Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dav

The problem with someone as fucking secretive as Cinna was that while I knew the general vicinity of where she lived, I didn’t know any other details.

The cab got caught at a red light, and I lost sight of Cinna.

A frustrated grumble moved through me as I flew out of the cab, eyes scanning the street, hoping I might see her ducking into a building.

But there were no women around. Just a crew of men who, from the looks of things, were dealing or running girls.

Well, most criminals spoke the same language.

Money.

Hopefully I had enough to loosen some lips.

“Yeah, move along, pretty boy. You don’t want what I got,” one of them said as I approached, his laid-back demeanor making me think he was someone in charge.

“I’m looking for a woman,” I said, reaching for my wallet.

“Not my deal. Up around the next corner.”

“Not like that. Someone who lives around here. Cinna. Yay high. Gorgeous. Personality like a cactus.”

The way his lips quirked up let me know he knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Not in the business of selling information either,” he said, shrugging, barely glancing up from his phone.

“She’s family.”

“Then you should know where she lives.”

“Not that kind of family,” I said.

That finally got his attention, making him watch me with scrunched brows.

“Still should probably know where she lives.”

“I know it’s on this street. And I know she’s in some sort of trouble. So tell me, or I’ll have my whole crew down here in five minutes to deal with you.”

“Don’t need to get your panties in a bunch. She’s in here,” he said, waving toward the building he was leaning against. “Came in like her ass was on fire. So I figure you’re not lying. And you better not be. Because I’d rather not be on that chick’s bad side.”

I didn’t waste any more time on him as I made my way to the door, about to hit all the intercoms until someone opened up, until I realized the door wasn’t even latched.

Real safe place.

Banking down my annoyance that she was so careless about her own safety, reminded myself that she was a grown-ass woman who got to make her own decisions, regardless of how asinine I might think they are.

Getting in was easier than I’d been planning.

But finding Cinna, that wasn’t easy.

Sure, there were mailboxes in the lobby, but none of them had her name on it. None of the packages gathered on the table had her address either.

“Fuck,” I grumbled, going into the elevator to go up to the first floor of apartments.

Where I proceeded to start knocking, acting like a clueless, lost visitor, claiming my sister must have given me the wrong apartment number.

The problem was, either no one actually knew Cinna by name, or they just weren’t willing to give out any information.

I made my way up to the second floor, and was waiting for some old lady with a three-pack-a-day habit voice to get to the door when I heard it.

Slamming on the floor above.

Some sort of struggle.

Adrenaline surged through me as I flew down the hallway, going to the stairs because I could run up them faster than the elevator could get to me.

My heart was in my throat, my pulse pounding in my ears, as I imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios of what could be happening to her already. Because I’d been wasting so much time trying to find her.

I was running down the hallway when I heard it.

Another loud thud.

Then grunting sounds.

I ran toward it.

Paused outside a closed door, not wanting to charge in until I was sure.

Inside, there was a muffled thunking sound, more grunting, and I decided to take my chances, whipping open the door, and moving inside.

“Cinna!” a voice called, drawing my gaze over toward a teen sitting on a hideous brown and white striped couch, his eyes huge, blood trickling from a cut on his neck.

“What?” Cinna’s voice called, high, panicky. “What is it?”

My gaze shot toward her voice, finding her on the ground, straddling the still form of a man, a large chef’s knife in her hand, blood soaking it to the handle, covering her hand.

She was turned to look back at me, but her eyes were unfocused, the whites and the skin around them bright red.

“You can put the knife down, love,” I said, eyeing the man below her, his shirt saturated with blood, almost a dozen holes in his shirt from her knife. He was unmoving. No rise and fall of his chest. “He’s dead,” I told her.

I watched as her mouth fell open, looking around me, but not quite at me.

“Dav?”

“Yeah, Cin. It’s me,” I said, pushing the door closed, and locking it.

This was a crime scene now.

No one needed to see inside.

Her shoulders slumped, and she suddenly flung the knife like it had burned her as she scurried off of the man, scooting backward until her back slammed into the kitchen cabinets.

“What happened?” I asked, looking between Cinna, who seemed like she was having a panic attack, gulping for air, and the kid on the couch.

“He attacked her,” the kid said. “She got pepper sprayed.”

“Fuck. Okay,” I said rushing toward her, going into the cabinets until I found a cup, then filled it with water, then squatted down in front of Cinna. “I’m gonna rinse the spray off,” I told her, tilting her chin up. “Hold your breath for me,” I demanded, but started pouring before I knew if she was actually following instructions or not.

The effects would wear off in a half an hour or so, regardless of if you treated it, but it burned like a mother fucker the whole time. And you had more of a chance of blisters and breathing problems if you didn’t rinse the shit away.

The common consensus was to use milk, but the science said water was the best bet. Which was a fuck of a lot less messy.

“It’ll stop stinging in a minute,” I assured her, getting more water, and pouring, soaking through her shirt, getting her hair drenched.

Another three or four cups, and she was breathing normally again, blinking at me like she was starting to see more.

“Any better?”

“I can see better,” she agreed as I reached out to wipe my hands across her cheeks. “Still hurts.”

“I’ll get more—“ I started.

“No,” she cut me off. “I feel like I’ve been waterboarded,” she added, making my lips curve up. “Joel,” she said, eyes widening.

“He’s sitting on the couch,” I said, glancing over at the kid. “You okay?” I asked, seeing her breath start to speed up.

“I… can’t…” she panted, breathing faster.

“It’s the pepper spray,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced about that. She’d been breathing alright even before I’d rinsed her off.

And she was getting more frantic by the second.

This almost seemed like, well, a panic attack.

“I can’t…” she said, suddenly flying up onto her feet, and running across her apartment, the door slamming as she closed herself in.

“You alright, kid?” I asked, turning to look at him, finding his gaze on the body.

“I… yeah.”

“Your throat…”

“Just a scratch,” he said, wiping at it with his sleeve.

“If I go see if she’s okay, are you going to stay there?” I asked.

“Got nowhere else to be.”

That was good enough for me.

I turned and made my way toward the closed door, knocking, but getting no response, save for the rapid breathing on the other side.

“I’m coming in, Cin,” I said, pushing open the door to find her sitting off the side of the tub, head ducked, breathing even more unevenly than before.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped between breaths, making my heart ache for her as I moved forward.

“Okay,” I said, moving up to her, then stepping into the tub, and lowering down, pulling her with me, her back against my chest, her whole body between my legs. “It’s gonna be alright,” I assured her, letting my hands drift over her. Down her arms, up her legs, over her stomach, over her jaw, her hair. Trying to ground her. To distract her.

“What’s the matter with me?” she asked, sounding dangerously close to crying.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I assured her. “It’s just adrenaline,” I added, since she was too rational to bullshit her.

“I’ve had worse fights,” she said, still sucking in her breath too quickly, but she wasn’t so stiff against me.

“Not in your own home,” I reasoned. “And you never had a kid to protect,” I added.

“Joel!” she gasped, trying to sit up, but I wrapped an arm around her middle.

“He’s okay. He’s waiting in the living room.”

“He’s hurt.”

“Just a cut. He’s fine. Just sit with me for a minute,” I said, resting my face against the side of her head. “Say okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, melting into me, taking a slow, deep breath. On the exhale, more of the tension left her body.

“Taking another deep breath for me,” I said, nuzzling into her neck, feeling her pulse against my lips, still fast, but not frantic. “There you go. Told you it was gonna be okay,” I said as her breathing began to return to normal.

That was the wrong thing to say, it seemed.

She tensed and pulled away, then moved to stand, climbing out of the tub entirely, and going to the sink, scrubbing at the blood on her hands.

“I, I have to check on Joel,” she said, not even bothering to dry her hands as she grabbed her first aid kit then she rushed out of the bathroom and away from me.

On a sigh, I climbed out of the tub and followed.

Joel was exactly where I’d left him, surprisingly calm, considering what he’d been a part of.

“Here, let me see,” Cinna said, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of the kid, opening her kit, then using some antiseptic spray and gauze to clean the kid’s neck.

I’d seen her take care of many injured men over the years. She’d always been kind of rough about it. But she was surprisingly gentle as she took care of Joel, wincing as she wiped at the cut even though the kid showed no reaction.

“Are you okay?” she asked after slathering on some triple antibiotic and pressing on a giant bandage.

“I’m fine.”

“You were really fucking brave,” she told him, cleaning up her kit. “Stupid. But brave.”

“Couldn’t stand by and let him hurt you,” Joel said, shrugging.

“You could have. Plenty of others would.”

“He’s dead,” Joel said, glancing over at the body.

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding.

“It was self-defense,” he insisted.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Are you calling the cops?”

“No,” she and I both answered at the same time.

The kid’s gaze slid to me.

“Ah, Joel, this is Dav. Dav, this is my neighbor, Joel.”

“He works for you?” I asked.

“He just keeps an eye on my door.”

“Since she got robbed,” Joel said.

“What?” I snapped, gaze sliding to her.

“It wasn’t a robbery,” she said, shrugging. “The place was just tossed.”

“Just tossed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it wasn’t your problem. I have it handled.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause it looks like relying on a kid to help you fight an entire crew that almost fucking killed you. The fuck is going on with you?”

“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Dav. I have shit to do,” she said, moving over toward the body, snatching up the knife, and tossing it into the sink, water on full blast.

“Did you forget that you’re a part of a family, Cin? That the whole point of that is to have people around to have your back?”

“This is my problem. Not theirs.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Just this once, it has to be.”

There was no reasoning with her about this. Not right now anyway. She was in damage control mode.

This shit had to get cleaned up.

Then maybe I could convince her to let me in on this. Because things were not looking good.

She grabbed a bottle of bleach from under the counter, pouring it over the knife and sink, and just letting the water run as she turned back to the body.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

She stared down at him for a long time before shaking her head. “No.”

Then she was squatting down, patting his pockets, finding a wallet, and pulling it out. “Chet Wheaton,” she read off his license. “That means nothing to me. You?” she asked, looking up at me.

“No. And it doesn’t sound Irish or Russian.”

“Contract, maybe,” she mumbled to herself.

“It’s a name, at least. Something to go on.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, putting the wallet on the counter to deal with later.

“Suppose you don’t have any of those giant plastic garage totes,” I said, figuring this guy was too big to stuff in any luggage.

“No. And it’s too late to—“

“There’s one in the basement,” Joel cut in, making both of us turn in his direction. He shrugged. “Been down there forever. I can get it.”

“You’re already too involved in this,” she said. “Tell me where it is.”

“I’ll get it,” Joel said, hopping up. “I go down there all the time. It wouldn’t look weird. You don’t.”

“Joel, I can’t ask—“

“You’re not,” he cut her off, getting up and making his way to the door. He was gone before she could say anything else.

“Can you trust him?” I asked.

“I… I think so,” she said, taking a deep breath. “He needs the money,” she added. “Hear that?” she asked, holding a finger up.

I listened for a minute, then heard the raised voices of a man and a woman from a distance.

“Yeah…”

“That’s his parents. He wants to get away. Money is the only way to do that.”

“He a street kid?”

“No. He mostly just sits in the hall listening to music.”

He said nothing else, just stood there listening to our own breathing and Joel’s parents’ unending arguing, just waiting to see if the kid returned, or if he was out selling us out to the cops.

But, not ten minutes later, we heard the dragging sound out in the hallway before the door flew open, and there was the kid. Pulling a black garage tote with a yellow lid, the whole thing covered in cobwebs.

“Is it big enough?” he asked, kicking the door closed, then eyeing the body.

“It’ll do,” I said, nodding. “Thanks. You should really go now,” I added. “You’re implicated enough.”

“I got nowhere else to be,” he said. “I can help.”

I wouldn’t lie. A tub full of a dead body was heavy as fuck. And as strong as Cinna was, the man outweighed her. She’d be helpful carrying out the tub, but I could use some extra hands.

My gaze slid to Cinna.

“It’s your choice, love.”

“Just this once. And just to get the tub in a car. Then you go back up into the hall, and pretend nothing ever happened, okay?”

“Yeah, alright,” he said. I heard a hint of something in his voice that Cinna must have missed, but there was too much to do now to worry about small shit like that.

“Help me drag him up,” Cinna said to me, pointing to the body.

“What for?”

“I want to get a picture. But if he’s on the ground, he’ll look dead.”

Couldn’t argue with that logic.

So I helped her drag him up, sitting him against the fridge, wincing at the blood that would need to be cleaned up as Cinna reached out, pulling his eyes open, then grabbing for her phone and snapping a few pictures.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “Let’s get to work.”

With that, we did.

Gloves were found.

Hair was tied back.

The tub was wiped down of fingerprints. The body was stripped, then cleaned, just in case of trace, even though we were going to find somewhere to bury it where it wouldn’t be found.

The floor and fridge could be dealt with later.

Getting the body out was the most important part.

“We need a car. Preferably an SUV,” Cinna said.

“Your crew doesn’t have one?”

To that, Cinna shook her head. “I don’t drive,” she admitted.

“No shit,” I said, brows shooting up at learning this new fact.

“Never leave the city,” she admitted.

“I’ll have someone drop off my SUV.”

“You drive?”

“Yeah. Spent a lot of time driving the previous boss around when I was young,” I admitted.

“Okay. Good. Then…”

“One step at a time,” I said, reaching for my phone, and shooting off a text. “Your guy down on the street… he gonna mind his business?”

“That’s what he’s good at,” Cinna agreed, nodding. “Even if bribed.”

“Trust me, he doesn’t need anyone’s money. Unless someone was fronting him a couple hundred grand in cash, he won’t have anything to say.”

“I’m starting to see why you live here,” I said, then looked around. “But you could actually move into this place.”

It was a nearly empty space, save for the hideous couch, a coffee table that had likely been picked up off the street, given the scuffs and carvings on the surface.

No window treatments, save for the cheap plastic blinds that likely came with the place. No carpets. No art on the walls.

The only proof of Cinna around was the expensive-ass coffee machine on the counter.

“I’m never here,” Cinna said, shrugging. “It has everything I need,” she added.

“Does it happen to have any winter gloves?” I asked, looking down at the white gloves on all our hands, knowing it wouldn’t exactly look inconspicuous if we passed by anyone other than the dude out front.

“I have my pair…”

“I have some,” Joel said. “I can grab them.”

“I’d appreciate it. A pair for the two of us.”

Joel nodded, but looked immediately tense at the prospect of going back into his apartment.

I felt bad for the kid, but the situation was too desperate to insist he didn’t have to.

“Are his parents abusive?” I asked when he was gone.

“I’m not sure. All they do is scream. I imagine if he is in there, he gets screamed at too.”

We both shared a look, our mutual past traumas on display for just a moment.

But then Joel was back, looking paler than a moment before, but he had the gloves, and that’s all that really mattered.

“Ah, Cinna?” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You might want to change…”

Cinna’s gaze moved down, looking at the blood on her shirt and pants.

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” she said, moving down the hall into the bathroom.

I went under the sink cabinet, grabbing the beach and then the cleaning bucket before moving into the bathroom, this time without knocking, finding her stripped down to her bra and panties, scrubbing at her stomach where the blood had seeped through the fabric of her shirt.

“Here, toss it all in here,” I said, holding out the bucket.

Cinna silently dropped her clothes in and I went to the tub, filling it with water and a shitton of bleach, rinsing, then doing it again, before finally leaving the clothes in the the bucket with the rest of the bleach and a bit of water. The fabric would degrade, but the DNA would be ruined too. I would deal with it when we came back to clean her apartment when we were done with the body.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” I said, moving out and into her bedroom.

It was every bit as bleak as the rest of her apartment. Just a headboard-free queen-sized bed with a rumpled black comforter, an ancient nightstand with a lamp, and a closet full of her usual dark clothes.

I picked out jeans and a long-sleeved tee then made my way back into the bathroom where she’d dropped the washcloth into the bucket with her clothes, then moved to stand in front of the mirror, staring at herself with a blank look in her reflection.

“Hey, I can do this myself if you need to tap out,” I said, moving behind her, feeling her stiffen until my hand moved out, tracing a finger over her bare shoulder. Then she fucking melted back against me, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not tapping out,” she said as I dropped her clothes on the sink cabinet, then wrapped my arms around her. “I just need a minute.”

“I could leave,” I offered, just to hear her tell me not to.

“No. Stay. Just for a minute.”

“Just for a minute,” I agreed, pressing my lips into the side of her head.