Dethroned (Darker Places Book 3)

by Nicole Cypher

  I shook my head and continued forward. He'd gained some distance on me, so I picked up the pace, my regrettable heels clicking against the pavement with each step. After we'd come within a safe distance of each other, I slowed, taking a deep breath and ignoring the pain in the soles of my feet.

  A whistling noise sounded to the right of me and snapped my attention away from Jake. Three figures, shadowed by the night, stood in the alleyway I passed. One held a cigarette to their mouth that glowed bright orange as they took a drag.

  "Hey, Baby," one of them called. "Did you come out to play?"

  I rolled my eyes and continued down the sidewalk. This was why I made an effort to dress conservatively. Men were pigs.

  Laughter, along with footsteps sounded behind me, and I twisted my neck to see the three men following. Annoyance morphed to anger, heating my face as I took them in. No way would these assholes blow my cover. It'd taken a week just to get enough information so that I could follow Jake Cryson today. Who knew when I would get another opportunity? My fingers itched to secure the gun I kept strapped to my side underneath the dress, but I refrained.

  "Where you going, hon?" one sneered.

  "Fuck off," I gritted, increasing my speed. My eyes stayed on Cryson, and as the men behind me burst into laughter his head turned this way, his gaze zeroing in on me. My stomach dropped and shoulders slumped. He'd seen me. Now, if I continued following him he'd grow suspicious.

  Rage poured into my veins, and I shot around toward the men. "Listen here, you fucking pigs—" My words stuck in my throat as my eyes spotted a butcher knife in one of their hands. A disgusting grin covered his face.

  Oh shit.

  Before I could get my hands on my gun, the men jolted toward me. When one grabbed at my arm, I abandoned all hope of getting to my waistband and instead counted on my self-defense training. My elbow lifted to crash into the nose of the red-headed man who'd grabbed me while my heel collided with the kneecap of another. Blood poured from Red’s nose and he released my arm. The other stumbled back, bending over and groaning as he gripped his knee, but it hadn't been enough.

  The one I hadn't injured jerked the knife from the groaning man's grip and slashed it toward me, barely missing my shoulder. I turned to run, thinking if I could only get a little bit of distance I'd have time to get to the gun, but the damn heels slowed me down. A hand threaded through my hair before I'd made it even a few feet and yanked me back, ripping strands as he did.

  Pain shot through my scalp, sending tears rushing to my eyes. "Help!" I screamed as the man dragged me back toward the alleyway with the other two following and looking pissed as hell. I clawed at the man's grasp, even as the knife was at my throat.

  "Help!" I screamed once again.

  The man moved his arm so that he had me in a chokehold, and pulled. "Shut the fuck up," he growled in my ear.

  Gurgling sounds escaped my mouth as I fought to breathe. The guy had a clover tattooed on his arm that I attempted to imprint into my mind for later when I’d need to identify him. My detective brain never seemed to shut off, and in that moment I was grateful for it.

  My heels scraped along the concrete as Clover forced me down the sidewalk, but it wasn't near enough friction to slow us. After dragging me into the alley, he threw me against the side of a building. Clover's grip left my throat, and I sucked air into my lungs, coughing as I did.

  Three sets of hands began groping me while I leaned against the wall, helpless. Red pressed my wrists into the brick while Clover ran a cold hand up my dress, stopping when he got to my gun.

  "What's this?" he asked.

  We all froze as the sound of a gun being cocked echoed through the alley. My breathing stopped once again as I took in the gun held to Clover's head. His hands slowly came from under my dress, and he lifted them.

  "Take it easy, man," he stumbled out with a shaky breath.

  "I'd suggest you three take off."

  The authority in the gunman's voice sent a chill rushing through me, and more fear took hold, even as it appeared he was saving my life. With one last disgusted look into my eyes, Clover pulled back, straightening his jacket before disappearing into the darkness of the backstreet with the other two behind him.

  The gun lowered and was tucked out of sight into an expensive suit jacket. When my gaze lifted, it was met by bright, fern green eyes that immediately sent another shiver running down my spine. After hours upon hours I’d spent studying his picture, Jake Cryson's living form standing in front of me didn't feel real. None of what had just taken place did. I'd almost been raped and murdered, and the reality of it came crashing down on me all at once.

  I yanked the hem of my dress so that it fully covered my thighs and wrapped the cardigan I wore tightly around myself, being extra careful that the gun at my waistband was undetectable.

  "Are you all right?" he asked in a powerful voice that matched his walk.

  I stared with wide eyes, unable to say anything. My breathing had finally returned to normal, and I was conscious of each movement my chest made as it rose and fell. It was as if my mind had convinced itself he couldn't see me if I didn't move.

  His gaze left mine in order to peer down the alley where the men had disappeared. "Listen, I can go if you want. You might be taking a chance on those guys coming back, but if I'm scaring you…"

  "No," I squeaked.

  I'm not sure what I'd been thinking. Every moment I spent with this man was a risk. He was far more dangerous than those other men, and if he found out I was law enforcement... My mind didn't even want to go there. Still, the idea of those guys coming back seemed like a more immediate threat, even with the gun under my dress. I was shaking so much, I wasn’t even sure I'd be able to aim.

  Without thinking, I pushed off the brick wall and took a step toward the mark I was supposed to be following. He extended his hand, and I stared at it dumbfounded for a moment before I realized he intended for me to shake it. I reached my trembling hand toward his, and electricity shot through me as soon as we touched. It was an odd sensation the man provoked in me. As if he simultaneously repelled me with fear but drew me in with an all new force. With a feeble shake, I tried to pull away, but he grasped my hand ever so slightly.

  "I'm Jake."

  "Michelle," I lied. At least my brain wasn't completely comatose.

  He let go of my hand and slipped his into the pockets of his suit jacket before turning and sauntering out of the alley.

  "Should I walk you to your car?" he asked over his shoulder as I trailed behind.

  "Umm." I wasn't as quick to think this time. I couldn't very well ask him to walk me the mile and a half in the opposite direction where he'd happened to be dropped off earlier. I paused for several moments before speaking. "Shouldn't we call the police?"

  As we stepped onto the pavement, he turned to face me. "Of course, we can if you'd like. Although, there's very little they can do. At best it's an assault charge, and it'll only serve to piss off those guys. That is, if the police even found them."

  Convenient that he didn't see the use in calling the police. He wasn't wrong, but the detective in me reappeared and I couldn't help but push him further.

  "Right," I said, still with a timid stature. "It probably wouldn't be good for you if we called the police anyway, huh?"

  His head tilted and eyebrows furrowed. "How so?"

  "Well, I mean, the gun," I said motioning to his jacket. My heart rate picked up as I waited for his reaction. I expected him to get defensive, and hopefully give something, anything away that could give me a clue about what the hell he did out here.

  Instead, he smiled. Pearly white teeth flashed, sending that same electricity running through me.

  "Utah is an open carry state, hon. I have a permit."

  He glanced up and down the street once more before returning his gaze to me. "So? Police or your car?"

  "Actually, I walked. I live about a half mile away and like the exercise. But to be honest, I'm a little to
o shaken up to be home alone. I might just walk down to a bar or something. It's where I was headed anyway."

  Jake nodded, his smile widening. "Same here. Come on, I know a good one just up ahead."

  Jake

  Michelle swirled the vodka tonic that sat in front of her with her straw, watching the whirling liquid as if it fascinated her. I knew better. Her hand still trembled and tension in her shoulders wound tight. The encounter from earlier had left her traumatized, even as she attempted to hide it. Maybe even from herself.

  I wish I could say I'd helped her out of compassion—that I loathed the idea of a woman being raped and mutilated with a butcher knife. But to be honest, it was curiosity that had guided me toward the alley.

  I hadn't thought much of the woman as I’d spotted her outside the abandoned building where today’s meeting had been held. I'd noticed she looked pretty from a distance, but that had been the extent of it. If she hadn't gone in the same direction as me for the next half mile, I probably would've forgotten about her. But she did. In a shitty neighborhood, in the middle of the night, keeping a safe distance where she could see me without appearing too suspicious.

  It hadn't been the first time a woman had followed me, casually strolling into whatever bar I eventually chose a few minutes after me. I took it as flattery, while if the situation were reversed one might have considered it alarming.

  "So," I said, startling her from her glass. "What do you like to do for fun?"

  Her face turned red, as if I'd caught her in some embarrassing act, and I pushed back the chuckle that threatened to come up.

  "Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Shopping, curling up with a good book."

  I nodded and leaned in closer as if her words fascinated me. "The usual stuff? You don't seem so usual to me."

  "And what do I seem like to you?"

  My lips pulled into a grin. "Extraordinary."

  Her gaze flicked around the bar, and she leaned away, the action seemingly subconscious. All the while her face grew an even deeper shade of red.

  "You seem nervous," I whispered.

  Her throat moved as she swallowed. "Sorry. I just… don't do this very often."

  "Do what?" I asked with an innocent tone.

  I realized I was a bastard for getting off on making an almost rape victim uncomfortable. A gentleman would've escorted her to a police station and waited for her to fill out a useless police report, just so she had a chance of sleeping that night. But I wasn't a gentleman. I inhaled the scent of her fear like fresh baked apple pie, mouth watering as I did so.

  She sat there with her beautiful doe eyes and auburn hair that had the appearance of silk. All I wanted in that moment was to lace my fingers through those strands and tug as she screamed for more on her hands and knees in front of me. And I’d do my best to make it happen… tonight, of her own free will, of course. Rape was a coward’s game, a sign of a weak and pathetic man. I wasn’t that, but I was a predator, my senses fine-tuned to spot my next prey. That prey currently sat in front of me, sucking in her bottom lip as if to tempt me more.

  "I don't know," she finally replied.

  I raised the glass of brandy to my lips, still unable to take my eyes off Michele as the liquid burned my throat.

  "What do you do for fun?" she asked, in an obvious attempt at changing the subject.

  "Oh, you know. Golf, watch sports, beat on my chest and grunt. The usual stuff," I teased.

  Her lips lifted into a small smile that sent blood rushing to my dick.

  "Very funny. What about work?"

  "I work in advertising," I spoke the rehearsed line without hesitation.

  "Really?" she asked, sitting up straighter and leaning toward me. "What kinds of things do you advertise?"

  The way she perked up with genuine interest surprised me. Apparently, she hadn't been with enough guys in advertising to know the field was boring.

  "Scouring pads, which is a Brillo Pad but not the same brand."

  "Ah," she said, her face falling.

  "What about you, Michele. What do you do for a living?" I inched forward until the tips of my fingers grazed her arm. She peered down at my hand, her facing going red once again. I gave her my best smile as her eyes drifted once again to mine.

  "Uh, I'm a waitress."

  I noted how she didn't retreat from my touch, even as she oozed discomfort. "Oh, yeah? What restaurant? Maybe I could stop in sometime."

  Her eyes widened, and she fidgeted on the stool, not so subtly pulling her arm from me and placing it in her lap. "I don't think you'd know it. It's actually not around here and kind of small."

  "Try me," I said, smiling ear to ear.

  "Um." Michele paused for several moments. "It's called Luigi's. It's downtown."

  My brow raised. "Why would you work so far from where you live?"

  "Better tips. Listen, it's getting kind of late. I think I'm going to take off."

  I glanced down at the full glass of vodka before returning to Michele. "Of course," I said, forcing myself to smile. "I'll walk you out."

  "You don't have to."

  "I want to." I pressed, holding out my hand in a gesture to help her from the bar. Curiosity morphed into annoyance as it became more likely that I wouldn't be getting laid tonight. At least not by Michele.

  She placed her hand in mine and hopped off the stool, following as I made my way out of the bar. After stepping out into the cool night air, I turned toward my prey, determined to give it one last attempt before she scurried away.

  "I hope it's not too inappropriate for me to say, considering what happened tonight... You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen, and I'd love to see you again."

  I relaxed my facial features as much as I could, attempting to mimic sincerity. She stared back with those beautiful doe eyes, shocked by my words. The woman wasn't kidding when she said she didn't do this often, and I began to wonder if she'd even been with many men. It only served to make me hungrier. She didn't seem capable of speech, but as her lips parted ever so slightly, I took it as an invitation and pressed my mouth to hers.

  I lifted my hands and stroked her smooth auburn hair before urging my tongue inside her mouth. She met me halfway, gripping my button-down as she pushed her lips harder into mine, deepening the kiss.

  It seemed only a second passed before it was over.

  She abruptly pulled back from me as if my lips had burned her. Her hand covered her mouth and eyes went wide. "I have to go," she said, just before practically jogging down the sidewalk.

  My brow furrowed in both annoyance and confusion, but I let her walk away. Rejection replaced the taste of the woman in my mouth, and I ached to spit it out. My dick strained painfully against the seam of my slacks, only serving to remind me of my failure.

  I dug my phone from my pocket and punched in the numbers as if the phone was the one that had caused the sea of negative emotions to rush through my veins, settling in my aching balls.

  "Eischen's bar. Come get me," I said into the speaker before hanging up.

  My gaze stayed trained on the woman in the distance until she disappeared.

  4

  Laila

  "Something bothering you?"

  I jumped at the sound of Anthony's voice.

  "No," I said, although the lie was evident even to my own ears. "I'm good."

  Anthony turned his gaze back to the road, shaking his head. We drove another five minutes before arriving at the rundown apartment complex. We'd gotten a lead on a dealer with possible connections to the same people who ran the human trafficking ring. A lead such as this wasn't uncommon, but none had been able to give much information on anything that didn't have to do with drugs. It was as if the other ring didn't exist, and without the bodies we found, Anthony probably would've insisted we buried the case. Lately it had begun to seem like that was what he wanted anyway. The list of drug-related criminals as informants continued to grow while allowing them to carry on dealing for the people we couldn’
t seem to take down.

  I cracked my neck and pulled my ponytail tighter after shutting the car door. Anthony and I drew our guns as we approached the dealer's apartment, Anthony knocking before backing away. He glanced at me and I nodded, training my eyes on the door.

  "Derek Foreman, open up. It's the police," I called, ensuring my tone was strong and authoritative. After waiting another moment, I took a step back as Anthony kicked the door open, splintering the wood. I followed Anthony inside and held my post by the entryway as he stalked through the tiny apartment.

  "You little shit," Anthony's muffled voice came from the other side of the bathroom.

  A thin man in his twenties barreled into the living room, stumbling as Anthony followed close behind. My partner grabbed the man by the back of the neck and forced him toward me.

  "Fuck, man. Chill out."

  "The little shit flushed his drugs down the toilet," Anthony said, ignoring the man's discomfort.

  I secured my gun in the holster at my side before gripping the cuffs. The man finally seemed to register my presence, and an evil smile took over his face, flashing rotted teeth.

  "Hey, baby," the perp said, putrid breath reaching my nostrils.

  I didn't bat an eye. With four years on the force, I was so used to the demeaning comments that they simply rolled off my back. I grabbed his arm, twisting and slamming his body against the wall.

  "Derek Foreman, you're under arrest for possession and distribution of drug paraphernalia," I said, securing the cuffs tightly around his wrists.

  After reading his Miranda rights, Anthony and I escorted Derek to the squad car. The weight of his body pushed back into me as he struggled, a grin spreading across his face. "Mmmm she likes to play rough," he said as I jerked him forward.