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“I wouldn’t have needed your help if you had—”
“Beggars, they say, can’t be fucking choosers,” I said with a bright smile—he might as well fucking go blind.
His mouth went into an O, and his eyes smoldered. The scorching intensity of his gaze paralyzed my lungs for a millisecond.
I felt the darkness seeping out of him in waves, and it coated my skin with the stark reality. This man could hurt me if he wanted, but I could do the same to him. I knew what he hid, and my strength stemmed from the knowledge he lacked.
He growled. He fucking growled. I saw the tiny cracks in his mask. The control slipped. Oh, I didn’t think it would be so easy to rile him.
Curious.
“You said you’d behave, Sinclair,” Detective Rishi said with a disappointed frown, punching him on his shoulder. The easy camaraderie between the two of them made me frown. I wondered how he could be friends with a cop after carving a man within an inch of his existence.
Ryden shrugged and gave me a smirk. He had let one moment of his anger spoil his mask, but now he was back. “She looks like she can take it.” His smile creased his eyes at the sides, transforming him into someone accessible.
“I can take it, but can you?” I gave him a challenging look, which he returned with a devilish grin.
“You know your report is ludicrous, Doctor West. The one responsible for Victor Bane’s death didn’t act on a mere impulse. It wasn’t a crime of passion. It was premeditated. Millicent couldn’t be that killer.”
“I could argue that your report on The Abstract Killer is nothing short of absurdity.” He stilled for a second, his eyes wide with something I couldn’t pinpoint. “However, I won’t ever say such a preposterous thing. I’m not a journalist, and it’d be foolish to make such a statement to someone of your professional caliber, Mr. Sinclair.” I bared my teeth at him, my smile shark-like.
“Ha! You just said it and then promptly went to make me look like a fool. I must admit, Red, you have a knack for subtle barbs,” he remarked, his eyes crinkling at the sides in a hint of amusement.
Did he just fucking call me Red like it was the most natural thing to do?
It must be one of his strategies to keep his opponent nervous.
I was momentarily distracted, but this was a game, and he wasn’t going to win. I batted my eyelashes, giving him my most innocent smile.
Men found me irresistible. Even though Ryden wasn’t like most men, perhaps he wouldn’t be that different. Even when they sensed danger, they willingly placed their trust in me when I fluttered my eyes and offered my most beguiling smile.
“Did I?” I hummed.
Victor was a piece of utter shit, and I was glad I took him out from the streets of Detroit. Ryden looked sharp as a tack, and I wondered if he’d fall for my lies just as easily as Detective Rosario had.
I had stumbled upon Victor accidentally when the dead body of Rebecca, was brought into my office. While doing an autopsy, I learned that she had tried to abort the child by means that weren’t safe. I had to cut the five-month-old fetus from her womb. The detectives ruled it out as a fatal accident, but the demons in me told me that there was more. When the inkling came, it only stopped with the truth. Digging deeper led me to Millicent Wark and, ultimately, to Victor.
“Ah, I forgot that you could take care of yourself, Doctor West. I have to leave now,” Detective Patel said with a smile in my direction and then glared at Ryden. “Behave.”
“I have to leave, too, Mr. Sinclair.” I looked at Ryden, my eyes challenging him, and he let out a loud breath, eyes darkening. “I’ve got something important to do. I can’t help you today.”
It was my power move.
Let’s see how he chose to move his piece now.
“No, you don’t. Your eyes are so damn honest, even when you’re lying…” he said, staring into my eyes. “So fucking gold.” It was like he was cursing my eyes. “Come, Doctor West. I’ll buy you a coffee, and we can talk about what a fool I am.”
17
KILLERS AND GODS
YARA
He looked so fucking confident. It would have usually made me bristle, but not when I knew that his confidence wasn’t a veil to hide his insecurities—many men use that as a mask, a pretense, but not Ryden. No, this man didn’t seem to have any insecurities.
He stood there, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, his eyes self-assured, all-knowing, as if he owned the room he stood in, and me.
Hell, no.
