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Demyen does his best to hide it, but I see it: he’s got a soft spot for Willow. I wasn’t sure if that’s what I was seeing at first, but it’s been little things over and over again. The way he ordered his men to protect her at all costs. The way his voice shifts into something softer when he talks about her. The way he’s so defensive over her, even against me.
I know I’m his prisoner here. I know my survival chances are extremely low.
But maybe, just maybe…
Willow actually stands a chance.
32
DEMYEN
I cannot for the life of me figure out how the hellsheended up withhim.
Martin Patterson—DetectiveMartin Patterson—is a short, pasty, chameleon-eyed excuse for a man currently sniveling in the corner of my entryway. His hair, what little he has left, clings to his scalp in a sad combover with too much oil. What looks like a failed attempt for a handlebar mustache glistens above his lip with a mixture of sweat and snot.
And the rest of him? I doubt he engages in any hot pursuits on foot. Between the softness around his middle and the limpness in his limbs, I’m guessing I could take him out just by challenging him to a light jog.
The fact that he ever reproduced is a miracle in itself. The fact that he made Willow is proof that either God or the Devil definitely exist, because there’s no wayshecame fromthismotherfucker without divine intervention.
Almost instantly, the thought turns sour.
This son of a bitch? BetweenClara’slegs?
Absolutely not.
I pray he gives me a reason to kill him.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” I’m all Casino Host and Esteemed Pillar Of The Community, making sure my charm oozes more than his mucus.
“Ah, Mr. Zakrevsky.” Patterson straightens up and holds his hand out to me. “Detective Patterson, although I’m pretty sure your men filled you in.”
“They did.” I shake his clammy hand and make a mental note to bathe in antibacterial gel later. Either that or burn the skin off. “Has anyone offered you a drink?”
Not that I want him to get comfortable and stay. But if he chokes on a maraschino cherry, I’m not going to be heartbroken.
“Yes, thank you, but unfortunately, I’m on the job. Speaking of…” He opens his jacket and pulls out a stack of photos from the inside pocket. “I was wondering if you could take a look at these and answer a few questions.”
I frown. “Are you questioning me, Detective?”
Patterson chuckles. “Not at all, Mr. Zakrevsky. But as the owner of The Meridian Hotel and Casino, I was hoping you’d be able to shed some light on a missing persons case.”
The first image he shows me is a still from one of my cameras inside the main floor of The Meridian Casino. In it, I’m standing next to a woman at the bar, talking to her while my guards hold a man by twisting his arms behind his back.
“Is he missing?” I ask, pointing to the terrified man in the photo.
“No, no. He is, however, the one who filed a report with LVPD regarding the assault.”
“Assault?” I laugh pleasantly. “We have a strict policy against sexual assault and offenders in our establishment. He was harassing one of our VIP guests and we took care of it.”
Patterson shrugs with a nod. “I can understand that. It’s not my department, anyway. But what brings me here is something we caught in the corners of these images… and then here. And here.”
The next several photos are more stills from different cameras, first focusing on the march of doom we gave the man into that interrogation room to make him sweat it out… but then I stop.
Fuck.
That’s the same night Clara showed up and won the jackpot.
Sure enough, she’s the star of each subsequent photo, seemingly wandering around the main floor in awe and uncertainty.How did I miss her?A few of the images even show us walking right by each other, but I didn’t even so much as glance in her direction.
