Page 105 of A New Days Don

She should go wait in the car.

As quick as the thought comes, Mila shakes her head, “Don’t tell me to go back to the car. I’m going in there.”

My mouth opens, but for the first time in my life, I am at a loss for words. She knew what I was thinking. She knows me well enough that she knew I was going to send her off.

I tug Mila into me, pressing my lips on hers. She gasps into the kiss, trying to pull away, most likely to question me given what we are trying to accomplish, but I don’t fucking care. As if she understands I need this, which I’m starting to think she does, she melts into me, kissing me back with as much passion as I give her.

“Take this gun. I want you to shoot. If you feel threatened, don’t hesitate. I don’t fucking care if it’s Ren or Alverez, you shoot first then question it later.” I all but beg her, pressing one of my guns into her palm. If she leaves us all dead in her wake, I don’t care, as long as she lives.

She nods, and that’s all the confirmation I need before I try the door handle. It pops open, and I freeze. Nobody leaves their door unlocked in Vegas. This isn’t some quaint little town.

Were they expecting us?

I grab my phone and shoot a text to Ren.

There is no way a measly scumbag doctor with the extracurriculars of raping and murdering women would know we were coming to his doorstep this morning.

Stepping into the brightly lit home, there is an eerie silence that envelopes Mila and I. Goosebumps rise up my arms in awareness.

“Wh–” I raise my finger to my lips, silencing Mila as we slowly creep through the foyer, making our way deeper into the premises.

The smell of something burning seeps through the air as we walk carefully into the kitchen. The sound of the sink running makes me pause behind the wall that opens into the dining room and open concept kitchen. All the curtains are open, allowing the natural light to flutter in, yet the lights in the hall are on.

“Stay behind me,” I whisper, stepping closer to the opening.

That’s when a distinctly stale smell hits me.

Metallic. Decay. Rot.

The mix is familiar from years of dealing with men at various stages of their decomposition. But my heart begins to thunder heavily in my chest as I think about the woman inching closer behind me.

I round the corner to a massacre. Blood pools below an ornate dining table set with three plates. Two of the three are finished, and one is half eaten.

Blood splatter is everywhere. Against the tapestry hanging from the wall near us, all over the table and plates, and tracked across the floor in footsteps. Whoever did this was either careless or wanted us to walk in on this.

Mila turns pale beside me. Her eyes widened at the three deceased bodies with their necks slit or a bullet between the eyes. The young woman in the kitchen, lying on her back with her neck slit, still has her eyes wide in horror. Meanwhile, the couple lies one with a bullet wound, the other with stab wounds. Among the two bodies in the dining room is Dr. Mitch Alverez.

Ren and Raphael both curse as they walk into the scene. Mila pulls her phone out of her pants pocket with trembling hands. She begins to type away, but I put my hand on hers.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

“We need to call for backup. This is a crime scene.” Despite the nerves wracking her body, her voice is calm and strong as steel.

“The same team that has put roadblocks up every which way in your investigation?” I raise a brow, “Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious? The team that is supposed to be helping keep the city safe is doing everything in their power to make sure that pathetic waste of space is walking free.”

Once again, she takes a pause. She knows it’s true. Her team has been corrupted, and who knows for how long. She can’t trust them.

“We need to get analysis done.” Mila insists, and I nod to Ren and Raphael.

“Tell them what you need from this scene, and they will get it for you and more.”

Mila nods as I begin to look around, taking in the nail marks in the table and blood under the wife’s nails. There was a struggle, and by the panties torn on the ground, soaking in the blood, the man who murdered Alverez knows we are getting close, and he’s getting sloppy. Frantic.

He has evolved past sex workers if he has so readily fucked a stay-at-home wife before murdering her, or perhaps his lizard brain couldn’t discern the difference in his frenzie.

Chapter 42

Mila