So many demons.
Spread out across the world in a spiderweb of horror and violence.
I wanted them all eradicated. For fucking ever.
It wasn’t about the glory for me.
It was about the promise I’d made.
Though I also couldn’t deny the rush I got from doling out justice.
The rush I got from killing.
18.
Juliette
Tuesday. Is almost as bad as fucking Monday.
At least the day was already almost half over, and I’d spent a great deal of it doing mindless paperwork. There was even some peace and quiet most of the morning, with my biggest annoyance not sauntering in until nearly noon.
“How in the sweet hell did you survive without your purse for an entire day, Capuleti?” Tybalt leaned over into my work area, staring down at me and stinking of burnt coffee and fatty donuts.
“You are exactly why cartoonists draw cops with beer bellies and a box of donuts, Tybalt,” I shot back, irritated that after all the hard work I’d put in getting to where I was today, I still had men invading my space. And this asswipe made a habit out of it. If it wouldn’t land me in a disciplinary hearing, I’d punch the mother fucker square in the mouth.
“Whoa, whoa. PMS alert,” he crowed, loud enough to gather chuckles from the murder of men around him.
“Tybalt, go fuck yourself.” I grabbed an ink pen from my desk, holding it so hard that my knuckles started turning white. It took all my willpower to shove it through my neat hair bun instead of shoving it through Tybalt’s neck.
“Already did that this morning, Darlin’. I’d offer the same to you, but no one likes ketchup on their tacos.”
“Holy shit. Really? How are you not fucking fired for being a walking lawsuit? Sexual harasser is practically tattooed on your goddamn forehead!” My fingers itched to snag the pen from my hair. I mean, who cared if I went to jail? It’d be worth it.
He leaned in closer, noxious breath fogging my brain. “Welcome to reality, Capuleti. Where you’ve never belonged here, regardless of your past success. The only reason you closed so many cold cases was because the men before you did all the work.”
I stood up so he couldn’t lord over me anymore, and I walked out of my cubicle area to where he stood. “If the men did all the work, Tybalt, then why weren’t the cases solved in the first place? Wait,” I tapped an index finger against my chin, “Maybe it’s because, even when shit is staring them in the face, men can’t find it. You know, like the G-spot or their tiny fucking dicks that can barely fill a hole in swiss cheese, let alone a woman.”
He sputtered, bulbous face going red, and I brushed around him. “I’m going for a cup of coffee. Why don’t you pull up a couple of your own unsolved cases and I’ll give them a look? Save the few brain cells you have some strain. Wouldn’t want you to have an aneurism.”
“Bitch,” he muttered at my back.
“Dickhead,” I called back, a smile in my voice.
I exited the unit, staring down at the floor and proper pleased with myself. I was tired of taking his shit. Tired of the comments. Even the well-meaning ones from the Assistant Director with his newspaper and talk about how I cleaned up nicely. Like my value went up with makeup and a different hairstyle.
“I work with a truckload of self-important toads,” I muttered to myself, giving myself a little shake before I looked up from the floor to focus on where I was walking.
Seconds earlier, looking where I was going might have saved me.
But I was too late, in the end, to keep myself from running smack dab into a muscled chest dressed in a high dollar suit.
I blinked up, an apology already on my tongue, but then I recognized him.
“Romero,” I breathed out, stunned. He didn’t belong here.
“Ah, Miss Capuleti. I didn’t realize you worked in this building.”
“The fuck you didn’t.” The words came spilling out unbidden, and I blushed immediately. Especially considering my SAC was standing right beside Romero. “Oh, excuse me. Sorry, Sir.”
Townsend eyed me and then glanced over at Romero. “You know Special Agent Capuleti, Mr. Montego?”
“Perhaps you didn’t see the recent papers, Mr. Townsend. Agent Capuleti gave me quite the workout on the dance floor this past weekend.” Romero smirked down at me, eyes twinkling.
Men. All fucking men were the same.
Townsend snapped his fingers. “Ah, that’s right! Shapiro showed me the article.”
“Join us, Capuleti. Mr. Montego is here for a joint taskforce meeting with the DEA. You might be aware that his father was under investigation for illegal firearm sales, putting guns in the hands of criminals even after winning the city contract to arm the NYPD. There are still a few loose ends to cut, and Mr. Montego has been more than cooperative.”
“Sir, I’m busy on the Pinski case with Tybalt and—”
“The Pinski case is open and shut. Now grab us coffee and meet us in conference room B.” SAC Townsend gave me his no-nonsense stare before walking off.
Romero fucking Montego didn’t immediately follow. “It’s lovely to see you again, Juliette.”
“Hardly,” I snarled before stopping off to the break room for coffee. I knew how Townsend liked his—enough milk and sugar to make a batch of ice cream. But Romero was getting black. And bottom of the damn carafe if I could manage it. Burnt dredges of cheap grounds and a heaping of my absolute hate to go with it.
Making the coffee, I stomped to the conference room juggling three mugs, because I sure as hell wasn’t sacrificing my own need for caffeine simply because the ‘boys’ needed theirs. There was no reason for me to be in the fucking meeting, other than the SAC wanted it so. And being a special agent wasn’t nearly like being the special agent in charge. I’d been begging, literally begging, to be put on The Rose Killer ever since I made it to the New York field office.
You’re too close to the case, Capuleti.
If you worked your way to the FBI and New York simply because you wanted a crack at The Rose Killer, I’m afraid you wasted your damn time.
Not that any of that kept me from finding out as much information as I could. And The Vault was available to all agents. Anything not redacted, or above my security clearance, I’d found out. And I had everything from the private investigators my dad had hired, too. But it was all shit, complete shit, and I felt like I was never going to find out who killed my mother. Not unless I could get all the information and piece together the wider puzzle.
I handed Townsend his pale coffee and he sipped it, mumbling appreciatively as the liquid clung to his mustache. Romero’s coffee I placed about three feet away from where he sat, not even looking at him as I walked around the table to take an empty seat.
“Take notes Capuleti, Diane’s out today.” The SAC pointed at a laptop in the center of the table and then leaned over the large mahogany table to pull a platter of croissants towards himself. “Have one, Mr. Montego. They’re far better than the coffee, I assure you.”
“You want me to play your secretary?” I scoffed, holding my mug with both hands now, trying to center myself so I didn’t go off on yet another boy treating me like I wasn’t a full-fledged agent.
“Is that a problem?” Townsend quirked an eyebrow, coffee raised to his mouth again and hovering near his chapped lips.
“I don’t understand why the meeting is even here. Doesn’t the DEA have point on this?” Even as I said the words, I pulled the laptop Townsend indicated towards me. I knew better than to argue, but Romero’s presence set me on edge.
It was Romero who answered me. “It’s my fault, actually, Miss Capuleti. The meeting was meant to be in Arlington, but my last-minute trip left me exhausted. The DEA was kind enough to move the meeting closer to home.”
Closer to your home, and conveniently in the same damn building where I work. Fucking stalker.
I watched with satisfaction as Romero had to stand up to get his coff
ee. And then frowned when he drank it without comment on how disgusting it likely was.
The meeting was routine, exhaustingly so. Going over the nationwide buy-back program initiated by Romero, the closure of his company’s weapons manufacturing division, and the current statistics of gun related crime in which a Montego gun was utilized versus other guns.
We were halfway through the docket when a sharp knock startled the conversation into quiet.
“Come in,” Townsend barked, clearly pissed at the interruption.
A harried agent, sweat pouring down his face, nearly fell into the room in his hurry.
“Sir, he’s struck again.”
“Who, Agent? You got to be a little less fucking vague than that.” Townsend took another bite of pastry, bits of it crumbling to feather the areas already tarred by coffee.
“The Rose Killer, Sir.”
“How many?”
“Four dead, two witnesses, but they’re not talking. And neither are the half dozen other homeless who were in the vicinity,” the agent rushed out, words awkward and mushed together.
“Where?”
“Chicago, sir.”
SAC Townsend stood up, nodding at the room. “That’ll be all for today, gentlemen.” He flicked a secondary glance at me. “Agent Capuleti, please escort Mr. Montego from the building.”
I nodded, mind racing. The Rose Killer. He’d struck again. It could mean fresh evidence.
Before Townsend could leave, I stood up too, walking swiftly over. “Sir, please let me come with you. I can be a valuable asset, bringing a new perspective to the investigation. And I have all the reports from the PIs hired by my father. I can help.”
“The only new perspective you’d bring to the case is that of a grieving family member, Capuleti. That’s the last thing we need. Skewed bias against anyone that might be even the slightest bit suspect.” He pushed through the door and the harried agent who’d brought he news that The Rose Killer had struck again brushed past me to follow.
I moved to the side of the room so the rest of the attending agents could file out, my thoughts a jumble and my heart racing. I was so angry, so goddamn angry, that no one would let me help with The Rose Killer. I needed to be involved, needed to help find him. Brain foggy, I walked over to grab the laptop. Townsend would expect me to clean up the notes and file them, so I would. I always finished the job, even though I hated it sometimes. I wasn’t the snot-nosed rookie cop who jumped into danger all of the time simply because I wasn’t satisfied with grunt work.
When I started to leave the room, Romero spoke.
He hadn’t left yet.
And he was the last fucking thing I need to deal with right now.
“It really is nice to see you again, Juliette.” His voice was right behind me, close enough that I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck.
Whirling around, clutching the laptop to my chest, I glared at him and backed away against the nearest wall. “Why do you keep showing up, Mr. Montego? I thought we agreed it was better to keep some distance between us.”
“Because my working with the FBI and DEA has everything to do with seeing you,” he poured the words out softly, intimately, moving forward and leaning down so close our noses nearly touched.
“Just leave me the hell alone,” I sputtered, gaze glued to his lips. Full, luscious. So, fucking kissable.
“I’m not sure I can do that.” Romero moved a fraction closer.
Men. Men were always invading my goddamn space.
But this one, heaven help me, this one I craved.
19.
Romero
I was exhausted, running on only a few hours of sleep stolen on the return flight from Chicago.
Because I couldn’t sleep in the hotel after killing.
The rush had been too awakening, as it normally was.
But seeing her again was even more so.
Arousing. Physically. Spiritually.
A goddamn jolt to the senses.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” I murmured, moving so close that I could close the gap between us in a heartbeat, press my mouth to hers, drink her up like she was the finest of wines.
“Well, try,” she snarled, clearly not under the same spell as I was.
I reached around her, shutting the door. The soft click echoed through the enclosed space.
“What the hell are you doing?” She pressed against the wall, sliding against it to get away from me.
I didn’t follow. I didn’t need to. Where was she going to go?
“This is fucking harassment, you know that?” Her words were meant to be fierce, but all I saw was the way her chest rose and fell, how her breathing sounded too fast and irregular. Her gaze as intense, full of desire, no matter what she said from her beautiful mouth. It was soft mauve today, the lipstick shimmering slightly in the overhead fluorescents. She kept the laptop pressed against her body like a shield.
As if she knew what I was, beneath the trappings of wealth. As if she knew she needed protection.
But did she not know? Did she not realize?
She was as much a danger to me as I was to her.
“Go out with me,” to another woman, one under my thrall, it would be a command. To Juliette, it was a request.
She froze, too stunned to move. “Did you just ask me out? What part of all of this,” she took one hand off the laptop to wave in a general fashion in front of her, “made you think, in a million years, that I would say yes to that?”
“Because you’re curious,” I shrugged, walking towards her, closing that chasm between us again, “You’re curious about my family. You’re curious about what I might know regarding your mother’s case.” I was right in front of her now, and my arms screamed to pull her into my body, to feel her pressed against me. Instead, I tilted my upper body to whisper my next words close to her ear. “You’re curious about what it would feel like to fuck me.”
She jolted backwards, tripping and giving me an excuse to snake my arms around her waist. Still, she kept the laptop between us, eyes wide and lips parted in shock.
“I’m not curious. Not fucking at all,” she sputtered.
“Not even a little?” I murmured, tugging her close, hating the damn computer blocking the feel of her breasts.
She shook her head violently, dramatically.
“I’m going to pick you up tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. On the dot.” Taking one hand from her waist, I snagged the ballpoint pen out of her bun and yanked the cap off with my teeth. “If you don’t call me before then to cancel, then I’ll assume you agree. One date. That’s all I’m asking. If I can’t pique your curiosity, then we’ll cut our losses.” I held the cap between my teeth and wrote my personal cell number across the back of her hand, then recapped the pen before tossing it carelessly onto the table.
“One date, and you’ll leave me the fuck alone?” she asked, obviously not believing my promise.
“I don’t break my promises, Miss Capuleti.” I paused. “Juliette.” I breathed out her name, loving the taste of it.
“Good, then I expect after tomorrow night to never hear from you again, Mr. Montego.”
“Say my first name,” I urged, tightening my grip around her waist.
“No,” she tried to pull from me.
I believed in consent. I wanted willing fucking partners.
But dammit, this woman. She pushed me to that same cliff that killing did. I rode the razor’s edge, wanting to equal parts love her and tear her to shreds to take my desire by force.
“Let me go,” she struggled, eyes becoming a little wild when she realized my strength.
I relented, dropping my arms, and letting her stumble away from me.
“Before tomorrow’s time together ends, Juliette, you’re going to beg me to hold you.” I made the promise, voice rough with desire.
“So not only are you a world class egotistical bastard, you’re also certifiably delusional,” she spat out, walking quickly around the
conference table and disappearing.
Clearly having forgotten she was meant to act as my guide.
Mere moments later, she came back without the laptop, looking pissed. “I’m supposed to escort you from the building, Mr. Montego. I apologize for leaving you behind.”
I smiled, slipping hands into my pockets and walking casually out to join her. She only waited long enough for me to be in the hallway before stomping off in the direction of the elevators.
“I’d rather take the stairs,” I commented as I caught up with her; she was pressing the down button and tapping one foot nervously against the carpeted floor.
“Too fucking bad. What? Scared of enclosed spaces?”
“I prefer the exercise,” I shrugged.
“You’ll live. Maybe a few extra pounds will humble your ass. Thinking every woman is falling all over you.” She kept her voice low, not wanting to be overheard. She’d probably be reprimanded if her superiors knew how she was talking to me.
If anyone was going to discipline the woman, though, it would be me.
She stepped into the elevator first, holding the door for me. I brushed past her, close enough that our arms touched, and went to lean against the back wall. She didn’t look at me, instead staring stoically at the floor numbers as they flashed by, signaling our journey towards ground level. If I didn’t know for a fact the elevator stop button would sound an alarm and signal the operators to call, I’d walk up to her and press it.
I’d steal a few moments with her in this small space, even though my anxiety was through the damn roof being stuck in the moving doom box.
But Juliette surprised me by being the one to turn around, to walk over to me, to stare up at me. She seemed genuinely confused.
“I’ve been staring at those stupid numbers, trying to figure you out. I don’t get it. I don’t get you.”
Her Villain: A Dark Bully Romance (Aqua Vitae Duet Book 1) Page 13
