by Lynch, H. G.
I’d been truly and thoroughly well fucked.
The only problem was, even after all that, I hadn’t gotten him out of my system. I still wanted him—. Hell, I wanted him even more once I knew what he could do. As I sat in the back of a cab on my way home, I replayed the night in excruciating detail. Despite my aching body, my toes curled with the hunger for more.
Surprisingly, Evie was already up by the time I got in, making coffee in the kitchen, still in her Disney pyjamas. Her eyes widened when she saw me come in, and a wry smile spread across her face.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in. If that isn’t the walk of shame, my name’s not Evelyn Marie Rose Carter.”
I collapsed on the sofa, face down on the cushions. A second later, I felt the back of the sofa dip as Evie leaned over it.
“So, who was he, and was he good? No, wait, don’t answer that. You wouldn’t be waddling like a penguin if he wasn’t good. Just tell me, on a scale of One to Mind Blowing, how good was he?”
I groaned into the sofa cushion and mumbled, “Coffee first. Details later.”
Evie heaved a sigh. “Fine. You might as well go and shower first. You smell like cheap cider and rough sex. And not in a good way.”
I lifted a hand to flip her off over the back of the sofa.
** Brogan **
Wiping the blood off my chin with the back of my hand, I waited for Scarface to come at me with the knife. My adrenaline was pumping, I could taste my own blood, and I was more than ready to take him on, blade and all. I had a split lip, bruised ribs, and a couple of broken knuckles from smashing my fist into Slick’s teeth. He was on the floor, out cold, and I doubted he was going to be fighting again for a while.
That was the problem with guys like them. They always underestimated me, but then, I could hardly blame them. After all, they didn’t know I wasn’t human, and that after a good feeding, I could probably bench-press a mini cooper.
Scarface didn’t look so eager to try and cut me up after he’d seen how fast I’d decked his partner. He hung back, eyeing me, his teeth bared like a cornered animal. The hunting knife in his hand glinted, wicked sharp with jagged teeth, the cold metal starving for blood.
But then, so was I.
My fun with Kester the night before may have more than sated my Hunger for Lust. But my other, darker Hunger was awake, famished, and demanding I sink my teeth into flesh and drink deep of human blood. The scent of blood was all around me, Brent’s, Slick’s and my own. It made my stomach clench and my jaws ache.
Filled with the rush of bloodlust and violence, I grinned at Scarface. “You still want some of this? Come and get it, pretty boy.”
With a growl, he lunged, slashing the blade, and I dodged easily. He was surprisingly fast for such a big guy, but I was much faster. I could match a cheetah in a footrace. He didn’t stand a chance. I caught his arm as he swung and brought it down over my knee. Scarface screamed in pain as his bone snapped with an audible crack. He dropped the knife with a clatter. I jammed my elbow under his armpit and bent, flipping him over my shoulder. He hit the floor with a thud and groaned, clutching his broken arm.
I bent and retrieved his knife, spinning it in my hand before bringing the hilt down hard on the side of Scarface’s head. He stopped groaning and slumped, unconscious. Breathing hard, I stashed the knife in my boot and cast a glance over the room. Two beaten, unconscious criminals, a dead body, and a lot of blood. It didn’t matter if I stayed or not—it wasn’t going to look good for me when the cops showed up, and I’d had enough shit for the day. I flushed the toilet I’d puked in, grabbed some toilet roll and did my best to clean up any fingerprints or DNA I’d left behind. Then I slung up my hood and beat the hell out of there, hearing sirens roaring down the street behind me as I rounded the corner and broke into a sprint.
Chapter Ten
** Kester **
“Za-a-ack,” I whined, my head flopping back on my neck in exasperation. The clouds swirling across the sky above were the colour of gravel, promising rain. With my luck, I’d get caught in the downpour.
We were walking down the street, side by side, heading for the garage where Zack had taken his car for a fresh paintjob. Apparently, some girl he’d slept with had gotten pissed when he didn’t return her calls and had keyed his precious car. Zack claimed he was traumatised. He treated the car as if it was his baby. If it made a funny noise, needed its oil changed, or got so much as a scratch, he was all over it with the overprotective concern of a mother for her first newborn.
He grinned at me, hooking his arm through mine. In broad daylight, he was even more striking than usual. His blue hair was a bright and wild tangle, his guy-liner made his baby blues pop, and the ring in his lip glinted as he spoke.
“Oh, come on, you know you want to!” he prodded, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow.
I sighed heavily, trying to hide the fact that he was right. I wanted to go back to Grimshade, and not because of the badass music or the friendly atmosphere. It had been a week since my fling with Brogan, and I’d dreamt about him every single damn night. Twice, I’d been caught day-dreaming at work, caught up in remembering that mind-blowing night. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him. His hands, his mouth, his…everything. It was driving me nuts. The thought of going back to the club, of possibly seeing Brogan again…it had me practically thrumming with excitement. Which was stupid, of course. Brogan didn’t seem like the kind of guy to do repeats, but I was just desperate enough to believe he might make an exception for me.
Yeah. I was totally not obsessed.
Sensing my hesitation, Zack crowed a laugh. “Ha! That’s it. We’re going. Tonight. Will Evie be interested?”
Giving in, I shook my head. “She’s got plans with James.”
Zack rolled his eyes. “Her loss. While she’s off bumping and grinding with her boy-toy, you and me can grab our own hotties. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even see that sexy bad boy again, the one who so obviously revved your engines.” He winked.
I grinned, because that was exactly what I was hoping for.
The garage smelled strongly of metal and oil, and as we walked in, there was a guy in grease-stained jeans and a t-shirt bent over under the open hood of an Audi. Behind the Audi, Zack’s silver Peugeot was parked, shiny and sparkly with the new paintjob.
Zack’s face lit up at the sight of it. “Ah, my baby,” he crooned, running his hands over the hood.
I raised my eyebrow at him, and he cleared his throat, blushing slightly.
“Eh, wait here a sec while I go find Dylan,” he said gruffly.
Dylan was a friend of Zack’s, and the only guy he trusted to work on his car.
I rolled my eyes as Zack wandered off toward the office in the back of the garage. Folding my arms, I leaned my ass against the Peugeot to wait. Even through the sleeves of my hoodie, I could feel the chill in the air of the garage, and goosebumps tickled my arms. I shivered, tucking my chin and nose into the collar to keep warm.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were stalking me.”
My heart dropped and my chin jerked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Oh, God, I thought, squeezing my eyes closed. The last time I’d heard that voice, it had been groaning my name in ecstasy in the darkness of a spotless bedroom.
I bit back a curse, and tried to look calm as I raised my eyes and found Brogan leaning against the car next to me. He was dressed sloppy-casual, in loose-hanging, stained jeans and a smudged grey t-shirt stretched over his chest. I realised he must’ve been the guy bent over the Audi as we came in. Just my damn luck that Zack took his car to the same garage where Brogan happened to work. What were the odds?
As close as he was standing, I had to tilt my head back to see Brogan’s eyes. He smirked at me wickedly, his eyes dark indigo under the tousled waves of his obsidian hair. The silver bar over his left eye glinted as he raised his eyebrow at me.
“Well? Not going to deny it?” he teased.
Realising I was staring, I looked away and said in my most bored tone, “I’m just here with my friend for his car. Didn’t know you worked here. Guess it’s a small world, huh?”
“Hmm,” he mumbled in vague agreement. “Miniscule, really. You know, I was surprised you were gone when I woke up the other morning. Did you have plans?”
Actually, I’d wanted to stay longer—and had been so tempted to wake him up and suggest another round. So I’d gotten myself out of there as fast as possible, before I did something stupid.
I shrugged casually, still not looking at him. “I got what I wanted, so I left.”
Brogan chuckled. “Indeed? Normally, the day after, I’ve got to get Jet to toss the girl out while she begs for more from me.”
I shook my head. “Poor Jet, getting him to take out the rubbish like that.”
At that, Brogan’s expression shifted into a frown. “Are you calling yourself trash for having slept with me? I’m not sure who should be more offended…me or you.”
Startled by the serious tone to his voice, I glanced up at him and rolled my eyes. “I didn’t get thrown out, remember? I left. So no, I’m not calling myself trash.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you’re just insulting me?” he grumbled.
I wondered if he was actually offended and shrugged again. That wasn’t really what I’d been aiming for, but whatever. Suddenly, he was in front of me. So close, I jerked back against the car, and he towered over me. I couldn’t read his expression very well, but I thought it was part anger, part amusement.
“If I remember correctly,” he purred, placing his hands on either side of my hips, trapping me against the car door, “you didn’t seem so judgemental of me when you had your legs—”
My head snapped up, and I glared at him, even though, that close, my body was aching for him to touch me. “Like I said, I got what I wanted. Doesn’t mean I feel good about it.”
His lips twitched, and my gut tightened. He bent his head close to mine, and I could smell metal and grease on him, as well as his usual musky scent. It made me want to inhale breath after breath of him, to slide my fingers into his hair, to taste his mouth again. Fuck.
He lifted his hand and tugged at the hem of my t-shirt before slipping his hands underneath, and I gasped. He was so warm. My stomach crashed, and my heart floated into my throat. His violet eyes smouldered as his fingertips stroked a burning line from my navel to the waistband of my jeans. Distantly, I remembered what Zack had said about Brogan revving my engines. Well, those pistons were pumping now. The fuel in my gut combusting. My whole body growling with the urge to take the brakes off and slam the accelerator. Vroom vroom.
His voice was a low rumble as his lips skimmed my ear, setting parts of my body on fire. “You felt pretty damn good about it at the time,” he whispered. “Actually, you felt really good when I was inside you. So hot, so needy.”
My muscles clenched and my toes curled, my breath coming faster as he talked. I tilted my head to the side as his mouth trailed down my neck, his hot breath fanning across my skin. I didn’t feel chilly anymore.
In fact, I was burning all over. He nibbled on my collarbone, and I whimpered, my knees going weak. He was hardly touching me, and I was gasping like a fish out of water. I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself, and he laughed huskily in my ear.
“Mmm…you taste so good. I think I’d like another bite. What do you say we have seconds?”
“Not a chance,” I breathed, though my body was screaming, “Hell yes!”
“Liar,” Brogan growled. “I could take you right here, on the hood of this car, and you would let me in a heartbeat.”
Oh, please, yes. “Never.”
Distantly, I heard footsteps approach, and then Zack’s startled voice. “Whoa, Kez, who is this?”
My eyes popped open, and Brogan backed off, his mouth compressed into a line that said he was trying not to laugh. Cocky son of a bitch.
Behind him, Zack was wide-eyed, his attention focused on Brogan. “Oh, it’s you. The one from the club,” he purred, a smile tugging his mouth. Then he glanced at me meaningfully. “Kez, you didn’t tell me you were hooking up with this delightful specimen.”
Brogan raised his eyebrow at Zack curiously, and I blushed. “I’m not hooking up with him,” I muttered. Mentally, I added, Except in my dreams every night.
“Oh? So last Friday night was, what, a hallucination? ‘Cause I distinctly remember—”
I turned on Brogan and hissed, “Shut up!”
Zack snorted with laughter as I turned red, but his laughter and my embarrassment were short-lived as we were interrupted. A vaguely familiar man in a black police uniform strolled into the garage, followed by a young female deputy, both of whom looked grim. Brogan stiffened at their entrance and cursed under his breath.
I glanced at him curiously. His jaw was set, his fists clenched as if he was ready for a fight. Uh-oh, I thought, feeling a sense of foreboding set in as the police approached our little group.
The policeman’s hard gaze immediately fixed on Brogan, who had swiftly regained his easy grin. “Hey, can I help you guys with something?” he asked casually, sliding his eyes past the man to the deputy.
She was almost pretty, with big dark eyes and neat brown hair knotted in a bun at the back of her head. Her attention was fixed on Brogan too, but the look on her face was more awed than angry. She blushed when she realised he was looking at her, and I felt a twinge of irritation. She could at least pretend to be professional.
Scowling and ignoring his partner’s inappropriate reaction to Brogan’s stare, the policeman said gruffly, “I’m Officer Hartley. This is my partner, Officer Leslie. Are you Brogan Adrian MacDowell?”
Smiling widely, Brogan wiped his hands on his stained jeans and held one out, not toward Hartley, but toward the female. “Yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you, Officer.”
Leslie blushed deeper, reaching absently for Brogan’s hand as though she just couldn’t help herself. I knew that feeling. He wasn’t even looking at me, and I felt like swooning into his arms. The guy had mad skills. Every look, every smile, every word—he just emanated sex. It was ridiculous and irresistible.
Hartley made a disgusted noise and grabbed Brogan’s outstretched hand. In a flash, he clamped a metal cuff around his wrist. Brogan lost his smile but didn’t resist as the cop pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed his other hand with a definitive click.
“Brogan MacDowell, you are under arrest in connection with the murder of your uncle, Brent MacDowell. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law…”
As the cop rattled off his rights, Brogan stood still, his face carved from stone. I watched with incredulity as Hartley and Leslie hauled Brogan out of the garage in handcuffs.
“Wait!” I called, hurrying after them. Zack grabbed my arm to stop me, but I tugged free. “Hey, wait!”
The cops ignored me as they stuffed Brogan into the back of a cruiser. Hartley slammed the door and got into the driver’s seat. I bit my lip, frustrated. They were arresting Brogan for murder. The murder of family member, no less. I hardly knew the guy, but I couldn’t believe he was a killer. I’d slept with him for Christ’s sake. He may have been an arrogant asshole, and he might have been on the dangerous side, but murder? I refused to believe it if for no other reason than I didn’t want to believe I’d slept with a murderer and hadn’t had a clue.
Behind me, Zack whistled long and low. He sidled up beside me, hands shoved in his pockets. “Well. I knew you liked the bad boys, Kez, but…” He shook his head, frowning.
I glared at him. “He’s not a murderer,” I said, startled by my own vehemence.
Zack stared at me. “How do you know? I thought you guys weren’t even hooking up.”
I just shook my head. “I just know, okay? Look, can you give me a lift to the station?”
“What are you going to do, bust him out? C’mon, Kez, you bar
ely know the guy, and if he’s dangerous—”
I planted my hands on my hips and gave him my hardest stare. The one that made even Evie back off. “Give me a lift, or I tell the cute guy you’re currently seeing that you’ve got an STD.”
“Whoa!” Zack raised his hands in surrender. “No need to go lying to my man. I’ll give you a ride. Christ, Kez, I swear you’re getting meaner lately.”
I smiled thinly. “Get the keys and shut up.”
Chapter Eleven
** Brogan **
“Where were you last Saturday around noon? Your boss said you had the day off, so where did you go? What did you do?” Hartley pestered at me, while another officer—not his pretty partner, unfortunately—stood by the door, arms crossed, and looked bored. I thought he’d called himself Officer Leighton, but I’d been a little distracted by Hartley cuffing me to the metal table in the interrogation room.
The room looked like any interrogation room I’d ever been in—and I’d been in a few. White walls, long one-way mirror, and a steel table and chair. No clock. I didn’t know how long I’d been in there, with Hartley asking me the same stupid questions over and over again.
This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I wasn’t an idiot, so I kept my mouth shut. Didn’t ask for a lawyer. That would only make me look guiltier. I knew they didn’t have any real evidence. They could only hold me for seventy-two hours, unless they decided to actually charge me, but they’d need evidence to do that. I knew there was none—none that would hold up in court anyway. All circumstantial. The best they had was probably some of my DNA in the hotel room, which could be explained by me taking a simple visit to see my uncle—before he had been brutally sliced open.
They couldn’t pin it on me. I knew it, and so did they, but they would sure as hell try. I smirked and thought, Bring it on.
Hartley was getting angrier and angrier the longer I didn’t say anything, his face slowly turning purple. He slammed his meaty palms down on the table abruptly, and I looked up into his cold grey eyes. He had close-cropped brownish hair, a weak chin, and greasy skin.
