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This lying cunt.
No fucking way is this a coincidence. She didn’t wander into the club tonight, looking for a good time. She had a purpose. Me. I knew that little stumbling act she pulled earlier was just that. An act. I didn’t guess how far it went.
“Yo, boss, we’re out of here.” Bobby steps inside, takes one more look around, and nods in satisfaction.
No one would ever know what went on tonight. That is, not unless they took a look at me in my current state, stripped down to my underwear with rust-colored stains on my skin where the blood soaked through.
“Yeah, go ahead. Update me when it’s over,” I rattle off, operating on autopilot, practically flying blind while I grope around in my head for an answer to a question I haven’t yet asked. What do I do next?
She’s still out cold, so I take advantage by running my hands over her lush body to look for a wire. Minutes ago, the prospect of fondling her had my cock straining. Now, the act of touching her makes my stomach churn. A cop. A fucking cop flirting with me.
She’s clean, and so is the purse, nothing hidden in the lining. Returning everything to its rightful place so it doesn’t look like I rummaged through her bag, I don’t know my play yet. Whatever it is, I have to tread carefully. If my father or even Dante knew I had an unconscious detective at my mercy, they would be here in an instant, taking pleasure in skinning her alive, limb by gorgeous limb.
With one eye on her, I return to the bathroom, where I can see her through the glass shower door. I scrub myself down quickly and efficiently, my eyes trained on her. Frankie’s blood swirls down the drain, and I suppose part of me ought to be grateful for this unexpected distraction. I don’t have to reflect on the fact that I brutally murdered my lifelong best friend minutes ago.
I could murder her now, and no one would know. I could put that cute little body in another barrel of acid and dissolve her until she’s nothing but sludge. Let the NYPD figure out what to make of that.
That’s what I should do.
As much as the idea makes my blood race, I’m self-aware enough to know that would never work. I didn’t see anybody with her in the short time we spent together, but there’s a chance somebody knew she was coming here tonight. It would take too much work to erase her presence from the club to make the endeavor worth it. Deleting video footage, making sure she didn’t leave her credit card at the bar to run a tab… I don’t have the time for that. And I doubt Papa or Dante would appreciate the headache if the cops came sniffing around.
I can’t let her leave, though. She saw too much. Everything. Those baby blues took in the aftermath of my sense of betrayal. She saw Frankie’s blood-soaked body and heard him gurgle on his blood.
She saw me. She looked me straight in the eye.
By the time I step out of the shower and dry off, she still hasn’t moved. How do I navigate this? I could tell her I know everything. Come to think of it, she might not be a bad resource to have on the inside. She lives in a shitty part of the city and can’t make much as a detective, not enough to give her security in this economy. I might not be one of the so-called regular people, but I know that much. I could make her an offer and convince her to work together.
I have more than money to offer. She liked me. She wanted me. I could practically smell it on her, in the air, and taste it on her skin when I kissed her hand. She would melt like butter under the right touch. And what a game it could be. Getting my dick wet and protecting what’s mine at the same time.
There’s a reason I keep identical suits in my closet. I’ve already been seen in my ruined one tonight. Showing up at the bar wearing something different might catch someone’s attention. I can’t afford not to be too careful, especially when so many mistakes have already been made. Letting her see me in a different suit would be the same as a confession. She has no proof, though. I have to remind myself of that when the impulse to strangle her threatens to consume me.
This fucking bitch. Anger claws its way up my spine, settling like a weight across my shoulder blades.
I replace my cufflinks, staring down at her while I do. There is a trace of blood behind her ear, but she can’t have done much damage since head wounds tend to bleed more than any other. Frankie’s sure as hell did.
She thought she could stroll in here, seduce me, and work her way into my business. A detective at twenty-four. Who the hell does that? Especially a girl who could easily pass for sixteen. She’s probably the kid who reminded the teacher on Friday afternoon that she forgot to assign homework. She wanted to be a hero. She thinks she’ll shoot to the top of the ladder before she turns thirty. Commissioner Washington.
Not at my expense, she won’t.
It’s another long, torturous ten minutes or so before she stirs. By now, I’m behind my desk, trying to work on my laptop while watching her.
But I’m on one knee at her side when she opens her eyes and blinks fast. “There you are,” I whisper, brushing hair away from her cheeks and watching as she begins breathing faster. She remembers.
Fuck.
“What…” She flinches away from my touch while her eyes dart around the room. “What happened?”
“You fell. You came in here, and you were mumbling about something or other. I couldn’t catch it. Then you must’ve tripped in those ridiculous shoes because the next thing I knew, you were unconscious on the floor. You really should rethink your choice of footwear when you go out. That’s twice tonight you’ve stumbled, and I wasn’t there to catch you this time,” I explain, ensuring everything is plausible.
I can almost taste her confusion. Her apprehension. Her panicked pulse flutters in her slim throat as she sits up. Her eyes dart here, there, all over the room. She’s looking for evidence of what she saw. Trying to understand how everything is suddenly so different.
“Say something,” I urge in a voice that in no way conveys the bubbling rage in my chest. It’s tight, almost to the point I can’t breathe, but she can’t know that. She has to believe I’m sincere.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, trembling, trying to fight it and failing. I see it in the way she clenches her jaw and tightens her fists in her lap. “I shouldn’t have walked in like that. I was trying to…” Her words die off, and I know exactly what the bitch was trying to do.
As it turns out, the past week of pretending nothing was wrong between Frankie and me was perfect training for this moment. I can smile when all I want to do is snap her neck. “I get it. You wouldn’t be the first woman to walk in here when she saw an opportunity. But you are the only one I would hate having to throw out.”
Her lips twitch. “Thanks. Was there somebody else in here? When I came in? Everything looks…”
