Page 30 of Shades of Ruin

I hold the detective’s stare for a beat of silence that’s long enough to have him shifting in his seat. He looks away first, and I savor the victory before answering, “We fucked on occasion.” With a smug wink, I add, “I let her have it for free.”

It’s clear from the cold look on the detective’s face that he has no sense of humor. “Were you two in a relationship?”

“Ahh, trying to pin me with that right from the start. Anytime a girl turns up dead, it’s always the boyfriend or the husband, isn’t that right, Detective Dicks? I imagine that makes your life rather easy when there’s no need to do anyactualinvestigating.”

“Just answer the damn question, smartass.”

I lean back in my chair and look between the two of them, trying to decide if their lack of imagination and ingenuity is going to cost me jail time. I wouldn’t be the first innocent thrown behind bars just because the label fit. “I don’t do relationships.Like I said, I fuck. Satine, or Sarah, is one of about twenty other girls I play with on a regular basis.”

Ordidplay with before I crossed the line with my little ruin. And suddenly, one girl reduces twenty others to mere memory.

“Play with?” the detective snarls. “This isn’t a game, you sick fuck. A girl has been murdered. Brutally. And you’re a little too easy breezy while sitting in that chair on the wrong side of a murder investigation.”

“Death doesn’t faze me,” I retort with a careless shrug of my shoulders. “I’ve seen plenty of it.”

Detective Dickson takes a manila folder from the other detective. And this one hasmyname written on it. “Yeah, I see you lost your mom at age five,” he says as he flicks through the pages. The temperature of my blood grows a little colder, and I swallow down the dread rising in my throat. “Dad died right before you graduated high school. Records are sealed regarding your father’s death. Wanna explain that?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Do you think this is a joke? Think we brought you in just to get our rocks off?”

I meet the detective’s fury with a smirk that’s sure to dig right under his skin. “Well, I’m not an authority on what sorts of things people like you are into. But who am I to judge? No kink shaming, that’s my motto. ”

“Since you mentioned kinks, maybe we should get into yours, Mr. Greyson?”

I suppress a groan, knowing this interrogation is slipping into dangerous territory. “I like to keep my private affairs private. I’m sure you can understand.”

“This is a murder investigation. You’re not entitled to shit, least of all privacy.”

“Alright, since you’re so interested in my sex life. What do you want toknow?”

“What kinds of things go on at Pandemonium? That’s where you and Ms. Daubert wouldplay, isn’t it?”

“A great many things go on at Pandemonium,” I drawl, my empty expression giving away nothing. “None of which can be disclosed. In spite of how much I’d love to spill my guts to you filthy fucks about the most exclusive club in the city, I can’t. All members and participants sign bulletproof NDAs. No one is going to risk Finnian Holt’s wrath to help Chicago’s finest pin a crime on one of their own.”

The detectives exchange a charged look. My guess is they were hoping to have a man on the inside to shed light on all Hell’s secrets. But that man isn’t going to be me. “Fine, forget the club. Tell us about you. Would you consider yourself to be rough in bed, Mr. Greyson? Get a kick out of marking girls up a bit? Maybe crossing the line a little more than you should be?”

I glare at him, my fists clenching in my lap. “If you’re asking me if I’ve ever done something without a partner’s consent, the answer is no.”

“Alright, alright, let’s say for argument’s sake that a few troubled girlsliketo be smacked around. That the kinda thing you’re into?”

The question sounds like a trap—because it fucking is one. I can’t answer truthfully without giving them some pretty damning evidence to throw in front of a jury. And I can’t lie because I can already tell from the self-satisfied gleam in his eyes that he knows the answer to the question and probably has a way to prove it.

“I’m into the kinds of things that get my partners off. If that means that they want it rough, then sure, I’m happy to oblige,” I reply and hope that I haven’t fucked myself over.

“How very gallant of you,” Detective Dickson answers with a dark glower. He thinks I’m his guy; he’s just waiting for me to incriminate myself enough that he can hold me. “Care to take a look at these photos for me?” He slides two picturesacross the table, both of them a back view of Satine naked on a medical examiner’s slab.

Jabbing his thick, sausage finger at the marks etched into her back, he asks, “Want to explain how the fuck she got these? Because they predate the time of death by about a couple hours.”

Suddenly there isn’t enough air in my lungs. “When was she found?” In the shock of hearing about her death, I never thought to ask.

A predatory smile slinks across the detective’s swollen face. “Saturday night, little before midnight. Time of death was determined to be between ten and eleven. You were with her that night, weren’t you?”

My jaw clenches. “Yes.” There’s no sense in denying it. He already knows I was. I’m suddenly questioning my brash decision to turn down a lawyer.

“And any idea how the hell she got those marks?” Both detectives look at me like I’m the key to solving their case.

“Yes,” I grit out again. Might as well confirm their suspicions because they’re true. “She took my whip like the sweet little masochist she is and came with my fingers coated in her blood.”

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