2

"Ifucking told you it was nothing."

I roll my eyes. My new temporary partner, Detective Peter Lloyd, is a lazy son of a bitch who looks closer to death than retirement. He heaves dramatically after slamming the door to my black 1975 Chevrolet Camaro.

"Watch it! She's a fucking classic."

He shrinks at my glare. "Just drive," he mumbles.

The inside is sleek and modern, the dash glints, and I want to fucking launch his face into it, but he isn't worth the damage to the console. It's my first week on the job, and already I want to shoot my gun up someone's ass, only it isn't a deserving criminal but this fucking idiot.

Lloyd is a sad excuse for law enforcement and definitely one of the many reasons this city has gone to shit. The entire fucking police force is a band of idiots. But I still don't miss my home city. I needed more. Not sure what exactly, maybe something meaningful? I'm still searching, but at least I feel useful now.

I was beginning to doubt my career choices until Mike found me and took me under his wing. Since then, I've endured one shithole to another, cleaning out the trash. I accepted this allocation, a metropolis with five counties and one ruler, because of its extremely corrupt status. New assignment: find the source of the chaos and retire it. More or less.

I grip the leather steering wheel, trying to gain a smidge of control. I'd rather work alone, but apparently, I'm forced to train with the asthmatic beer gut.

"I thought we were supposed to show up when someone rang."

The asshole actually rolls his eyes and I want to fucking punch him. "Yeah, whatever. You'll learn how we do it around here soon enough."

Like hell I will. I know exactly how shit is done around here, which is precisely why I was sent down–to fix their fucking mess. I turn and almost smile at how his enormous torso bobs sideways, like Humpty Dumpty about to tip over. The fifteen minute drive to the station is torture with him in my car and I almost shove his ass out.

"I have to make a call. I'll be right in."

Lloyd struggles and I grind my teeth as he throws the door behind him. I'll make him pay for that soon enough. My phone is in my hands and I'm dialing up my boss like a petulant child, but I don't give a fuck. I didn't sign up to be babysat by a Ghostbuster looking fucker.

"Well, that was quick." Mike holds back his laughter.

"You didn't tell me I'd be paired up with Detective Dumpty."

This time he laughs. "It's just a formality. You'll be working alone in a couple of days. I'll talk to Ron."

I nod, even though he can't see me. "Fine, but if I have to give that fucker any more rides, I can't promise I won't uppercut him."

Mike swears under his breath, and a muffled tapping tells me he's texting someone.

"A girl with a gun–what the fuck is going on down there?"

I sigh and tap the steering wheel, the tight leather bumpy under my fingertips. "It's a decoy. Whoever made the call was desperate for someone to show."

"I'll talk to Ron about your partnership and I want a report in a week."

"A fucking week? Who do you think I am, Bruce Wayne?"

Mike ignores my witticism. "Focus it on any preliminary findings."

I sigh again and push the phone deeper into my temple. Fuck.

"And, Dylan…"

I glance at the device as if it's a video call. "Yea, boss?"

"Don't forget what you're really there for. Track the filth and dispose of it."

Mike rented a month-to-month apartment. It's small, but I don't care. All I need is a shower and a toilet. The industrial space consists of an open layout, with the living room and kitchen in one space. There's a bedroom with an attached bathroom, and I'm grateful for the high ceilings because I'm sick of always having to duck. My height forces me to bend through doorways and squeeze into elevators. At least while I make this my temporary home, I can walk without constantly hunching down.

Max lounges on the smoky gray wood floor right outside the bathroom, and his clipped ears twitch as I drag the electric razor over my locks. It's time for a haircut.

The nostalgia of seeing my military clean and cut look drags memories, usually kept tucked away, to the surface, and I suddenly want to scratch at my skin. It's a chameleon effect that pulls me closer to who I was forced to become during that time of my life. It's who I need to be now in order to deal with the sick fucks barricading the city, forcing those who were already low to dig their own graves and crawl six feet deeper into the earth for shelter. All the more close to hell.

The desire to live larger than they are capable of, an impulse to want to be above everyone else, is a hunger that comes naturally to these criminals. It resulted in them tying up whoever they could scramble and suspend them by their necks. The crew uses civilians as leverage, assaulting their bodies, a fuel to indulge their fantasies of control.

I'm not sure yet who is in control—the police force or the criminals. Maybe both, an alliance. I'll take this town just as I did the rest and hand the power back to the people. As if warning me, an invisible touch grazes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, telling me to be cautious of something that awaits in the darkness.

I shake my shoulders roughly like Max would, brushing off the adrenaline coursing through me. The hair I've buzzed off occupies the space around me, falling slowly to the white tile. I don't give a fuck which side rots away in the crevices of this forsaken town. I'll kill each and every dumb ass who gets in my way. I'm already eager to get to the next town to do the same.

My cellphone buzzes–it's Lloyd. "Give me something good," I murmur.

"Looks like the girl exists, after all. We have a location for her. Want to tag along while I interrogate?"

What the fuck is he eating? I pull the cell away and grimace at the sound of his chewing. Sometime soon he'll follow my lead, and I can't wait to leave his ass behind. I'm not sure which law enforcement personnel to watch out for, but everyone is guilty until proven innocent. I'm not a fucking lawyer, just the executioner.

"I'll meet you there. Text me the address and details of the girl."

I'm not letting this fucker ride in my car again. I hang up and jump in the shower. I can be ready in less than ten minutes and make it there before him.

I'm sure that whatever he was consuming is more important than interrogating a ghost and that he'll take his sweet time.

I take one last look in the full-length mirror near the apartment entrance. I barely recognize who reflects back. The buzzed cut reveals the tattoos on the back of my scalp that connect with those on my neck. I don't care about covering them up anymore.

I'm dressed comfortably. What the fuck is this sick joke of a police force going to say? Lloyd can barely fit into his cheap suit.

I bend down and ruffle the spot between Max's ears. "Be good while I'm gone."

I make it there before Lloyd and scope out the restaurant. It's an upscale place, Vincent Tavern. They even have valet, like hell if I'm going to trust them with my baby.

I pull around and park it around the corner. Humpty Dumpty isn't here yet, and I flash my badge at the front to slip inside without needing to be on some stupid list or reservation.

The place smells of butterfly bushes, and I looked up to find them hanging from the ceiling throughout the dark and luxurious interior. There are smooth black leather lounge chairs, brushed metal fixtures, and rosewood candle-lit tables. I think it's supposed to be romantic, but I'm not sure. I don't really give a fuck about things like that.

"Something to drink?" The exotic bartender looks me over, and I'm not sure if she's intrigued or afraid.

"Whiskey neat."

I want to scope the area before the clumsy duck arrives, and after shooting back my drink, I walk to where a server discreetly divulges where I can find the young girl Lloyd claims is the source of some chaotic events that continue to ravage the city.

He sent me a picture of the file. I"m looking for a fifteen-year-old girl, five-three, dark mid-back length waves with brown eyes. She's got a twenty-two-year-old brother, five-ten, who shares the same hair and eye color. According to the file, she's the troublemaker.

Before I make my way around to the left, a woman's bright laugh tugs my muscles to a table lining the back wall. The bar lines the entire floor, and I select a barstool with just enough distance to watch them without being spotted.

There are four people, two women and two men. I don't see a fifteen-year-old girl, so neither woman can be her. Four people, but I can only focus on one.

My gaze is transfixed, directed toward a woman with her dark locks trapped in a bun, and I subdue the sudden urge to walk over and let them cascade over her milky skin. Her strapless black dress clings to her feminine curves and my mouth waters, suddenly jealous of the fabric.

She laughs and her head tips back, exposing her long neck, and the desire to wrap my hand around the delicate skin while bringing her face closer to me, so I can nibble on her full lips, hardens my dick.

She sips on a dark bubbly drink, coke I assume, and her cheeks hollow as she sucks through a straw. Fuck, I'd plunge my cock so far into her tiny throat and gladly watch her gasp for air while she chokes on me.

I barely notice the man possessively close to her, his hand draped over the back of her chair. She doesn't seem to notice him, though. Not how I'm sure she would melt if I pressed against her like that. She would succumb to my heat, molding to my flesh like it's just one body.

My phone vibrates, and I have to force my eyes on the screen.

Shit, Lloyd is here.

I take one last look at her, then saunter to the front.

The shoddy excuse of a man looks angry that I made it all the way inside without him. Not my fault he's so fucking slow. He looks me up and down, as if he's finally seeing me for the first time, and I smile devilishly as he cowards back.

He glances at a clipboard instead of me. "They're in the back. Come on."

I nod and let him lead, for now.

My heart drops to my stomach and stays there. I swear it pulses in my fucking gut and is ready to pass through all the channels of my digestive tract. No fucking way.

Lloyd clears his throat as he approaches the table with four people. The one with my woman. "Nikoletta Justice Fox."

And the black rose of a woman I was salivating for turns around and gapes at us.

My throat tightens, and I want to fucking hurl. She's fifteen?

My thoughts spiral and I'm shouting in my head. An angry man growls at me and thrashes on the ground. She doesn't look like a child. Everything about her is sensual, and my senses are permanently fucked because I still don't see how she can be younger than twenty.

Fuck.