Page 134 of Dark Romeo

Eddie Sanchez.

One of the men who tried to kidnap me. The one that Roman threatened in that warehouse. The one who gave us the name Goldfish.

“I wanted to kill him.” I remembered Roman’s face as he spoke these words to me, all twisted features etched in black hate.

I swallowed hard and stared at Eddie’s open eyes, the unthinkable rising to the surface of my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

Roman Tyrell did not kill Eddie Sanchez. He promised on his mother’s memory that he’d get Eddie to safety.

“Jesus,” Lacey said, “his zipper’s undone. His...thing’s hanging out. Like the poor guy just stopped for a piss.”

“Jules, you okay?” Espo was frowning at me.

“Fine.” I tried to school my features into one of professional distance. No one could know that the victim was one of the men who tried to rape and kidnap me.

“Do you know this guy?”

I shook my head, a little too hard, a little too quickly.

Lacey continued, “COD is a gunshot wound to the back of the head. Execution style. We’ll know more once I get his body back to the morgue. There’s a lot of blood here and lividity is fixed so it’s safe to say that he was shot here.”

“Do you know time of death yet?” I asked. If time of death was last night, then I know Roman couldn’t have done it. He was with me.

“I’m estimating some time two nights ago, but I’ll know more once I get him back to the lab.”

My head spun. That was the night that Roman had supposedly taken Eddie to safety. Roman had come to my apartment after he’d dropped Eddie off. But I had no idea what time that had been.

I shoved those thoughts away. No, I told myself firmly. No more of that. Roman Tyrell was not a murderer. He did not kill Eddie Sanchez just like he didn’t kill Vinnie Torrito.

I rode to the station with Espo as the skyline of Verona began to lighten, a great unease sitting like a jumbled ball of live wires in my belly. I pretended like I was taking a quick nap, slumped in the passenger seat, forehead leaning against the window, eyes shut. I could sense that Espo kept glancing over at me.

“So…new boyfriend, huh?”

I sighed internally and opened my eyes. No point in trying to pretend I was asleep.

What would Roman say if he knew someone had called him my “boyfriend”? Was he my boyfriend? It seemed such a juvenile term for what he was to me. “I wouldn’t call him a boyfriend, exactly.”

“Good for you. About time you got a little sumthin’ sumthin’.”

Roman’s fingers sinking into my wet folds…his tongue flicking against my sensitive bud…his thick cock rubbing against the deepest parts of me… I turned my face to look out the window in case Espo could see me flushing.

“Same guy who sent you those roses?”

My flush turned into an ache in my chest. “Yeah.”

“Well, I hope it works out.”

No, you don’t. Not if you knew who it was.

At the station, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. In the privacy of a stall, I dialed Roman’s burner cell he’d kept just for me. With every ring of the dial tone, my unease grew. Come on, pick up.

It rang and rang.

Dammit, Roman, where are you?

But there was no answer.

JULIANNA

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