Page 3 of Broken

I hate him and I don’t hate a lot in this world. He looks like a Chad and he speaks like a frat boy. College ended over ten years ago for him but this officer hasn’t gotten the hint.

There are too many other things to focus on but leaving someone else to do the dirty work is all sorts of wrong. In my job, it gets people killed. Granted, the fucker supposedly has his reasons, being one of the only humans on the creature task force. I have personally watched him offer his neck up to a vampire or two, just for the chance at unlimited power.

Lucky for the supernatural world, vampires aren’t the thirsty bitches that movies make them out to be.

I can’t swallow my laughter fast enough at the scene unfolding before me, Avery straddling the male’s back, his face smashed into the tiled floor. My nature reveals itself, Avery’s eyes widening in shock.

“Lev. Thought you were banned from the station.” Chad's brows furrow as he pushes Avery to the side so he can wrangle the shifter up to his feet.

I just shrug. “Chad, you can’t ban me from a police station. What if I had an emergency?” I’ve never had anything close to what could be considered an emergency. I’m just a public nuisance at this point but it gets me my information.

The officer scowls at my question. “It’s Detective.”

“I apologize. Detective Chad.” I push to my feet, watching as Detective Chad stalks off with the criminal in hand. Avery is still on the floor, confused and a little wary of my presence.

“Ah, Lev, what are you doing here? I guess that doesn't matter. His name isn't Chad.” She's reminded me of his name once or twice but I won't be using anything other than Chad if I can get away with it.

I wink at her shocked face as I help her to her feet, Avery brushing herself off and silently thanking me before shuffling off after her partner. My toothy grin unearths itself at yet another successful morning of information gathering until a familiar body saddles up beside me. “Mr. Dubois, how long have you been standing there?”

I bristle at the mention of my last name because it’s not one that I usually go by. “Sitting actually.” The body lets out a grunt and I sigh, wondering why he can’t just understand a good joke. “Right, not the question. Maybe half an hour.” It has definitely been a few hours but fuck if I am going to say that to an officer, let alone Detective Vince Jameson.

“Fuck. How do you do that?”

Everyone has been trying to get me to reveal my designation, but when I don’t answer, they think it’s just part of the job. Secrets are part of my life. It’s easy to assume that my designation would be the same. But it isn’t that. I just don’t know. I don’t have parents to ask, no friends to confide in, and fuck if I’m going to share my worries with my frenemy—Vince, a human police officer—his body currently pressed to my side.

So, I just shrug. Because that’s really the only acceptable answer.

He drags me to his office, eyes wandering the entire way. I’m not exactly welcome here. I have been caught one too many times to count, just watching, gathering intel for personal cases. Technically, I am not breaking any laws. But it’s a fine line I’m walking and everyone, including me, knows that.

With the door shut, Vince huffs and runs his hands through his salt and pepper hair, “What have you got for me?” I didn’t notice before, but he seems worn out and tired. Blinking a few times, I stutter with a small ‘huh’ and he just glares at me like I should know what he’s talking about. “You’re here because you have something, right?”

Oh. Right. “Not really.”

“Lev, please don’t tell me that you’re still coming to sit here on occasion to gather intel.”

I won’t lie to Vince, but I’m not going to fully admit to it either. My clients pay top dollar for my services and it would be rude of me not to use every avenue I have at my fingertips. It’s just unfortunate that police officers here spout so much jargon about their cases that literally anyone if they were paying attention would have a good story. “It’s not illegal.”

“No, it’s not. But it’s damn unprofessional to do it the way you do. God, imagine if a reporter had skills like yours. We’d all be in fucking trouble.” But no one I’ve met has skills like mine. That’s part of the problem.

Vince falls back into his chair, grimacing as he closes his eyes. I’ve seen him do this before too. Now, he just looks overwhelmed and a little irritated that he caught me here. That one’s on me.

An awkward silence falls between us and as I stay rooted to my spot, I can feel myself blending into my surroundings again. It’s not always a conscious gift, one that makes some conversations and meetings pretty fucking awkward. A lot of people think I have some kind of attention deficit disorder but the gentle bounce of my leg or shifting from foot to foot is just so I don’t disappear mid-conversation.

“Why are you here, Lev?”

“Looking for a missing werewolf.”

Vince’s eyes shoot open and he pulls an 8.5” by 11” sheet of paper out of his drawer. “You mean this one?” He dangles the picture and I take a quick look, nodding as I recognize the innocent features of an Omega wolf just a few years past 18. “We’re on that shit. Fuck, you’re the reason the last one is still alive, aren’t you? I thought her story was bullshit when she mentioned just ‘getting away’. Who gave you that job?”

He knows I can’t answer, but I can’t blame Vince for trying. “I can’t reveal my sources.” My jobs aren’t really… sanctioned by the law. Usually a parent worried for their child, a mate wanting information on a rival, or something like this where I have no idea who paid but it’s enough for me not to ask questions.

So long as Vince or one of his buddies don’t find me doing anything illegal or hindering an investigation, they look the other way. It has been getting worse over the last year, with me taking on riskier jobs without any regard for my safety. I haven’t died but as Vince has mentioned multiple times, it’s the principle of the thing.

“Leave this one alone. It’s nasty.”

I know that. Between rescuing the little Omega wolf that won’t stop showing up at my office and the nearly healed claw marks down my back from a few nights ago. I had been fine all morning, but standing this long is starting to irritate them again. I heal pretty fast, which plays into the idea that my designation is reptilian in nature.

I shrug again because there’s no good response and Vince’s pleas are falling on deaf ears. Even if he could procure the price someone paid for this job—half a million dollars, it’s the principle of the thing. I stifle my chuckle because now is not the time to rile him up.

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