Page 43 of H E R
My little fox dances in the birdhouse tonight and she looks fucking riveting. I almost laughed out loud when I saw her mask, as if hot-wired to my thoughts and drawn to it as it sat among all other options. She believes her identity is safe, and that might be so, but not from me. I can single her out while blindfolded in a crowded room. In fact, every woman here is blurred, drawn out from my vision like a filter, dimming away all flesh that isn’t hers.
She looks sad tonight, and I can’t help feeling responsible.
The death of her parents weighs heavily on her this evening, and although knowing that their killers have been extinguished brings her peace, she’s upset at the fact that she wasn’t solely responsible for bringing them pain. If only I could tell her she was. I reminded them of their victims, making them scream out their names while they begged for their miserable fucking lives.
Niki comes alive in this element of toxicity. She desires nothing more than to be consumed by her darkness, to be saved from the nothingness she feels inside. She wants something to bring her to life, and she clings to the addicting sensation of desire and sin because it makes her feelsomething. The adrenaline pulses through her and me both, and I know exactly what she’s going through.
I want to set her free, to open the door of her cage and seep into the crevices of her lonely soul and steal her pain. She doesn’t know how strong she is, but I’ll remind her. My little fox carries the world on her shoulders, and it’s got her all knotted and torn. I can see her leaning into the shadows that soothe her, begging for me to guide her through it so that she may come out on the other side complete, the hole in her heart filled and patched up. Filled with my heart, sewn up by my hands.
She has the power to bring me to my knees, and she doesn’t even fucking know it. But she will. Out of all the eyes pinned on her, she sensesme. She’s looked at no one else but me tonight, and she doesn’t even realize who I am just yet.
I lean back and call a server over. She’s dressed in nothing but a black thong and nipple clamps that connect in the center by one word—slave. I hand her my empty glass and another materializes. I scan the room; all eyes are on my Niki. Many have added their silver cards into her glass bowl, requesting a private show.
Over my dead body.
I don’t give a fuck if they watch her. Let their eyes feast on what they will never have. She’s mine. But I’m certain they’ll try to get their hands on her.
The people employed byNym-Phoabide by strict rules. Most servers are up for grabs, and unless they are distinguished by color-coded collars that dictate their status, they’re basically there for the taking.
Niki doesn’t wear a collar, just some necklace that blends with her uniform for the night. Her beautiful long neck is bare of claim. I’ll have to remedy that.
My phone vibrates in my chest pocket, and I ignore it. Cell phones are prohibited in this establishment.
The invisible earpiece in my left ear reads the message for me. It’s from Jason.
Shit. What the hell is he getting himself into? I stand and make my way to the back. Niki’s shift will be over soon, and I’d rather she have a ride home than be bumming one from any of these fuckers. After watching her get out of the old beat up truck, I connected the plates to one of her aliases. She uses it sparingly. I’m not sure for what exactly just yet, and as far as everyone else is concerned, she hitches rides or walks. She’s good at remaining undercover, my clever fox.
I don’t even try to build a backstory or create an excuse as I wait out front for Niki and Jasmin. I’ve taken my jacket and tie off, threw them in the trunk, and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. I unbuttoned the top, just to appear more casual. I’m leaning on the passengerdoor, and as soon as they walk out, I open it. My little fox glares at me and her friend fails to mask the stupor on her face.
“We have a ride,” Niki snaps.
My lips quirk up at the edge and I furrow my brows. “I don’t give a fuck. Get in the car, Niki.”
She glares up at me, her thick lashes alluring in the dim light. Her face is flushed and sweaty, and she crosses her hands over her chest. She’s changed and wears a simple white t-shirt and loose black shorts and sneakers. Her hair is gathered in a bun atop her head. I approach her and take the backpack from her. “Get in.”
Jasmin reaches out and grips Niki’s arm. “You too,” I tell her.
Niki rolls her eyes, and just when I think she’s readying herself for a heated argument, she glowers, but languidly makes her way into the car, a tired Jasmin not far behind. Once they’ve both climbed in, I close the door and make my way to my seat and we’re on the highway in less than two minutes.
“You can’t make this a routine, rookie.”
I watch her reflection in the rear-view mirror. She’s angled herself to lean against the window and her forehead is pressed up against the glass dismissively, her lids heavy and threatening to give out. Jasmin leans on my girl’s shoulder, and she yawns and then cuddles into her. Anyone else unaware of their history would think they’re blood-related. They look nothing alike, but their bond is strong. I’ve met fraternal twins that look nothing alike. That can easily be applied to them.
My little fox is exhausted, but she refuses to let her guard down. She adjusts herself so that her friend can get comfortable.
“Why not? I was in the area, and we’re headed in the same direction. It’s not like you haveyour own wheels,so you can commute in a safe manner to and fro.” I raise my brows at her.
She turns to peer at me and purses her soft, pouty lips. I want to hold them between my fingers and then nibble on the skin. She looks spent, and I almost regret throwing that comment out there to wrack her brain about it. I want her to know that I have discovered absolutely everything she hides from everyone outside her brother and adoptive sister. Including Noah.
“It’s not really your concern how I get around, Detective. And our neighbors are already questioning why you’re there,” she says sleepily.
I scowl at her. I think I prefer it when she calls merookie,though that’s far from what I am.
At twenty-eight years old, I have more experience than your typical veteran who’s been on the job for twenty-odd years. I was adopted into a long family line of CIA agents. I joined the Marines as soon as I graduated high school, ranked at the top of my class, and joined the FBI right after serving my term. Now I work for a ghost agency that sends agents out as an undercover Internal Affairs officer with intent to uncover corruption within the force.
But the pet name has grown on me, and the way Niki delivers it makes it seem as though she has uncovered something new in me. Something onlysheowns. But when she calls me Detective, she’s annoyed and wants me far away. It unnerves me. That’s something Ican’tdo.
“Well, let’s agree to disagree, then,”my little fox.