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He ended the call and tucked the phone into his pocket. The lights were on in the front room, but Angie hadn't bothered to turn on the porch light. He had cash in his pocket, credit cards. He could stay in a hotel tonight. There had to be a place that wouldn't mind dogs, or maybe he could sneak Betty in under his jacket.
Betty stood and stretched on the seat. The front porch light came on.
Will mumbled under his breath as he scooped up the dog. He got out of his car and locked it, then headed up the driveway. He opened the gate to the backyard and set Betty on the grass, then he stood outside his own house a few minutes, debating, then decided he was being stupid and made himself go in.
Angie was on the couch with her feet curled up under her. Her long dark hair was down the way he liked it, and she was wearing a tight black dress that hugged every curve. Sara had looked beautiful, but Angie looked sexy. Her makeup was dark, her lips a blood red. He wondered if she had made an effort. Probably. She always sensed when Will was pulling away. She was like a shark smelling blood in the water.
She greeted him the same way the prostitute did. "Hey, baby."
"Hey."
Angie stood up from the couch, stretching like a cat as she walked over to him. "Good day?" she asked, putting her arms around his neck. Will turned his head, and she turned it back, kissing him on the lips.
He said, "Don't do that."
She kissed him again because she had never liked being told what to do.
Will kept himself as impassive as he could, and she finally dropped her arms.
"What happened to your hand?"
"I beat someone."
She laughed, like he was joking. "Really?"
"Yeah." He leaned his hand on the back of the couch. One of the Band-Aids was peeling up.
"You beat someone." She was taking him seriously now. "Any witnesses?"
"None that are talking."
"Good for you, baby." She was close to him, right behind him. "I bet Faith wet her pants." Her hand traced down his arm, rested on the back of his wrist. Her tone changed. "Where's your ring?"
"In my pocket." Will had taken it off before he'd gone up to Sara's apartment. At the time, he'd fooled himself into thinking he'd done it because his fingers were swelling and the ring was getting tight.
Angie's hand went to his pants pocket. Will closed his eyes, feeling the day catch up with him. Not just the day, but the last eight months. Angie was the only woman he had ever been with, and his body had been lonely, almost aching for the feel of her.
Her fingers touched him though the thin material of his pocket. His reaction was immediate, and when she breathed into his ear, he gripped the couch so that he could still stand.
She took his ear between her teeth. "You miss me?"
He swallowed, unable to speak as she pressed her breasts, her body, into his back. He leaned his head back and she kissed his neck, but it wasn't Angie he was thinking about when her fingers wrapped around him. It was Sara, her long, thin fingers working on his hand as they both sat on the couch. The way her hair had smelled, because he had let himself bend down just for a moment and inhaled as quietly as he could. She smelled of goodness and mercy and kindness. She smelled of everything that he had ever wanted—everything that he could never have.
"Hey." Angie had stopped. "Where'd you go?"
With effort, Will managed to zip up his pants. He shouldered Angie out of the way as he walked across the room.
She asked, "Is it your time of the month again?"
"Did you know about the baby?"
She cocked her hand on her hip. "What baby?"
"I don't care what the answer is, but I want the truth. I need to know the truth."
"You gonna beat me if I don't tell you?"
"I'm gonna hate you," he answered, and they both knew what he was saying was true. "That baby could've been you or me. Hell, that baby was me."
Her tone was sharp, defensive. "Mommy leave him in the trash can?"
"It was that or whore him out for speed."
She pressed her lips together, but would not look away. "Touche," she finally said, because Diedre Polaski had done just that very thing to her baby girl.
Will repeated his question, the only question that mattered anymore. "Did you know that there was a baby in that penthouse?"
"Lola was taking care of it."
"What?"
"She's not bad. She was making sure it was okay. If she hadn't got popped—"
"Wait a minute." He put out his hands to stop her. "You think that whore was taking care of that baby?"
"He's fine, right? I made some calls to Grady. Mother and son are united again."
"You made some calls?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Jesus Christ, Angie. He's a tiny baby. He would've been dead if we'd waited any longer."
"But you didn't and he's not."
"Angie—"
"People always take care of babies, Will. Who looks out for people like Lola?"
"You're worried about some crack whore when there's a baby in a trash heap starving to death?" He didn't let her answer. "That's it. That's it for me."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I'm finished. It means the string on our yo-yo has broken."
"Fuck you."
"No more back and forth. No more screwing around on me, running out on me in the middle of the night, then running back in a month or a year later pretending like you can lick my wounds all better."
"You make it sound so romantic."
He opened the front door. "I want you out of my house and out of my life." She didn't move, so he walked over to her, started pushing her toward the door.
"What are you doing?" She pushed back, and when he wouldn't budge, she slapped him. "Get the fuck away from me."
He lifted her from behind, and she used her foot to kick the door closed.
"Get out," he said, trying to reach the doorknob even as he held on to her.
Angie had been a beat cop before she'd been a detective, and she knew how to take him down. Her foot kicked out, popping him in the back of the knee, dropping him to the floor. Will held on, pulling her down with him so they were struggling on the floor like a couple of angry dogs.
"Stop it," she screamed, kicking him, punching him, using every part of her body to cause pain.
Will rolled her onto her stomach, pushing her flat against the wood floor. He grabbed both her hands in one of his, squeezing them together so she couldn't fight him. Without even thinking, he reached down and ripped away her underwear. Her nails dug into the back of his hand as he slid his fingers inside her.
"Asshole," she hissed, but she was so wet Will could barely feel his fingers moving in and out. He found the right spot, and she cursed again, pressing her face into the floor. She never came with him. It was part of her power play. She always squeezed every last bit of soul out of Will, but she would never let him do the same to her.
"Stop it," she demanded, but she was moving against his hand, tensing with each stroke. He unzipped his pants and pushed himself inside her. She tried to tighten against him, but he pushed harder, forcing her to open up. She groaned and there was a sweet release as she took him in deeper, then even more. He pulled her up to her knees, fucking her as fast as he could while his fingers worked to bring her to the edge. She started to moan, a deep, guttural sound he had never heard before. Will rammed himself into her, not caring if he left marks up and down her body, not caring if he broke her. When she finally came, she gripped him so hard that it almost hurt to be inside of her. His own release was so savage that he ended up collapsed on top of her, panting, every part of him sore.
