Page 33 of Devotion

An image of the librarian’s face flashes in my thoughts, and I blink it away as I set my sights on my workspace across the station. It isn’t lost on me that I’ve had more than enough time to take the intel I’ve gathered to Chief Jude. Being contacted by the serial killer currently terrorizing the city might be the sort of thing Chief would like to know. And yet, I’ve kept my conversation with The Widowmaker to myself, guarding it like it’s sacred, a pitch-black secret that binds us.

Binds us…

I stop to top off my coffee as I linger on that notion, being bound to him in some way. Or at least,heseems to think we are. He reached out tome,wantsmeto mark his next target, creating some sort of unholy alliance that I want no part of.

Still, I should’ve spoken up by now.Would’ve,if it had been any other case. Meaning, whatever excuse I had for the delay, it expired more than a week ago.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

By keeping my mouth shut, I’m inadvertently protecting a man who’s taken several lives. A man who will likely takemorelives.

Chief Jude passes by, and I avoid eye contact. It’s guilt, mostly. And maybe a little paranoia. Like, he’ll take one look at me and know I’ve done something wrong.

I’m so distracted I nearly slam right into Martinez. Still, the abrupt stop when his hands catch my shoulders has hot coffee spilling over the rim of my mug and down my fingers.

“Damn it!”

He acts fast, taking the cup from my hand before I drop it, and then sets it on the edge of his desk.

“Shit, Bennett. You good?”

I peer up, giving a quick nod. “Yeah, I… I guess I just zoned out.”

He passes me a tissue to wipe my fingers clean, and a slick smile curves his lips. “If you wanted me on my back, a simple text would’ve sufficed,” he whispers.

And just like that, the sweet, thoughtful Martinez is replaced by the horny one who only ever thinks with his dick. Making matters worse, I’m on edge, questioning everything about myself, which has my tolerance low. Hence the reason I can’t suppress the hard eye roll I shoot him as I attempt to sidestep whatever conversation he’s trying to have.

“Whoa, hey. It was a joke.”

He steps in front of me again, blocking my way, and I’m scared to even check for how many eyes are on us right now. And when I don’t speak, the playful look on his face turns serious, like he’s suddenly able to read me. Suddenly aware that now isn’t the time to be giving me shit.

“Talk to me.”

For a second, I consider just going to my desk like I originally intended, but for some reason, my feet don’t move. Instead, words tumble out of my mouth that I didn’t realize I was ready to say.

“I think it’s time we stop playing whatever game this is. Don’t you? I mean, aren’t you tired of pretending we fit when we clearly don’t?”

His eyes widen in shock, but then he tempers the look, maybe remembering our co-workers are still swarming around us. He steps closer, likely so he can speak without anyone else hearing.

“Damn. Look, I know our situation seems kind of focused on the physical—which is… fucking amazing—but that’s only because I thought that’s what you wanted.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Playing games has never been my thing. I’m not that type of guy. So, if you want us to be more, we can be more. I cangive youmore,” he adds, and as I hold his gaze, I actually think he’s being sincere.

Who even knew he had it in him?

“I know you’re pissed at me for some reason right now, and I know I just sprung this on you, but all I’m asking is that you think about it,” he says, that smile returning. “And while you’re thinking things over, I say we make it a point to try harder. My friend Ramon’s turning thirty, and a few of us are meeting him downtown. Come with me.”

I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “Diego, I—”

“Layla… please.”

His brown eyes soften, and I feel my heart doing the same. I’d been so set on being done, so set on calling off our little situationship… but here I am, getting sucked right back in.

Fuck. Me.

“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’ll meet you there.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m not interested in riding together, and I don’t offer up that it’s because I’d like to avoid even the remote possibility of him meeting my father.

“Shooting you the address now,” he says, his eyes glued to his phone screen as he types. My phone dings, and our gazes lock. “See you at eight.”

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