Smith pulls a face I’d rather not see when I’m itching to kill for the second time. “Not good.”
“Why not? You traced that one.” This question didn’t come from me. It came from Rocco, who’s just as pissed as me. Men like Officer Packwood are the worst of the worst to him. If he didn’t need to keep Roxanne contained in her room, I’m reasonably sure he would have joined me in punishing him.
“I followed a ping off Daniel’s phone. If I hadn’t, I would have never found the site he was posting to. It was buried too deeply in the dark web for standard searches.”
Smith doesn’t say it, but I felt his underhanded jab that he’s struggling to do every task I’m assigning him on the mobile equipment he only uses when we’re on the road. His hub was built on my compound for a reason. I get the best from him when he’s in an area specially created for him.
With that in mind, I nudge my head to the door. “Head back to the compound. Roxanne and I will join you there shortly.”
I can see on Rocco’s face how badly he wants to rib me for backpedaling on the decision I made six weeks ago, but since he knows better than to annoy me when I’m fuming mad, he keeps his mouth shut. It’s for the best. I’m so fucking angry right now, I can’t guarantee I won’t take it out on the wrong person—Roxanne and my second-in-charge included.
I’m about to head for the room I hear running water coming from when an earlier incident pops back into my head. I crank my neck to peer at Rocco so quickly, I give myself whiplash. “Why are you here? You were meant to sign Megan out.”
His face whitens as his panicked eyes shift to Smith. “You didn’t tell him?”
“Tell me what?” I ask when Smith shrugs, my temper short-fused.
“Fuck, douchebag. I thought you were on the ball.” Rocco whacks Smith in the gut before giving him and Clover their marching orders, and then he walks away from a group of men acting as if they didn’t just witness a murder. “Megan skipped bail. From what I coerced out of a medical team accepting no liability whatsoever for her misdiagnosis, it occurred a couple of weeks ago. She knocked a guard out cold. Chair straight over the fucking head.” He scoots in even closer. “We’re not the only ones hunting her.” He glances toward the corrupt cops without moving his head. “They even brought in sniffer dogs.”
“Who ordered the search?” Rocco’s stern facial expression answers my question on his behalf. “So Theresa’s act this morning was a ploy.” I’m not seeking clarity. I’m stating a fact. “She isn’t worried about Maddox—”
“Because she already knows she has that boy in check.”
Since I agree with him, I don’t voice annoyance about his interruption. I merely continue as if he never butted in. “She’s petrified we’re getting close to the truth.”
Rocco whistles out an agreeing tune. “That’s why we need to squeeze her a little harder.”
“Or I could just kill her. Get the inevitable over and done with.” My tone is as flat and bothersome as I’d feel knowing Theresa was lying in the bottom of the ocean, held down by bricks. That’s how inconsequential her life is. No one would care if she were dead, not even the little boy she’s trying to palm off as Isaac’s.
“You could,” Rocco agrees, smiling, “But you won’t… because at the end of the day, you know the only time that bitch shares secrets is when she’s on her back, being fed a healthy dose of your dick. Considering your girl looked set to murder when you traced your finger down her cheek this morning, I wouldn’t recommend it. She’s more than ready to bring the bat to the game for you, so why not have her swinging at the big hitters instead of the small fry like Theresa.”
His comment switches the heat of my blood from chaos to yearning in under a second. Even with my blood pressure almost bursting my eardrums, I heard Roxanne’s fight when she endeavored to free herself from Rocco’s clutch. She wasn’t fighting to save Officer Packwood’s life. She wanted to witness the monster inside of me roar to life firsthand, to drink him in, in all his glory, and I’m about ready to grant her wish.
Twenty-Six
Roxanne
The soap doesn’t have a chance in hell of remaining in my grip when the stern and clipped voice of Dimitri rolls across my bathroom. “Eyes to the wall.”
My bathroom is tiny. It has the standard square upright shower, one vanity that’s missing the cupboards beneath it, and a toilet’s peach coloring shows how long ago it was installed. However, I still knew about Dimitri’s arrival before he announced it. The aura that beamed out of him while he used the unnamed officer’s body as a boxing bag hissed in the air, heating my skin as effectively as the boiling hot water pumping out of the showerhead.
“Don’t make me ask you again, Roxanne,” he growls out when my shock at his request has me desperate to peer over my shoulder.
I want to drink in the energy I’ve been in awe of for over a year before doubling it. I love his arrogance. It’s what mesmerized me when he stood outside the alleyway watching me be fingered by a man well below my league, and it’s what kept my feet grounded when Estelle used the distraction to make a break for it.
She begged me to go with her, but I couldn’t. Dimitri was only on a murderous rampage because a man tried to hurt me. I can’t be angry at him for that. I’ve been seeking this level of protection since I was a child, so it’ll take more than the occasional death of a stupid man for me to give it up.
“Keep them there,” Dimitri demands when my eyes finally submit to the prompts of my overworked brain.
My heart rages out of control when the steam inside my little bubble is released from Dimitri opening the glass door. After stepping into the space, which feels ten times smaller with his brooding frame taking up a majority of the tiled floor, in the corner of my eye, I watch him cup a generous serving of water in his bruised and battered hands. When he throws the water over his face, I realize what he is doing. He’s cleaning himself up for me, afraid the gore and violence his life is shrouded in will scare me away.
“Goddammit, Roxanne! Do you ever do as you’re told?” Dimitri grinds out with a roar when I spin around to face him.
I want to shake my head but can’t. The view is too wondrous for me to move, much less garner a half-assed reply to his accurate statement. Our contrasting heights and widths are obvious when we’re dressed, so you can imagine how conflicting they are when we’re in a tiny space, butt naked. Add that to the fact Dimitri’s muscles are strained from their earlier un-koshered workout, and you’ve got the ultimate recipe of lust, intrigue, and mystery.
I’m a part of this story, and I’m still dying to read what happens next.
My hands rattle when I raise them to Dimitri’s face. I’m not worried he will reject me. The pulsating rod of flesh stealing my smarts assures me that won’t happen. I’m simply disappointed I can’t nurture him without removing the blood of another man from his face.
