Fractured Fear (The Devils of New York #1)

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

ASHER

R io and Zane are going to owe me Sal’s for a fucking year. I had to sit and watch this vixen in her tight ass pencil skirt and fuck me heels walk back and forth throughout her gallery all day. The fabric of her skirt perfectly hugged her waist and ass, an ass I’d be more than happy to sink my teeth into.

Then she went upstairs and just as I thought I’d get relief from the tightness in my pants, she changed into a pair of leggings. Fucking leggings! I was so engrossed with her body that I missed three people approaching the studio because she was bent over with her delectable ass in the air.

I’ve never been so hard just watching a woman. If I’m not careful, watching her is going to become my favorite pastime. A pastime I can’t afford.

She offered me water a couple times, but I refused. Water means needing to relieve myself which means having to take my eyes off of her. I don’t know if she has a golden pussy or what, but she has Rio and Zane wrapped around her perfect fingers…fingers I’d like to see wrapped around my cock.

I don’t like the distraction she’s been today. I need to focus on my case, on Cain. There’s no space for anyone else. There’s no space for anyone extra, and I can tell she’s more than extra. She’s a pain in my ass with sass effortlessly that pours out of her mouth. I’ve imagined, more than once, shutting her up by shoving my dick down her throat.

She can’t mouth off when with my cock in her throat.

At one point she disappeared without a word and came back with coffee. One for me and one for her. The brat had snuck out and gone to the coffee shop next door. Rookie mistake on my part, and I hate that she got my order right, black coffee.

Now I’m waiting for her to finish up with Paul so we can go upstairs. I pull out my phone to review my case notes to occupy my time.

Five murdered women. All of them fitting the exact same description: early to mid-twenties, tan skin, brown hair, brown eyes, with Latina background. They were all low-risk victims abducted from various places—one from a restaurant, two from their homes, and two from parking garages.

This guy is all over the place. He’s mobile, each woman was killed in a different city.

The only consistency between each woman is how he kills and displays them. He rapes them then strangles them to death. After, he cleans and dresses them in a silk wedding dress and lays them on the ground. They’re posed with a purple hyacinth clutched in their cold hands, resting on their chest.

I’m counting myself lucky the media hasn’t put it all together yet. If more bodies pile up, it’ll be my ass on the line. My supervisor isn’t happy that this psycho is still on the loose. Add in bad press and I’ll be getting reamed out by my boss at the office, and it’ll suck. A lot.

I tuck my phone in my pocket and run my hands through my hair.

A grunt pulls my attention away from my pity party. Spencer is struggling to get a bag of clay down from the top shelf of her stuffed storage closet.

“Let me help you,” I say as I step up behind her.

“No need. Go back to your perch, big guy. I got this.”

I rub my eyes, warding off a Spencer size headache. “You don’t need to be stubborn. I’m here. I’m tall. Let me help.”

“No. I don’t need you.” Each word is difficult for her to get out as she struggles to leverage the heavy block of clay.

Done with watching her battle and fail at what she can’t achieve, I reach over her and snag the clay from her hands. She turns in place and rests her hands on her curvy hips

“I had it handled.”

“Sure you did,” I say, humoring her, but she can read my sarcasm. “Where do you want this?”

She answers with a flat tone, “That table right there is fine.”

When I turn back around, Spencer is gathering her things preparing to leave.

“Don’t leave without me, Princess.” Her nostrils flare at the nickname.

Doesn’t she know the more she reacts, the more I’ll say it?

“How can I forget you? You take up so much fucking space it’s hard to miss you’re here.”

I raise my eyebrows at her in response.

“I can’t with you. It’s been a long day,” Spencer says as she massages her temples.

She turns to leave and I snatch her elbow, drawing her back to my front. I leave a little space so she can’t feel how her closeness affects me.

My jaw clenches. “I meant what I said. Don’t leave without me.”

“It’s not like I’m going far.”

“There you go with that mouth again.”

She throws her arms out to her sides. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.”

I pull her back so she’s behind me. “I go out doors first to check the area. When we go upstairs?—”

“You’re not coming upstairs with me.”

“Don’t argue. You’re not going to win.”

She rolls her eyes and I think about bending her over my knee to teach her a lesson.

“Keep pushing and see what happens.” Her eyes widen at my threat.

Turning away from her, I open the glass door and scan the street. I clock a couple of guys in hoodies and sweats two hundred yards away, huddled together. With the way their heads are bent together glancing up and down the street, I’m betting drug deal.

I also note a few women dressed like they are heading to the club, walking the direction away from us. Gender doesn’t matter, age doesn’t even matter. Evil is evil and evil wears many faces.

Deeming the street temporarily clear, I reach back for Spencer and lead her up to her apartment. On her doorstep is a large box that reads “Flor’s Arrangements.”

“Seems like you got an admirer.”

“If you say so.” Spencer shoulders past me to open the door.

I grab the box for her and haul it inside. It’s lighter than I thought it would be.

When I set the box down on the counter, Spencer is already walking back out of her bedroom in a baggy shirt and a sad excuse for shorts with how tiny they are. My gaze zeroes in on her exposed legs.

Talk about legs for days.

I clear my throat. “You going to open it?”

“I guess?” She shrugs a shoulder and grabs a black kitchen knife. She twirls it in her hand and approaches the box.

I never thought seeing a sexy woman wield a knife would be what gets me hard, but here we are and I’m not ashamed in the slightest.

“Know your way around knives?

“What? Oh. Not really. Just a little skill I picked up visiting my Abuela one summer.”

“Grandma liked to entertain herself with knives?”

My comment causes a laugh to break free from her mouth and just like that, I’m entranced.

I can’t go down this path. I’ve already been wrapped up in her orbit all day and she hasn’t given me more than a few sentences here and there. Rio and Z are already skirting the line of obsession. One of us needs to keep their head on straight.

“No,” she chuckles again. “Just some boy I met that summer.”

Boy? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. No boy needs to be showing her any skills .

Spencer gracefully slices the brown tape concealing the gift inside. As she reaches down with her delicate hands to remove the flowers, she jumps back and drops the vase. The clear glass shatters into a million tiny pieces across her pristine white tile.

I rush to her side and shove her behind me, alert and ready to take on the threat.

When I look down at the broken glass, I'm stunned into silence.

Purple hyacinths are spread amongst the spilled water and splintered vase.