Body of the Crime (Blackest Gold Series Book 2)

by R. Scarlett

  Because I haven’t been sleeping. Because I’ve either been studying or hunting for Cree.

  Because I can’t sleep.

  As soon as he began unbuttoning his white dress shirt to unveil the tops of his broad shoulders, Molly’s breath hitched.

  “I’ll be on the couch; call me if you need anything,” he said, flopping noisily on the cushions.

  And that was the end of the conversation.

  She sat in her bedroom, eyes dry and itchy as she scanned A History of Venice for the museum’s upcoming exhibit. It was opening in a few days, and Molly wanted to make sure she knew the answers to any questions she might get.

  When she wasn’t brushing up on art history, Molly spent her nights working through the gigantic stack of textbooks she needed to read before school started in three weeks. She welcomed the workload, as it provided an excuse to avoid sleep.

  Sleeping meant nightmares, and nightmares meant Abaddon.

  Her only source of peace was hunting the nightmare that was still alive: Cree, the hunter who still wanted to murder her and Tensley to avenge his own sister’s death. She was the woman Tensley’s brother Beau had fallen for, with their love resulting in Fallen’s massacre of both her and their unborn child.

  Molly tapped her fingers on her bruised kneecaps and stood, nudging the door open a crack to find Tensley asleep.

  He lay bare-chested on the couch, feet dangling over the edge of the arm. His pants sat dangerously low on his hips, revealing a happy trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath his waistband.

  A demon who looked like an angel when he slept.

  A chaotic, powerful one.

  She wanted him, wanted his trust back, and she’d prove to him that he could trust her.

  She decided not to hunt Cree that night, and instead selected another textbook from the table to review.

  Back in her room, the words jumbled and danced on the page, and Tensley’s measured breathing from the other room began to lull Molly into the most relaxed state she’d experienced for days.

  “I’ll just rest my eyes a second,” she said aloud, curling up on the nearest pillow.

  A CRY STIRRED her back into the darkness. A thunderous voice challenged hers and she jolted, arms flailing at whatever force held her captive.

  “No! No! Stop, please, stop it!” She dug her nails so deep she felt the skin tear and he hissed out.

  Whoever spoke back, their words were foreign to her ringing ears.

  “Please!” She shoved the heavy weight off her and lunged, wrapping her hands around the neck of—

  “Molly, you’re fine! It’s me! Molly!”

  Molly flashed her eyes open to find she wasn’t with Abaddon—no, she was in her bed, tangled in sheets and Tensley’s sinewy arms. Her hands were still wrapped around his neck, and slowly, she let them slip. She fell back, dizzy and confused, the fear still pounding through her.

  She stared at him, panting, gasping for air. “I almost strangled you.”

  “I’m fine, Molly,” he whispered breathlessly. He combed back her soaked hair and stroked her tear-stained cheek.

  “He was here. He was back and—” She didn’t finish her sentence, instead pressing her mouth to her forearm to hide the pain, the fear, the agony.

  Tensley furrowed his brows. “Who?”

  “Abaddon,” she said with a brittle voice. She broke into an uncontrollable sob. She wept, wiping snot away with the back of her hand. She had held in the fear for too long. She hid it from everyone, including September. Now, it was all crashing down on her at once.

  Tensley gripped the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her wet locks until she had to look him directly in his troubled eyes. “He’s dead, Molly. We killed him.”

  “I know,” she murmured, her nails digging into his arms. She hated how Abaddon still controlled her even from six feet under. She hadn’t told anyone she had nightmares or panic attacks, didn’t want them to think she was weak, especially Tensley. She had wanted to deal with it alone, to prove to herself that she could, but ultimately, she couldn’t. She needed the help of the people around her. She sniffled into her kneecaps, biting back a sob.

  He didn’t speak for a moment, analyzing her wet features as she blinked her tear-beaded lashes back at him.

  She chewed on her bottom lip and released it as she said, “I can’t stop seeing him—feeling him.”

  “Ciccia.” When he spoke in Italian, his faint accent resurfaced, soft and powerful all at once. His arms cradled her so softly.

  Hiccup after hiccup filled the silence as she tried to regain control. Don’t let him win, don’t break down.

  “Lay down, sweetheart.” She did, his body following after. He flushed himself against her, his frame wrapping itself around her as she trembled. His embrace was powerful and terrifying, all at once. In this moment, with his arms wrapped around her, protecting her from her nightmares, she felt like she could tell him anything, like she could open up and he wouldn’t reject her.

  “He won’t leave me alone. Even when he’s dead, he still terrorizes me,” she said, breathing shakily into his scruffy cheek.

  She eyed his jaw, clenching and unclenching. His fingers brushed against her cheek gently, calming her down. She found it almost funny now how scared she had been of the demon a month ago. Having him this close to her now made her feel safe, comforted, but it didn’t erase her thoughts or fears. It was a temporary escape and she fought to stay there with him.

  Tensley was the only person who knew what had happened in Abaddon’s chamber. She hadn’t gone into details with September or anyone else.

  His hand cupped her hip, pressing their bodies as close as possible, and she welcomed it. “Anyone who tries to hurt you will have to go through me first. You understand that, Molly?”

  She nodded on his chest. The shadows climbed up her crumbling walls and she shut her eyes, praying for another topic to distract her.

  Think about something else, something else, anything else…

  A thought came to her, a thought that had been plaguing her mind and only added to her curiosity about him.

  She bit her lip. “Who was she?”

  He stopped rubbing her hip. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

  She sat up, lashes wet and lips swollen. “That woman who you were…talking to before I came over.” She avoided his eyes at the last part. It didn’t take a genius to notice how close they’d been, the way they had mimicked each other’s body language, the way her blood-red nails had danced up his arm, how heatedly they had looked into the other’s eyes, so close he could have kissed her.

  He sighed, running a tense hand down his face. “A woman you should forget about. I certainly have.” He waited, boring his eyes into hers until she finally settled back onto his warm chest. She trusted him, but curiosity still ate at her, wondering who the woman had been to him.

  She stared at the ceiling, too afraid to look him in the eye again. “I’m sorry…about tonight. I know you wanted a drama-free night.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She smiled faintly into his body. “Speak Italian to me, Tensley.”

  He hummed in his throat. “Mm, mi sono infatuata di te.”

  His hand combed her hair off her face, falling down to his side. This time as sleep took over, she didn’t fight it. Within seconds, she fell asleep to his husky words and soft breathing.

  MOLLY ROLLED OUT of bed to find the living room couch empty, pillows fluffed enough to hide any evidence of Tensley ever having been there.

  “Cool,” Molly muttered, tightening her blue kimono around her waist and squinting into the early morning sun.

  When the front door slammed, her heart skipped—Tensley returning with breakfast?

  “Yo, bitch!”

  That would be a no.

  Molly found September hunched under the kitchen table, inspecting the leg they’d had to superglue back on two nights prior.

  “You look li
ke shit,” September said nonchalantly.

  Molly grunted. “Thanks.”

  “You need to stop your nighttime shenanigans, okay? It’s stressing you out, which is stressing me out. Our relationship doesn’t work well when we’re both dramatic.”

  Molly grabbed a banana from the counter and pointed to a large yellow book on the table beside her own stack. “What’s that?”

  “Hmm?” September rose and plopped down on one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. “It’s the phonebook.”

  Molly snorted and grabbed her birth control, swallowing it. “What are you looking for in a phonebook?”

  “A number for that guy.”

  “Oooh, descriptive.”

  September flipped to the next page. “That Lance guy, remember? I couldn’t find him online so I’m going old school, baby.”

  Molly froze mid-bite. “Lance…the one Cree mentioned was good at breaking contracts?”

  “Bingo.”

  Molly finished the banana and tossed the peel in the trash. “September, I don’t want to break the contract…”

  “I know. Sadly.”

  Molly raised a brow. “So…?”

  September flipped like a madwoman through the pages. “Lance knows Cree, which means he might be able to tell us where the bastard is hiding, so you can stop patrolling New York like Buffy.”

  “I like Buffy.”

  “I do too, but Buffy was a fictional character who didn’t need regular sleep, and you’re not. What’s the rush to find Cree, anyway? I say good riddance.”

  Molly studied the lines of her palms. “I won’t feel safe until I know he’s gone. Plus Tensley still doesn’t trust me.”

  September stopped her search to stare at Molly. “And you think killing Cree will fix that?”

  “It’s a start.” Molly forced a smile and reached for the nearest cupboard. “Want some tea?”

  September made a gagging sound. “Fuck no. I hate tea.”

  They went silent after that, and Molly’s phone buzzed. The screen read Mom, and Molly groaned. She hadn’t been speaking to her mother much lately, considering how every conversation devolved into an argument about what she was doing with her life. Her uppity parents didn’t approve of her job, her apartment, her choice of friends…and they certainly didn’t approve of Tensley Knight.

  Molly stared at the boiling kettle, listening to its high-pitched hiss.

  “So was Fallen there last night? I know you were nervous about seeing him,” September said.

  Molly shook her head, black dots filtering her vision. Damn this sleep deprivation. “No, thank god. He wasn’t invited.”

  September leaned back and laced her hands behind her head. “You think he’s gonna try anything? I don’t know—steal you for himself?”

  “I mean…he was the one who made the rules about engagements. He’d be breaking his own law since I’m with Tensley.” She glanced down at her engagement ring: a bold, black diamond surrounded by delicate gold trim.

  A promise predicated on a lie.

  If Tensley didn’t mark her, someone else—someone horrible—could show up to do so instead.

  Molly swayed at the notion, catching herself on the counter.

  “Are you okay?” September asked, pushing up from her chair with concern.

  Molly waved her off, blinking away her dotted vision. “I’m fine. It’s this damn heat. Stop asking me that.”

  “I know. It’s just…you’re scaring me. You won’t sleep, you’re gone all hours of the night, and when you come back, you’re covered in bruises.” September looked heavenward, shaking her head. “If you won’t talk to me, talk to Tensley. I hate the guy, but maybe he can help you.”

  Molly nodded, pouring out her tea with a shaky hand. “So you and Illya?” she questioned, changing topics. “I heard he picked you up from the diner.”

  September’s cheeks flushed. “Hell no! He’s a demon, Molly. He could be the hottest piece of ass in all fifty states and I’d still say no.”

  “Sure,” Molly said, blowing on her tea. “I need to get to the museum, but I look forward to catching up on all your late-night adventures.”

  “Psh. That diner is keeping my adventures until I die,” September shot back. “By the way, did you already invite your fiancé to the exhibit opening?”

  Molly shrugged. “I figured he would be busy.”

  “Good, because I am very interested—in the free food, anyway.” September went back to the phonebook. “I’m gonna keep looking for Lance’s address while you get your ass to work.”

  Just as Molly went to make the bed, she saw a thin piece of black fabric tossed on the floor.

  Tensley’s tie.

  She picked it up gently and smoothed out the silky material.

  She stuffed the tie into her purse and turned to her wardrobe.

  Molly didn’t waste a second, throwing on an outfit—a white eyelet dress with lavender high heels—and rushing down the stairs onto the busy street. She craved the quiet museum and its wide, white rooms. Nothing could sneak up on her in there; nothing could hide for long.

  As she turned onto Fifth Avenue, a zoo of business suits overtook the sidewalks and the scent of freshly roasted coffee soothed her nerves—but it was fleeting, because Molly immediately sensed a pair of eyes on her.

  She circled and nearly ran into a man on his cell phone; he flipped her off with a screech of indignation.

  “S-Sorry,” Molly said, scanning the throngs for a thatch of dark hair, a pair of green eyes.

  Where are you, Cree? Come out, come out wherever you are…

  If the demon hunters were stupid enough to follow her in broad daylight, she’d gladly break their bones in the nearest alleyway she could find.

  TENSLEY WIPED THE blood from his cheek and clicked his tongue like a schoolmarm.

  “Are you ready to talk now, hunter scum?” he asked the half-conscious man in front of him with false sweetness as he applied more pressure on the wound he had just administered to the hunter’s leg.

  The demon hunter’s face contorted as he appeared to debate between confessing or not. Instead, he spat on Tensley’s leather oxfords.

  Piece of shit.

  A buzzing, uncovered light bulb swung overhead, drenching them both in sickly green light.

  The basement was tiny, but dark—dark enough that they couldn’t see where the walls were around them, giving the illusion that the two of them were standing in an endless abyss.

  “I already told you, I don’t know where she is,” the hunter repeated for the hundredth time that afternoon.

  Tensley clenched his fists to keep from killing the hunter on the spot. “But you saw her, yes? Thought you’d have fun with a demon for a night—add another demented notch to your bedpost?”

  “I saw her, yeah, but I didn’t touch her. Promise.” The hunter’s voice broke as he pulled against his restraints; his hands had gone bone white from loss of circulation an hour ago.

  Tensley’s men had found the nameless hunter outside a bar in Queens, his tongue halfway down some skank’s throat. He was low in rank so Tensley probably couldn’t use him as a bargaining chip, but Tensley had grown pretty desperate in his search for Lex since the past three leads had proven useless.

  Tensley walked over to the only desk in the room—one discarded from the offices upstairs—and studied his array of knives. “I’ve broken your hand, finger by finger, and it’s unlikely you’ll ever walk on your left leg again. Your nose is completely fucked,” he recited, selecting the largest blade from his collection. “What’s it going to take for your piece-of-shit self to confess? Do I need to cut off your hand, is that what you want?”

  “N-No, I told you, I don’t know anything—”

  Quick as a scorpion, Tensley reached behind the man and grabbed his right hand, pressing the knife at the base of it. When the man inhaled shakily, Tensley suddenly stopped.

  For a moment, the man’s shoulders sagged and his heart settled.


  For a moment.

  Then Tensley struck, dug the knife deep into the man’s hand, slicing straight to the bone.

  The hunter’s agonizing scream shook through Tensley’s body, his demon side almost purring at the sound, and he stood, wiped his hand on his cheek.

  Tensley left the basement and turned to the soldier waiting outside. “Give him a little while to bleed, then conduct another round of questioning.”

  “And if he doesn’t talk?”

  Tensley sniffed. “Slit his throat.”

  None of the Nineteenth Battalion soldiers argued with Tensley’s orders as he passed them, taking the elevator up to his office on the ground floor.

  Once seated in his leather desk chair, Tensley yanked out his phone and read September’s text again: She won’t listen to me. You’re up.

  A brisk knock at the half-closed door interrupted his musings on how best to help Molly get some damn sleep. “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Knight?”

  Tensley glared as Mr. Rose and Evelyn slunk into his office, slithery as two serpents in the underbrush.

  “What an unpleasant surprise,” Tensley said as he unbuttoned the collar of his dress shirt. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with either of you.”

  “Evelyn will be shadowing me, to take over my position,” Mr. Rose announced.

  Tensley bit the inside of his cheek. “Is that so?”

  “Your father agreed to it,” Evelyn said, twirling one of Tensley’s gold pens between her fingers.

  Mr. Rose cleared his throat. “I’m sure you two will be able to work quite cordially with one another during our Ares negotiations.”

  “The Ares members are too concerned with their own demon hunter issues to pay us any mind,” Tensley said, avoiding Evelyn’s gaze. “An argument between me and her isn’t going to deter them from handing over the Boston territory. Is that all?”

  Mr. Rose balked. “I suppose it is.”

  “Then get the hell out.”

  Mr. Rose hesitated before slowly backing out of Tensley’s office, mumbling angrily under his breath.

  Evelyn, on the other hand, disregarded his command and instead crossed her arms to amplify the cleavage behind her tasteful black blouse.