Dillon
I’VE SEEN PLENTY OF CRIME scenes, been a part of a couple, but none have made bile form in my throat quite like this before.
Is that a fucking dick I’m staring at?
Who the hell did this poor, chopped-up motherfucker piss off?
“What do we have?” I raise my chin to a uniform I don’t know.
He offers me a face mask, and I snatch it to cover my nose.
“Homicide,” he spouts.
No fucking shit homicide, Sherlock. No one can do this to their self or claim it was an accident.
“Sorry, he slipped and landed on my knife while I was making shish kababs. I didn’t notice he wasn’t chicken until he was in pieces.”
Fucking idiot.
I give him my narrowed stare, which usually has the uniformed cops snapping to attention, but he just stands there gaping around like a fish out of water.
“And?”
“No sign of forced entry,” he says slowly. “So, I’m assuming he knew the killer.”
“You’re not paid to assume, and you’re treading all over my crime scene.” I point to the bloodied flesh on his shoe.
Yanking his gaze down to his feet, his eyes widen and body jerks, then he’s running toward a trashcan and emptying the contents of his stomach. The piece of flesh, which looks like an ear, is still stuck to the sole of his shoe.
“Stop fucking moving,” I bellow.
“Someone bag the ear,” Marcus yells, shaking his head as he saunters over to where I’m standing. “Neighbor didn’t hear a thing. She said the guy’s name is Maximus Law. He owns a club downtown called Rebel’s Reds.”
I know the place. It’s a shithole for fucking sadists to get their rocks off.
“Rivalry?” I put out there. Club owners, especially in the seedier scenes, dabble in the criminal world and can get competitive.
“It was one hell of a grudge if it is.” Marcus wrinkles his nose.
“This wasn’t just a warning or message,” I state. “Someone enjoyed dismembering the body. Drawing out the kill. There’s blood covering every inch of this place.”
“Is that his…?” Marcus trails off, looking down at the member on the floor.
“Yep,” I utter. “Let’s find the timeline leading up to the death and go from there.”
Shaking the disturbed look from his face, he nods his head. “Already on it. CSI’s here. Let’s clear the scene.”
Gladly.
“I want statements taken from everyone in this building. Someone has to have seen something, even if they don’t realize they have,” I bark at the uniforms now blocking the corridor.
“The club?” Marcus questions.
“Looks like it.”
So much for catching the girls for dinner.
Pulling my cell from my pocket, I hit Jade’s contact info and listen for the sweet sound of her voice.
Doesn’t matter how many years pass, I still can’t get enough of her. Just the sound of her voice placates my soul.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hey, babe,” she breathes down the line, and I feel myself relax.
“How was your appointment?”
Six months pregnant and she’s still refusing to slow down or hire a nanny.
She’s been part-time at the precinct since having MJ, and not having her around all the time was hard to get used to, but knowing I get to go home to her and our baby every night was more than I ever thought I’d get. Life is good. Fucking good.
“It was fine. I’m on my way to pick up MJ now.”
“How are the twins?”
“Elise is on campus, so it’s just Elizabeth there,” she says with a sigh. “She seems okay, but you never know with her.”
“I’ll check in on them this weekend,” I offer, knowing she worries about the girls.
“Thank you. I know you’re busy, but …”
“You don’t need to thank me or explain. I care about them too, and it’s not a problem.”
Maryann, the twins’ mother and Stanton’s now ex-wife, has been doing a lot of traveling on top of her new busy schedule at the hospital. Medical conventions or some shit, and the girls are pretty much left to their own devices now that they are nineteen.
“Okay,” she whispers, and my dick twitches thinking of her breathless and needy.
“I’m going to be late tonight, but try to stay awake for me, okay?”
“Mmmm,” she agrees. “And if I am asleep, make sure you wake me.”
Yeah, my girl is just as needy for me as I am for her. Fucking right I’ll be waking her.
“Love you,” I say before cutting the call. I ignore the shit-eating grin Marcus beams my way. I’m sure that fucker has been having his teeth whitened. He’s around my age, but he’s definitely a lot more suave than my rugged ass. I’ve seen Jade check out his ass a time or two when he takes off his suit jacket.
“You guys are so cute,” he sighs, his lashes fluttering in a dramatic way.
A quick punch to his arm and the girly shit stops.
“You going to stop acting like a female, James, and get yourself a woman?”
Detective Marcus James found himself single last year after being with the same woman for nearly a decade. Long hours and not much time at home seeing to her needs sent her into the arms of some rich prick. He dropped her ass after a few weeks, but she came running back to Marcus with her tail between her legs. Too bad she didn’t count on him shutting down all emotions and refusing to forgive her.
He threw himself even more into the job, but from my experience—and every other detective will say the same—you need someone to come home to, to wash away all the shit we have to witness and show us the good in the world so the bad doesn’t infect and corrupt us.
“I’m actually seeing someone.” He shrugs, opening the car door and punching the zip code into the sat nav.
What the fuck?
“Who, and since when?” Pulling into traffic, I glimpse at him a few times, waiting for him to spill the fucking beans. Every day I’m with this asshole, and not once has he mentioned a woman.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “It’s really new and she’s younger than me. I’m not sure where it’s headed, but…”
“But what, motherfucker?”
“But it feels good. I feel good for the first time in a long time.”
Well, if that doesn’t make me grin like a fucking teenage girl. Who’s the female now?
“How old is she?” I query.
“Twenty-five.”
“That’s a good age,” I tell him. “A woman’s sex drive peaks at twenty-five.”
I feel his narrowed gaze burning a hole in the side of my head.
“What?” I bark.
“How the fuck would you know that?”
“I’m a detective. It’s my job to know the important shit,” I retort.
He bursts into a hearty laugh, which causes one of my own.
When the laughter settles, I ask, “So, what’s her name?”
He smiles and flicks his eyes to me. “Lisa.”
“We should do dinner some time,” I tell him.
Marcus nods his head. “I think we should.”
Well, that’s a good sign. She must be a keeper.
The car slows, and I swing her into a parking space at the back of club Rebel’s Reds. The red silhouette of a busty female blinks on and off above the entry.
“Original,” Marcus snorts, lifting his eyes to the sign.
Opening the door, a heavy built man stands on the other side, greeting us with a glare.
“Membership card?” he grunts.
I flash him my badge and pin him with a smug stare. “I’ve got it right here.”
He rolls his eyes and looks over at the bar before shouting, “Morris, pigs are here.”
Have I traveled back to the nineties? I didn’t think people called us pigs anymore.
Walking over to Morris, I briefly show him my badge before shoving it back in the pocket of my slacks. “You got somewhere we can talk?”
“The owner isn’t in yet,” he drawls, his eyes remaining on the bar he’s wiping down with a cloth.
“He won’t be coming in either,” Marcus grinds out as he snatches the cloth from the guy and tosses it. “He’s in about thirty pieces back at his place.”
“W-What?” Morris sputters, now giving us his full attention.
“When was the last time you saw Mr. Law?”
He folds his arms over his chest and scrunches his brows together. “Last night. He left around two in the morning. He took one of the girls with him.” He looks around the room. Half-naked women saunter around the place with old men dribbling in their chairs as they watch every motion, and naked girls wrap themselves around poles like it’s part of their DNA. It’s not that busy, but the atmosphere feels seedy and damp. The walls are dark gray with mirrored panels, white circular couches/beds sitting out in front of them. Everything looks like it’s made of PVC. Easy cleaning. It’s cheap, and doesn’t warrant someone killing for rivalry.
“Scarlet,” Morris calls out, and one of the many redheaded barmaids looks over, smacking her lips together. “Who left with Max last night?”
Rolling her eyes, she turns, calling over her shoulder, “One of the new stock. Jessica Rabbit, he called her. She looked like shit in my opinion.”
New stock?
Morris’s face blanches.
“He’s buying women?” I question with a raised brow.
Morris shrugs. “I don’t know anything about that. I just work the bar.”
“Yeah right,” I growl. “Where is Law’s office?”
He fidgets with some glasses, keeping his head lowered, and Marcus slams his hand down on the bar. “Do you want us to shut this place down and take all your asses in for questioning?”
Morris jumps and lets out a rushed breath of air. “It’s through the back. Code eight, one, six.”
My gaze catches his eyes darting to the big asshole at the door. He’s worried about what we’ll find in Law’s office, but he’s more worried about being brought in, so we’re getting away with not needing a warrant.
I follow Marcus through a door behind the bar. The walls down the corridor to the office are painted a deep red with pictures of old classic singers adorning them. There’s a set of double doors to the right, and Marcus pushes through, sticking his head in.
“What the fuck?” he mutters as he waltzes inside.
I follow behind him and come to a stop. Crates—fucking dog crates with naked women inside. I count eight of them. Marcus immediately rushes over and tries to open them, but they’re secured with padlocks. Thoughts of Jade and that sick fuck spring to mind, and my rage builds, rattling under the skin.
“Call it in,” I bark before turning and stalking from the room.
Marching back through to the bar, I look around. Morris is nowhere to be seen. I push past the giant fuck at the door, and jog over to my car, popping the trunk and rummaging through for my bolt cutters. As I’m walking back through the doors of the club, the big guy opens his stupid mouth.
“They’re paid for, pig. No laws being broken.”
What a dumb motherfucker.
I fist my hand and swing, giving him a kidney shot. He bends over in pain, and I grab his sweaty, meaty head and bring my knee up to greet it. He rebounds off, collapsing to the floor. His size might be worth something to a club patron, but I come up against pieces of shit like him every day.
“Police brutality,” he whines, holding his broken nose.
“You fucking tripped,” I growl.
Marcus is on the phone calling for backup when I walk into the office, and all the girls are huddled at the doors of their crates. I snap the locks one-by-one, and each girl, timid and cautious, crawls out.
A couple of them look real young. Most likely still in their teens.
“It’s okay. You’re all safe.” I placate them by showing my badge. “Can you tell me what you’re doing here?”
Wide eyes stare up at me from a blonde girl. Her arms cover her tits and she’s crossing her legs—not the usual stance of a hooker, which only tightens the pounding in my chest. These women are not here willingly. Maybe that Law fucker did deserve what he got.
“YA zaplatil za azartnyye igry moyego ottsa,” the girl in front of me spews out.
What is that? Russian?
“I don’t speak Russian,” I tell her.
“Man bought me,” she offers meekly with a thick accent.
And this investigation just got a lot more complicated.
“Get on the phone. Get a translator down here and Homeland Security.”
“On it.”
“And, Marcus,” I continue as he looks over his shoulder at me, “close this goddamn place down.”
Turning the key, darkness greets me in the corridor of our home. There’s a small glimmer of light coming from the kitchen area, and a smile lifts the corners of my lips.
I know I’ll find food and beer left out for me. Checking the time blinking at me from the oven, I sigh. It’s well past one in the morning and I’m just getting home. I’m glad she didn’t wait up for me. This pregnancy, like the last, isn’t the easiest on her body. It’s a miracle we conceive so easily with so much scar tissue on her cervix. Her pregnancies are higher risk, but damn if it’s not worth it. There is nothing like seeing the woman you love carrying your child.
My thoughts go to the women we rescued tonight. They were all trafficked from Russia. Maximus had contacts with names and numbers written in a notebook, his finances all traceable. He was an amateur, and that is no doubt what got him murdered.
The circles he pushed himself into don’t like loose ends or careless buyers. It’s sloppy and gets criminals caught. I have more interviews to go through tomorrow with the staff, and hopefully the CCTV inside the club will give us some breadcrumbs to follow. Usually when a piece of shit like Maximus gets taken out, I wouldn’t spend a sleepless night worrying about his killer. But the way he was mutilated and the circumstances of the trafficked women…I know this will lead to bigger fish and maybe saving more women. Human traffickers are the scourge of the earth, and bringing these fuckers down are worth all the sleepless nights it takes.
The smell of cooked meatballs causes a rumble in my gut. Twisting the lid off a beer, I take a hearty gulp before devouring the food. I’m just rinsing my bowl when small hands wrap around my waist.
“I thought I heard you come in,” Jade whispers against my back.
Turning in her arms, I pull her closer, a smile brimming my face when I see her Glock on the counter. She’s a protective mama bear, and it’s a turn on more than I’d care to admit.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
“I asked you to.” She grins against my chest, her swollen stomach caught between us.
Pulling away, she tilts her head, looking up at me.
“Hey,” she murmurs.
Damn, I love this woman. She’s more relaxed this time round with her pregnancy, now that Benny is dead and she doesn’t have that constant fear plaguing her that he will come for her, or worse, MJ. It’s natural for her to have those feelings and even with him being gone, anxiety can cause old wounds to resurface.
A while back, MJ had been clutching onto some fucked-up doll that sang a song suddenly in the back of the car when we were doing our annual trip to his gravesite—the unmarked site where Jade burned him to the ground inside the prison he had kept her in.
We both almost shot the fucking doll, Jade accusing his ghost of fucking with her. It was almost comical if her terror wasn’t so heartbreaking to witness. A quick call to my mother, though, put her mind at rest when she said she thinks she’d bought it for her last time she babysat. My mother is always buying her shit she doesn’t need. Hell, we are all always buying her shit she didn’t need.
“Hey, baby,” I murmur, breathing her in.
“Tough day?”
“It was one of those days,” I tell her, knowing she understands exactly what that means. She’s had those days herself.
“Let me make it better.” She bites her lip as her hands fumble with my belt. Then, she’s unzipping my slacks and lowering to her knees.
Grabbing under her arms, I raise her up. “The floor is cold. Let me take care of you.” I sure as fuck don’t want my pregnant wife kneeling on the cold tile floor to suck my cock.
I lift her onto the counter and tug open her robe. She’s bare beneath, her olive skin soft and creamy, her tits pert and begging for me to suck on them. I love the way her nipples darken when she’s pregnant. Her swollen belly looks like she swallowed a small melon. I push gently on her shoulders, and she leans back on her elbows. Her cunt opens like a ripe flower as she spreads her legs for me, and wet excitement coats her pussy lips, making my mouth water.
Leaning down, I lap up her taste, teasing her clit with subtle flicks. Her hips jolt when I plunge my tongue inside her needy hole. My hands caress up her body and grasp onto her perfect tits, rolling the nipple between my forefingers and thumbs.
Her hips gyrate, and I know she needs me at her clit. I move my strokes over the throbbing bud and suck hard as I slip two fingers inside her. Curling them so the tips stroke her just right, I finger her until she’s tightening around them, her pants loud and heavy.
“Right there…oh fuck, don’t fucking stop,” she gasps.
When her release floods around my fingers, it’s the sexiest thing, and sends me into a frenzy. Every. Fucking. Time.
Pulling my face away, I line my dick up and push in with a firm thrust. Looping my arms around each thigh, I tug her ass off the edge of the counter and rock my hips into her. Her hands fondle her tits, making me harder than granite. I power my thrust into her vice-tight pussy, relishing the warm, wet release caressing my cock with each measured stroke.
This is exactly what I needed after a day like today.
My balls tighten with my fast approaching release, and just as I’m about to explode, I pull out and let the ribbons of cum spurt over her beautiful stomach.
We’re both breathing heavy, sated and in need of a shower.
As if reading my mind, she pipes up, “Let’s take a nice bath instead.”
That sounds fucking perfect.