Page 117 of Shattered Veil

I was unable to hold back my sickened, “Oh, fuck.”

“Now, the boss didn’t come to me and admit that he offed Peter.” Randy’s mention of his name hit me square in the diaphragm, and the noise I let out sounded as if the wind had been knocked out of me. “He doesn’t tend to…admit to things because he’s an under-the-radar type of man. But I know blunt force trauma when I see it. Peter was a threat, and it was far too easy for the rest of the PD to agree that the rocks in the river banged him up.”

The connection was dizzying. Somehow, Peter met Randy and partnered with him in all of this. Peter targeted Zoey in his own manic way due to his tendencies that Randy had described as reckless and obsessed. The officer didn’t know of Peter’s actual demise. He thoroughly believed that because of Peter’s recklessness, he had been killed by the man at the head of the whole organization—the head honcho, as Colton had once called him—and not only that, Randy had convinced the rest of the police department that Peter’s death was an accidental drowning.

He had no idea. And it was all I could do to ask:

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

“Because if you tell me what you know, I won’t do what he did to Peter. I’ll make your death pleasant.” Randy smiled. “I think we both know that you’re not leaving here alive…but this doesn’t have to be difficult.”

My body trembled as he confirmed what I had suspected—he had no intention of ever releasing me.

I whispered, “Why do you think I know anything? Just—just because Skylar said she was coming to my apartment after she talked to all the other dancers?”

Wrinkles formed in his forehead…as if he were confused as to how I hadn’t put the remainder of the puzzle together.

“I…know where you live, James. I’ve been there before. I met the previous tenant. Little blonde thing?” I attempted to keep my expression neutral, even with the mention of Zoey—I knew that I had done a piss poor job of it as my breath continued to rattle and it sounded like my heartbeat was audible, but I attempted, nonetheless. Randy pressed on, “I made sure I was the one to arrive at the scene because I was so damn sure that it was Peter with the detail she gave about a stalker on the call in, and I had to cover his damn tracks. I know you know her…and it wasn’t hard to figure out you had moved in after I paid the place a visit.” He paused, ensuring to hold my attention. “I let her go. She didn’t fit the bill, she had too many personal connections, and Peter didn’t get far enough for her to be a threat before he was done for. She never reported anything after that. She knew nothing. She moved on with life. I moved on with life. But now…you’re a common denominator. Now, Peter’s front door got busted in, the main course of action was directly for his room like this one, and I had to shut down his damn family questioning it. Now…you seem like you know more than you’re leading on.”

“I don’t.” I stated over and again, “I don’t-I don’t-I-don’t—”

My panicked repetition was cut off quickly as something made contact with my cheek. Because I had squeezed my eyes shut as I began to rattle off the same words, I hadn’t seen him move. I had only felt the quick, sharp impact of a solid material followed by radiating pain that made my ears ring. I grunted as my head swam, and once I stopped spinning from the force of the hit, I looked to see him standing above me. Officer Dowler had a gun—one I could only assume was police-issued—in his right hand. He held it by the handle like a club, and there was no question that it was the barrel of the weapon that had hit me.

The moment I had absorbed his appearance, he moved again. He swung his arm, finding the same position on my cheek, and try as I might to push myself away with scrambling legs, there was nowhere for me to go. I was stuck, backed into the same corner, and Randy was still there.

“You want to reconsider your answer?”

His question was forcedly calm, and I replied:

“Fuck you.”

There was no hesitation as he struck me again—and again—and again—and each instance that he stopped to speak was similar to the first. The pistol whipping rendered the left side of my face wet and bruised, my skin swollen and tangibly stretching across my cheekbone, and throbbing shot through to my skull in white-hot waves.

It would end, eventually.

I knew it would.

What I didn’t anticipate was for Randy to squat down to my eye level, grab my jaw to force me to meet his eyes, and ask:

“What are you trying to do? Protect your girl?”

My chest panged as my heart attempted to escape its confines, and I exhaled, “What?”

Randy squinted. “What does Cassie know?”

Her name on his lips nearly made me vomit, and my response came from my gut in a visceral snarl:

“Leave her out of this.”

“Ooo.” His eyes brightened. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

He was so close to my face that I could see his in high-definition, and I knew that the vivid image of him would be marked into my memory for as long as blood still coursed through my veins. The lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows were more prominent than his crow’s feet—the mark of a man who rarely smiled genuinely. Though his gaze into me was now glowing with anticipation, I could still note his sleeplessness behind the dark circles and bloodshot red that surrounded the green and brown of his irises.

The thought that I would be cursed to see his face for the rest of my days made anger roar in my ears as if a plane were flying overhead, and as soon as I felt the urge, I spat.

He flinched as it hit him, and I watched with pleasure as the blood in my saliva dripped down the sharp angles of his nose and lingered in his stubble.

Face contorted into a grimace, Officer Dowler said nothing. He shoved me away with disgust, reached to where his stool was behind him, and snatched the towel on the floor beside it. Wiping my spit away with a frustrated grumble, he then threw it at me. It landed across my eyes, taking my sight from me, and despite my efforts to turn my head from left to right, it stuck like glue, for it was heavy and damp. I heard a single squish as he moved. He adjusted the towel to cover my entire face with rough tugs coupled with rage-filled grunts, he briefly shoved his hand in my mouth, and I tasted the material on my tongue.

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