AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I always thought trusting anyone besides Broderick was suicide.
Trusting his decision now is something I'm not prepared to do, no matter how sweetly a tale he spins me. It’s wrong. It’s abhorrent.
I know Detective Devon Bishop is strong enough to make it through this, underneath all this Big T trauma. I do trust him.
Which is more terrifying than the thought of going against my mentor to stop him.
“Hey.” Devan squeezes my hand, and his fingers lace with mine. “What do you need me to do? How can I help you?”
“I don’t know anymore,” I say with a shrug. “You probably should have kept your distance while you had the chance.”
I can’t pretend anymore, either, that my fascination with the delicious detective is some kind of passing fancy. It’s here to stay. I’m not sure whether it is a blessing or a curse, but it’s certainly more than lust, I tell you what.
Friendship, perhaps. In time.
“I’m not going to give you sweet words here because we both know we’re too fucked up to believe in platitudes,” he continues.
“You mean we can’t mutually blow sunshine up each other's asses and say it will be fine?” I snap the fingers on my free hand. “Dammit, Devan.”
A ghost of a smile lights his features for a second before disappearing. “Help me help you, and we’ll take this guy down. I’ve already got a team working on it, but with your insight, we can make sure Broderick Stevens doesn’t see the light of day outside of a jail cell ever again.” He stops, grinds his teeth. “He’s going to pay for what he did to you. He needs to be punished.”
“I agree.”
“What a jump you made from hands off to full-on diabolical, Little Hacker.” Devan breaks up the tension by reaching out and ruffling the hair above my eyes before smoothing a curl behind my ear. His fingers pause on the shell of my ear before he removes his hand from my skin. “From bedfellow to bounty hunter with a taste for torture.”
“And I think alliteration is sexy,” I tell him with a sniff. “I like it rough. It’s not like you’re learning this about menow.”
“Then you must love your life.” He drops his hold on me and pushes away from the table, sliding the chair back into place. “I’m going to change the sheets on the bed. We need to rest and then talk about…a plan.”
He looks like he’d rather talk about having all of his teeth yanked out and toothpicks pushed in the holes.
“You’re not worried about leaving evidence behind?” I tease. “Hair, skin cells—”
I know of a few other pieces of evidence I wouldn’t mind leaving behind when it comes to Devan. Not like he’ll let me get any further than a blowie by surprise or his face-riding extravaganza. I’d been hell-bent on fucking him, and he’d held us both back and ate me like I was part of the Last Supper.
I get up and trail Devan into the bedroom I hadn’t looked at until now. “You’d really help me?” I clarify.
“Do I think we’re asking to have our asses handed to us on a silver platter?” He crosses to the closet and pulls open the bifold doors, pointedly not looking at me. “Absolutely. Am I also hell-bent on taking down your fuck buddy? Yes. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
There is nothing but steely resolve in his voice, and I shiver at the gritty tone.
“I’m not sure if you noticed this, Tough Guy, but there’s only one bed in this place,” I remark with forced nonchalance.
Devan rips the sheet off the bed and lands his eyes on me, first on my knees, all the way up my thighs to my breasts, and then higher. “And?”
“I’m not sure if you’re planning to be the big spoon all night or not, but I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
“I’m not sleeping on the floor, and neither are you. I’ll take the chair in the living room if it will make you more comfortable.”
“The one made up of plywood and broken dreams? Are you sure?”
What am I really asking for here?
He drops the sheet and rips the rest of them from the mattress. “Unless you have a better idea,” he says slowly.
“I’m going to shower. Let me think about it a little bit while you finish up here.”
The water works, thank goodness, and there are clean towels stashed in the bathroom that do the trick as long as you don’t care about spiderwebs and silvery dust. Which if it comes down to a little shaky shake or dirt and blood plastered to my skin, I’ll take my chances with the former.
