcoat with a baseball cap pulled over his face. He wore black gloves and had an untouched mug of beer in front of him. On the table was a smart-phone with a large, bright screen. The screen was made so it could only be viewed from the front, so I couldn't make out what was on it. That was probably for the best. I would've had to arrest him fro some of his shady dealings.
Now you know how Quinn Stewart rolled in the underworld, and he was the one who would have the answers for me.
"You busy, Quinn?" I asked him.
His voice was scratchy, but strong. That spoke of youth, or at least some years fewer than his husky, twelve-packs-a-day type of voice. Even after dealing with him for five years I still couldn't place his age. "Yep," he quipped.
I slid into the chair opposite him. "Good, because I want some info."
He didn't lift his head from the screen. "You ever take a hint?"
"Nope, but I'll take some info. That is, if you have it," I quipped.
Quinn never could resist a challenge, especially when it pricked his pride. He lifted his head high enough to glare at me with his dark eyes. His face, what little I could see between the cap and the high collar of the overcoat, was pale. Sunlight wasn't usually on the agenda for him.
"I've got everything."
I leaned back in the chair, folded my arms across my chest and shrugged. "You might not have this info."
He shook his head and returned his attention to the smart-phone. "I'm not letting you do this to me again, detective."
<
br /> "Do what?" I innocently asked.
"Give you info without the dough. No dough, no info," he insisted.
"I've got dough, but how much depends on the answer," I returned.
He shook his head. "I don't work that way, not with customers," he persisted.
"What about old friends?"
He snorted. "I didn't get into this business to make friends, now show the dough or leave."
I rolled my eyes, but plopped down a small roll of bills. Quinn raised his head and reached for them, but I grasped them in my palm and slid them out of his reach. "You've seen the dough, now let's see if you've got my answer."
His eyes flickered to me and he retracted his hand. "Shoot."
CHAPTER 10
"I want to know where a pair of bodies were found along the river. They each had a bullet-"
"-hole in them and the bullets were made of silver," Quinn finished for me. He tapped his fingers across the touchscreen faster than I could count to ten on mine and read from the results. "They were discovered three nights ago along Mortum Street. It runs-"
"-along the river for five miles before turning off at the bay. Yeah, I know where it is," I assured him. I nodded at the smart-phone. "Anything else your crystal ball can tell me about them?"
"The victim with the bullet wound in the chest was Benjamin Sullivan. The second man was Steven Dunn. Known felons with rap sheets a mile wide. Dabbled in drug-dealing, thefts in nightclubs, assault, the usual. Steven Dunn was convicted of assaulting an officer five years ago," he told me.
I leaned back and pursed my lips. "What the hell would two-wannabe big boys be doing at the back of the Wolf's Den?"