Marcus barked a loud laugh, turning the crime scene into comic relief even though it doesn’t quite match the vibe.
"Please, Rick!" He placed a hand on his shoulder, and judging by the side eye Rick gave him, I don’t think they liked each other.
"Mr. Salvero’s a very busy man. Besides, we already got what we needed to investigate this, so quit it, and let’s focus on the job. We still need to check the whole building, right?"
"This is standard procedure, and Mr. Salvero should cooperate if we wanna find the killer. This is a crime of passion. Once the body gets to the morgue and is examined, we might have a serial killer on our hands."
"You don’t need to quote protocol to me. I’ve been doing this longer than you have. Now quit it before you get yourself in trouble, and..."
I tuned out Marcus’ words.
A serial killer.
I trembled at those words, and when Zade discerned this, his hand moved from my waist to my arm, pulling me closer to his body.
"Detectives." Zade cut through their squabble. "This discussion should be done without us."
Rick’s eyes softened, realizing he may have overstepped. Zade was already leading me away before he had the chance to speak.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I threw a look over my shoulder to see Marcus angrily pointing at Rick’s chest.
"Do you realize who that is?"
"That doesn’t change the fact that this is a crime scene and questioning should be held by the book."
"I already did the questioning. Anything else other than that is crossing the line."
"It’s times like this that lines should be crossed. How else are we gonna catch the killer?"
"God, you’re a handful. I’ve no idea why they stuck me with you."
"Look, I’m only doing my job here and so should you."
"What? You think I’m not doing my job? You’re the one who wanna get on the bad side of Zayden fucking Salvero for fucks sake! What are you gonna do next? Question his wife until she gets a panic attack? Read the damn room, partner."
Rick looked frustrated and almost regretful as Marcus walked out on him. When he moved his eyes toward my direction, I quickly faced ahead.
He may have said he hadn’t changed, but I could see some shifts in his personality. He was more driven than ever, or maybe because this was the crime scene and he was just doing his job.
Although I didn’t know much about him, I knew enough from two years ago. He came for questioning about the accident, but that didn’t last because I could barely recall anything.
I ruled it out then as trauma from the accident, having no idea it was more than that.
Rick visited me once in a while and brought me flowers. I didn’t see him after I was discharged from the hospital. He must’ve transferred then.
When we were out of the building, I could breathe, and the anxiety was eased. Being around so many people in uniforms and flashes of cameras really stressed me out. I thought it’d never end.
More importantly, I was glad I was finally away from that study, but despite that, the name scribbled against the wall a hundred times, and the state of my father’s corpse were heavily ingrained in my mind.
I don’t think I can ever forget that.
I snapped out of it when we stopped at where Zade parked his bike and not the car.
"W-We’re not using the car?"
"No," Zade replied, grabbing the spare helmet.
"W-We can’t just leave it here."
"Don’t worry, darling. It will be brought back to the manor."
"Zade—"
"You haven’t so much as spoken to me for the last week." He set the helmet down and faced me. I gulped, feeling overwhelmed, because he wasn’t amused.
He had a hint of annoyance plastered across that handsome face.
"And here we are talking about what ride to use. The cops are crawling around the Morri’s mansion and your father’s corpse in a body bag about to be cut open for autopsy."
"It—"
"Let’s not forget we have a killer on the loose. A very skilled one. How did it get to this, hm?"
"W-Will you just let me say something?"
"You wanna talk to me now?" His voice lowered, the undertone making my heart race. "I was hoping we’d have crossed that bridge by now. Every night, I came back and found you in my bed, pretending to be asleep. But you breathe too damn loud when you’re awake, Anastasia. I knew."
"What do you want from me?" That was all I could ask because I didn’t know what else to say.
I felt like I may have hurt him somehow. God, I’m trying to read him, but I can’t.
"Hold that thought." He fitted the helmet on my head, and wore his. Then stepped behind me and pulled his jacket from around my shoulders.
Before I could question him, he helped me slip my arms into the sleeves. The jacket swallowed my frame, so large it felt like I was wrapped in a blanket.
"I-I’m not properly dressed for a ride like this," I said.
Even though I wore a little black dress, with sheer tights covering my legs paired with knee-high black leather boots, I still don’t consider it appropriate riding attire.
Zade climbed onto the bike and gripped the handlebars, the muscles in his arms straining as he threw a look my way.
I couldn’t see his face, but that action alone made me quickly cross my bag and hop on. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling as though I was hugging a wall from behind.
The bike roared to life, the engine loud enough for everyone to hear as we rode out of the estate.
I held on tightly as the speed accelerated until the trees were like a blur. This was a wild ride I’d never experienced, but having my arms secured around Zade made a wave of protectiveness wash over me.
The sky was dark and the city night lights were up. We blurred through the road as though we were in our own little world.
Zade blew through traffic lights, leaving a rage of blaring horns behind us. I moved my hand, palming his shirt, the breeze getting wilder, but somehow it only made the material stick to all his defined abs.
Zade steered into an old viewing bay tucked alongside the bridge and killed the engine. The sudden silence left only the wind and the distant groan of the port.
I dismounted the bike and took off my helmet. Zade did the same before leaning against the machine.
"What are we doing here?" I asked, passing a slow look around the lonely place.
"To talk." He lifted the seat and pulled a small case from the compartment beneath it. He flipped it open and slipped a cigar between his lips.
"C-Can’t we do that back home?"
"No." He lit the end of the cigar, and I knew he was fucking serious.
I stood like a statue before him as he took a deep drag, then exhaled smoke through his nose and mouth.
"Now talk to me, baby." He pulled me into his arms, my back pressing into his solid chest.
I thought he was mad at me.
"At this rate, I’ll freeze to death before you open that pretty mouth of yours."
"Then take your jacket."
He pulled my hair behind so that he could see my face. "I’ll give you options then. Start talking or that mouth of yours will be wrapped around my cock."
I pushed him off and glared at him angrily, setting aside the hot rush that crept through my body. "How could you say something like that right now?! I just lost my father!"
"So?" He brought the cigar to his lips. "That isn’t what got you emotionally, is it?"
My lips pressed in a thin line. He didn’t actually mean that... he was just trying to get my reaction.
"I watched you, kitten. The whole time. I saw what happened in that study too. Your breakdown wasn’t about finding your father’s corpse. It was the name on the wall."
I looked away, and he took hold of my chin and forced me to look at him, and my eyes welled up in tears.
"You said something in that hallway, and you couldn’t finish because we were interrupted. I want you to talk to me, Anastasia. I don’t want you to fucking shut me out like you did this last week. I get it. You retreat when you’re scared and hurt but I don’t want you to do that right now. Talk to me."
"W-When I saw the wall, I-I heard voices," I began in a whisper. "I heard the laughter of two little girls."
I shivered when I felt the tears slipping beneath my lashes, but I quickly used the back of my hands to wipe them.
"Annabeth and I."
"When you were kids?"
I nodded. "A memory from years ago."
"What happened when you were little?"
"N-Nothing bad. We used to play around with the endings of our names. I called her Beth, and she called me—"
"Stasia."