41. Braken

Detective Ralph Finnegan looks and smells like he smokes two packs a day.

The interrogation room is small and cold, and the steel chair is extremely fucking uncomfortable. Especially now since I've been sitting in it for over four hours, recounting the same exact story, word for word, every time this bastard asks. I've already been in this room countless times, but they keep calling me back. I do dance, however, because with all Soren, Locke, and my father's favors cashed in, I'm still sitting here a free man. A cop is dead, and I'm not in jail. I'll consider that a win and answer every question over and over again if it makes these assholes feel like they are doing their jobs. But this is getting ridiculous.

Yes, I'm sure Marco kidnapped Fiora. Why don't you check the cameras? No, I'm not 100% sure it was Marco who called in a fake gas leak, but it's pretty convenient, don't you think? Do you want to question Fiora again? Because our stories haven't changed. Can I have another glass of water? No? Okay, well, fuck you, too, then.

My lawyer sits to my left, looking as annoyed and pissed off as I do. He's been with our family for decades and has seen way more incriminating shit than this. He also knows not to ask questions. We pay him and his firm enough money to keep his mouth shut.

It's been a week since the events on the rooftop. The incident has been all over the news. Having a hotel mogul and shipping heiress almost die sells a lot of damn papers. There're interviews with police informants, with Marco's family, with my business associates, with Fiora's acquaintances. People hound my hotels for information or paparazzi photos. Visitors want a glimpse of a "cop killer", and there are those who offer quiet nods of solidarity.

"You really expect me to believe this?" Ralph asks for the seventh time. "He died on your property."

He wants me to crack, to show that I have a temper, and that he got me on some weird technicality. I inhale through my nose and slowly exhale. They've got nothing. If they did, I'd already be locked up behind a jail cell. Fiora and my stories haven't changed. The evidence corroborates our story. But he keeps asking the same questions over and over, hoping I offer the slightest slip-up.

This stinky douchebag should know better.

"You can believe what you want, but the evidence points to the truth. Which I've willingly told you." I tap the cold metal table with my fingers a few times. "Do you have any more questions for me, Detective?"

"Plenty," Ralph answers.

But his angry frown only deepens when he realizes he's got jack shit on me. I came here willingly and no charges have been brought against me—something my lawyer has reminded him of twice now since we started.

"Are we done here?" My lawyer grabs his briefcase. "I believe my client has made his story clear."

"This isn't over." The detective points to a picture of me that's been clipped to his file. "Keep your phone on, Frost. I'll be in touch."

"Of course."

I try not to roll my eyes when we stand and shake hands. As if I'd want to shake hands with this neanderthal. But I don't want him to mess with me any more than he already has, or interrupt any of my business. Though I have to say, being in the news has been a big boost for my hotels. Funny how people know the name Frost now more than ever. All it took was a douchebag putting me and my woman on his murder list.

That very woman stands against the wall of the precinct, arms crossed over her chest. The bruises and cuts on her face and neck have not faded completely. They still peek out from behind her makeup if I look hard enough. Fiora doesn't let that stop her. She's a bombshell in her skintight black dress, standing between unwashed criminals and whispering cops. If she hears their bullshit or sees their furious glares, it doesn't show.

When she sees me, she removes her sunglasses and wiggles her fingers in a wave.

"Nice to see you. Finally."

"How long have you been waiting for me?" One of the criminals looks over and checks Fiora out. As I walk by, my hand accidentally smacks him across the side of his head. He yells from behind me, but I ignore it and hold out my arm.

"Way too long," she mutters and takes my arm, curling into my side. It's a show of solidarity, but it's also a shield. Glares and a few heated words follow us out of the precinct. The law might be on our side, but the cops aren't. "I thought I'd surprise you before my hair appointment to get ready for tonight."

"There are much better surprises you could give me, Fiora."

She doesn't miss a beat when she squeezes my upper arm and murmurs, "If you're a good boy at the engagement party."

We stop just outside of her car. The driver opens the back door for her, but Fiora doesn't climb in. She turns to face me with a wicked smile.

"7PM tonight."

"At Maxwells," I confirm. "I'm meeting Soren and Merrick, and we're heading over there together. We'll be waiting for you."

Hector arranged this engagement party for us a few days ago, which I'm sure is not a good sign. The last time he set up a meeting, I was blindsided with an engagement. It's probably not the best time since the cops are breathing down our necks, but I can't exactly say no to my future father-in-law.

"Look your best because I will," Fiora jokes, squeezing my arm. "Now, aren't you going to send your bride off right?"

I chuckle and jerk her closer, mashing our lips together. She clings to me, fingers digging into my hair, moving her lips against mine. I push her against the side of the car, trapping her there as I ravish her mouth with my teeth and tongue. God, I can fuck her right here. Throw her up on the car's trunk and make her scream my name in this parking lot. We're already on the news, and the cops already hate us, so why not?

Fiora moans against my mouth and shifts so her thigh is against my cock. Based on the way she starts grinding against me, she has the same idea. My cock twitches when she presses just right and whines. Fuck this stupid engagement party. There's no better way to show Fiora belongs to me than making her show up with my cum in her pussy and my teeth marks all over her neck.

Something vibrates in my pocket, and for a second, I think it's Fiora. But then it vibrates again, and I curse, pulling away from Fiora to check. She grunts and keeps hold on my shirt, eyes clearly telling me to deal with it quickly.

Only, when I see my father's name on the screen, I know this won't be quick at all.

"Go to your hair appointment," I say gruffly, reluctantly prying myself from her. "We'll continue this later."

Fiora looks like she wants to argue, but she swallows with a nod. Once she's in the back of her car and rolling out of the precinct parking lot, I answer the phone.

"Father."

"I just got word that they are going to stop pursuing you. Closing the case," my father says. "Hector seems satisfied that we didn't have anything to do with the murder of his son, too."

"Great," I mutter. "Maybe we can all move the fuck on now."

"I still think the marriage to a Godwin is a good idea. Even though technically you don't need to do it to prove we didn't have anything to do with his death, and Fiora is not in danger. But I still feel?—"

"I'm marrying Fiora," I interrupt, "because I want to. This isn't even open for debate or discussion."