by W Winters
“That’s all I want. If she can give me something on him...”
“What about the others? Her friends from the support group. The ones you think came up with all this? Why don’t you ask them?”
“I have. No one mentioned Marcus or admitted to anything. I know Melody’s case. I’d spoken to her when she came to me a couple of months ago. I think that’s the only reason she’s opened up. She’s the only one who’s given me anything. She’s the one with remorse.”
I could point out that she’s also drugged and not in her right mind, but I bite down on that thought in favor of something else. “Have you brought them in? The others to question them?”
“I don’t want to. The thing is, there isn’t an ounce of me that thinks they’ll do something like this again. I also don’t believe they would have done it at all had Marcus not urged them to do it. Given them the solution and laid out the plan.”
“Do you know that’s what happened for sure?” I ask him. “Sometimes people do things… you don’t expect.”
“Trust me, I’ve seen my share. It’s my gut feeling. Marcus will never stop. Since I’ve shown up, the death rate has only increased. He’s keeping me busy.”
I struggle, knowing more about Officer Walsh and Marcus than he realizes. I feel like a crook and a liar.
“I have questions for Miss Melody.” Walsh plasters a thin, short-lived smile on his face.
“Officer,” I say and stop him, feeling compelled to say something, “if there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
A genuine smile replaces the forced one. “I appreciate that.”
Seth
Watching a clock is a shit way to eat up time. But then again, so is staring at a phone screen, wishing you were reading a different message.
I called Derrick about Fletcher a few days ago and asked if there was any talk of him or his crew recently. I killed Fletcher before he could kill me. It’s that simple. Along with him, I took out all of his men who had any authority. I let them scatter. His name shouldn’t be breathed by anyone of relevance.
Derrick said he’d look into it.
Today he sent me a response. It was detailed and thorough, with the names and addresses of five men who still hang together and were a part of Fletcher’s crew.
That’s all I’ve got. That was the last message he sent.
It was an hour ago that the text came through. And fifty minutes since I responded thanks.
It’s the first time I’ve talked to him in years. This is all that’s between us now. Business. The small clock on the mantel ticks and I pick up my beer, setting down one of the folders on the coffee table, taking a large swig before sending Derrick another message.
How are things?
My eyes burn from reading the handwritten print for hours. It’s all I’ve been doing: putting together the puzzle pieces written in the journals. The problem is Delilah contradicts herself. The locations are something we can work with, but the other things she’s written… I don’t know that I trust them. She’s not a reliable source and it’s frustrating and time consuming. If it leads to Marcus though, it’ll all be worth it.
I try to remember the last real conversation I had with Derrick. It was about Laura, I know that. He wanted me to come back, he said he wanted me whole. All he ever talked about was Laura. He hung Cami’s death over my head, reminding me that he’d never be all right again, but I could still chase after what I lost. Laura was still out there.
Damn, that has to be three years ago.
Are you with her? Derrick asks me in the text and my eyes narrow, my head tilts. There’s no reason he should know that I am. I looked through her messages, searching for someone who could have sent her flowers; they haven’t spoken in years. She told the truth when she said she hadn’t spoken to him a long damn time.
Why do you ask? I write him back.
Fuck off with that. I’m still your right-hand man.
I huff a humorless laugh and it comes with a slight smirk. Leaning back on the sofa, I read the message, settling the beer bottle to rest on my thigh. Those were good times. When he was my right hand and Laura was my girl.
She’ll be here in an hour when she gets off work, I text and then add, She’s a nurse now. It’s not until I send it that I realize he already knows. She’d already finished school four years ago so when they were talking, I’m sure she told him.
I know, he confirms. She still loves you too.
It’s not like that, I text him and feel a deep ache settle in my chest. It’ll never be what it was.
I down the beer and get up to retrieve another, leaving the phone where it is. It pings the moment I get to the fridge.
Opening the beer, taking a sip, I make my way back and read the message only to feel that anxiousness I was drinking down, creeping back up.
There’s something you should know. They found a body at the warehouse. Does Laura know about her dad?
No. Setting the beer down, I feel the cold prick along my skin. No one needs to look into that. Years have gone by without her father being a blip on my radar. I don’t like him being brought up.
They don’t need to, but the evidence is there. She may find out either way.
I mutter fuck and close my eyes. Dread is a bitter taste in my mouth. She can’t know, I text him back.
You’ve got her now. Just don’t let her go. No matter what comes out.
Derrick’s texts come hurriedly, one after the other.
I remind him, I asked how you were, wanting to get off this subject. I can’t handle this right now. Not when I don’t know if there’s even a reason to be concerned. My stomach churns, knowing Laura’s father is on Marcus’s radar though. Maybe the evidence is already out and he found it before putting the pieces together.
There’s a lot of shit that’s changed since you left, but overall, things are good.
I text him the obvious question to move things away from business: You got a girl?
A minute passes before he answers, Not yet. I have to go, but I’ll keep you updated with anything going on at the warehouse.
Thanks.
With that, I’m left with just my beer, too many questions I don’t have answers to, and the time ticking down.
Derrick used to ask me if I was punishing myself or Laura. The memory of the last conversation we had comes back full force. I can hear his voice in my head, asking me that question like he was some kind of fucking therapist.
Maybe it was a punishment to be so close to her, but not have her. Although, I couldn’t have known she wouldn’t come to me. For weeks, I thought she’d learn I was here, that I was close to her, and she’d come to me. When her name came up on the alert and I knew she was searching my name online, it put an end to that speculation.
The alarm beeps and a moment later the headlights from Laura’s sedan shine through the front window. We spent last night at her place, tonight we stay here. I know she’s had a long shift, but my place is closer to the center, so it was easy enough to get her to agree.
I don’t know what we are. I don’t know why my head’s so fucked. But I know she’s mine. She’ll stay here until I tell her otherwise.
Laura comes into the house the same way I came into her place last night, saying my name as she pushes open the door with a key in her hand.
“You found it,” I say as I smirk at her. Even after a twelve-hour shift in baggy scrubs, she’s breathtaking.
“The key in my sandwich bag? Yes, yes I did.”
“It was unlocked, you know?” I tease her.
“Maybe I wanted to make sure it was to your front door. Since, you know, it just happened to be in the bag with no note.” She shrugs as she adds, “It could have been anyone’s key.”
“It’s yours.”
Closing and then locking the door behind her, she cradles an overnight bag in the crook of her arm along with her purse. It’s not a large bag and I’m sure she only packed for one night. I’ll have to fix that.
She needs everything here and a place for what she needs in the cabinets and dressers. I’ll correct that issue tomorrow. Dropping her keys next to mine on the kitchen counter, she leaves her bag there too and rubs her eyes, sagging into the seat next to me.
I hold up the beer, offering it to her but she shakes her head and then rests her forehead on my shoulder, sleep weighing her down. “You don’t drink after work. Now that is different.”
She smiles in the crook of my neck and her shoulders shake slightly with a small feminine snicker.
Glancing up at me, she gives me a smile and then rolls to the side, giving me space. She lets out an exhausted yawn and tells me she’s just tired.
“Bethany said I should take up a red wine nightcap to help me sleep.”
“I’ll grab a couple of bottles.”
“Mmm,” she half responds with her eyes closed. Eyeing her plump lips with a loose tendril of hair in her face has me hard in a split second.
“You’re not allowed to sleep just yet,” I tell her and those long lashes sweep up so she can look at me.
“I should probably tell you something first,” she says and the sweetness and playful demeanor fall from her expression until all I see is my tired girl.
Setting down the beer and leaning forward, I pray it’s not about someone calling from California with news on her father. I’m aware of how I tell her to tell me, relaxed and easy. I’m aware of how I’m breathing calmly, like I’m not worried at all.
“Walsh came by the center.” Relief hits first, then pride when Laura looks down at her hands, watching her fingers wring around one another as she tells me, “Today and yesterday.”
She feels guilty for not telling me. I like the look of submission on her.
“Did he talk to you?” I ask her, expecting to hear that he didn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know she’s with me. He doesn’t know shit about her. Or about the diaries.
“He did. About a murder and one of my patients.” She readjusts and then looks at my beer where I left it. “Maybe I should have a drink,” she comments.
“I’ll get you one; you keep talking,” I tell her and stand up, moving away from her field of vision to listen.
“The fire that happened down at the farm.” She speaks louder so I can hear as I open cabinets, pretending to look for a stray bottle of wine. Crouched down and staring at rows of clear and amber liquor bottles, I listen. “He thinks she has motive and it has something to do with Marcus helping her get revenge.”
“The fire at the farm?” I question her, as I stand up and move to the fridge. “No wine, Babygirl,” I add with a smile, easing her as much as I can.
“A beer?” she asks and even pouts. She can’t know how I want to kill Walsh for talking to her. She can’t know half the shit that’s going on. She wouldn’t want to anyway. If she knew, she wouldn’t stay.
“The thing is,” she keeps talking as I twist the top off and toss it in the garbage. She only stops talking to thank me when I retake my seat next to her. “He keeps bringing up Marcus. He’s talking to me as if he knows that I know.”
My hackles rise, the tiny hairs on my arms standing on edge.
“Whether he knows about the diaries or he thinks I’ve heard things and whispers in the center… I don’t know.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I played dumb. I told him if he needs anything from me, to let me know.”
Her nervousness and insecurity are something I’ve never liked. I’m here and as long as I’m here, she shouldn’t feel like that. I’ll fix it. I’ll find out everything and fix it.
“A cop came in questioning a murder, that’s… nerve wracking,” I answer her, taking a long drag of my beer after handing Laura hers. She doesn’t move to drink yet; even though I’m staring at the fireplace, I know she’s staring at me. “To add on to it, you have secrets. You know about him and his motives. That’s what’s gotten to you,” I say as I finally look at her and rest my hand on her thigh.
I have to give her a small smirk when my gentle touch, the back and forth of my thumb, gives her shivers. A deep chuckle vibrates up my chest. “So easy,” I tease her.
She finally smiles, a cute little smile that she tries to catch between her teeth. The soft pink of a blush rises to her cheeks and she asks me, “You really think that’s all this is?”
“You don’t like secrets and you’re shit at keeping them,” I tell her. “You’re doing good.” Patting her thigh and then giving a gentle squeeze, I tell her, “Don’t worry about Marcus or Walsh. They don’t know anything and it’s all in that pretty little head of yours.”
“You sure?” Even though she questions me, her body language relaxes. Everything about her believes me. Which is shit, because I’m lying to her. Marcus knows something. Walsh doesn’t though.
I give her a smile, followed by a peck of a kiss that leaves her with her eyes closed and a simper on her lips. “I’m sure, Babygirl. You’re just stressed, but you handled it well.”
“It’s just a lot and it feels like—”
I cut her off to say, “Because it is a lot. You’re carrying a heavy burden on your shoulders every day. When someone makes you question yourself, it feels a lot worse, knowing everything else that could fall.” Cupping her chin in my hand, I kiss her again. I swear every time we kiss she melts a little more. She doesn’t worry, she doesn’t buy into the voices in her head telling her she’s not enough and she’s in too deep. I should kiss her every moment of every day.
“So… what should I do?” she asks me.
“You already handled it. Nothing else to do but let it go. I know you don’t like to lie, and you did today, a lie of omission, but you have your reasons. You don’t need to be in the middle of anything and Walsh shouldn’t have put you there.”
“Right, right. And he doesn’t know that I read Delilah’s diaries,” she says and keeps nodding to herself, even after she’s done thinking out loud.
“I know what’ll help you,” I say as I get on my knees on the sofa and face her, towering over her.
She’s huddled beneath me, holding on to her beer with both hands and looking up at me wide eyed although there’s a smile on her face. “What are you doing?” she asks playfully.
“Hands up,” I demand and she obeys, not letting go of her beer bottle. Her bra’s a simple white number; it makes her look innocent and sweet. Like an angel laid out before me. An angel to play with, to dirty and taint with all the sinful lust I have for her.
“You make me want to do bad things to you,” I murmur. Peeking up through her thick lashes, her doe eyes go wide with lust, proving her to be the vixen she is. Even her cheeks heat nearly instantly.
“You like it, don’t you?” I ask her and she doesn’t even give me a chance to add, how much you get to me.
She answers, “I love it” before I can finish. “I love everything you do to me.” With her hands behind her, her shoulders back and her head tilted up to look at me, she’s vulnerable and waiting.
I want her to remember this night. I want every moment to be different, every touch to be more than what she can imagine on her own.
I glance to my left and the brown glass of the empty beer bottle glints. Turning back to her, I tell her, “I’m going to play with you, and take my time with you.”
She doesn’t protest, although I can hear my name and the way she says it likes it’s a warning lingering on the tip of her tongue. She swallows it and any argument she has that she’s tired. I know she is. She’ll do what I want though, because she knows I’ll make it good for her.
“Strip down.” I give her the command and she obeys. She doesn’t try to make a show of it although she teases me by biting down on her lower lip when she drops her bra to the floor.
I wasn’t going to touch her, but the pale pink of her nipples begs me to caress them. Her head tips back, her hair cascading behind her. Correcting myself, and ignoring the desire that has all the blood in my body stiffening my cock, I pull
away from her.
Without her clothes, goosebumps play along her body and after she lies down like I tell her to, I blow. That’s all I do, teasing her, going from a warm breath along her neck that makes her shiver, to a steady stream down her belly and lower, to her sex.
She tries to reach for me, to grab my arm or my shoulder, but I catch her wrist. “No touching.” My command sobers her, and I know in an instant she doesn’t like it.
“No. Touching,” I repeat firmly, licking my lower lip and loving how her gaze darts to the movement.
Nodding, but still holding doubt in her expression, she lowers her hands to the cushion, gripping it and closing her eyes with a soft moan as I blow against her clit again.
“You’re going to make me cum from just breathing on me?” she questions, her eyes alight with mischief and the sexy grin proves she’s thinking she’ll need more than that.
“No,” I answer her, reaching behind me for the beer bottle. I lick the top of it where the cap was twisted on and test out its ridges.
The sound of her nails scratching against the fabric, combined with her chest rising and falling quickly, let me know exactly how she’s feeling. “You scared, Babygirl?”
“Will it feel good?”
“Does it ever not?” I question her and the doubt and fear vanish from her eyes. Her thighs part, her heels digging into the cushion as she bends her knees and bares herself to me.
Arousal makes her pussy glisten, and when I press the cold glass to her clit, I watch her cunt clench around nothing. Letting out a short chuckle, I position myself between her legs, careful not to touch her. My greedy girl lifts her heel, and I know she’s going to move her leg around me, pulling me in and showing me just how much she loves it.
“No touching,” I remind her, staring up her gorgeous body. She looks down at me, puzzled until I add, “Keep your legs still.”
She only nods, her skin flushed and her breathing still not even. Just the idea of using a bottle to play with her has her so worked up. I drag the glass down her clit and through her lips, watching how her hips subtly rise and listening to the pleasure that lingers in her soft moan. It’s barely audible, nearly a murmur of satisfaction.