AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I feel Nic’s presence lean in close and shake my head with a sigh. He’s asking for it.
Right on cue, like wild beasts unleashed and set loose, Gizmo and Snitch begin hissing and growling menacingly. Climbing frantically onto my shoulders, they face off with the dumbass, daring him to get any closer. I let out a snort when a sliver of shock and fear pulses off of him, which quickly switches to anger when he hears my next words.
“Be careful, twat, these trash pandas are very territorial. I wouldn’t threaten what they consider theirs.” A growl sounds from his throat and his furious vibrations compress the air around me further, but it also carries a hint of...something else. Something he wants to hide. Interesting. “You know...I can help you out with that little problem you’re having. Hate fucks are all the rage right now.”
The smirk on my face never leaves as he finally combusts, a furious shout leaving his lips as he moves toward me, his aura thrumming with the need todosomething,but with no real direction or solidified end goal.
I’m starting to think I may have pushed him a littletoofar.
Oops.
I steel my spine, my trash pandas going equally as rigid as I grab my cane and spin my chair around, ready to take him on. I don’t often use it to find my way around, I have Gizmo and Snitch for that, but it is my weapon of choice. Especially because Alan refused to let me get a gun. Being blind and all that.
“Leave it be, Nic. Chief will stick you on desk duty for at least a month if you touch his psychic.” Ezra Greyson’s deep gravelly voice interjects, every hair on my body standing to attention as it wraps around my consciousness. And, if his voice alone doesn’t do it for you, then the man himself just might. Standing at a healthy six-foot-six, he looks exactly like a bearded Brant Daugherty, with muscles like Terry Crews, and a set of abs I could wash my clothes on. And that’s just the start. He easily pulls off a neatly trimmed, dark brown beard that goes with the no-nonsense style haircut of short on the sides and only slightly longer on top, leaving just enough for a woman to be able to grab onto in the sack.
I mean, if Nic is a God among mortals, then Ezra is his daddy, because all that smexy is far too powerful for us humans. Or maybe I’m just a thirsty bitch. Who knows?
“Ezra. Come to put yourputaback on his leash?” I grin wickedly in Ezra’s direction, my tone full of facetiousness and fuckery.
See? I can Spanish.
Saidbitchimmediately stomps off in the direction of his office, a flurry of banging and the slamming of his door, making me grin.
“You don’t have to push him, Wicked,” Ezra admonishes, though his voice shows no emotion–he’s kind of closed off and blunt like that–I know it’s an admonishment. “You could at least try to get along. It would make working together easier.”
“I tried that, Ezra. He’s hated me from day one, through no prompting of my own.” I scratch at Gizmo’s head when he nuzzles my face to make sure I’m okay. My little partners in petty crime love me and I know it. Anyone who says animals can’t hold affection is just plain stupid. The proof is in the purring.
“You have the ability to smooth things over if you wanted to. It was on you that the first thing you ever said to him was to call out his guilty pleasure of watching the Bachelorette after work.” I feel Ezra’s aura shift toward his desk and sit down. He’s still only about five feet away from mine, because we’re all placed so close together in the large–yet still extremely cramped–office. Nic, unfortunately, is the only detective in the department with a private office outside of all the big bosses, being head detective and all. The spoiled prick.
“In my defense, I was young and dumb. How was I supposed to know he wanted to keep that a secret? I just asked him if he wanted to do a ‘watch slashhear’ party together. Ilovethe Bachelorette!” Ezra’s silence is deafening and the heat of his gaze is heavy on my face. Calculating, yet not at all judgy, his attention makes me squirm until I can do nothing but spill my guts. “Okay! I did know. But sue me! I was just trying to make friends. You can’t lie and say he was completely welcoming to me when the chief announced my employment.”
There, the truth is out. I may know all the secrets, but that doesn’t mean I want to give up any of my own. Ezra doesn’t even flare with satisfaction or smugness at getting me to spill the tea either. In fact he doesn’t seem to be feeling anything at all.
“You are both to blame. The question is, who’s the bigger person?” I probe at my connection with Snitch, who seems to have wandered over to Ezra, and I get just a whisper–almost an outline–of a vision of him scratching at his beard as he focuses on the papers on his desk.
The man was born the epitome of sex on a platter and he doesn’t even know it. Andthat,ladies and gentleman, only serves to make him so much more enticing.
I let go of the connection and spin my chair towards my desk, placing my cane back in its spot. My head’s still aching from earlier, so I lean it against the headrest of my chair, the cool surface helping to alleviate the pounding somewhat. Gizmo and Snitch both settle on my lap, curling into a giant ball of fluff as I nurse my headache.
“To answer your question, he’s definitely bigger than me. I bet his cock is bigger than my forearm.” I chuckle to myself when he sighs and lifts his heavy frame out of his chair once more, his heavy footfalls fading as he walks away. Apparently, his daily limit of Wicked exceeded. Sucks, because today is just getting started.
“Izabella?” I snap my head up at my rarely used first name and glare, though I know they won’t be able to see it past my large, thick black sunglasses, but they will be able to feel the irritation easily. No one calls me by that name.
No one.
“Sorry, Wicked! I finished translating your last case to braille for you. Here you go. Is there anything else?”
“No.” I bite out the word, my head pounding, only furthering the resentment at hearing the name. I ignore the file she holds out for me until she gets the point and places it on my desk.
Izabella Wicked is my full name, but the only person in my life who got away with calling me Izabella was my dad. Even my nana has only ever called me Bell. She tried Bella once, and I threw such a fit about being called something out of Twilight, that she only does it when I piss her off now.
My dad was the one who named me, and the part of me that enjoyed the affection associated with it, died alongside him. Anytime someone says it now, it only brings back the pain of never being able to hear him say it again.
It’s his name for me. His alone.
“I’m sorry, Wicked.” And the girl does sound sorry, I’ll give her that, but it’s hard to get past the pain and anger in the moment.
“Go away, Abby.”
