Page 73 of Dropping Like Flies

With my free hand, I punched him in the face. He didn’t release his grip on the knife handle, blood and sweat making everything more difficult. I’d break his damn wrist if I needed to. Except, what little strength I had was fading rapidly.

This time when Flynn bucked up, I had no defense against it, his eyes blazing as he flipped us until I was once more trapped beneath him. He pressed the point of the knife to my throat, the sting telling me he’d broken the skin.

Chest heaving with exertion—as was mine—he smiled. “You’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that.” He stroked a finger over my brow, the touch strangely gentle. “I’ve changed my mind about you not being my type. In another world, me, you, and Griff could have had some great threesomes.”

“Fuck you!” I spat out, specks of spittle hitting him. “I would never have been desperate enough to touch you. And you might have Griff fooled at the moment, but he’s not stupid. He’ll see through this nice guy act. You’ll slip up and he’ll see you for what you really are. And then he’ll turn you in himself.”

Flynn grabbed my wrist, forcing my hand above my head on the pillow. “Maybe. But you won’t be around to see it. And in case you’ve got any ideas about him bringing you back, nobody’s going to be finding your body for quite some time.”

“I told my partner I was coming here,” I said, doing my best to keep the note of desperation out of my voice. “When he doesn’t hear from me, this place will be swarming with police. There’s no way you’ll get away with it.”

Flynn laughed. “No, you didn’t. You didn’t tell anyone. You were in too much of a rush to get here and rescue Griff. Love made you blind.” My blood ran cold as he removed the blade from my throat and pressed it to where fingers met palm. “I normally do this after death, but I’ll make an exception for you.” He reached over to the side of the bed, coming back with a cloth, which he shoved in my mouth without preamble. “I don’t want you screaming too loud or the neighbors might complain.”

This was it. The beginning of the end. And I’d never been so scared.

Chapter Twenty-six

Griffin

I’d done my best to stay awake after arriving home, wanting to wait until Ben called so I could persuade him to come here. Because why sleep the day away on my own when I could do it with him. Somewhere around the thirty-minute mark, though, I’d fallen asleep.

I awoke in a still lit room, surprised to find I’d only slept for an hour when exhaustion should have had me sleeping until midday. Which meant something had woken me. Ben calling, maybe. I reached for my phone and checked the screen. No calls. No messages.

And then it hit.

Fear. Sharp and acrid, and filling my chest with pure panic. Heart hammering, I threw the covers back and lurched to my feet, swaying. What was I afraid of? The answer came to me in slow degrees. It wasn’t my fear; it was Ben’s. A taste flooded my senses. One that, despite it being familiar, it took me a few seconds to place.

Blood. Ben could taste blood. How or why I didn’t know. All I knew was that wherever he was, fear consumed him, and I had to go to him, had to save him from whatever triggered that emotion.

Dressing took less than a minute. Grabbing my car keys just a few seconds. It was only as I stood on the pavement in front of my building, bathed in the rays of the early morning sun that I realized I might feel what Ben was feeling, might taste what he could taste, but that was where our bond ended. It wasn’t like a homing device I could use to track him down. Futility swept over me. What was the point in having this bond if I couldn’t use it to help him?

A car drew to a screeching halt in front of my building, the man who jumped out of it making no sense. Asher. Why the fuck would Asher be here? I’d never seen him outside of the PPB building, never mind on my doorstep. He looked just as put together as always, the designer suit firmly in place despite the early hour, and not a single platinum blond hair out of place despite his haste as he came my way.

“Whatever you want,” I said as he drew close enough to hear, “I’m not up to dealing with it right now.”

“I know.” The words were almost gentle. Asher was always calm, but he was never gentle. He halted in front of me, those pale blue eyes of his full of something that had I not known better, I would have thought was concern. “The address you need is 8 Macklin Street in Shepherd’s Bush.”

I stared at him, contemplating whether I was still in bed and this was nothing but a dream. “The address for what?”

“The address where you’ll find Ben. You need to go now, though.” Asher pressed his car keys into my hand. “Take my car. I’ve already put the address into the sat nav, and it’s faster.”

It would be. It was a Porsche. How a personal assistant could afford a car like that would need consideration later. Not now, though. Only once Ben was safe. If he was safe.

“Take this as well,” Asher said, pressing something else into my hand. I didn’t bother to look what it was before slipping it into my pocket, already making a beeline for the door of the car that Asher had left open. I paused by the Porsche, Asher still standing where I’d left him. “You’re not coming?”

He shook his head. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to happen.” I frowned at the cryptic statement, but didn’t question it. Something else to unpack later.

“Go!” Asher urged. “And don’t stop to call the police. I’ll do that. Don’t wait for them when you get there. If you wait for them, it will be too late.”

I went, Ben’s emotions assailing me as I eased the powerful car into traffic. Anger. Surprise. Hopelessness. Beneath them, fear was an ever present shroud that refused to lift itself from Ben’s head. Every emotion made me press down on the accelerator that bit harder. I hoped I picked up a police tail. If I did, I’d keep going and they could accompany me to whatever it was I was about to walk into.

The door was closed at the address where Asher had sent me, but not locked. I didn’t bother with stealth, Asher’s words ringing in my ears about it being too late. Instead, I charged in, immediately spotting the trail of blood up the stairs and following it. Ben’s blood? Someone else’s? If so, whose? The trail led straight to a bedroom.

I burst into the room with the same haste as I’d done everything else since arriving at the address, quickly taking in the scene that awaited me. Ben on the bed, still, and covered in blood. A man straddling him, a wickedly sharp knife pressed to Ben’s hand at the juncture where palm met fingers, his intention all too clear. Was that the first hand or the second? Why wasn’t Ben moving? Was he dead already?

The man straddling Ben lifted his head at my sudden entrance, shock showing on his face at my presence. A familiar face. Flynn—my ex fuck buddy, my friend, and apparently also Satanic Romeo—staring back at me. Everything clicked into place. His interest in the case. His presence in Eclipse that night. His desire to meet Ben. I’d trusted him and he’d taken that trust and shaped it to his own ends.

Anger rose in me, heat engulfing me from the inside. A heat that threatened to blaze out of control. “Get the fuck off him!”

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