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“Calvin here?” he asks, no longer waiting for my response to the first question.
Swallowing a gulp, I shake my head. “He’s … maybe out?”
His eyes dip to the file clutched against my chest for a moment. “What’s that?”
My brain is still weeding through hundreds of faces, like a jukebox searching for the right song, to match this guy up with where I might’ve seen him. “Just some paperwork of mine.”
Stone gray eyes study me with apathy, and I suddenly remember where I’ve seen him. My apartment. The night Calvin let his buddies over for cards. He was the one who urged Calvin to stop his torment. At the time, I thought of him as someone regal, or important, some kind of mysterious business contact. A breath of fresh air to the other thugs gathered around the table that night, but at the moment, he’s a suffocating source of tension, holding up my escape.
“I’ve been trying to reach Calvin for a week.”
“Um. I haven’t seen much of him. We broke up. Asshole cheated on me.” The lies tumble from my lips easier than I thought they would, which comes as a bit of a surprise.
“Cheated on you.” The dubious tone of his voice sets my teeth on edge, meaning my lies aren’t as convincing as I thought, which also means there’s no way an investigator is going to buy whatever bullshit I offer. His nose twitches as he sniffs, and it’s when his hands come together that I notice he’s wearing black gloves. Like a man who doesn’t want to leave prints at a murder scene. “As I recall, Calvin’s pretty obsessed with you. Perhaps to a fault. He strikes me as the ride-or-die type.”
This guy has no idea.
Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s written all over my face. What would he think if he knew I helped murder Calvin? Avenge his friend? In a desperate attempt to school my face, I offer a slight smile.
He steps toward me, and I clutch the file tighter, scarcely able to draw in a breath through my clamped lungs. His gloved finger traces down my temple as he brushes my hair behind my ear. “You know what I think?”
Surely, he can hear my heart practically pounding up in my throat.
“Pretty thing like you.” Warm breath hits my neck as he leans in to my ear, and I want to burst out of my skin and run. “I think you’re the one looking for fresh dick to fuck. Am I right, sweetheart?”
I don’t know the right answer. I can’t think fast enough to know if answering yes will sound too suspicious.
“Give me five minutes in the backseat of my car, and I’ll make you leave him for good.”
Wait. What?
My body freezes as I stare up at him, searching for the joke in his eyes. “Have you lost your mind?”
Lips stretching into a smile, he drags his fingers down to my mouth, and I swallow back the lump in my throat as he inserts the tip of it inside and back out, then back inside again. He slams his palm against my ass, jerking me against him, and the file falls out of my hands. With a gasp, I kneel down to gather all the scattered papers back into its folder, and a force hits the back of my head, knocking me into the cold bite of a zipper, where he holds me pressed against his crotch. “Blow me, and I won’t tell Calvin you were here.”
I want to laugh at that, but a small strand of my hair is caught in his zipper, and I’m certain there’s a scratch on my cheek. Frustrated, I push away from him. “I’m not blowing you. I’m not fucking you. And I don’t give a damn if you tell Calvin.”
Amusement colors his face as he licks his lips. “Feisty. Just the way I like my bitches.”
“Well, I’m not your bitch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s late.”
I twist to leave, taking no more than three steps, when he calls out for me.
“You forgot one.” The sound of that curdles my blood, and I turn to see his eyeballs trailing over the small paper in his hands. Intake sheet, going by the size and color of the page. When his eyes find me again, they’re brimming with a knowing smile, as he holds the page outstretched. “Paperwork, huh?”
Clearing my throat, I step toward him, slow and careful, knuckles burning as I grip the file.
He allows me to slide the paper from his fingertips, while my body stays poised to fight, or run. “Have a good night. Ivy.”
I don’t bother to turn, but back myself up just enough to provide a comfortable distance to run. I watch him casually light up a cigarette, not bothering to move from where he stands, staring back at me. Once at my car, I insert the key with shaky hands and take off down the road, away from that place.
I swear, I’ll never go back there for as long as I live.
22
Damon
Once back in LA, I call an Uber to pick me up, praying I make it in time for the funeral of Ivy’s grandmother. Originally, I planned to carry out the service myself, but upon finding out about my father’s involvement in Val’s and Isabella’s murders, I asked Ruiz to cover it, while I flew out to New York on a personal matter. He still has no idea that I’m planning to leave the priesthood, and I almost dread telling him more than having to go back to Bishop McDonnell to inform him I’ve no intentions of staying, in spite of his insistence.
