“Get! Out!” She pushed him with everything she had, wondering if the drugs in her system increased her strength as he stumbled back.
He caught himself and nodded. Moving slowly to grab a bag that was next to the door, he looked back at her. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t ever want to see you again.”
She was weeping by the time the door closed behind him. Then her body started to shut down, close in on her until a welcomed feeling of numbness overtook her, her sobs becoming distant. As if they were coming from someone else’s soul.
§ § §
Mitch was out of breath from running from the airport to his car, screaming at traffic, and sprinting up to the second floor of her building. He slowed when he saw Carter leaning against the railing outside Eden’s apartment. “How’d it go?”
Carter lifted his head, and Mitch saw the redness of his eyes. After a moment of recognition, the guy bolted toward the far stairway.
Mitch broke out into a run again, passed the door to Eden’s place, and stopped. From over the railing, he watched Carter book across the lawn, a bag banging against his thigh.
He’d never catch him. Mitch jogged back to her door and pounded his fist against it, resisting the urge to break it down. That was when he heard her crying inside. Full-throttle waterworks, little gasps of air, then more crying. He grabbed the knob, ready to kick it in and possibly break a foot on the metal if he had to. He didn’t care. He needed to get in there.
He needn’t have worried—it wasn’t even locked. Eden was curled up on the couch, completely naked, slowly rocking back and forth. What the fuck happened? He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing a throw blanket on the way, and slid onto the couch, covering her. “What happened?”
Tears flowed down her cheeks incessantly. Her eyes were puffy and red, her breath coming in shallow hiccups. But her face was peaceful, as if her body was reacting on autopilot without any input from her brain.
“Eden. Are you alright?” He lifted her chin, ignoring the wetness that made his hand slip slightly. “Say something.”
She didn’t.
His thumb brushed her lower lip, tugging at it slightly, wanting to somehow help it start working again. “Please say something.” He stared at her lips, deciding whether he’d rather have them form words or cover them with his own.
She looked at him through lashes turned even darker from tears and shivered a shrug.
He needed words. And she wasn’t going to give them to him. His anger pulsed when he thought of who would give them to him instead, even if he had to do it through a toothless and bleeding mouth. “It was Carter, wasn’t it?”
She neither agreed nor disagreed, but he knew.
“Did he hit you?”
The tiniest shake of her head came without change on her doll-like face.
He sighed. “Did he”—his throat clenched at the word—“touch you?”
Head shake, this time more adamantly.
He leaned backwards. “Then what the hell did he do?”
She bit the lip he’d just released but seemed incapable of speech.
“Where is he, Eden? Where did he go?” No, she needed yes-or-no questions. Carter had done something that turned her into a fucking magic eight ball of grief. “Is he at the station?”
Her expression turned into outright nervousness, probably knowing what Mitch would do to the guy when he found him. She wasn’t going to tell him anything.
Then he remembered the bag Carter had been carrying when he’d fled. It was a gym bag. Mitch tried to keep the sneer off his face when he remembered the name of the gym where Carter had suggested they have their boxing match. Well, their duel would happen sooner than either of them thought. Should have happened weeks ago.
He stood, wrapped the blanket tighter around her, and lifted her from the couch. His hand touched skin, warming him. He ignored his need to melt into it, into her, and carried her to his car. Setting her down gently on the seat, he swung around and jumped in. The trip to his house took two minutes tops. She didn’t say a word, just stared at him with blank eyes.
She might have been afraid of him, he didn’t know. At this point, he didn’t really care. He’d had a job to do, had left it to someone else to take care of, and would now make sure that mistake did not go unpunished. But he wasn’t the first person who would be punished. No, there was an order here that needed to be maintained. How’s that for leadership?
CHAPTER XXXII
You didn’t think to get her some frigging clothes, asshole? Mitch made sure the blanket was tucked tightly around her and carried her inside his house without letting her put a foot on the ground. After settling her into his bed, trying to make her comfortable while he was anything but, Mitch said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She clutched the arm of his jacket, her grip weak. “Don’t . . . hurt him, Mitch.”
As thrilled as he was that her speech had returned, it was too late. Flexibility had never been his strength. It was decided. He peeled her fingers off and set her hand at her side. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Please. He’s not worth it.”
True, but it will make me feel a lot better. “After I finish talking to him, I promise that he’ll still be standing, okay?” Even if I have to prop up his unconscious body.
He knew right where the gym was—around the block from the police station. Normally it would be the kind of place he’d rather die than enter, but today was a special occasion. There’d be cops, lots of them, but his anger blocked out any rational thoughts of self-preservation he should have had.
He parked in front of a hydrant, vaguely thinking how happy he’d made some ticket-giver’s day. Not a big concern right now.
The place was big. A sunken lobby with uncomfortable, cheap-looking chairs lining one wall. This was no country club, this was where muscles were bruised and worked to full capacity and no prisoners were taken. Perfect for what he had planned. Concrete floors matched the long reception desk. Yellow lines were painted along each wall, directing traffic up a flight of stairs to where he imagined the workout room would be. A hallway curving around the metal banister led off to . . . offices? Showers? He didn’t really care.
Knowing that blasting through the reception area without more than a dirty look to the kid behind the counter would bring the attention of at least twenty sweating cops down on him, he stopped and tried to appear cordial.
The pumped-up teenager smiled back, probably used to expressions like the one Mitch currently wore.
“I want a tour. Now.”
“Okay, let me get someone.” The guy picked up the phone.
“Now. You have thirty seconds to find someone or I leave.”
His bluff worked. The guy glanced around him, sighed and then came around the counter, his steps slightly bouncing and a salesman’s smile on his face. “I’ll show you around.” He kept talking, but Mitch ignored him, making sure his feet were right behind the kid’s, pressing him to move faster.
They walked upstairs into a huge room filled with equipment surrounding a boxing ring lifted about three feet off the ground. Two men wearing gloves were slamming each other, followed by kicks, jabs and prancing. Mitch found the violence encouraging. He scanned the room, searching for his personal, human punching bag. Not there.
“What are you doing here?” Landon’s voice came from the side. He stood up from a bench press, wrapping a towel around his shoulders.
“Hello there, Officer. I’m thinking of joining your club.” He was the last person Mitch wanted to see. This made things more complicated. It wasn’t going to stop him from doing what needed to be done, but he’d have to be more careful. And didn’t that just suck.
The cop lifted both eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have thought you were a joiner, Mitch.”
The gym employee glanced back and forth, from man to man, stepping out of the way. He was smarter than Mitch had given him credit for.
“I’m always on the look-out fo
r a place to fit in,” Mitch said.
“Don’t know if this is the place for you then.” Landon flicked his head toward the ring. “Unless you’re a fighter.”
“Oh, I’m a fighter alright. But today I’m just taking the tour. I’ll let you know if I end up becoming a member.”
“You do that.”
Mitch threw the same insincere smile back to the cop and turned to the teenager. “Continue the tour.”
“Sure.” The kid danced on his feet nervously and then led Mitch back down the stairs and into the locker room, spouting bullshit details about the benefits of membership.
Carter was standing in the middle of the empty locker room, his locker opened, stuffing his bag into it.
Mitch was on him in a heartbeat, pulling the kid’s arm behind him in a choke-hold and shoving him against the metal. “What did you do to her, asshole?” He heard a gasp and footsteps running for the door behind him. He needed answers. Now. He had maybe a minute before every cop in the place, including Landon, dragged him away. Not his most brilliant move, but his blinders had been finely focused.
Carter didn’t even fight. His body was limp and defeated before Mitch had touched him. “I didn’t do anything to her, I swear. I didn’t! Let me go!”
“Tell me what happened.” He heard shouting and feet hitting stairs. “Damn it, tell me what happened.”
“She got into . . . my stash.”
“Your stash? You little piece of shit.” Mitch relaxed his arm, gave one last brutal shove and let the guy go. “They know about it?” He nodded toward the thunderous footsteps coming closer.
“You can’t tell them! They won’t understand. Please, Mitchell, don’t tell them.”
Three cops pushed the door open, more of them steps behind. Landon was in the lead, smiling when he saw Mitch.
Carter held out his hands to the intruders. “It’s okay! We were just talking. No big deal.”
They slid to a stop, but didn’t retreat.
“Really. It’s just a misunderstanding.” Carter smiled and shrugged. “It’s a chick. But we’re dealing.” He nudged Mitch like it was a big joke.
The men took their time backing off.
Landon didn’t even pretend to leave. “I’ve seen you at the station. You’re a trainee or something, aren’t you?” he asked Carter.
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know my friend, Mitch?”
Mitch cut in before the boy scout said something stupid. “I’m trying to get into his ex’s pants.” Both men whipped their heads toward him. “What?” He held up his hands and shrugged. “Carter was telling me what her favorite position was, and I . . . lost my head for a minute. But I found it.” He winked at the shocked detective and then knocked on his forehead. “See? Right where I left it.”
“You’re nuts, you know that?”
“I do now, Officer. Thanks.” Mitch threw an arm around Carter who was still stunned by the derailment of this conversation. “We’re gonna keep talking now, right, Carter?”
“Yes,” he whimpered, as Mitch’s hold tightened.
It was a good thing Mitch had no intention of actually deceiving the cop, because it would have been a complete failure. However, his attempt at totally confusing the guy worked perfectly.
“If you want to talk, why not do it at the station, kid?”
“No, sir,” Carter said quickly. “That’s not necessary. We’re just shooting the shit . . . sir.” The forced smile didn’t quite make it to both sides of his mouth.
“Uh-huh.” Landon walked into the adjacent shower area, keeping his eyes on them until his neck would no longer allow that much rotation. “I’m gonna be in the shower. If I hear anything funny, it should take me about five seconds to get back here.”
As soon as Landon turned the corner and the sounds of water hitting tile wafted in, Mitch separated from the kid and told him to sit with a quick nod of the head toward a long bench running along the aisle of lockers. Carter sat so hard, his ass would be bruised tomorrow.
Not the perfect place for the violent discussion Mitch planned on having, but if he dragged Carter out, he knew Landon would come up with a good enough reason to take him in. And with Eden still a wreck at his house, he couldn’t afford any delays. So he resigned himself to no beating, but the boy scout didn’t need to know that.
Mitch stood over him, keeping his voice low. “You think having that cop in the next room will keep me from pounding you, don’t you?”
“I was hoping so, yes.”
“Hope is nice. Fucking useless in this situation, but still nice. You have one sentence before you start bleeding. Make it good.” He straddled the wood slats of the bench and waited, his arms crossed over his chest.
Carter glanced toward the shower area and leaned in close to whisper. “Chastity found something she shouldn’t have. I guess she snorted some of it. Then when Eden—”
“Stop. I said one sentence.” And my patience is a little shorter than the rope I want to choke you with. “Eden found your dope. So what did you do to her?”
“Shhh! I’ll be kicked out. It wasn’t dope.” His eyes searched for danger, having no idea that the biggest threat was right in front of him.
“I really don’t give a shit about what you’re putting up your nose, shooting into your veins, or shoving up your ass. I care even less about whoever you want to hide it all from. What I do care about is why she’s sobbing in my bed right now.” Not sobbing, she wasn’t sobbing. And that was the scariest part. He was afraid she wasn’t feeling anything anymore. “So spill.”
The naughty boy scout’s brow furrowed. “You took her to your place?”
“Not the point. Stop thinking about where and start thinking about what. You have two minutes before I’ve decided where I’m going to stuff your body.” Truth was, even he wasn’t stupid enough to give the detective more fuel for his Mitch-burning crusade.
“Last night, after Eden . . . you know, I got a phone call from Jolie.”
His eyes narrowed. “Jolie called you? Why?”
“She wanted to come over.”
“Why?”
Carter shrugged, confused. “Because she wanted to see me.”
“Why would she want to see you?”
“Because we’re dating.”
Mitch’s laughter nearly threw him off the bench. “What?”
The little brat actually sneered at him, downright proud of himself. “You didn’t know?”
“You’re serious. Holy crap, you’re serious.”
Landon’s bulky body appeared in the doorway, a towel hastily wrapped around his waist, eyes suspicious. But he wasn’t wet. The guy probably wished he’d picked up his gun before hitting the pretend-shower he wasn’t taking.
Mitch didn’t care. He just kept laughing. He looked at the cop, hysterical, and pointed to the kid. “He’s fucking my ex!”
Carter’s smile fell. “Jolie is your ex?”
Shit, the guy looked crushed. Which might actually make sense when confronted with the facts: The asshole who might be swiping Carter’s girl also got to the woman he replaced her with before he did. Yeah, that had to sting a little.
“It wasn’t a big deal, Scout. We experimented with the idea for a while early on, but I’m not—I don’t—” Jesus, what kind of guy am I? “I don’t commit.”
Once Landon had given them both some kind of evil-cop-eye and went back to pretending to shower, Carter asked, “Whose idea was it? To break it off.”
“It was a long time ago, I don’t remember.” Mitch actually felt guilty. Weird. He’d been totally fine with killing the brat a few minutes ago, but now he was about to lie to save the guy’s feelings? There was all kinds of wrong here. “Probably her . . . definitely her. She’s a lot smarter than I am.” That second part was probably true—Jolie was very smart. But the first part was definitely a lie. She’d understood, but hadn’t been happy about it right away. Or for a while after that.
Steam from Landon’s absur
dly long shower crept out into the main locker area. Sucking in thick, humid air, Mitch searched his memory, not sure if he cared or not, but feeling like he owed the guy as much as of the truth as possible. Why bother? Because Mitch had every intention in the world of possessing the guy’s ex-girlfriend. And infatuation loves company just as much as misery does.
Jolie. Sure, he remembered bits and pieces. Beautiful girl. Still was, but they didn’t match. Like peanut butter and rockets. Sexually they were more like animals, which was fine, but he’d felt her get too attached. It was an impossible situation. He needed her to keep an eye on Hyde when Shelly couldn’t. And the mushiness she started to drench him in—being overly attentive beyond her job, touching him, dancing around with the idea of a future with him in it—was a deal breaker. Where she got the idea he’d ever be interested in that kind of relationship was a mystery. He was 90% sure they’d only fucked facing each other a handful of times. How’s that for non-committal?
Hyde, an Urban Fantasy Page 25