23. Messiah

"What the fuck are you doing?" she snarls.

I ignore her as I reach for the scissors next to the sink and swing her body toward me. The tape is starting to wear along her wrist. I am going to have to find something sturdier to hold her until she realizes she isn't going anywhere.

Her legs flail as I cut through her clothes and toss the soiled fabric onto the floor just outside the tub. Once she is naked – despite wanting to stand there and stare at her body, learning every little intricacy about it – I pull off my boxers and toss them out as well. Her foot slams into my bare ass as I turn my back to her and flip on the water. The cold stream falls over both of us and we take in a sudden breath.

"Sorry, Angel," I tell her, stepping between her and the water.

The cold stream falls down my back and I feel my balls shriveling up as goosebumps form over my skin.

"Just fucking shoot me," she groans, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Why?"

I glance over her body. She looks different under my bathroom's yellow light compared to the varied colors and shadows of the club. So different, that I can see the scars marring her body. It isn't the scarring that makes me pause, it is the pattern of them all. There are long X's across her knees. One thigh has a set of raised slashes and there are even – I pause, my fingers hesitating as I look down at her cunt. There are slashes across her mounds, long raised welts that intersect the landing strip she has groomed there. As I move to look at her face, I see the X's cut across her nipples.

"Why did you do this?" I ask her, my chest aching a bit.

These aren't old battle scars. These are deliberate mutilations.

The water finally warms up and I reach behind her for my body wash. I wonder what kind she uses. I imagine it is something floral. She doesn't act like a girl that would go for strawberry creme or apple tart. No, she is roses. Peonies. For now, we will just have to share soap. She doesn't even fight me as I step aside and let the water wash down the goo stuck on her chest. I scrub her down quickly before adding more soap to the sponge and washing myself. I'd love to stay here until the water runs cold and take the time to learn all the curves of her body, but there is work to do, and she doesn't have enough meat on her bones to stay warm.

Once we are clean, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I grab a second towel and wrap it around her. Her face is turned away from me and her lack of fight is starting to get concerning.

"Look," I say, reaching up to unclasp her from the bar. "This doesn't have to be difficult. I ask a few questions, you give me some answers. We go from there."

"Why should I cooperate with someone who is going to shoot me either way?"

"Why do you think that?"

"It is what men like you do."

I dry her off, dress her in one of my shirts, and redo the tape around her wrists and ankles before setting her on the couch. Her eyes follow me as I move across the room and start another pot of coffee before stationining myself at the desk.

"So," I say, looking at her.

"So."

The coffee machine spurters in the kitchen as we stare at one another.

"Were you taking the drugs you bought? I need to know if you are on anything. Withdrawal is a bitch."

"Why did you stop me?" she responds. "You friends of his?"

"No. I barely know him. I was hired to figure out who was killing them."

"Well, now you know. So what are you going to do about it?"

What was I going to do about it? Charles was going to want her dead, and he was going to want proof. And the moment he realized all this shit was caused by a woman, he was going to likely want to do it himself. And if it had been any other woman, I would have let him. Death is death. It is coming for us all either way. That thought made it easy whenever I had to take into consideration who it was I was killing. But I am not going to give them my Angel, which means I have to figure out a way to tie this up on Charles's end where he won't ask any questions.

"Which apartment is yours?" I ask, steering the conversation elsewhere.

She doesn't answer me, only shifts herself on the couch to get more comfortable. The tape twist and knots around her limbs. It won't hold her forever. I am going to have to think of something else. Fuck.

Since she isn't in the mood to talk, I turn toward my computer and tap it on. I order in some supplies to be delivered and send a text to my ghost to see what he has dug up on her. Once that is done, I reach into the drawer next to me and dig around until I find my lock picks. She won't give up which apartment is hers, but that doesn't mean I can't easily find it myself.

She doesn't argue as I pull her back into the bedroom and chain her to the pole. I won't be able to leave her for long, but I will be in the building. There is a security camera in my front room that overlooks the fire escape and main living area. You can't move in or out of my apartment without it seeing you and I can access it from my phone.

"Be good, Angel," I tell her, tapping her cheek as I reach down for a pair of jeans. I slide them on and dig a shirt out of the dresser before grabbing my phone and heading for the door.

The guy who owns the complex I live in isn't a terrible person, but he also isn't a smart one. I know he lives in the dingy penthouse on the tenth floor and the office he works from is down on the main level near the entrance for the parking garage. I make my way there, already knowing there aren't any cameras watching the area. It takes fifteen seconds for me to pop the lock and step inside the small room. She could have easily lied about the name on her lease, but I am surprised when I find Everleigh in the records. Apartment 6C. She lives two floors above me. This whole fucking time I was looking for my killer and jerking my dick for my Angel and she was right there. I don't know how we never managed to cross paths before. If I had followed her home from the club – like I had considered a few times – I would have known this shit a few weeks ago.

It takes a few seconds to pop both the locks on her apartment and I swing open the door and step into the space. There are clothes and trash everywhere. The windows are covered with dark curtains making the entire place too dark to see. It takes me a few seconds to find the light switch on the wall.

Aside from the garbage, things are mostly bare. There is a desk and laptop in the living room, one stool at the kitchen island. I move through and see that there is only a mattress on the bedroom floor. Nothing else.

Despite the things scattered around the floor and the general bareness of the apartment, the air has that lingering vanilla. It is nearly washed out by the scent of bleach emanating from the bathroom though. I walk over to the desk and dig through the little basket sitting next to the laptop. I find a black satchel full of little baggies of drugs. This must have been what she was buying from the guys. There is no pipe or spoon or lighter, or anything to indicate she was taking it. She just bought it. There is an accordion envelope filled with cash. Her laptop is on and I sit down to take a look at what is there.

An amused chuckle escapes me when I see the chat room still open. The same messages I had seen from Holden's side, and the ones I had sent her myself, are right there in my face. It was my sneaky little minx the whole time.

I dig through the closet in her bedroom, tossing aside the small dresses and lingerie that I was familiar with from seeing her at the club. I tell myself I am looking for information about why she wanted to kill the Disciples, but I know I really just want to learn about her. There is nothing really personal inside her apartment. No family photos. No diary. There isn't even a fucking vibrator. It is like she was here but she wasn't living. It is like she was ready at any moment to get up and leave. I get it. Murder isn't exactly the easiest career to maintain without getting caught.

I run my hand over her pillow and toss the blanket back. The duvet is fucking heavy and takes me off guard. A weighted blanket. Beneath it I find a pink stuffy and smile as I lean down to pick it up. It is heavy too. I thought these fuckers were supposed to be light. This thing feels like it could knock a dude out if you had the strength to chuck it. The squishy is heavy in my arms as I hold it and look around the room. There isn't really anything here I could use. Maybe her laptop? I take a final glance at the clothes scattered around the floor. Maybe I should take some?

Nah, fuck it. She looks better wearing my t-shirt.