Men! I muse. It never ceases to amaze me.
My eyes roll into my head as the pressure builds, I cry out for his benefit, letting the spasm swallow me whole, increasing with the pace of my hand. This seems to set him off because, in mere seconds, he is kneeling in front of me, struggling with his belt buckle, looking like a toddler on Christmas morning. Worked like a charm.
He flips me over on my back so that my legs held down on either side by him.
“God! You are so beautiful.” He breathes into me, sending a shiver through my entire body.
Replacing my fingers with his mouth, he pulls me to him. I gladly accept this swap, now wrapping my legs around his shoulder feeling his deft tongue enter me, fill me, push me over the edge. I clamp my teeth on my lower lip to keep from crying out.
“Yes! More!” I command, my voice sounding too raw and far away for me to pay attention to anything other than what’s happening to me. His pace increases, I thrash wildly, digging my nails into his back, he doesn’t protest. I scream out as the pleasure builds to an all-time high, taking me with it.
I raise my head, looking down at him between the mounds on my chest and laugh. He chuckles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My vision swims temporarily, and I lay back down. This isn’t over, and he knows it. I need more than just tongue, I need him full and hard. Without saying a word, he pins me to the bed, straddling me. I smirk up at him, guiding his member into me, moaning as we complete this familiar ritual.
He starts to move, slowly at first, picking up speed only as I cry encouragingly. His hands find my neck and squeeze tighter as we climax. Everything but our bodies is forgotten in the heat of this moment. I picture the two girls from before, kissing and laughing, touching each other passionately and the pleasure skyrockets. I arch my back vaguely aware that I’m bunching the sheets – I can’t do much else than ride this wave, wanting more and more until my body gives in and we both crash.
“I love you,” he says in a small voice. My eyes fly open at that. I go still, and so does he, looking down at me. Well at least we’re done, I think, consoling myself.
“I love you, Verity. I can’t keep doing this without letting you know,” he explains, tracing an invisible line on my face.
I immediately pull away, slithering out from underneath him. I search for my robe blindly.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” He asks, watching me as I search.
“Have you seen my robe?” I ask.
“No,” he says. I can hear the anger in his voice.
“Well then help me find it,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low.
“I’m serious about what I said, Verity. This has gone on for a long time, long enough if you ask me. We’re more than fuck buddies, we’re friends. Last year you spent Thanksgiving and Christmas here,” he says, getting up to hug me from behind.
I lean into him, and his body responds hardening. We could go again, I think elatedly. But the thought of him saying the ‘L’ word is enough to pull me out, so I, in turn, pull away.
“That’s because we had a fuck marathon during the holidays, nothing else,” I say, remembering the weeks of nothing more than just sex and eating. It was absolute bliss.
“The week you were at the hospital because of the skateboard accident, I stayed in the hospital with you,” he counters, thankfully putting on his shorts.
“Yes, because we had a quickie twice in the restroom,” I retort, still very aware just how naked I am. All of a sudden, I don’t want to be naked with him anymore. I search for my clothes frantically now.
“It’s not all about sex, Verity, and you know it.” His voice is hard now as he traps me between his hard body and the door.
“No, Ethan. It is about sex for us. It’s always sex. I need a quick fix, you help me out, you have an unreachable itch, I scratch it. That’s why we even started this in the first place. That’s what friends with benefits are: fuck buddies.” I push past him and finally find my robe.
“What if I want more?” he calls out after me.
“You can’t want more, Ethan, because I don’t have more to give,” I warn, unbolting the door and stepping out.
“Maybe it’s a commitment thing. You don’t like labels, I guess,” he says in a patronizing voice. His fingers dig into the flesh of my arm. I grit my teeth against the pain, staring calmly at him.
“Ethan, I need regular coitus, not a shrink. Don’t try to decipher me. Goodnight.”
I pulling away forcefully, feeling the sting of my actions as I do. I finally open my door, and he follows me.
“But —” he starts. I slam the door in his face, feeling a twinge of guilt. But like all the other feelings in my life, I stuff it down. The thing with Ethan is just sex, nothing more.
Men! I scoff.
My phone rings, jarring me. I frown at it where it sits on the coffee table. A quick glance shows there’s no caller ID.
Chapter 5
Detective Joy
“You think he’ll show up?” Peyton asks, looking up as the bell above the door jingles.
We had to drive out all the way to where Verity’s ex works to meet with him. It’s easier for everyone, or at least as easy as it gets.
“He has to come to work at some point. Besides he agreed to meet us, so he can’t have anything to hide, can he?” I reason out loud.
Peyton doesn’t believe it – even I don’t believe it – but he nods all the same.
We wait the better part of the morning in the parking lot of the family-owned restaurant where Angel Stuart works until hunger and irritation drive us inside at mid-day. A lanky brunette with a vacuous expression immediately comes to take our orders.
“We’ll have two burgers, one soda water for me and a coffee for my partner here,” Peyton announces without even looking at the menu.
“What kind of burgers?” she asks, pen poised, ready to write it down.
“Surprise us,” he says dismissively, and I feel sorry for the girl at the look on her face. “Thank you,” he adds as she leaves, but she just shrugs in response.
“You good, Peyton?” I ask cautiously.
“Yeah… problem with the missus is all. But I’m good. How are your girls doing?” he asks, changing the topic expertly.
“They’re good. I take them to school every morning and try to come back on the bus,” I’m aware my explanation doesn’t make much sense, but Payton nods in understanding all the same.
We sit in silence before our orders finally arrive, along with our person of interest: Angel Stuart, in the flesh.
“Angel Stuart?” Peyton says, getting out of his chair.
“Yeah, who’s asking?” He drawls, not meeting our eyes.
“We’re from the precinct, we called you earlier to schedule a meeting. You kept us waiting,” Peyton offers, his voice brisk and business-like.
“Yeah, I woke late,” he offers in the way of explanation, giving a nonchalant shrug. I immediately dislike him.
“Well, you’re here now. Why don’t we get to it?” I say, swallowing bile.
“Fine,” he agrees, taking a seat. We both sit up, and burgers are forgotten.
We begin questioning him; age, address, the whole back-story of how he met Verity and what their relationship was like. If he has ever stalked her before. All of his answers are mechanical, not giving away too much – actually, not giving away anything.
“Can you voluntarily offer a DNA sample to us?” I ask, rounding off the questions.
“Why?” he asks, standing abruptly.
“It’s just to cross you off the list as a suspect,” I explain, hoping to ease his apprehension.
“Do you have anything to charge me with? Because if not, I know for a fact I don’t have to give you a sample,” he tells us, flashing a crooked grin. There’s a scar above his lip, making his smile all the more menacing. Peyton and I exchange a look.
“It’s routine. No need to get all worked up,” Peyton offers.
“Ask
Verity for her DNA sample. Why not?” He throws out, rubbing his hand through his brown hair, hair the same color as the waitress. They actually look alike, save for his broken nose and honey brown eyes.
“Why do you say that?” Peyton quizzes, staring him down.
“I’m done talking to you guys. I have work to do,” he says, cutting off the question and immediately turning to go.
“So, what’s it gonna be? He’s right; we have nothing to charge him with, you know?” Peyton asks, signaling a waitress.
“I know...” I start, feeling slightly deflated.
“Stakeout it is,” he announces, clasping my shoulder.
“You read my mind, Peyton.” I give in, shaking my head at him.
“Of course I did. We’ll take these to go,” he tells the waitress and she nods, taking out plates away. A few minutes later, the brunette returns with our packaged meals.
“Can I talk to you? Out back, five minutes,” she whispers, eyes wide. I nod, and she immediately leaves. We follow a few minutes later.
“What is it?” Peyton asks when we’re finally sure no one’s eavesdropping.
“Whatever you think my brother did, it’s a lie. I bet it’s that girl, Verity. She always seemed to control him when they dated; he was like a puppy on a short leash,” she says, glancing sideways as she talks.
“And this makes you think she’s guilty?” I’m the one to ask the question, Peyton’s observing her quietly.
“I ain’t saying nothing, I just don’t trust that girl. It always seemed like there were two sides to her, and with the way her father died so mysterious... Maybe there’s more to her than we all know,” she says, lowering her voice a bit.
“Do you have any evidence supporting this claim?” I push.
“I don’t know much about her, she’s very quiet. And my brother’s pretty secretive when it comes to her.”
“So nothing, then?” Peyton’s the one to say this.
“But my gut! My gut’s always right!” She cries, placing a hand on her chest. I arch an eyebrow but don’t say anything.
“Alright. Thank you for your time. Here’s my card, if you remember anything, do give us a call,” I say and with that, Peyton and I return to our car.
“What do you think?” Peyton asks, starting the engine.
“I’m not sure about all that. There may have been bad blood between them, who knows? It’s not a lot to go by, but Angel is definitely a start. There’s more to this than he’s letting on and I know it,” I answer distractedly.
“You know it?” He prods further, backing out of the driveway.
“My gut, my gut’s always right,” I cough out, stifling an oncoming laugh.
Peyton’s not so tactful, laughing his head off as we drive back to the precinct.
Chapter 6
Detective Joy
“Can you believe this guy? It’s been weeks, and we can’t get anything on him. Nothing at all! We’ve staked him for four whole days, and nothing. Not a cigarette butt, not an empty can of beer, not even a careless spit, nothing.”
“Arrogant bastard!” Peyton muses, almost laughing.
“He knows we’re onto him, and he’s careful. The cocky son of a gun, he knows, he’s toying with us! What I wouldn’t give to wipe that dirty smirk off his face,” the other officer with us growls.
“Down boy, down,” Peyton jabs.
“Hey! Don’t mess with me!” she counters, reaching over and pulling his ear. I don’t really remember her name. It starts with a D, Diana maybe? Or Dina? I wasn’t paying attention the first time Peyton introduced us, and right now I’m not sure I even want to know.
“Cut it out! Both of you!” I warn, gripping the steering wheel to stay calm.
“Man, we’ve been sitting in this car all day outside this fella’s place for an entire week and it has been the same story every day. Nothing’s coming from it, and I’m hungry,” she continues, undeterred. This is why I work alone (the exception being Peyton, but even he knows how it is).
“Me too, what are you going to get?” Peyton asks, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
“A burger, what else?” she replies.
“Get me one too. All American, extra cheese, extra mayo, no ham, no...” he says, joking with her as she gets out of the car.
“No way in hell I’m gonna remember all that. You either come with, or you get nothing,” she retorts, leaning against the passenger door. Her cleavage is exposed. I catch myself staring and look away.
“Are you buying?” Peyton asks, pushing her off the door and getting out.
“No! Wiseass! Buy your own burger.”
“Want anything, Joy?” he asks as an afterthought, leaning down to peer at me.
“Nah, I’m good. You guys take your time. I’ll watch him,” I assure, nodding at the figure leaning against a pile of discarded crates stacked against the wall, drinking something out of a single-use plastic bottle.
“Sure thing,” Peyton calls out, already walking away.
Finally, some peace and quiet, I think to myself.
I watch him closely as he takes the final swig and then dumps the bottle in the trash.
This is it! I think to myself, barely able to contain my joy.
I reach into the back seat for an evidence bag and a pair of gloves, hurriedly pulling them on before opening the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him come back down, pick the bottle out of the trash and stuff it into his hoodie, at which point he looks up at me and gives a small wave before slouching off, disappearing behind the building.
“Fucking fucker!” I cuss out, slapping the steering wheel so hard I’m pretty sure my hand’s bruised.
I rest my head on the steering now, feeling exhausted. It might take a while, but they’ll slip; they always slip eventually. With that thought to comfort me, I doze off.
* * *
My phone ringing sounds so far away, it takes a long minute to realize what’s happening and with the realization comes alertness. I sit up, searching my pockets for it. How long was I out? An hour? Two? Three? And where’s fucking Peyton?
I squint at the screen: Rita’s number. I wipe my face and answer it, and the blood drains out of me when Nikki’s panicky voice rings out.
“Daddy, please come home… there’s someone in the house.”
Chapter 7
Detective Joy
“Did they see who did it?” I demand, not bothering to hide the apprehension in my voice.
Receiving that call from Nikki was terrible, what was worse was coming home to my house torn apart and one of my girls sobbing in a corner while the other one lay partially conscious, calling out for me.
The ambulance ride to the hospital was nerve-wracking. Nikki was inconsolable, which wasn’t doing much for my already hassled state. She only calmed down when her sister finally came through.
The officers got to the hospital around the same time we arrived and began asking questions. I lost it. That was when Peyton asked me to take a walk and get myself together. So now here I am, pacing outside the room, ignoring how I feel. Peyton comes out, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“Well? Any luck?” I ask.
“They did us one better and gave a description, and boy it’s a doozy. You’ll never guess who it is,” he says, barely concealing his excitement.
“Who?”
He pulls out a composite sketch of a male in his early twenties. Close-cropped black hair and crooked nose.
“Angel,” I whisper breathlessly.
“Down to the very last scar, Detective, down to the very last scar. We’re working on getting a warrant to take him into custody. We might not be able to bag him for the serial murders just yet, but we can charge him with burglary and attempted assault. That should keep him long enough to charge him with the killings.”
I’m about to reply when my phone rings.
“Eleanor, now’s not a good time,” I start, but I’m immediately cut off.
“What happened? Bob
called me,” she says, her tone accusatory.
Oh, of course, he did, I think, swallowing it back.
“What happened? Is everyone alright?” she pushes.
“Yes, they’re all okay,” I assure her.
“You?” she asks. I’m warmed by her concern.
“Yes. It was just a little scare. Nothing serious,” I reassure, but she doesn’t buy it.
“You’re lying! I’m coming home now!” she cries.
“You’re in the middle of the ocean. How do you expect to do that?”
“I’m not the enemy here, and you know it. Christ, if looking after the girls were gonna be so much work, I’d have just asked Bob to do it.”
“Hey! I told you it’s nothing serious. They’re with me now.”
“I’m sorry, I just, I got so worked up,” she confesses with a sigh.
“What did you do?” I ask, already dreading the answer.
“I... I called my mom.”
“You did what?” I cough out. Of all the no good...
“Is that mommy? Can I speak to her?” Nikki pleads, showing up in front of me. I look around to find Rita standing by the door, aided by Peyton.
“Not right now, honey, it’s grown-up talk,” I explain, moving towards them, holding Nikki’s hand.
“Mommy?” she asks again, pulling on my untucked shirt.
Rita’s fully dressed now. They said it was nothing serious, probably just a mild concussion. “Shhhhhh. You’ll talk to mommy, let’s go get some gummy worms,” she intervenes, pulling Nikki from me.
“Can I get the sour ones?” Nikki pipes, her mother already forgotten, replaced by chewy candy.
“You can have all the sour ones you like, Pip,” Rita coos, pinching her sister’s cheeks.
“Thank you,” I mouth silently, running a hand through my hair. She just shrugs and walks off, Nikki’s hand in hers. “I can’t believe you called your mother. What are you trying to do? Make me look bad?” I whisper harshly into the phone.
Sword and Lead (Book 1) Page 3
