Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I had an audience. A few useful acquaintances.”
“St. James?”
“Some of his brothers. Fraternitas loaned us a space to question him. Don’t worry, we didn’t torture him.” A small smile touches his lips.
“Thank gods.” I’m already wrestling with a crisis of conscience. I’m willing to bend protocol, but the ends don’t justify all means.
Rex angles his body more to face me. “Why do you care about him?”
“He’s innocent.”
“He’s sewage in human form. He was all too willing to do a murderer’s bidding. The world would be a better place without him.”
“You can’t go around killing people who annoy you.”
“Can’t I?”
“Rex, I can’t condone the way you’re. . .” I don’t even know how to describe what he did—chasing down Ted and gassing him. I give up trying and rub my mouth. “I’m already on the wrong side of the law.”
“The world isn’t so black and white.”
“You don’t live in the gray. You’ve embraced the darkness.” I wait for him to argue, but he doesn’t. He can’t. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to uphold justice—”
“There is no justice. The concept you have, it’s a fantasy. A fairytale. And you’re not a child anymore.”
I glare up at him, but he doesn’t back down. “Justice may be blind, but wealth and power tip the scales. They always have.”
“I guess you would know.” There’s no one more wealthy and powerful than Rex.
“I do know. Because I use mine to tip it back.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to fight.” I’m exhausted. I’m still piecing together everything that happened tonight.
“Tell me what you need.” He uses his dom voice, and I relax immediately. It’s heady, having such a powerful man willing to bend the world to my wishes.
“I need your help, Rex.” I lean against him, and he tucks me close. “I need you on my side.”
“Always.” He murmurs into my hair. “I will always be on your side.”
“Don’t. . . don’t kill anyone.”
“I won’t. But if the choice is between protecting you or upholding some limited law, I’ll always choose you.”
The police precinct roof is perfect for smoking, but few people know this, and Detective Bonds would like to keep it that way.
It’s been a long weekend. He’s spent every waking hour on the case.
Up here, it’s peaceful for this desperate, dreary hour. He should go home and try to get some sleep.
But first, a smoke.
A shadow separates from the wall by the door and coalesces into a giant shape.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eyes makes Bonds turn. The figure looms over him, and he recoils.
“What the fuck?” He reaches for his gun, but it’s not there. He didn’t think he’d need it on his smoke break.
“It’s me.” The figure’s deep voice sounds modulated somehow.
“Yeah, I got that,” Bonds scowls and takes a drag on his cigarette to calm his racing heart.
The first time he got a visit from the warrior-like figure, he was on his balcony at home, having a smoke. He still doesn’t understand how such a big guy can move so silently.
“This is a secure building,” he adds, tapping ash onto the roof.
“Obviously.”
The stranger’s dry tone makes Bonds chuckle despite himself. He resents being surprised like this, especially by a freak dressed up like an action figure in body armor, but the dude does have his charm.
Bonds angles his head, squinting, but darkness shrouds the figure, like all the times before. The shadows embrace his form like the night wants to keep the figure’s secrets all to itself.
“What do you want?”
“I have evidence for you.”
This is why Bonds tolerates visits from the fiendish specter. He always comes with something to help a case.
The figure steps closer, and the ambient light slides off his giant form. He’s in some sort of smooth body armor. Bonds wishes he could study the man’s suit up close in better lighting. The black color makes the figure one with the night.
“Rex Roy sent me.”
“The billionaire?”
“Yes. A man approached his wife last night and gave her another letter from the Bondage Killer.”
The few half-awake brain cells fire and Bonds remembers his new single degree of separation from the famous Roy. “Inara?” It might be a trick of the light, but the figure seems to stiffen slightly. “I mean, Detective Ramos?”
“Yes. The man’s name is Ted Raider. I’ve prepared a file on him.” The figure points, looking so much like the specter of death that Bonds is reluctant to turn. But he does and sees a black case sitting on a nearby ledge. He picks it up and flips through it.
In his career, he’s looked through thousands of case files. Habit allows him to scan for the pertinent details. “A photographer?”
“That’s how he got access.”
At the end of the stack is a stained letter in a plastic case. Bonds can smell the sour, smokey scent without even opening it. “This is what he gave her?”