Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (Love & Hate #3-4) Page 2

  This girl is no one to me, just some stranger.

  I let go of the girl and nearly enough punch Roger in the face for interfering. This whole thing couldn’t get any worse. My case is blown and there is no time to inform the station to block the roads.

  Rogers finally backs off and the girl strolls away. It stops pouring. She doesn’t look back, not even once, and I don’t want to show Rogers that there is something wrong with me.

  “I should have taken her to the station,” I say when we get into Rogers’s car. I know what he’s doing; he’s trying to cool me off. My muscles are stiff, and my heart pounds loudly in my chest.

  Rogers laughs. Fuck, this guy never takes anything seriously. I wish I could be as chilled as him. Maybe it will come with age. Everyone on the force tells me that I’m still young, only twenty-five, but I started out early.

  “There will be another time, buddy. You were alone, so maybe it was better that you didn’t go in,” he says.

  “Better? I want to kill that chick.”

  “She was kind of cute,” Rogers points out.

  I laugh, covering my uneasiness. “Cute? She looked like a witch. I’m not into that kind of shit. Besides, if it wasn’t for her, Knox’s team would already be behind bars.”

  “Maybe or maybe not. Man, chill. This probably wasn’t meant to be.”

  I don’t know what to think, but I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I cross paths with suicide girl.

  Chapter Two

  Two stings.

  A rush of uncontrollable anger keeps hitting me hard in the gut. I’m really, really fucked off with how this whole thing has turned out tonight. Rogers is yapping away, telling me that I haven’t thought this through, that my source didn’t give us enough time to get ready. He argues that we should have called for backup before the shit hit the fan. He can brag as much as he wants, but I know that Knox would have been mine tonight, if it weren’t for that girl.

  “Get some sleep, man. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rogers says, patting me on the back. I nod and get out of his passenger seat, wondering what the hell I’m still doing in this shitty town. Except I know it’s because I haven’t been involved with any big cases yet. My boss is reluctant to let me deal with serious stuff, so until then I’m stuck here.

  I don’t know what is with this weather, but it hasn’t stopped raining for days. It’s only September.

  Instead of driving home like I’m supposed to, I head towards St. Davies Avenue. It’s late, but I bet Kerry won’t mind getting cosy with me on a rainy night like this. I need to take the edge off my stress, forget about the fiasco, and the only thing that can put my mind at ease is a wild night with a beautiful and hot woman. On the other hand, maybe tonight will be different; maybe tonight we can stop pretending that we are both only interested in sex. Kerry is older than me, with some life baggage, but we get on. She makes me think that somehow I’m normal, not alone and empty.

  I rest my head on the wheel when the car stops outside her house. For some reason the doubts slip in and I start to wonder if this is really what I want. Denial. I have been telling myself for years that it’s okay to live this way, but deep down I want more from Kerry. My work has been filling the gaps that death dug, and I accepted it. Well, I have been accepting it for too long now. Deep down I crave affection, a long-lasting relationship. I want to let someone else in, experience what other couples have. I have fought with my emotions, tried to scratch the surface and tried to feel. I have been numb and emotionally unavailable for too long.

  Images of the bicycle girl’s grey eyes are swirling in my head. Water from my rain-soaked hair rolls down my face and I flinch.

  There’s no time for second thoughts. I pull out my phone and see that the screen is cracked. The girl on the bike has not only fucked up my case, but my mobile too. Now I have an excuse to replace the piece of shit.

  Kerry Williams works with me at the station. She deals with paperwork, phones and evidence. We’ve been seeing each other on and off for a good few months now, and this arrangement has been working out well for both of us. In the beginning I used to call her when I needed to get off and forget about mounting stress, but now I’m craving a different sort of relationship. Kerry isn’t particularly my type, but after being emotionally numb and lonely for years, that doesn’t matter. Relationships are still frightening, but maybe that’s why I don’t feel anything, because I’m afraid of getting rejected, of failing. I need to turn that spiking anxiety into real emotions.

  I moved away from home as soon as I could make it on my own. I’d had enough of London and couldn’t take living with my parents anymore. That pretended closeness was slowly suffocating me. They have been living off the state most of their miserable lives, never aiming for anything better, pretending that we were all a big happy family. I have never forgotten their abuse, their cruel rules. That wasn’t the life I wanted, and after Steph’s death, my goal was to join the police force, to ease the gut-wrenching guilt. University was easy. For some reason I never had to make much effort with coursework. My mind could just absorb all the information and remember all the facts. I received a distinction in criminology and managed to secure a place in the British Police Fast Track Programme, and went on to become one of the youngest inspectors in the country.

  The people that gave birth to me were supposedly proud. But my mother never understood my ambition. Well, she had barely any education and my father was too drunk to even know what was going on. After I moved, I cut contact with them. I was determined to live a better life.

  My long-term girlfriend, Stephanie, was murdered when she was seventeen. We were planning to move away in a couple of months, but then everything crashed and she was gone. I realise that I sometimes live like she never existed, and that is screwing with my head. Most of the time I feel guilty and alone. My life was never supposed to turn out like this.

  Steph was the main reason I aimed to get into the police: so I could finally understand what happened that night she died, to get justice, for her and partly for myself. The detective that investigated her case didn’t get anywhere and I was fed up with fighting over what was right or wrong. After the case was closed I decided to change my given name. Some police officers can be judgmental and I didn’t want to be linked to the case from eight years ago. I dropped my first name and started using the second one. No one ever called me Andrew, anyway, but after Steph’s passing, I officially became Micah Thomson. People in human resources knew about my other name, but my bosses never questioned me on it. My other identity was forgotten. That allowed me to distance myself from everything that went wrong in the past.

  When I got the badge and transferred to Braxton, things weren’t easy. Some of the officers couldn’t deal with the fact that I was ten years younger than them, that I was smarter and more efficient. I learnt the hard way to ignore the sniping and the snarky comments. It took me months to form some sort of trust at the station. Then two months ago the superintendent assigned me a partner. Brandon Rogers, a middle-aged and funny cop with a craving for doughnuts—the cliché. We clicked and we became a team. I found it easier to call him by his surname rather than his first name, and he didn’t mind.

  Now I’m right outside Kerry’s flat, wondering how to show that I’m ready to let her inside me. In the end I go ahead and knock. It takes her a while to open the door, and when she finally does, it looks like she’s been getting ready for bed. She’s wearing a light silky robe and she is barefoot.

  “What’s up, cowboy? Don’t you think it’s a bit late for a visit?” she asks, smiling, leaning over the threshold, staring at me with that familiar gleam in her eye. I don’t waste any fucking time on chitchat. The girl with the pink hair needs to fade away, fast; otherwise I won’t get any sleep tonight. I can talk to Kerry about my issues after I give her a mind-blowing orgasm.

  I push her inside and shut her door. She lives in a ground floor flat, a ten-minute drive from the station.

  “It’s n
ever too late for good screwing, hotness,” I say, grinning and bringing her to me, slamming my lips into hers. I can tell she just brushed her teeth, but it doesn’t matter. The kiss is violent and deep. I like when she melts into me, responding eagerly, our tongues connecting. Soon enough I get rid of her silky robe and discover that she is naked underneath. My cock gets hard as I grab her arse and lift her up. Our hot mouths are all over each other as we move towards her bedroom.

  “My, my, Micah, I like this rough you,” she purrs when I shove her down on her bed and get rid of my wet shirt. My body is cold, hair still damp from the rain—and because I landed in the puddle—but Kerry should warm me up quickly.

  She is spread naked on the bed, looking inviting, biting her lip suggestively. She has short blond hair, and without the usual heavy eyeliner, she looks more appealing. Stephanie liked a natural look; maybe that’s the reason I started sleeping with Kerry in the first place, because I wanted to distance myself from any kind of intimacy.

  “I’m soaked right through to my boxers,” I say, losing all my clothes, not quickly enough. “This will be hard and fast.”

  She giggles as I begin kissing her breasts and stomach. The smell of her skin drives me crazy, and my dick is already throbbing with need of release. I growl and spread her legs, running my mouth down her navel. She shudders, probably because the cold drops of water are dripping from my hair. There is nothing I can do about it, but that should add more unbelievable sensations to what I’m planning to do to her.

  Once I start licking her down between her firm thighs, the images of tonight’s disaster slowly fade away. It doesn’t take long to make her come. I’m that good and already imagining sliding down into her moist spot and fucking her hard until she can’t take it anymore. She grabs my hair and pulls, screaming her head off, her thighs trembling. Then it’s my turn. I bring her knees up and enter her fast, growling with approval. I begin to move inside her, and the pressure in my shoulders vanishes. I’m lost in the heat that deepens in my stomach, pounding her hard until she cries out, digging her nails into my back.

  The night is young, and when I’m done screwing the woman that I hoped would bring me back to life, I’m still emotionally numb—the hole in my chest remains unfulfilled. Anger ripples through me. I try to connect with her, imagining us together, living in a small house, somewhere outside the city. The images fade away as quickly as they appear.

  I can’t carry on living in denial, being okay with having no one who cares.

  Kerry drifts to sleep quickly and I stay up, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I would like her to be wrapped around my body, holding me close. Then I could whisper in her ear that we should give this a go, that we should start dating like other normal people do. Instead she turns around and forgets that I’m even here.

  So I turn away and go back to being numb.

  But as I lie here, the girl with the pink hair is in my head again, and no matter how hard I try, I keep seeing her.

  Several minutes later, Kerry turns back towards me. “Micah? Switch off that phone; we both have to be up early in the morning,” she moans, covering my phone with her palm. I inhale deeply, wondering if she is finally aware that I exist.

  “Go back to sleep, Kerry. Your orgasm was pretty intense. Or maybe you need another one—you know, as a reminder?” I challenge her, and instantly regret saying it.

  “No, one time is enough for tonight. You jumped on me so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to ask—where have you been?” she continues, opening her eyes.

  “Downtown, trying to catch Knox, but some stupid bimbo got in my way. On top of that, Rogers was late,” I say, wondering if I’ll get a bollocking from Clarke tomorrow for screwing this up.

  Kerry rubs her eyes and stares at me with a deep frown. “What exactly happened tonight?”

  “I crashed with a female cyclist and all my suspects got away. And I don’t think I’ll get a chance like that again,” I say, dismissing the strange sensation in my groin when I think about pinky head again.

  For a moment Kerry only stares back at me, not saying anything while I keep wondering if T fucked this up on purpose. He waited long enough with the phone call.

  “Micah, I think you’re a great inspector. The superintendent shouldn’t be questioning your abilities,” she says. I turn my head towards her, wondering what the hell she is talking about.

  “Kerry, what do you mean by that? What did Clarke say about me?” I demand, narrowing my eyes at her.

  “Nothing, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Micah. Just let me go to sleep,” she says, waving her hand.

  “Kerry, what the fuck did he say? I’m not in the mood for games, so you better start talking now.” I give her my hard impatient look.

  She presses her lips together and looks away. I know for a fact that Kerry loves spreading rumours. She has her circles that she hangs out with. I learnt that most cops are like a bunch of housewives; they can gossip pretty much about anything and anyone. She knows who’s screwing whom and she is close to old Clarke. The old bastard was reluctant to hire me, but he was pressured from upstairs. I had the best marks in the academy and in the end he had no choice. I’ve only been in Braxton for a year and so far I haven’t had a chance to handle anything big. The old guy should give me a chance. We both know that I’m ready.

  “I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. He thinks that you’re too young, too withdrawn to handle the Murray case. I’m sorry, Micah, but this is a lot of crap,” she says, touching my arm, like she wants to make me feel better. Fuck, this isn’t good, and after tonight I certainly won’t change his mind.

  My jaw is tight and I’m trying to breathe, anger overwhelming my insides.

  “What else? Seriously, Kerry… cut the crap. I’m a big boy, so I can handle any criticism that people throw at me,” I say, showing her that I’m calm and I’m not affected at all by what she revealed.

  “He thinks that you need to be more empathetic, less coldhearted. God, Micah, everyone knows that you’re tough and you can handle anything, but Clarke thinks that you still have a lot to learn. Your sarcastic mouth is holding you back.”

  Kerry has nerve saying something like that, and Clarke needs to start respecting me.

  “He has no fucking idea. Age is just a number.”

  “Micah, don’t worry about it. You’re a rising star. Reporters love you, and if you stick with me, you will get to the top. Now, it’s late and we need to get to sleep,” Kerry mutters and turns around to the other side. I set the alarm for the morning and lie down. Her words are still burning through me. I guess I failed again. We are still only fuck buddies, nothing more and nothing less. On top of that I’m numb, yet again.

  I have to prove to Clarke that I have some humanity left in me, that I can do what he wants. He’s older than my father and some of the guys at the station are twice my age. He just needs to give me a fucking chance.

  When I finally drift off, I’m back in my council estate, my street in London where the low-income housing is. Steph’s lying in a pool of blood, with her throat wide open. Then, everything turns. The girl with pink hair is laughing, calling me to come to her. I see myself walking through the empty street, talking to her, but she keeps running away and I can never get to her.

  ***

  After the alarm goes off in the morning and Kerry disappears into the bathroom, I jump off the bed and put my clothes back on. I scribble something on a paper, letting her know that I enjoyed myself last night, that we should do this again soon. Then I slip out before she has a chance to talk to me. Coward, I’m a coward. This is my chance to tell her what I really want and need. How am I ever going to change if I can’t have an honest conversation with the woman I’m sleeping with?

  I head home, feeling down. I rent out a small flat just outside Braxton. I have plenty of space to be on my own. Everything is basic; no pictures or posters, no personal touches. This is the way I like it. The people that gave birth to me hav
e never visited. We are not close; we had been once, but that’s in the past.

  I shower, thinking about Knox. There must be another way to do this. Rogers has nailed a few main dealers, but Knox is the one that I’m after.

  It takes me twenty minutes to sort myself out and look like a normal guy again. The situation at the station this morning might be tense, and I remind myself that I have to stay calm. Sometimes it’s hard to get used to the way things are run. It’s a small city, and everyone knows all the shitty things about each other.

  The car park is busy, and Kerry is already in, probably blabbing to other ladies about our eventful night. Maybe I made a mistake by fucking her last night. Now she knows that I don’t like being treated like a secondary inspector. She knows my weakness.

  I take the lift to the second floor and arrive at the office just before eight o’clock, still pretty much pissed off. I flop at the desk and start to wonder how I’ll catch Knox and prove that he supplies drugs all over town.

  A cup of coffee appears on the table right in front of me and I recognise Rogers’s gold cygnet.

  “What’s up, lover boy? You feeling better on this fine glorious morning?” he asks, sipping his coffee. Brandon Rogers is a newly married man and ten years older than me, which he finds pretty hilarious.

  “Fine, thanks, but you know I don’t do caffeine,” I tell him, pushing the cup away. I work out every day, take care of my body and don’t eat crap. It’s been like that from the beginning. Rogers calls me a health freak and an idiot, but I do like keeping in shape.