Chapter 17

17

Leah

I stare in shock. I’ve never seen slashed tires before. There’s something very violent about it. Violating.

While I stand still, staring, my phone vibrates with a notification. I ignore it, but it vibrates twice more.

I’m going to have to call for a ride. And some kind of service to fix my tires. Do I need a tow truck? I know how to change to my spare, but I only have one spare, and from the looks of it, I need two.

Circling around to the other side of my car, I groan. Not two. Four . Whoever it was slashed all four of my fucking tires.

My phone vibrates again. It’s probably nothing, but I need to order a ride, anyway. I take it out of my bag and nearly drop it. The message on the screen is from an unknown number.

Sorry about ur car. Next time will be worse tho. Pay up. You know who to call .

Hands shaking, I unlock my phone and open the messages. Beneath the text are three photos, each one taken during my tutoring sessions. In one, I’m sitting with Hector. In another, I’m with Janie, and in another, I’m with Rosa. I remember each of these tutoring sessions yesterday.

None of us were aware that someone was taking pictures of us.

Chills race up and down my back.

Whoever sent the text could be watching me right now. After all, they were here in this parking lot.

I race back to the building and bang on the door.

Gage

I’m trying to finish up my work quickly tonight. Watching Leah pleasure herself while standing on my desk was pure bliss.

Also pure torture.

Her panties are in my pocket. I fully plan on taking them home with me and defiling them in the same way I wish I could do to her.

Everything about that power exchange makes me eager to pursue her outside of the club. Her favorable reception to my instructions was endearing. I revel in the way she embraced her newly-realized power. The vision she made by standing on my desk was exquisite.

I was in danger of asking her to come home with me. I’ve never invited a woman to my home. But I want to see Leah there.

Then Claudia called, saving me from my own ill-advised ideas. Claudia’s doing better, at least. Her insomnia had the best of her tonight, so she was calling to say hello.

Someone knocks on my office door.

“Come in,” I say.

The door swings open. Paxton steps inside, his arm around Leah’s shoulders.

The immediate possessiveness I feel is surprising. But it quickly dissipates when I see Leah’s terrified expression.

I stand up and hurry around my desk, reaching for Leah. “What happened?”

“My car.” Leah shudders under Paxton’s arm. “Tires. They’re—and my phone, they texted.”

I exchange a look with Paxton.

He looks as confused as I am, but he says, “Her tires are slashed.”

“And her phone?” I ask.

Leah hands it to me. It’s unlocked and open to a text thread. Sorry about ur car. Next time will be worse tho. Pay up. You know who to call . The message is followed by photos that were obviously taken without Leah’s knowledge.

“This is a threat,” I say quietly.

Leah nods.

“Do you know who to call? It says you do.”

“No. I have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“We need to report this,” I say, “but there’s no rush; the people responsible are long gone. I’ll give you a ride home tonight. Tomorrow you’ll go to the police station. Either I will drive you, or Dmitri will.”

Paxton walks us out to my car. I see a small sedan in the parking lot with slashed tires—Leah’s.

“Paxton, would you take some photos of her tires and text them to me, please?”

“Sure thing,” Paxton says.

“Thank you.”

Leah gives him a wave as I help her into my car. She tries to grab the seat belt, but I’m faster. I wrap it carefully around her and click it into place.

“I can buckle myself up, you know,” she says.

“Or you can let someone take care of you.”

We drive in silence, away from the Dorado Heights district in the center of San Esteban, and toward Old Thirty-Three.

“You’ll have to give me directions,” I finally say. “I don’t know where Dmitri lives.”

“How do you know I’m staying with him, anyway?”

“I saw you come to the club and pick up a key.”

“Oh. Right.” She fiddles with the hem of her dress. “You aren’t jealous that I’m staying with him, but doing things with you?”

I glance over at her. “Jealousy is beneath me, but it would be a lie to say I don’t feel it. Outside of a scene, I don’t own you, Leah. And even within a scene, I don’t own you. You are completely in charge.”

She jerks her head in a quick nod, but I’m not certain she agrees with me. I try to view the night from her point of view. It makes sense that she would feel out of control and powerless. I spent an hour with her, building her up and helping her realize her power. Yet as soon as she left my office and my influence, she found herself a victim. Worse, the photographs were taken earlier when she wasn’t aware. She was in the presence of danger and never knew it.

She directs me to Dmitri’s house. It’s a small building with a tidy lawn. No frills. Not unlike Dmitri. Simple. Strong. The neighbors’ houses are fairly close, and I don’t like the lack of good streetlights or the way the nearby houses cast shadows over Dmitri’s.

“I’ll walk you up,” I say.

“You don’t need to.”

“I know.”

She sighs, but it isn’t a snarky, disrespectful sigh. It’s more that she sounds tired and defeated.

I stay close to her side as we go up the walk. When she puts her key in the lock, the door opens from inside.

Dmitri stands in the doorway. “Leah? What’s—why is he here? Where’s your car?”

“I don’t want to talk,” she says, brushing past him and into the house.

“Leah, wait,” Dmitri says.

“No.” Her voice sounds faint, like she’s already taken herself to the far reaches of the small space.

I look over the doorframe. No doorbell cam. She’s supposed to be safe here? I bet Dmitri doesn’t even have a simple alarm system.

“What the fuck happened?” Dmitri turns angrily to me. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“Nothing.” I can’t help but add, “Nothing she didn’t want, anyway.”

I’m being an immature dick.

I should care about this.

However, I don’t.

Dmitri doesn’t accept that as an answer, and I don’t blame him. “You better fucking tell me what happened. You’re at my house now. You aren’t my boss here.”

I want to laugh. He hasn’t treated me as his superior since the night of Leah’s auction.

Instead I say, “Someone slashed her tires and sent her threatening texts.”

He doesn’t speak for a long moment. He glowers. Finally, he says, “What kind of texts?”

“Photographs of her in the library, it appears. They were taken without her knowledge. They were accompanied by a message apologizing for her car’s tires and saying next time it will be worse.”

“The fuck?” Dmitri frowns. “Who sent it?”

“The number was blocked.”

“I’ll take her to the police station in the morning,” Dmitri says.

“Are you sure she wants that?” I keep my voice level. “She seems upset with you.”

“I’ll fix it.” He starts to shut the door but pauses. “Thanks for bringing her home.”

Home. Does Leah view it as her home? Dmitri seems to feel she belongs here.

I turn around and walk back to my car before he can slam the door in my face.

If I weren’t so concerned about Leah’s safety, I’d be delighted by his jealous aggression.

Dmitri

Leah didn’t talk to me last night. She curled up on the couch and went to sleep immediately. Or, she pretended to go to sleep immediately. I’m pretty sure she was awake for hours, just like me.

In the morning, we gulp down some coffee and I drive her to the police station.

“Are you ready to talk about things?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Are you still going to move out?”

“Yeah. As soon as I get my car fixed.”

Why does she have to be so stubborn?

At the station, the police officers are skeptical. They don’t want to talk to Leah until they learn Mick was her ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, the murdered guy,” I say in a loud voice. “Ongoing investigation, right? Can you help her now?”

“I should’ve called Gage.” Leah elbows me in the side. “You’re going to get yourself arrested.”

I don’t care if I’m arrested. They need to fucking do something. But now they’re taking her seriously, and after a minute, someone walks us back to an open office area, filled with messy desks.

“Wentz,” the uniformed officer says.

A man looks up. He has short, dark-red hair. His eyes narrow when he sees Leah and me, but he stands up and gestures us forward.

“Miss Shreve, how can I help you?”

“Someone is threatening me.” She hesitates in front of his desk, which is covered in dangerously high stacks of papers and manila folders. “They slashed my tires and sent me some texts.”

Wentz grimaces. “Well, let’s see what’s what. May I look at the texts?”

Leah hands over her phone and explains the damage to her car—four slashed tires.

“Where did this happen?” Wentz asks.

“In downtown San Esteban,” she says. “A parking lot behind a club.”

“Which club?”

“Vice.”

“Mm.” He looks thoughtful. “Valet?”

“No, private parking.”

“I didn’t think the club had parking.”

“I was there as a guest of one of the owners.”

“Interesting.” He clears his throat. “But unfortunate. Had it been valet, it would be easier to track down witnesses. I’ll get in touch with the club and find out if they have any video surveillance in the parking lot. Or perhaps you can ask your friend.”

I don’t like this guy’s tone of voice, or the way he’s looking at Leah, like he’s trying to find flaws in her story.

A gray-haired officer with a deep tan starts walking through the busy room. He’s the officer who handled Leah’s report about her car. When he sees us, he changes course and stops at Wentz’s desk. Nodding at Leah, he says, “Hello, Miss Shreve.”

“Officer Coulenta,” Leah says. “Hi. There’ve been some new problems.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His focus turns to me. “I recognize you from Miss Shreve’s first report. I forgot your name, however, Mr….”

“Montrose,” I say. “Dmitri.”

“Right. Montrose, you say?”

I nod, internally wincing. If they put together who my maternal family is, it’ll send them in the wrong direction. Whatever’s going on with Leah has nothing to do with my family, and everything to do with Shitstain Mick.

Once Wentz gets Coulenta up to speed, Coulenta looks at Leah’s phone to read the text. “This could fit with some of the things we found about Rabanoir. He was spending a lot of money, with no sign where it came from. My theory is a network of underground loan sharks, Wentz, and this adds credence to that. ‘Pay up.’ That’s what the text says.”

“I’m aware of what the text says.” Wentz frowns. “How about you let me do my investigation?”

“Sure.” Coulenta hands Leah her phone. “Didn’t mean to overstep.”

Wentz waits to speak until Coulenta wanders off again. I don’t like that there was a pissing match right in front of us. Seems pretty fucking unprofessional. And Coulenta brought up information Wentz didn’t seem to find important enough to mention to Leah.

I go over it in my head after we finish with Wentz.

So, Mick was spending a lot. As far as I know, he didn’t have a real job.

Like Coulenta said, he had to get the money from somewhere.

Loan sharks.

Loan sharks would absolutely go after him. They usually don’t kill a person because it’s hard to get cash from a dead man. But if Mick said something about Leah having the money, that would explain a lot.

None of this has to do with me. But the fucking SEPD isn’t fixing things, either.

I need to talk to my grandfather.