Dark Justice

by Kristi Belcamino

  “Do you want me to have one?” he wrote back.

  “Definitely not.”

  “How about you?”

  I set down the phone and tugged off my T-shirt. I wasn’t wearing a bra.

  I propped the phone on the dresser in my bedroom and then wriggled out of my jeans. Then I lay back and held the phone up above my head so it showed my head, my bare breasts, and the top of my black lace underwear, where I put my other hand.

  After I sent the photo, I lay back in the bed, breathing heavy.

  My phone dinged. I glanced over.

  He had replied with one word: “Damn.”

  I grabbed my phone, and before I could change my mind typed, “Let me see you. Please.”

  To my surprise, he sent a short video. So of course I had to send one back.

  And then I just said “Fuck it” and Facetimed him.

  Eleven

  James was drunk.

  Nicoletta kept pouring him drink after drink out of the seeming endless pitcher of margarita she’d made. They were sitting on his deck overlooking the street below. The sun was setting, and he was out of sorts.

  Seeing Gia had sent him into a tailspin.

  He’d thought that his feelings for her were platonic. He’d thought that after all those blissful years as Genevieve’s husband and loving her with all his heart, his feelings for Gia would be gone.

  But as soon as he saw her, he knew his feelings for Gia would never die. He would love her in some form forever. But he also knew they could never be together.

  Nicoletta hadn’t brought it up yet, but he knew it was simply a matter of time.

  She wasn’t an idiot. She must’ve felt the electricity between them.

  Nicoletta sidled up to him, pressing her breast against his shoulder as she leaned down to fill up his glass once again.

  He reached for her hand. “Sit, baby. You’ve been busy in the kitchen since we got home.”

  “I like to take care of my man,” she said in a sweet voice.

  He smiled, instantly feeling guilty for all the thoughts he had about Gia. He didn’t deserve Nicoletta. She was all soft and feminine and nurturing. Just what he needed after two years of lonely grieving for Genevieve. Nicoletta didn’t ask for much, just his time.

  She sat down.

  “Honey, you just seem like you have a lot on your mind. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I owe you an explanation,” he said. “That woman?”

  “The pretty brunette?”

  Pretty. Gia was sexy, mysterious, gorgeous, but pretty? It seemed as lightweight as saying someone was “nice.” But he nodded.

  “We were together years ago, and it just shook me to see her in person again.”

  “Oh,” Nicoletta said and looked down. Her lower lip trembled. Fuck.

  He reached over for her hand. “We didn’t work out for a reason.”

  Nicoletta nodded, not looking up.

  “I’m a cop,” he slurred. Fuck he was drunk.

  “I don’t get it,” she said.

  He rubbed his eyes with the back of his palm.

  Maybe he should wait to have this conversation when he was sober. Otherwise, he might say something he regretted or that hurt her feelings. She didn’t deserve that. But she did deserve an explanation. And she deserved it now, not later.

  “I’m a cop. That means my duty is to enforce the law, right?”

  Nicoletta nodded.

  “Well, Gia…let’s just say she doesn’t always follow the law.”

  “I don’t get it,” Nicoletta said, frowning.

  Of course, she doesn’t, James thought. Which is partly why he was with her. She was so confident and arrogant on stage in her role as an opera star, but when it came to being a woman in the real world, she was surprisingly helpless. For some reason, it made him feel more masculine to be able to take care of her. He wanted to protect her and keep her safe.

  “Are you saying she breaks the law? Like steals?” Nicoletta asked.

  “Worse.”

  “Worse than stealing?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Nicoletta’s eyes widened. “Has she killed someone?”

  Dear Lord Jesus. What in the hell was he supposed to say to that. Of course, Gia had killed people. That was entirely the problem. In most cases, it hadn’t been her fault. They were self-defense? Or were they? That was the problem. He never really knew 100 percent if all the murders had been necessary. Of course, Gia had thought they were necessary. But…

  “James?”

  He jumped. He’d been lost in thought and hadn’t answered her question.

  “I’m drunk,” he said. “I think I need to go to bed.”

  He turned and began to wheel himself into the house.

  “Oh, honey, I thought we could…you know?” She gave him a sexy grin.

  He smiled back. “I’m so drunk. How many of those did you pour me?”

  She shrugged. “I feel fine.”

  He blinked.

  In the bedroom, he hauled himself out of his wheelchair and into the bed. The room was spinning.

  Nicoletta climbed on top of him and began to undo his pants. He grinned at her but then gently pushed her away.

  He could barely keep his eyes open. What was going on?

  The next thing he knew, the covers were being pulled up to his chin, and he felt Nicoletta’s soft, silky hair brush his face as she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

  “Sweet dreams, James.”

  Twelve

  He was slouched in his favorite armchair at Nicoletta’s Richmond District apartment sipping cheap whisky.

  It was fine, he told himself. Soon, he would only drink top shelf. This was temporary.

  Everything was going as planned.

  Then the door opened. It was Nicoletta, home from that cop’s house. She’d promised she’d be back before midnight. She’d come through. He wondered how she’d talked the cop into letting her leave?

  She wore a filmy beige dress. He could see her huge nipples through it.

  “Oh, baby, I missed you so much,” Nicoletta said, walking in and stretching languorously, her large breasts thrusting against the fabric of her dress. “Seeing you today across the room and not being able to kiss you and hold you killed me. I got James drunk so I could come home early.”

  “I’m so glad you did,” he said. “It won’t be much longer. And then we will be away from this cold, gray city and can do whatever the hell we want whenever we want.”

  He walked over and poured them both drinks.

  He handed one to her and downed his. Then he plopped back in the chair, spreading his legs, watching her through slit eyes.

  “I can’t wait, baby,” she said in her little girl voice. She stood in the middle of the room holding her glass. She was so damn sexy. She took a small sip of her drink and made a face. He laughed.

  “Put it down.”

  She did, then stood there, waiting, compliant as always. Uncertain. Even though he would do anything she wanted, she always wanted him to boss her around. She made him feel like a true man. Nobody had ever made him feel like Nicoletta did, not even the love of his life, his dear departed wife. In Nicoletta’s eyes, he was powerful and manly. She loved when he was in charge. She liked being bossed around. And yet, she was still a strong woman in her own right.

  “Come here,” he said in a gruff voice.

  She came and stood before him. She was trembling. He loved that. It made him feel like he was debauching her, even though they’d fucked hundreds of times. That was what was so magical about her—fucking her was always fresh and new. It never, ever got old. He could imagine them old and gray, still horny as fuck for one another.

  He smiled and reached for her, bending down to lift the hem of her dress and pull it entirely over her head.

  “Good girl.”

  He’d told her before to never ever show up at his place with underwear on. He liked imagining her walking around naked underneath her dres
ses while he was the only one who knew. It turned him on.

  He dipped his fingers in his whiskey and rubbed her nipples. She threw her head back and moaned.

  He reached down and found her sopping wet. She was always wet, but this was something else. She moaned louder as he touched her.

  He watched her eyes start to close in ecstasy.

  “I found our next victim,” he said, and her eyes snapped open. “I think it should be Jackie Fong. That hospitality group bitch.”

  “I have an even better idea,” she said.

  He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her over to the bed. He set her down on the edge and dipped his head between her legs.

  She lifted his head. “Don’t you want to hear it?”

  “Later,” he said, pulling himself up on top of her.

  “This is really good. You’ll like this,” she said.

  “I said, ‘later,’ he growled and reached up and pinched her nipple so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

  Then he yanked off his pants and fucked her so hard that the entire bed felt as if it were going to break in two.

  She came before he did. He knew her better than she knew herself. He knew when she needed it soft and sensuous and when she needed it hard and fast.

  When he was done, he rolled over and flopped on his back.

  “So, baby doll, I’m ready to listen now. What’s your plan? You think we let Fong live and take out someone else? Maybe that brunette cunt.”

  Nicoletta sat up on one elbow, her eyes sparkling.

  “Oooh, you’re so clever. You knew that’s who I was thinking about, but I have a twist. You said Marshall can make anyone we want the killer, right? With that technology?”

  “Yeah,” Charles said sitting up.

  “She’s not another victim. She’s the killer.”

  He sat up. “What? Didn’t you say she was the cop’s ex?”

  He never called James by name. That would give the guy a dignity he didn’t deserve. However, he did manage to stop himself from calling him the “gimp cop”; that was just how he thought of the guy in his own head. Even Nicoletta would look down on him for that, and she wasn’t one to worry about being politically correct.

  “Like I said,” Nicoletta said, sitting up and fluffing her hair. “I got him drunk—really drunk—and asked about her. He basically told me that the reason they didn’t work out is because she did illegal stuff.”

  He frowned. “Like what? Fraud? Shoplifting?”

  “Murder.”

  Nicoletta said the word and gave him a triumphant smile.

  His eyes widened.

  “Yep, he basically told me she was a killer.

  “No fucking way.”

  He jumped up.

  “This is fucking perfect,” he said. He threw his hand in the air, fist pumping.

  “I know!” she said and stood on the edge of the bed, bouncing lightly up and down.

  He looked up at her naked curves and smiled.

  “You are not only the most beautiful woman in the world, but you are also the smartest.”

  She grinned and then ran her hands over her boobs, slowly and sensually.

  To his surprise, he felt some movement down there. It usually took a little longer to recharge, but plotting murder turned him on as much as Nicoletta’s centerfold body.

  “Come show me how much you appreciate me,” she said. “I’m still horny.”

  He didn’t have to be asked twice.

  Thirteen

  After hanging up with Ryder, I laughed to myself. We were like goddamn teenagers.

  But I felt better. I’d released some of my pent-up sexual frustration and felt like I could go to dinner with the mayor without attacking him just because he was halfway good-looking.

  When I got out of the shower, I saw Ryder had texted me.

  “Let’s do that again real soon.”

  “You bet.”

  I was five minutes late getting downstairs to meet the mayor. I couldn’t stop thinking about him as “the mayor” even though I knew his name. Fucking Italian mama’s boy.

  He was standing just outside the lobby doors, chatting with the valet. They were in such an animated conversation I stood there for a few seconds.

  The mayor was talking about some musician he’d just seen live, and the kid with the spiky hair was impressed.

  “Damn,” the valet said with a low whistle. “I’m green with envy.”

  “Yeah,” the mayor said. “I’m not going to lie. It was cool.”

  Then they noticed me and the mayor looked up with such a big smile, I felt like my eyes magically transformed into emoji heart eyes. He was cute.

  What woman wouldn’t want a guy to look at her and smile like that.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Let’s do this.”

  He held my door open as I got into his low-slung, black Acura NSX. The mayor’s salary must not be that bad.

  Ten minutes later, we were in North Beach. He valet parked the car, and we dipped inside the dark and moody restaurant. The walls were covered in red velvet wallpaper adorned with black and white signed photos of celebrities. We sat under a signed picture of Frank Sinatra in a back, corner booth.

  “This is my favorite table,” he said. We sat with our backs to the wall of the semi-circular booth, giving us a view of the entire restaurant.

  “You a former cop?”

  He laughed. “No. Politicians need to see whose coming for a different sort of attack. Usually I’m ducking a verbal barrage instead of bullets.”

  “Nice,” I said, sipping the martini I’d ordered. “Don’t suppose you ever woke to a horse’s head in bed?”

  “No, thank God, but I have woken to find a dead animal on my front steps.”

  “Ew,” I said and made a face.

  “Yeah. I moved right after that.”

  “I don’t blame you,” I said. “What was that all about?”

  “I voted against a motion to build a luxury hotel in North Beach,” he said and pointed. “Right there. Next to Columbus Square.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “You anti-hotel?”

  He laughed. “Dante already told me about your bid to buy the hotel. I don’t have a problem with it. But you might find some people on the planning commission who don’t like the idea of the helipad.”

  I squinted my eyes. “Dante told you all that?”

  He shrugged. “We’re old friends.”

  “Old friends?” I said in a skeptical voice.

  “Well, not old like you guys. But maybe ten years or so. We worked on the same homeless commission back in the day.”

  “Huh.” Ten years ago?

  “That okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Inside, I was thinking that sonofabitch didn’t tell me he was such great pals with Mr. Mayor. He was holding out on me. Was this date a set up? Probably. Fuck me.

  “What’s wrong?” Mayor McCheese asked.

  “Did Dante make you ask me out?”

  He practically spit out his water and burst into laughter.

  “What? Like I felt sorry for you.”

  I smiled and shrugged.

  “Actually, to be perfectly honest, he told me to back off,” he said.

  I nearly spit out my water.

  The mayor held up his hand. “Let me explain,” he said. “He called me this afternoon and said if I didn’t treat you like a queen, he was going to bitch-slap me.”

  I sighed. “That sounds like Dante.”

  “I mean, I’ve had people threaten to kick my ass before, but nobody has ever threatened to bitch-slap me, so I’m going to listen to him.”

  I gave a wry grin. The guy was cute and funny.

  “I’m not feeling very queenlike right now,” I said. “Maybe if you order me another drink…?”

  He stood and was at the bar across the room before I finished the sentence. I laughed. I liked him.

  People stopped to watch him. He was that sort of personal
ity. His presence took over a room.

  He was charismatic and funny and kind. He was one of the most powerful men in the city, and yet he didn’t take himself too seriously. He was back with martinis before I could reapply my lipstick.

  “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “The jester at your service, my lady.”

  “Oh, you are hardly the jester,” I said.

  He met my eyes over the crystal glass of water he was sipping from and raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not the jester, but it’s going to take me time to figure out just who you are.”

  “Oh, do take your time,” he said. “I mean this isn’t something to be taken lightly—telling me who I am.”

  We both laughed.

  We ate lobster ravioli in a creamy lobster sauce followed by tiramisu.

  “Tell me about working with Dante?” I said over dessert.

  “Only if you tell me about Ethel’s Place?” he said.

  My cheeks grew hot.

  Ethel’s Place was my passion project. Shortly after I’d inherited my father’s company, I started the nonprofit to help get homeless people on their feet. We built commercial and residential buildings in various cities across the country. The homeless people would move into apartments above the street-level businesses and worked in the small shops on the ground level, which included markets and florists and bookstores. They had a set amount of time to get on their feet before they had to move out so someone else could move in.

  The mayor listened attentively. “I knew about their success, but I never heard why you decided to create the nonprofit.”

  I told him about my homeless friend, Ethel, who had died helping me. She had been killed in retaliation for my actions.

  “Whoa,” the mayor said when I was done. “That’s pretty heavy.”

  “Why do you have a soft spot for the homeless?” I asked.

  He told me how he’d turned an old Cal Trans parking lot into a permanent homeless camp.

  By the time he was done, it was late.

  The lighting was low, the music was bluesy, and the food was rich and filling. I felt sleepy and warm and satiated and had enjoyed myself enormously.

  But we stayed and talked even longer. He told me about his rise to power. He earned it. He worked his way through college and then volunteered the Peace Corps before working for both the Obama campaign and the McCain campaign.