Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

ZANE

A nother day, another case—or ten.

I’ve been at the tenth precinct for the last five years or so. It’s cramped and the building is old, but the people are nice to work with for the most part, which is more than I can say about my last assignment. If you look hard enough you can find bad apples anywhere, but the bad apples were plentiful at my last precinct.

I caught one officer sneaking coke from the evidence room. Come to find out he was being paid to make evidence disappear. His wife mysteriously found out about his arrangement the next day and left with their kids. She was eager to go, especially after she realized her and the kids weren’t seeing any of the extra money he was making. That piece of garbage had a mistress in Queens that got to live a lavish lifestyle from his secret paydays.

Another officer would trade “special favors” with sex workers in lieu of being arrested for solicitation. Turns out not all of them were willing to participate in that little trade, and he may have found himself at the bottom of the Hudson for that one.

The biggest discovery was when a certain lieutenant got popped for installing cameras in the female officer showers and live streaming it on the dark web. That particular incident took some digging, but we went about his justice a different way. The legal way. That lieutenant is now serving his sentence at Attica Correctional. It helped further convict him that one of the women filmed was the granddaughterof the Police Commissioner.

All in all, even though the walls here are more gray than white, I’m happier here.

As I stand in the break room waiting for my coffee, I think of all the other things I could be doing today. Hanging out with Rio at his mom’s house while she makes us empanadas, getting drunk at the Black Horse, lazing about on the couch, or getting to know a gorgeous pottery teacher.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I set down the file on the warped laminate counter and think through the details of another missing person’s case I was assigned when I walked in.

Ava Thomas, sixteen-years-old, last seen at Sunny’s Market, three blocks from her home.

This is the fifth missing person’s case this month. I can’t legally prove it, but I know what it means. They’re taking more women and children, and they are not slowing down any time soon.

Bracing my hands on the counter, I drop my head forward. My mind instantly going back to her .

What the hell happened this morning?

Putting one foot in front of the other towards the door was more than a chore. It was damn near impossible. I just about turned right around, went back into Clay Creations, and kissed the hell out of that woman. If I didn’t have to get to work, I would have considered doing it right then.

I mean, kissing her is definitely going to happen one day because holy shit . Why was I so grossly underprepared for the beauty that is Spencer Gray?

Her gaze ignited something in me, and I know I never want to lose it. Her beauty alone commands attention, but those eyes. The depths of sorrow and pain. I want to dive in and discover the cause then erase it for her so she knows nothing but joy.

Her smooth, golden oak skin shined just like I’m sure it would at any time of day. I mull over the way her cheeks heated when she caught me checking her out. I was eager to see if that color made its way across her chest. Her long dark hair looked like swirls of coffee as it sat in waves pushed forward over her shoulder.

If she thinks she’s hiding under those clothes, she needs to think again. You can’t hide a body like hers under a baggy shirt. Nothing could hide the swell of her tits or the way her hips flare out in a way that has me longing to use them to pull her close. And her long, lean legs in those damn leggings, perfect for wrapping around my waist—or my head.

My dick twitches at the thought. Thank you to whoever brought leggings into women’s fashion. Considering I’m at work, right now probably isn’t the best time to sport a semi.

I have never felt the urge to be around someone all the time, especially within minutes of meeting, but with Spencer, I would happily bask in her light every day. It’s clear she has her own strength. I only want to add to it.

I already know I’ll go back to her later, just to check on her and do my neighborly duty. That’s all it is. No big deal. Doesn’t matter that I live in the Bronx, Spencer and I are basically neighbors.

It has nothing to do with the fact that when we touched, I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and take her home where I could fuck her all day and night.

Nope. Not the reason.

Shitty coffee brewed and file in hand, I head back to the mountain of case files also known as my desk.

The movies got one thing right, police station coffee sucks ass. You would think after the first year of drinking this shit, I would go to Starbucks instead. But no, here I am ten years later still consuming this sad brew, willing it to get tasteful with each gulp.

Who was it that said the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome? Well, that’s me. Insane.

I take another sip from the chipped white mug.

Yeah, it’s still shit.

Looking over the file, I’m stopped in my path to my desk.

“Hey! I’m Liam James.”

He’s young, probably in his early twenties, with ash brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin. Very average looking. Even his clothing is plain. The good news is we don’t have Crazy Sock Day here at the precinct.

I glance at the man’s expectant outstretched hand. I don’t touch others, not even something as simple as a handshake. The feeling makes me want to crawl out of my skin. I get this buzzing in my ears and feel like I’m going to explode at any moment. I get plenty of sneers and odd looks when I don’t reach my hand back. But I don’t want to, so I shouldn’t have to. Some think I’m being a snob, but it’s more like saving those around me from potential mass murder.

Very few people are allowed to touch me. Two to be exact. Rio, because he’s always made me feel comfortable, his eyes never contain judgment and always remain soft when gazing at me. And Asher, but we’ve only hugged a handful of times. That’s it, no one else.

Now, I should add Spencer to that list. I didn’t even think twice about shaking her hand earlier. All I knew was that I needed to feel her.

Now is not the time, Kingston. No semis.

Ever since I survived my foster parents, Teresa and Michael Brunson, I can’t stand the brush of another’s skin against mine. I can handle the whispers about the strange detective, they don’t bother me.

Liam drops his hand and awkward silence ensues. I don’t know what he expects from me here. It’s not like we’re partners.

Oh shit. Did Captain Abrams get me a new partner?

“Zane Kingston.” I give him a simple head nod and step around him.

Liam recovers quickly and follows me. “I know. I figured I would introduce myself since we’re going to be working together.”

Fuck. I get to train the new guy.

His energy is too bright. Too high. This job is going to kill that quick.

Sighing at my dismal desk, I unload my hands. My workplace is plain and standard. I have no need for photos or anything like that, plus there’s no room for personal effects when the hunk of metal is covered in case files.

I peer at the desk in front of mine. It’s been empty since I transferred, but now there’s a cardboard box that no doubt contains Liam’s things.

Liam continues, “I’m excited to work together. It’s going to be great. I have so many questions. Like how did you catch the Midnight Rose Rapist?”

That case was actually more simple than people know. I narrowed down his comfort zone, staked out the bar I was sure he would hit next, and boom. There he was pretending to help a woman he drugged. Of course, the resources I used to find him will never become public knowledge since it wasn’t exactly legal. What happened after I followed him home didn’t follow the letter of the law either, but no one questioned when I brought him in and the bastard had two black eyes. Once he was taken care of, I made sure the evidence I logged was obtained by legal means.

I don’t answer Liam. I just lean back in my crappy desk chair and let him ramble, and ramble away he does.

I catalog each detail he gives me. The facts he’s sharing will help when I look into him later.

Two kids, married six years, his wife was his high school sweetheart, grew up in Brooklyn. It’s a cute story.

Honestly, this guy really should be careful about who he gives this information to.

“Kingston!” Captain Abrams calls and stops next to me before I get my next sip of my sad excuse for coffee.

“Yes, sir?” I sit up in my chair as it creaks.

Captain William Abrams is stout and just a few inches shorter than me. The only sign of aging on the man is the white hair peppering the sides of his head and small beard. Captain Abrams is a good man. I would know, I checked him out when I started working here. He’s close to retirement, but you can’t tell. He doesn’t know how to slow down. Abrams is a native, he grew up here and is passionate about keeping the people safe. He’s been especially worked up about the recent increase in missing women and girls. He’s a father and a husband. I can’t imagine what it’s like to worry about the women in his life on a daily basis.

Whoever is abducting people off the streets, doesn’t have a type. Captain thinks we just have some crazies out and about right now, but I know the real answer.

“Meet your new partner.” Captain tilts his head towards Liam.

“Already done, sir.”

“Good. The missing persons case you got this morning. The girl’s sister witnessed it. Go talk to her and see if she can remember anything. I want to know what the hell is going on here and I want that information yesterday.”

“I’m on it, Captain,” I reply dutifully.

“Take James with you.”

“Come on, newbie. I’m driving.” I nod at Liam, set down my lousy coffee on my pile of casework, and head out.

Time to break in the new guy.

Rolling up to Central Park, I turn to Liam. “Stay here.”

“What? Why? Shouldn’t I come with you as back up?”

“Hank spooks easily. If he sees you, he’ll bolt,” I raise my eyebrows to emphasize my point that we can’t lose Hank and the leads he may give us. “Stay.”

I exit my car with the hotdog, no ketchup with mustard, and the can of coke I made Liam buy earlier. I ignore my partner’s protests and stalk off into the park. Food always softens Hank up a bit. Leisurely walking down the path, I easily blend in with office workers enjoying lunch in the park.

While looking for Hank, I think back to what we learned from Ella Thomas, Ava’s sister. Ella is a few years younger than Ava and idolizes her sister. Which is why she was following Ava to Sunny’s Market yesterday. Ella saw a white van with no windows speed down the street right towards Ava. They stopped and two men with ski masks, dressed in black, jumped out of the sliding door, and snatched Ava. Ella said the guys put a hand over Ava’s mouth and that she didn’t fight long. Before she was even in the van Ava “went to sleep,” which means the kidnappers used chloroform.

Ella’s statement is huge. We finally have a fucking idea how these guys operate.

I spot Hank leaning against a sycamore like some bad boy that suburban moms warn their daughters to stay away from, which I guess he is. He’s only twenty-one-years-old with shaggy, dark blonde hair and gray eyes. His skin is covered in freckles from hanging out in the streets all hours of the day every day. He’s only a few inches shorter than me and skinny, but he’s lean and packs a punch.

I busted Hank eight years ago when he was just starting out as an errand boy for the annoying as hell MS-13. His mom was never home. She goes by Roxanne on her corner, but her real name is Alice. I don’t judge her for doing what she has to in order to provide for her kid, but her absence didn’t go unnoticed and left plenty of time for Hank’s hands to get him into trouble. A lot of trouble.

When I need to find Hank, I know he’ll be in this part of the park. He sells whatever he can to whoever he can. I understand his lack of morals when it comes to not caring who buys the shit he sells. When it’s survival of fittest and a boy becomes a man at a young age, he doesn’t give a fuck what he has to do to make sure he’s breathing at the end of the day.

I wait a good twenty yards away, watching him finish his sale. He hands a man wearing a suit and tie a small bag with white powder and the man hands over some folded bills. As the man slinks away—I’m sure to find the closest bathroom so he can do a quick line before heading back to his boring as hell desk job—Hank nods at me indicating he’s ready.

He tries not to eye the hotdog in my hands, but I don’t miss the lick of his lips. Kid probably hasn’t eaten today. I know some nights he doesn’t even go home, and if he has to he will skip a meal choosing to feed his overworked mom instead.

Handing over the food, I wait for him to devour it. I make a mental note to bring him two next time. Maybe some fries or a bag of chips as well. Once he’s done, I hand over the drink, but he takes his time sipping instead of chugging it.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I keep my face blank. The little shit is always trying to get a reaction much like Rio does. He should know by now I’m not easy to rile up.

“Have you heard anything about Cain?”

He lets out a low whistle. “Still going for the big fish, huh? Mr. Hot Shot bagged himself a serial rapist and now thinks he has the balls to take on the head honchos?”

Still no reaction. I have perfected my poker face over the years. I had to at a young age. Reactions meant more pain, so I keep my face empty of emotion. Not even a blink.

Understanding that he’s waiting for payment, I give it in terms of a promise. “I’ll go pick up your mom and hold her for twenty-four hours.” Hank doesn’t fault his mom for her job, but he doesn’t like that she has to do it. Hank has always seen himself as her protector.

Once when Hank was seventeen, I had to pull him off of Fat Bruno, Alice’s pimp, after the dumbass backhanded Alice in front of Hank. Fat Bruno ended up with two black eyes, a fractured cheekbone, and some gnarly bruised ribs. I threw the kid a bone and shoved the pimp out the door and told him to forget it ever happened or I would bring him into the station and spread the word that he was a snitch. I knew Hank would be tried as an adult if charges were pressed. Thankfully, Fat Bruno left quietly, but he didn’t leave Alice alone. She was back out on the street the next night.

Like I said, survival of the fittest.

Plus, who calls themself Fat Bruno? The guy’s real name isn’t even Bruno. It’s Arthur.

Hank doesn’t bite at my first offer. He never does. You don’t survive the streets of New York without learning how to haggle.

I stick out my hand discreetly slipping a hundred into his. He nods then offers up his info. “All I know is he’s taking healthy women and kids.” His eyes wander to the left a little so I narrow my gaze. If the foster system taught me anything, it’s how to read someone. I had to if I wanted to avoid the wrath of Teresa and Michael.

“What else?”

The muscles in Hank’s neck strain. “That’s it, man.” He’s trying to hold out and be a tough guy, but he always caves. If he doesn’t give me information, then he won’t have me to help with his mom. So again, I wait. Some people will relent and all you have to do is wait them out, and I know Hank will give in. He needs me gone so he can see more customers.

Two minutes go by and Hank starts tapping his foot. I begin my countdown.

Three, two…

“I’m not sure if it’s true. Probably just a rumor.”

There he goes giving me just what I need. Good Hanky Boy.

I grunt, not giving anymore prompting than that to continue.

“Cain has some ink on his forearm. A skull with a snake coming out of its eyes surrounded by lilies.”

Giving him a quick nod, I turn on my heel without any parting words. I may have a soft spot for the kid, but that doesn't mean I’ll coddle him.

He’s tough. He doesn’t understand kindness. In Hank’s world, no one gives without expecting reciprocation.

I slide back into my car and eye Liam’s fingers drumming away rhythmically on the center console.

“So…what now?”

“We go arrest a prostitute.”

Liam rears back and stares at me like I have lost my mind. He’ll soon understand that I lost that over twenty-five years ago, along with my heart and soul in a two-story brick house in the suburbs of New Jersey.