Page 85 of Savage Lover

“Is that based off fact, or just a guess?”

Bruce shrugs his heavy shoulders. “Couple of cops got there pretty quick. Funny they were running a traffic stop at 1:30 a.m. in South Shore. Never seen that in all the time I lived here.”

I think that over.

Then I stand up and clap Bruce on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I say. “You raise some interesting questions.”

“Yeah, well be careful who else you raise those questions to,” Bruce says. “Nobody likes digging up old garbage.”

No, they don’t.

But I never really gave a fuck what people like.

19

CAMILLE

When I wake up in the morning, the sun seems horrendously bright and my head is pounding. I stumble into the kitchen, still wearing Patricia’s romper, and pour myself a giant tumbler of water from the kitchen sink. I gulp it down, feeling like a raisin dried out in the sun.

I drink and drink until my belly is sloshing. Then I set the cup down, wincing at the loud clink it makes on the counter.

I remember that line from the Jay-Z song—MDMA got you feelin’ like a champion . . .

Well, the morning after, it has me feeling like a boxer who took a hundred hits to the face and fell right out of the ring.

And that’s before I remember how I verbally vomited every single thought in my head out to Nero Gallo.

I’m blushing redder than a Ferrari just thinking about it. I told him everything. Every last secret I had. Including the fact that I’m completely infatuated with him.

But . . . it’s not a total disaster.

Because Nero told me something, too. I haven’t forgotten about it—he told me what happened to his mother. I get the feeling that’s not something he shares with a lot of people.

And then . . . oh, I definitely remember what happened after that.

Only the most brain-bending, earth-shattering, back-breaking orgasm of my life. An orgasm that probably should be illegal, because there’s no way something that feels that good can be handed out willy-nilly. It’s too much for a human being to handle.

Oh, yes, I remember every second of that encounter. It’s seared into my brain forever.

And yet, we didn’t have sex after. Nero drove me home instead.

I almost think he was trying to be a gentleman. Though, I must still be high to believe that. Because Nero is about the farthest thing from a gentleman I’ve ever encountered. Or at least he was . . . until last night.

This is too much of a conundrum for my throbbing brain to ponder. I’ve got something entirely different to worry about. Five blonde hairs tucked in the pocket of my romper. They’re still there—a little sandy, but relatively unharmed.

I tuck them into an envelope, googling the closest place to get a paternity test. I find a place called Fastest Labs, which sounds like exactly what I’m looking for. “Immediate and Comprehensive Testing Services—Walk-Ins Welcome!” Perfect.

I drive over there with my envelope of stolen DNA clutched in my sweaty little fist.

I haven’t showered or changed my clothes or washed the makeup off my face from the night before, so I’m looking significantly less cute than I did when Patricia finished working her magic on me. But I don’t give a damn. I fit right in with the rest of the people waiting for their mandatory drug and alcohol testing.

I give the envelope to a female technician. She dons a pair of plastic gloves, then uses a pair of tweezers to grab the hairs out of the envelope, holding them up under the bright fluorescent light and squinting.

“We usually want seven to ten hairs,” she says. “But you’ve got some decent follicles attached. This might work.”

“I’ve got a toothbrush from the other subject,” I say.

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