Page 80 of Love Me Darkly
Bottom bitch.
Liar.
She pressed her hands to her ears as if she could blot it out, not wanting to remember him that way. She reached for the memories of Lake Charles and the best night of her life. The night he had lain her down on that motel bed and entered her body and whispered the secrets of his heart in her ear.
You own me, baby girl. You fucking own me.
The push and pull of their bodies, in perfect harmony. Mateo’s voice, gravel-soft, low and hypnotizing.
Do you have any idea what you do to me? You’re in my head, in my heart, in my blood, in my soul. I feel you everywhere.
His hand cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking over her lips. His cock so deep he became a part of her.
Tell me this is real, Melody. Tell me it’s as real for you as it is for me.
Yes. Yes, it had been real.
I won’t let you go. You understand, baby girl? You’re mine now. Mine …
He’d whispered that word as he came, over and over like a prayer.
Mine … mine … mine.
Then, his arms around her and sweet kisses in the dark. Tangled legs and the scent of sex. His beating heart against her ear. His tortured whisper.
I tried so hard. I tried not to want this, want you. But I lost that battle and damn, baby girl … you make me want to surrender and lose the war, too.
Melody poured the last of her tears onto the carpet, wrung herself dry before she attempted to stand. She found her footing one leg at a time and rose like a shaking baby deer. Breathing came easier now that the pressure in her lungs had abated. Walking became easier with every step, and soon she was standing tall in front of the bathroom mirror. Her face was a mess, so she used a makeup wipe to clean it up, along with the remnants of her tears. Then, she set about putting on her armor—foundation, blush, bronzer, eyeshadow. She even threw on a pair of false lashes and put a liberal smear of her favorite ruby red lip gloss on her lips.
The reflection of Melody Johnson stared back at her. Hard. Implacable. Closed off. As safe as possible given the circumstances. Determined.
“Good-bye, Mateo,” she whispered as she left the apartment, turning off lights as she went. “It was beautiful while it lasted.”
Mateo pushed open his hotel room door to the sound of his work cell vibrating across the desk. He glared at the phone and ignored it, knowing it couldn’t be anyone other than Donovan. Mateo was thirty minutes late meeting him for Glow Night, and the agent probably wondered where he was. He couldn’t answer that phone. He couldn’t go to Solstice. Not in his current state.
Snatching his sidearm free of the holster, he slipped the clip loose and dropped both it and the gun on the nightstand. He ripped off his jacket and hurled it over a chair. Stomping to the desk, he cursed under his breath when he found the overturned bottle of Scotch. He really should have tried to rescue it earlier.
The bottle shattered when he slammed it into the trash can. He fell over the desk, bracing himself up with his hands and closing his eyes. It wasn’t too late to salvage the night. He could take a moment to compose himself and then meet Donovan at the club. He could mingle, have a few drinks, and pretend to enjoy the party while observing Korenic and his crew. He could pull himself together and do his fucking job. It was all he had left other than Angelica, and to get back to her, he had to put this case to bed. He had to wipe the UNSUB and everyone who associated with him off the face of the earth, making the world safe for her again.
But he was filled with molten fire, vibrating from the force of his humiliation and rage. Even the slight prick of guilt over the way he’d handled Melody tonight couldn’t overcome it. Every time he found himself feeling even the slightest bit sorry, that goddamn wire audio played itself through his mind. The evidence he had seen with his own eyes flipped through his mental theater like a slideshow. Her confessions echoed in his mind, resounding on rippling waves that left him reeling.
Were you his when you met me?
Yes.
He had known better. Had trained other agents to keep their defenses erected and maintain a certain distance from witnesses and victims. It was a fine line, showing them empathy and care while protecting one’s own sanity and vulnerability. But he supposed Mari’s death and his resulting isolation had resulted in a blind spot. He hadn’t seen Melody coming.
The phone began to buzz again, its insistence grating on his nerves. Snatching it up, he frowned to find that the call was coming from a blocked number. That didn’t make sense because only a handful of people had this number, and if anyone from the D.C. office was trying to get a hold of him, the number and area code would have shown up. He wrinkled his forehead as he noticed a notification at the top of the screen for three missed calls. He swiped down and saw that they were all from a private number.
He had only received a call on this phone from a private once before.
The phone went still and silent in his hands, and Mateo cursed, stumbling across the room. He tightened his fingers around the phone and waited. The UNSUB had called him several times already, and the profile said he was a narcissist. He wouldn’t tolerate being ignored. Mateo released his breath on a rush when the phone vibrated in his hand, the screen lighting up once more.
He tapped to answer and held it up to his ear. Silence greeted him on the other end, though Mateo could hear someone breathing. It stretched on long enough for Mateo to grow impatient.
“I know it’s you,” he growled. “And I know you didn’t just call so I could listen to you breathe.”
“Blood and breath … blood and breath … blood and breath. Before flesh, there was Shadow. Before voice, there was Breath. And before Death bore its name, there was Azrael, He Who Stands Upon the Threshold. Blood and breath … it always begins and ends with those, does it not, Agent Garcia?”
