AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Why me?
I’m not a cop.
I’m a goddamn reaper.
The bleak reality of the situation hits me like a blindside to the back of the head. Detective… If there’s a lighter on any of the scenes, then I know too goddamn well who is going to be involved. She’ll be drawn to the cases. She’ll have no choice.
My cock twitches and I gape down, incredulous. “Now?” I ask my lap.
Sleep first, I tell myself. Sleep, then off to the Velvet Underground for a quick fuck and some light BDSM, and thenmaybea visit to see the detective. Somehow. It’s not a promise but it's the best compromise I’m willing to make for the dick that can’t take a hint. She might be off limits but I’ve always been partial to tastes I should not have. They’re sweeter, better than any other. The forbidden fruits hanging low on the vine within tempting reach.
If I’m good enough, I can make the detective squirm again and get some information out of her about these murders.
* * *
Once night falls, I get dressed and head out.
It takes all of two seconds to know that Layla is seated at the bar of the Velvet Underground when I walk in.Waiting for me?
It’s a nice thought but completely delusional.
Immediately, my plans change. She’s the first step in this whole mess, the first lead to pull to set myself free. Back to my life. Back to my old routine. I’ll figure out what she knows, use her and break her, and then release her back to whatever fucked-up trajectory she has for her life.
She lifts a hand to ask the bartender for her tab. I stare across the room at her until she turns, meeting my eyes through the crowd and realizing exactly how close I am to her. Her scowl is a thing of beauty to behold. The unwelcome sliver of awareness pulsing through me?
Not welcome.
Layla pushes off her stool with determination etched along every line of her body and face.
Turning, I head back to my SUV parked out front and wait until she follows me out, ignoring the gut-punch of adrenaline at seeing her.
It’s time to play.
TEN
layla
My chest is oddlytight and my breasts ache with something similar to desire, but the need runs deeper. It’s so much deeper than anything I’m ready for or want to handle. Especially being at the club and seeing…him.
Howridiculous, I chastise myself on my way out the door.
It’s so fucking stupid to have these kinds of thoughts for a man who tied me to a chair and threatened me with a knife.
A killer and probably a psychopath.
At the very least a sociopath.
I slam a twenty down on the bar top when the bartender takes too long to get me the tab. I’m clearly delusional in the worst kind of way, convinced that Gabriel Blackwell has something to do with my case at work and coming back to the Underground in hopes of seeing him.
Except it paid off.
I want to see him for the case, I tell myself,onlythe case and nothing more. Now he’s spotted me and he knows I’m going to follow him out. It’s ridiculous how fast I’m out of there, trailing behind him close enough to choke on his proverbial dust.
I’m out the door and into the sticky oppressive night where a black SUV sits at the curb. The prickling sensation along my neck and spine has me reaching for my gun in the holster on my hip.
The window lowers with a quick hiss of sound and I can see Gabriel behind the wheel, gripping it tight enough that his knuckles turn white. My heart thumps against my ribs once,hard, a very firm clue that it’s smarter to keep my distance from him. He’s deadly, bad for me. A killer who makes my skin tight and my insides hot in a way I’ve only chased until now.
“Get in, Layla,” he growls.
