Page 22 of Throttle All the Way

I hated this. I hated Cipher for what he’d done. Hated Soul for her placating words. Hated myself for the part of me that wasn’t entirely repulsed by him.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been trapped. Yulian had locked me away too, back when I still naively believed that he wouldn’thurt me. His version of cruelty came wrapped in harsh lashings and a gilded cage that turned into a living nightmare.

I shivered, curling my arms around my knees as memories clawed their way to the surface. Yulian’s voice, his hands, the way he’d look at me like I was both his salvation and his prey. He’d stripped me of my freedom, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the woman I used to be.

But Cipher, he was different in his abuse. His hands weren’t cruel like Yulian’s, his eyes, although dark, were filled with concern and worry. He didn’t seem a violent man, although his actions said otherwise.

I didn’t want to admit it, but Soul’s words echoed in my mind.The people they love or care about.Could Cipher care about me? He barely knew me, and yet he’d tied me to that bed, crossed every line, and justified it all in the name of protecting me.

My hands trembled as I remembered the way his fingers brushed my cheek last night, the way his voice softened when he said my name. His touch was firm but not cruel, and for a moment—a fleeting, treacherous moment—it hadn’t felt like control. It had felt like…something else.

No. I shook my head, the tears falling once again. I couldn’t think like that. Cipher wasn’t my savior. He was just another man who thought he knew what was best for me, who thought he had the right to decide my fate.

And yet, no matter how much I tried to hate him, the memory of his touch lingered, a delicate warmth against my skin. And I wanted…no I needed to feel that again.

CIPHER

The salty tang of the Puget Sound clung to the air, mingling with the faint scent of diesel and brine as I stood at the edge of the crime scene near the marina in Silverdale. The air was thick with the stench of decay as I stared at the girl’s lifeless body. The girl’s body lay crumpled in a shadowed alley near the Port of Silverdale, a stone’s throw from the water. The hum of boats and the occasional gull’s cry felt cruelly indifferent to the scene unfolding.

Her once vibrant skin was pale and mottled against the damp pavement, her lifeless eyes staring into nothing. The wordSlutwas crudely carved deep into her chest, the jagged edges of the letters seeping with blood even in death. I recognized her instantly. She’d been one of Illicit’s girls, and quickly became another victim of Yulian’s depravity.

I clenched my fists, the leather of my gloves creaking under the strain. This was Yulian’s calling card. A message written in blood and fear. The bastard was toying with us, every breadcrumb he left was a taunt that dragged me deeper into this darkness.

Cops swarmed the scene, the radios crackling as they barked orders and sectioned off the area. Their flashlights cut throughthe growing twilight. Yellow tape fluttered in the cool evening breeze, a stark barrier between the living and the dead. A few onlookers gathered near the marina, their faces pale as they murmured among themselves.

I stood outside the tape, my jaw tight, my hands itching to grab Yulian by the throat and make him pay for every life he’d ruined.

“Detective Garcia,” one of the officers called out to me. I turned, my expression cold and unreadable.

“We’ve got a lead,” he continued. “Witness spotted a black sedan heading east about an hour before the body was found. Matches the description of Yulian Volkov’s vehicle.”

“Have it checked against the database,” I replied. “I want every street camera and toll record reviewed.”

The officer nodded, hurrying off as I surveyed the scene one last time.Ray suddenly approached, he’d been talking to one of the witnesses who had found the body.

“Find anything?” I asked.

“Witnesses at the hotel saw her last with Tommy Lingdale. Tommy fell asleep and when he woke up she wasn’t in the room and her stuff was gone.”

“Didn’t take him long to replace Mila, did it? Fucker is probably going to have Daddy bail him out, but before he does, book him. I want to talk to the motherfucker.”

Ray nodded, he knew better than to question me at this point. I wanted answers and Tommy Lingdale may actually be of some use here.

I stayed a few more hours before heading back to the precinct. Every detail burned itself into my mind—the angle of the girl’s body, the faint smear of blood leading away from her like a trail. He was escalating, and it was only a matter of time before the violence hit closer to Mila.

The precinct reeked of stale coffee and desperation. Tommy Lingdale sat across from me in the small, dimly lit interview room, his slicked-back hair damp with sweat. His expensive designer shirt clung to him like a second skin, but no amount of cashmere could hide the trembling mess underneath.

"Let’s cut the shit, Tommy," I said, leaning forward, my forearms resting on the metal table between us. "You were the last person seen with her."

"I didn’t do anything!" he stammered, his voice cracking. His hands were clutched tightly in his lap, and his eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape.

I slammed my fist on the table, making him jump. "Then why the hell is she dead, Tommy? Why does she haveSlutcarved into her chest like a goddamn trophy?!"

His face went pale, and he shook his head vehemently. "I-I don’t know! I swear! She left my room! I didn’t even know she was dead until the cops knocked on my door!"

I pushed back from the table and paced the room, my fists clenched. This little prick thought he could play dumb, but I knew better. "What did you see? What did you hear?"

Tommy flinched, his voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing. She was fine when I went to sleep."

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