Page 44 of Love Me Darkly
Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Mateo tried to blot out the images that now seemed indelibly branded onto his mind. Angelica’s floating corpse. Mari’s writhing, convulsing, bloodied body, Melody’s empty eye sockets, the Seal of Azrael carved permanently into his skin.
Blood. So much blood.
His throat burned and his eyes stung. “Mari,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “Forgive me, Mari.”
How could she? He wouldn’t deserve it. He had promised to protect her, to keep the realities of his job separate from the purity of their life together. When her worries had brought her to him, he had stroked her hair and patronized her. He had assured her that nothing could touch her as long as he was breathing. And the UNSUB had reached out with unsettling ease to prove him wrong. He couldn’t make peace with the fact that her last words might have been cries for help. Cries for him.
Nausea welled up in his throat as he was confronted by the image of his own self in the dream. The shadow self that had used Mari for his own peace and pleasure while she was ripped apart. The self that had stood impotently by as she was destroyed.
It drove him to his feet, and he dashed to the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet before losing the contents of his stomach. He coughed and retched, spilling poison and acid from his gut. He tasted blood and grief with every lurch, failure and despair with every heave. When there was nothing left, he fell to the floor, the world spinning dizzily above him. The voice from his dream still echoed in his mind, as clear as it had been on the voicemail he had listened to countless times since the day of Mari’s death.
You think this will end with her?
The threat hung over his head on a cord that became more frazzled by the day. It hung on by a thread now, ready to fall at any moment. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that his progress in the investigation would frighten the UNSUB. The man had murdered the wife of a supervisory special agent of the FBI and gotten away with it. He would be too high on the potency of his own success to cower. He would make his next move again soon, and despite all he had learned, Mateo was woefully unprepared for when he did.
Prying himself off the floor, he rested his hands on the surface of the sink and peered into the mirror. He looked like hell, just as Donovan had said. Eyes bloodshot with dark circles underneath, skin pale, lips pinched. He was sporting about three days’ worth of stubble and was overdue for a haircut. He cringed at the feel of his wet shirt peeling away from his torso and tossed it aside. The portrait of Mariana stared at him in the mirror, reversed, the large, innocent eyes boring into his. He stared at it without blinking until his eyes began to water and her image swam and rippled out of focus.
Mari couldn’t forgive him because she was dead. It was a truth he had been forced to come to terms with, though one that still proved a hard pill to swallow. There could be no atonement for what he had caused, and he felt certain he would answer for it when the time came to meet his maker. If such an entity even existed. Mateo had his doubts—had wrestled with them since going off to war had ripped the blinders of youth and optimism off his eyes. But Mariana had believed deeply enough for both of them, so much so that Mateo couldn’t contemplate death without at least considering what might await on the other side of it.
What else would he be forced to answer for? He counted his offenses while flipping on the shower and waiting for the water to warm. His recklessness and lack of care for anyone but himself in his younger years. His arrogance and his pride. The ambition that had caused him to step over a trail of corpses on his road to success. His neglect of Angelica after Mari’s death. His practice of using and discarding women to fill the yawning voids gaping within him.
He had done it just last night, using Melody as a soothing balm for his pain. He had invaded her body, split her open and filled her with himself with no thought of the dangers or the consequences. He had even neglected to think about protection, which he had always been a stickler for—both in his days of bachelorhood and after Mari. As the hot water melted the tension from his muscles, his blood heated with a predictable response. He sighed and willed the nagging erection back down, trying to tear his mind away from memories of Melody and failing miserably. As steaming water swirled down the drain, taking with it sweat and anguish, he relived the moment he had come inside of her with startling clarity.
In the seconds following the volatile moment, Mateo had convinced himself that it had been an accident. A mistake. He’d been caught up in the moment, brimming with need and desire after trying for so long to contain it. The women he’d fucked over the past few months had only ever taken the edge off. Everything he had been holding back, every urge he had experienced at the sight of Melody, had been set free, allowed into manifestation by his mouth, his tongue, his hands, his cock.
In the bright light of day, he was forced to face the truth. He had known exactly what he was doing. He had felt the orgasm coming, had known seconds before it had happened that he was about to spill inside her. Instead of pulling out, he had pushed in, burrowing himself as deep as he could go and holding his breath for the moment he would achieve a release to rival all releases. And God, what a release it had been. She had left him wrung dry, exhausted, and vibrating from head to toe with sensation. For the first time in a year, he had felt something other than raw, unrelenting pain. He had felt a connection with someone, a soul-stirring shift that had allowed something to fall in place.
It can’t happen again.
He repeated the words to himself over and over again while reaching out to switch the water to cold. He cursed and shivered under the spray but held himself still with an iron will. He wouldn’t even entertain thoughts of getting himself off to the memory, because it would only lead to one outcome. An outcome he must avoid now at all costs.
His mounting obsession with Melody presented more than one problem for him. In addition to complicating the case, it also endangered her. If he was seen hanging around her too much, someone might get suspicious and start asking questions. They might figure out that he was a federal agent. Melody had warned him that if anyone even thought she was feeding him information, she would pay for it. The UNSUB had been watching him, stalking him, cataloging the details of his life to use as weapons. Just because Mari was gone didn’t mean the UNSUB had averted his eyes. If he was still watching, he would be able to see what Mateo could no longer hide.
And there was the biggest problem of all. He had begun following Melody out of curiosity and suspicion, but what he had discovered filled him with something else entirely. Something dark and feral and dangerous. Something visceral. Something that had convinced him that he needed to be the one to save her, protect her. It had caused him to pin her to a wall and expose what little truths she allowed him. It had spurred him to mark her, claim her, pull her tight against his chest and lash out at anything that tried to come near her.
But last night’s dream had reminded him of one very simple fact.
It was Mari’s connection to him that had been her downfall in the end. His influence, his skills, his determination … none of it had been enough to keep her safe. What made him think he could do any better for Melody, especially considering her potential involvement in organized crime?
You think this will end with her?
Yes, Mateo thought while dressing for the field office. Yes, it will end with her. It will if the last thing I fucking do.
He fired off a text to Donovan apologizing for being late and promising to arrive at the office as quickly as possible. As he strode toward the door, he noticed the manila envelope on the floor for the first time. Someone had slid it under the crack while he was sleeping. Frowning, he stooped to pick it up, turning it over to find a sticky-note attached.
Careful with this one, White Rabbit. She’s fragile.
-Hatter
Mateo couldn’t move or breathe for what felt like all of five minutes. The envelope shook in his unsteady hand, Darcy’s messy scrawl on the note wavering before his eyes. The folder was thick, stuffed with the information he’d been waiting for. The truth about Melody.
Backing toward the bed, he sank onto it and finally steadied his hands enough to open the envelope. His throat squeezed around his airway. A heavy weight settled in his belly as he pulled out a sheaf of documents. The top page had been turned upside down, as if taunting him with a question.
Are you sure you want to go down this road?
Once he flipped this page, everything would be laid bare. Every truth he’d ever wanted to know about Melody would be in his hands. Relief tangled with anxiety in his gut in a toxic mix. He wasn’t certain yet what he might find or what it might mean. He only knew that like the woman herself, this file called to him, drew him in, demanded his attention.
He couldn’t turn away. Not now. Not when he finally held the truth in his hands. A truth he would accept no matter the outcome.
