Page 29 of One
And that’s when I notice that Polsner’s attention is laser focused on Michael. It’s too keen to mean nothing. Almost vulturine. I can see interest in his eyes. A hounding curiosity. It incites a tsunami of possessiveness to wash over me.
I pull a glove off and lift my bare hand to Michael’s nape, encircling it possessively and stroking my thumb on the side. Michael stops talking to look at me for a second, but then turns toward Polsner and resumes their conversation, tripping adorably on a couple of words. His pulse is running under my fingers, and the redness on his cheeks is spreading by the minute. Whether it’s caused by embarrassment or pleasure—or both—I can’t tell. Doesn’t really matter.
My proprietorial gesture is a quick way to make a point to the detective. Showing him Michael is taken. And I don’t fucking share. I almost hope Polsner will try to challenge me. A zing of excitement rolls over me at the thought of what I could do to him. Ruin his life—since unfortunately I cannot kill him—for daring to think he could steal from me.
The detective’s eyes fall on my hand and then lift to mine. My stare is empty, and I push a cold smirk on my lips.
“Michael’s foot hurts, so if you could come back later and let us work…” I say, using an overly dry tone.
“Sorry about that. We appreciate you coming here anyway,” Polsner says, looking at Michael. My hand tightens slightly around his neck, but a crooked, wicked smile kicks up the side of my mouth at Polsner’s defiance. One step, and I will destroy him.
Diaz strolls back, pushing pause on my annihilation plans. He tells his partner they need to go back to the precinct.
“We’ll contact you later,” he says before they leave.
Michaels turns to me, his eyebrows kicked up in question.
“What?”
“What’s with the dominating hand around my neck?” He leans back to better display my fingers still curled on his smooth skin.
“Just clarifying the situation to the detective,” I slowly utter.
“What situation?” Michael sounds breathless.
I smirk smugly.
“I’m not a possession,” he tries to argue.
Silly piglet.
I capture his mouth in a punishing kiss, nipping, sucking, and biting his lips till they turn red and swollen. One of my favorite sights. “The faster you finish, the faster we can go home,” I whisper, letting him imagine what I’ll do to him when we get there. He sighs, but then shakes himself from the lusty haze and goes back to his job.
“Attaboy.”
“Knock it off!”
I’ve never smiled this much.
I’m once again in my family home garage. I sway my leg over my bike. Hooking my helmet on the handle, I unzip my leather jacket while passing the wall hiding the base entrance, and go through the door that lets me inside the wide front foyer of the house. My boots make a squeaky noise on the waxed white marble floor as I walk by the sitting room and then the parlor. The drawing room door is closed, as is the dining room. Ferdinand, the butler, must be in the kitchen chatting with the chef. I keep going, reaching the corridor and turning right. My feet move toward Meg’s office.
I left Michael at his place, sleeping. It took him three more hours to finish his meticulous autopsy on the body. He double checked everything and then contacted the detectives over the phone, since they were stuck at another crime scene. I kept stealing quick glances at him when I thought he wasn’t paying attention. But each time he caught me, his expression softened before he went back to his task.
Unfortunately, there were no saliva residuals among the victim’s strands. But Michael did such diligent work, and that’s why he conked in the taxi on the way back after I forced him to take more painkillers. So I tucked him into bed and decided to go talk to my mother while he was out. Rami called me to update me just as I was about to leave the apartment.
The robber’s fingerprints didn’t belong to anybody in the police criminal database. And the gun he used was reported stolen a week ago by a Ms. Scalini, a sixty-four-year-old woman working as a maid for a cleaning company. Rami checked her bank accounts and any possible link to shady businesses, but on paper she looked clean. He’ll keep digging. He also sent me the police files for the Rope Killer case, which I’ll be checking later.
Before hanging up, I asked Rami to keep an eye on the cameras on the streets around Michael’s building.
Leaving him was hard. Clingy isn’t an adjective I ever thought somebody would throw my way. My foster brother did. And I don’t give a fuck. I need to be sure Michael is safe. And being with him is the best way I can protect him. But Meg has a lot of explaining to do. I need answers.
I knock on the polished, dark oak door and wait. This is Meg’s family home. A three-story mausoleum filled with priceless antiques—invaluable paintings, Persian rugs, and heirlooms fill every ample room. I was raised here with the others. Although, we spent a lot of time at the group home as well. I never understood why Meg kept the place unchanged. She hated her parents. They got rich through shady deals and criminal connections. And she’s been trying to atone for their sins all her life. Gabe thinks that’s why she took care of us.
I’m not interested in her motivations. I’d be one of those serial killers the police are trying to catch if it wasn’t for her and Linda, and the alternative path they showed me.
I can almost hear the echo of innumerable memories bouncing off the pure white walls and alabaster columns. They’re silenced by Meg’s voice inviting me through the door. I enter, walking purposefully until I reach one of those cream armchairs. She changed the fabric after Uri and Rague almost set one on fire when we were kids. But apart from that, everything looks the same.
“Raphael, what a nice surprise.” She smiles sweetly. “What is it?” she asks, studying me closely.
