Crash Into Me

by L. A. Fiore

  As I approached, Jimmy asked, “Problem?”

  “No. We’re done for the night, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Later.” But I didn’t wait for a reply and walked out of the restaurant. I didn’t hail a cab right away, needing to walk because I wanted to scream. Then I detoured when I saw the neon bar sign. Yanking open the door, I settled on a stool and ordered a shot of tequila. One shot turned to three followed by a beer. I was feeling pretty good when I finally caught a cab for home.

  Ethan popped his head out when he heard me. “Hey,” he said, but he looked weird, nervous.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I said, nodding to his apartment. “You smoking?”

  “No, you had a visitor. He told me to tell you to call him.” He pulled at his collar. “He was insistent.”

  “Let me guess, Kade Wakefield.”

  “Yeah, the dude is intense.”

  “Whatever,” I said, turning back to my door and unlocking it.

  “He told me to tell you if you didn’t call him, he wasn’t going to be happy.”

  “Yeah, well I’ve not been happy, either. He can join the fucking club.”

  “What happened?” Ethan asked.

  “Life,” I said and didn’t hide the hurt. “Sorry he bothered you.”

  “You okay?”

  I smiled, but knew it didn’t reach my eyes. “I will be.”

  In my apartment, I actually entertained the idea of calling Kade, but the decision was taken out of my hands when Zac called. “We’re catching the red eye to Los Angeles.”

  I was grateful to have a reason to push my personal life to the back burner. “What’s happened?”

  “Got a potential link to Jason Benjamin.”

  I didn’t hide my surprise when I asked, “How’d you find him?”

  Silence followed before Zac said, “He found us.”

  Zac and I were in a coffee house on the wrong side of Los Angeles, in a place that not even the worst of the worst seemed to want to frequent. According to Zac, how we’d been contacted had been unusual, as if Mitch Anderson was playing it safe and cautious. Perhaps that accounted for him looking like a homeless man. Though dressed as he was, nothing stood out, he absolutely blended. He had shifty eyes and telling quirks that suggested he did drugs and often. He wouldn’t talk until we bought him food and then he didn’t stop talking. Though it wasn’t clear if he was telling us the truth or just making shit up because I wouldn’t have been surprised if he pulled out a tinfoil hat.

  I was on my fourth cup of coffee, but it wasn’t working. I was crashing. I’d gone too long on fumes.

  “I don’t know what Jason’s background was, but he seemed more like a marketing man to me,” Mitch said, stabbing his pancake. “He could sell anything. Hell, he created Katrina.”

  I leaned in. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Her parents introduced her to him, and the next thing you know, she’s the hottest new face in Hollywood, and he’s elbows deep in all of it.”

  “How do you know that?” Zac asked.

  “Because I was there when she met him for the first time.”

  Well, shit. It was Zac who asked, “You knew Katrina before she became the Katrina Dent?”

  “Yeah, she wanted to be a teacher. She loved kids. One day, her parents called her home from school for a dinner party, and Jason was there. I don’t know. It all seemed kind of staged to me. Her parents looked nervous. I don’t know why that impression lingered all these years, but that’s how it felt. They didn’t hit it off, Katrina and Jason. Katrina returned to school with me, livid, and then the next thing I know, she’d dropped out of school, disappeared for a while, and when she made her reappearance, she was a Hollywood star.”

  “Her parents pimped her out.” I was incredulous.

  “Yep. They saw dollar signs. Almost overnight, they went from middle class to Hollywood elite.”

  “Are you aware that Jason Benjamin is an alias?” Zac asked.

  Mitch hadn’t known by the look he gave us, but said, “That really doesn’t surprise me. To say he was shady is an understatement.”

  “You have any thoughts on Katrina Dent’s suicide?” Zac asked.

  He put his fork down, looking thoughtful. “She reminded me of Marilyn Monroe. Pushed into the spotlight, not a place she wanted to be, but having others depending on her, she stayed at it for them, even though it was killing her slowly. It wasn’t a surprise she had a breakdown.”

  “What breakdown?” I asked.

  “I think it was in eighty-four, she spent almost a year in a private facility, a mental health break.”

  “We hadn’t heard that.”

  “You wouldn’t have. Only a handful knew. She told me.” Pain moved over his face. “You’d think that would’ve been the wakeup call to her family, but she did four movies the year she got out, filming all over the world, and Jason was with her for every single film. To the public, he was the loving fiancé, but he was holding the leash.”

  Russell Bleaker had said the same.

  “And her parents went along?” Zac sounded as incredulous as I felt.

  “Have you seen that shrine they live in? Are they mourning or is it regret? Forcing their kid into a life she didn’t want because they profited from it.”

  I had thought the same.

  “Did you ever meet Milton Teller?” Zac asked.

  “No, but I knew of him.”

  I was starting to get that itch, but I moved the interview on. “Katrina never married Jason. I don’t imagine that sat well with him.”

  “No, it didn’t. Even with him being the puppet master, she wouldn’t marry him, and you know he wanted that because then he’d have a legal claim to her money.”

  I looked over at Zac. “We need to follow up on her financials.” Turning back to Mitch, I asked, “What do you think happened to Jason?”

  “He was an opportunist. I think he disappeared, changed his identity again and found someone else to manipulate.”

  “Why are you coming forward now?” I asked.

  He held my stare when he said, “I’m dying. Cancer. Got a few months, maybe a year.”

  Shit.

  “The shit that went down with Katrina, and knowing more than your average person, it never sat right with me. And Jason, he played the charmer, but looking into his eyes, there was nothing there. After Katrina died, I kept my head down because there was a part of me that feared her death might have been more than suicide. I’m dying, so when I heard through the grapevine someone was looking over her case again, I decided I needed to share what I knew.”

  “Would you sit with a sketch artist?” Zac asked. “We have no pictures of Jason.”

  Mitch thought about it then said, “Yeah, but I’ll only meet them here.”

  “I’ll arrange it with the local authorities. They’ll call you,” Zac said.

  “Okay.”

  Zac and I lingered at the diner after Mitch left. “So her parents arranged the meeting between Katrina and Jason, then sat back and let him take over. So how did the Dents and Jason meet?” Zac wondered out loud.

  “And was money their motive, too? Enough to pimp out their kid. We need to look deeper into them because their behavior is contrary.”

  “I agree. It’s almost like Jason had something on them?” Zac said, leaning up a little. “What if he did? What if the parents found themselves in a bad situation and the only way out of it was the daughter?”

  “But there was no guarantee that Katrina was going to become famous,” I said.

  “Unless there was,” Zac said. “Maybe Jason had the connections to make her famous. It sure seemed like he knew all the right players.”

  “I’m missing the straightforward murders. This case is making my head spin.” I reached for my coffee. It was
awful, but I needed the caffeine. “Mitch made it sound like Katrina really could have taken her life,” I said.

  “Which begs the question, if she did commit suicide, then what did Frank discover that he was ready to share with the mainstream media?”

  “Maybe he learned who Jason really was or is,” I suggested.

  “My thought, too.”

  “We’re here, let’s make some calls and try to get in with the Dents again,” Zac said, as reached for his coffee but stopped and pulled out a few bills to drop on the table. “This coffee is shit. There’s better stuff at the hotel. Besides…” He studied me for a second before he added, “You need sleep.”

  I slept for an entire day. Zac went to see Katrina’s parents without me, took one of the LA detectives, not that he got anything from them. They not only clammed up but also told him the next time he wanted to talk with them, he needed to go through their lawyer. The gloves, it would seem, were now off.

  Zac had learned from Officer Dobbs that Katrina did have a will, and she gave everything away, left nothing to her parents or Jason Benjamin. So despite public appearances, she knew what they were doing and spited them at the end, which strongly suggested suicide, having her will up-to-date, but now there was the question of who was footing the bill for the Dents’ lifestyle because they didn’t have a source of income. And why?

  We were catching an early flight in the morning. Zac was heading out for drinks with some of the locals, but I declined the invitation. I ordered room service and was going to watch a movie because I was still trying to catch up on sleep.

  I had turned off my phone, but as I waited for my dinner, I checked messages. For someone who said he’d be angry if I didn’t call him back, Kade hadn’t tried to call or message me. I dropped the phone on my bed. This was the same man who had resumed his dating of super models, only a week after we returned from what was, for me, the most erotic and amazing weekend. I had seriously misjudged his interest.

  The knock at the door had me climbing from bed. Yanking it open, I expected room service so seeing a very pissed off Kade was definitely a shock.

  He moved right into me, forcing me back, before shutting the door behind him. Déjà vu hit hard.

  “How did you find me?” I asked, only partially interested in the answer, because he was here, in LA.

  He didn’t answer, just crossed his arms over his chest. Slowly the shock at seeing him faded, my brain reengaged. I moved away, crossing the room, before turning back to him. “Did you lose your super model? You came to the right place to find another.”

  “What the hell were you doing at Braciole?”

  “My job.”

  “Your job is homicide not vice,” he bit back.

  “I’ve been moonlighting.”

  “Why?”

  I was just too damn tired to go toe-to-toe with him. Dropping on the edge of the bed, I confessed, “Because staying busy keeps me from thinking.”

  His voice was softer when he said, “Carmine is dangerous.”

  Did he know that from personal experience? I didn’t dwell on that because he was in my room, so I soaked up the sight of him and realized, I wasn’t the only one who looked tired. My voice was softer when I said, “I know he is.” Tilting my head, I asked, “You came all this way to tell me that?”

  “I was here for business.”

  That was a solid hit. I nodded in understanding. “Well, thanks for the warning.” It was hard to believe this was the same man I’d spent those incredible days with in Antigua. “I hope whatever business brought you out here is successful. If you don’t mind…” I said, and gestured to the door.

  Silence settled, but he made no move to go, the seconds stretching out. And then, he shocked the shit out of me when he said, “I grew up with Carmine in Montenegro.” His mouth snapped shut before he paced away from me, dragging a hand through his hair, and when he turned those eyes on me again, there was so much going on behind them. “The man who owned the dive job was a sadistic fuck who mistreated his employees, docking their wages for no reason, molesting the women.” He moved closer, his voice dropped. “I walked in on him raping one of the girls. She was no older than me at the time. Sixteen.” Silence settled between us, but the air was fucking electrified. “I killed him,” he confessed in a low voice, then leaned closer and said it louder, “I fucking killed him, cut him into pieces and fed him to the fucking fish.” He got right up in my face. “You said I wasn’t the villain. I am the villain. I know Carmine is dangerous because he and I are cut from the same cloth.”

  I was horrified, but not at him, at the monster that would take advantage of those depending on him, on the young. He’d killed a monster. That didn’t make him one. I didn’t realize tears had filled my eyes until I felt one roll down my cheek. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because when it comes to you, I forget what I am. You make me want to be a better man.”

  “From where I’m standing, you can’t get much better.” His hands fisted, as he fought for control, but he was here, right here. I got up on my tiptoes, my gaze locked on his, when I ran my tongue along his lower lip. I’d wanted to see when that control snapped. His hands fisted in my hair, and his mask slipped. I saw the stark want and the danger, before his mouth slammed down on mine. His kiss was brutal, his fingers stirring pain, as he twisted my hair, his teeth and tongue abusing my mouth. He pushed me back against the wall, one hand capturing both of mine and holding them over my head. His other hand ripped my tee from me, then my panties. He pushed two fingers into me watching what his touch was doing. I moaned, tried to break free, because I wanted to touch him, but his hold on my wrists turned almost painful. He brought me to orgasm, watching as my body yielded to him. My legs went weak from the intensity of it; he drew me into his arms and lifted me from my feet. He placed me on the bed, and then straddled my hips. He reached for his tie; my focus on his fingers, as he deftly undid the knot, pulling the silk from his neck that was the color of the sky. It wasn’t fear but a primal need that moved through me in a slow, seductive crawl, when he took both my hands, wrapped the silk around them and tied the end to the headboard. I’d never been tied up, but feeling that vulnerability and seeing the look in Kade’s eyes…I’d never been so wet. I pulled at my restraints and more heat pooled. My hungry gaze tracked him, as he stood and undressed. My breathing hurt, my eyes unable to move from Kade, who looked every bit the predator. I moaned when his shirt drifted to the floor, whimpered in anticipation when his pants and briefs followed his shirt. One knee hit the mattress, and I almost came. The second knee followed, and I pulled on my restraints again, wanting so badly to touch him. He grabbed my waist, and I cried out when he flipped me onto my stomach and yanked me to my knees, my elbows pressing into the mattress and my hands fisting the silk. His hand moved down my back, over my ass. He squeezed, my breath caught, and then released on a cry when he slapped my ass. His hand moved around to my stomach and down.

  “So fucking wet,” he growled in my ear.

  Using that wet finger, he ran it down the crack of my ass, stopping at the tight ring of muscle. My breath stilled when he pushed in just the tip.

  I moaned into the pillow, then braced when I felt his cock at my pussy. He didn’t slam into me like I was expecting, but sank in slowly, inch by delicious inch, until I was full of him. For a few seconds, he held himself there, and then he pulled out, sinking back in again. The pace was slow, at first, but that wild side was fighting to get free; his hips moved faster, as mine moved back into his thrusts to take him deeper. The hand at my hip moved to my clit.

  A moan burned up my throat, as I turned my head to look back at him. Our gazes were locked when he pushed his finger into my ass, all the way to the knuckle.

  “Oh fuck,” I whimpered, my head dropping.

  His finger mimicked what his cock was doing; a second finger joined the first.

&nbs
p; “Ahh, fuck, yes.” My arms ached, as I pulled on my restraint. I was mindless now. My body taking over, my moans filling the room, as the orgasm edged and then crashed over me, the fullness in my ass intensifying my release. I screamed out his name, my hips still moving, because the pain mixed with the pleasure was fucking mind-blowing.

  His pulled his fingers from my ass, his hands gripping my hips, as his thrusts turned almost violent, his own orgasm coming on a groan, deep in his throat, that curled my toes. We stayed connected; our heavy breathing filled the silence, before he bent over me, untied my wrists and pulled me against his body. His hand rested on my ass. “You good?”

  I glanced up into those eyes. “There isn’t a word to describe how I’m feeling right now.”

  “It can’t work,” he said.

  I didn’t want to think about it, so I turned my focus on his body, my hand moving over the muscles of his abs.

  “But I don’t fucking care.” My gaze jerked back to him. “I tried, but I can’t let you go.”

  Those tears were back, my voice broke when I whispered, “I don’t want you to.”

  “We have shit to talk about it.”

  I held his hard stare. “I meant what I said. I’d give it up for you. If it comes down to me choosing, it’s not a choice.” I straddled him, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders, my hair curtaining us. “As far as that animal, badge or no badge, I don’t see a crime there. Either way, that never leaves this room.”

  He yanked my mouth to his, my hand moved between our bodies, fisting his cock as I sank down on him. I rode him hard then he flipped us and took over, getting us both off.

  We called down to room service, adding to my order. I’d pulled on his shirt; he’d pulled on his pants to open the door.

  “When do you have to go?” I asked.

  His eyes caught mine. “I came here for you.”

  “But you said…”

  “I know.”

  I couldn’t help grinning because I was just as far under his skin as he was under mine. “I make you crazy.”

  “Yeah, you fucking do.”