Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You took six minutes,” she complains as she slips from between me and the car, not even waiting for me to get up from my knees. I feel the loss of her body immediately, but right now, this is victory enough for me.
“Fuck. you taste good.” I lick my lips.
“Remember the taste because it’s the last fucking time you’ll get it,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I mean it. Don’t come looking for me again.”
I’m unable to keep from laughing as she storms off. Her gait is stiff as she makes her way to her car.
“Don’t come looking for me again.”
I can’t help wondering if she truly means what she said. Perhaps what she feels building between us terrifies her as much as it should terrify me. But then would she be sending me little presents, demanding my attention?
“Goodnight, Shortcake,” I call out after her, and she flips me off right before sliding into the back seat of the car.
I adjust my cock as I stand.
Fuck me. I’ve well and truly lost my mind.
Then again, I’m not thinking with my head whenever I’m near her.
I’m obsessed with all the ways I can claim her again and again and again.
CHAPTER 25
Braxton
“How the fuck have you not figured this out yet?” my boss screams. The vein in his temple looks like it’s about to pop as Lucas and I sit in his office. “Nine bodies, and still no one is in fucking custody? You’re bringing me street rats that can be put behind bars for far pettier crimes. Why the fuck is this so hard for you two geniuses to figure it out?!”
We remain quiet. It’s always for the best when he’s in this type of mood. I don’t need to be the one to remind him of his dirty dealings and involvement with very bad people who might, in fact, be prime candidates for this type of shit, but because of their “silent” association, we can’t touch them.
“Get the fuck out of my office and figure your shit out. I mean it! Fucking get in there. The press is killing us.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas and I say at the same time, then take our leave.
Dickhead.
Every set of eyes in the office suddenly looks down as we step out into the bullpen. I can’t even be mad at their curiosity because I’m the same way when someone else gets eaten alive in there. We’re not invincible, and our job security isn’t guaranteed. One fucking thing I know for sure is I’m not handing in my badge anytime soon.
“What the fuck are we going to do?” Lucas begins to stress. “How the fuck are we struggling so much with this case? It’s like all the evidence we need to link the cases just suddenly vanishes.”
“Or the killer’s so immaculate, they just don’t leave anything behind,” I remind him.
“But they’ll have to make a mistake at some point, right? I mean, they practically flaunt the bodies. They always want them to be found. I don’t know left from right at the moment, and I can’t fucking sleep. This case is really killing me. What if the chief brings someone else onto it?”
“He won’t.” And I believe that. No one wants to draw attention to their own misdeeds. But if we don’t start getting answers, even his hand might be moved against his own will.
“Maybe I should try to get in deeper or something,” Lucas says quietly as he takes a seat at his desk.
“What do you mean? You can’t go undercover; they already know who you are,” I say quietly, then add, “You’d survive for far less time than your friends.”
This seems to anger him. Lucas is often the stable one of the two of us. He doesn’t play his hand too much, and up until a few months ago, I genuinely thought he was lacking in emotion, considering how well he seemed to compartmentalize. Especially considering some of the fucked-up shit we see. But he’s starting to crack with this case, and it’s not surprising since his friends died because of it.
“I just… I need to solve this case. This person thinks they’re invincible.”
“People like this killer always do,” I remind him as I glance down at my phone. I’m on Instagram, looking at Hope’s recent post. Again, I know it’s not her who personally uploads to her accounts, but her PR company makes it far too easy for me to track her movements. She’s been gone for two days and should be back in three.
“How the fuck do we hang the Grim Reaper?” Lucas asks quietly. I look up at him then. He’s exhausted. For the first time, his shirt isn’t ironed, and I’m certain it’s the same shirt from yesterday. Fuck, we both need to sleep.
“We go back to the beginning,” I say, thinking of Hope, “and remind them that they’re human. If they bleed, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”