Page 13 of Sullied Saints

With the back of my head against the wall, it’s hard to tilt my face up and look into his eyes, the hazel almost black in his own shadow. "You're disgusting," I breathe. "You're volatile…"

"Now you want me gone?" he growls, and his body presses to mine, hands softening just slightly on my arms. My breath still comes fast, but with a new flavour as I glance at his lips.

"Maybe I do.” My voice is soft and unconvincing.

"I'm not going to give you what you want." Those lips smirk this time. The air is electric in the inch between our lips, his body hard and promising and so suddenly intoxicating.

He's wrong. It is him I want. Maybe it always has been. Right now, there is no other time, no other person. It’s just us.

Until Chloe bangs through the door at the other end of the corridor. She spots us immediately, before we have time to jump apart, and does a frantic about-face, scurrying back into the station like she hopeswedidn’t seeher. She’s gone as fast as she appeared, but it’s enough to break the slowly tightening leash between us. Dirk has released me, blinking like he's coming out of some moment of madness, and I feel that too.Here? At work? And after what he just said to me? I need better standards, surely.

"Fuck," he says.

I sigh, pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. "I guess that solves the question of whether people are gonna know or not." Not that I have anything against Chloe, but the girl's secret-keeping abilities don't fill me with confidence.

Dirk's attention comes back. "Look…" He rubs his eyes. The circles under them are still there, worse, even. "You got what you wanted. I'm staying. What else is there to say?"

"Whatelse? Oh, I don't know, how about do you happen to have a girlfriend right now?"

Dirk generally has a girlfriend, though they never last long, and calling them anything so serious as even a 'friend' feels like too much credit most of the time. He pulls a face. "You're asking that now?"

"When else would I ask?" I demand, growing shrill. "You haven't exactly been stopping by."

He sighs, turning away. "You know, I don't think I'm ready for this place after all, for everything…"

With the clear intention of running away, he shoves the doors open, stepping out into the midday light before I can stop him.

The camera flashes are instant, as are the questions thrown at us, at him, like demands. But Dirk is the first one they see and apparently the one they've been dying to see. "Detective Lancaster! What can you say about your experience as Cocooner's latest victim?" "Will you stay on the case?" "How did you escape?" “Did you believe she intended to kill you?”

We’ve moved forward on the steps, stupidly allowing them to come between us and retreat. The line isn’t policed today, possibly they’re manning some other riot point in the city. They’re popping up across suburbs now, gaining followers, with Conrad often at the head of the biggest crowds. The demonstrators here sense action and pick up their placards and their signs, starting their nonsensical clamour for Needler's release.

One placard, the biggest, is a photo of Dirk, and the words,Would be dead, scrawled in red ink thick enough to be dripping.

"Jesus," I swear. We're surrounded. How had I not considered the media frenzy that would emerge around the only known survivor of the Cocooner? Sure, I was there too that night, but Dirk was her intended victim, all the way to being strung up, half-painted. They’ve been mad enough just to get my story. And now that Dirk has shown his face, and they're starved for anything on Needler, he’s the prime one this city wants to hear about right now.

Dirk is momentarily stunned, staring at the placard with his face, the photo taken as he was escorted from the scene by ambos, white plaster still clumped on locks of hair, a shiny blanket over his bare shoulders, leaving a view to his chest and what is clearly fresh blood mixed with stark white plaster on his skin. The next flash is straight in his face, and Dirk visibly flinches, staring at the one who took it like he's just forgotten where he is.

Amid a string of expletives aimed at everyone surrounding us, I grab his arm, pulling him aside as they follow. "Come on! My car is just on the street." I shout to be heard over them, and Dirk turns his face so that his dark hair falls like a curtain, letting me drag him the few dozen steps to where I parked this morning, semi-legally on the edge of the precinct frontage and what stretch of cement space somehow counts as a courtyard.

I shove him into the passenger side before dodging the cameras and prying questions that go along with them, throwing myself into the driver’s side and slamming the door shut. The interior of my car is dim, their sounds thankfully muted. I recently invested in tinted windows, and right now I think it may be the best idea I've ever had—not that the bar is high. Even if they can see in at all, the only thing they’ll get is dark shapes. Not much good for their papers. Nonetheless, they still photograph my car.

Dirk is staring straight ahead, breathing fast. I run my hands through my hair. "Jesus, there's no subtlety anymore. Are you okay?"

Rubbing his face, Dirk shakes himself. "Yeah."

"You seem it," I comment drily. "Let me drive you home."

"My car…"

"You're in no state to drive. You look like you've seen a ghost. They're not going to let up, you’re too much of a juicy news story.”

That seems to bring him back to himself, and he shakes his head with a short chuckle. “I think I miss you being the biggest news story everywhere we went.”

I narrow my eyes on him, reaching for the ignition. "How about fuck you?" I offer.

The look he gives me reminds me that I already did that.

Unclenching my fist, I focus on turning the ignition. I’m still not mad enough to ditch him here with the cameras, even though I'm not sure I could get much more furious. "Rest assured, I'll never be doingthatagain."

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