Page 22 of Bleeding Outside the Lines

More words come out of Detective Larson’s mouth, but I’m not listening.

I’m planning her murder.

It’s only when he reaches out to shake my hand that I piece together the words. Sorry. Confusion. Free to go.

I don’t shake his hand. I’m a man on a mission.

I exit the precinct into the early morning light, using my hand to shield my eyes. After five hours of sitting under the dim and flickering lights in the interrogation room, the sunlight isblinding. Garrett pulls up beside me in his truck, and I climb in. He starts to say something, but one look at me changes his mind.

We drive back to the bar in silence. When we finally pull into the lot and I climb out, I can only manage a “Good work, G” to show my best friend my appreciation.

It’s all I have in me.

He nods in understanding.

The cleaning crew for the bar starts at 8 a.m. which gives me only a couple of hours to be alone before they start showing up. I let myself in and lock the door behind me before climbing the stairs to my office. I slow when I reach the landing, sunlight filtering into the hall through my office window, the door ajar.

Cautiously, with the stealth of a fucking gorilla, which is to say no stealth at all, I step over the threshold. Ruby sits back in my chair, her red bottomed heels propped on my desk. She spins a small black dagger on my desk, the blade digging into the wood, similar I think to how she pictures killing me. I close the door behind me and stand there, my feet sprouting roots. She stops the dagger mid-spin, lifting it into the air a moment before I hear the whistling beside my ear. The dagger clangs when it hits the metal door, hurling itself out of reach. I reach up to touch my ear, my fingers coming away wet and sticky with blood. She kicks off her heels, and they fall to the floor with a soft thud.

The world turns from deep red to midnight black.

Fire burns within me, prickling my skin and propelling me forward. My body slams into hers before she can react. The chair rolls across the floor, and we crash into the wall, a mess of limbs and splintered wood. Drywall dust clouds my vision long enough for Ruby to slip from my grasp. She circles behind me and kicks the back of my knee, forcing me to the ground. The move is practiced and swiftly delivered.

Cold steel presses against my neck. Her warm breath grazes my ear.

“Look at you on your knees,” she purrs. “You wish it were me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and I would be lying if I said she was wrong.

“You fucking cunt,” I say through gritted teeth, and I ram my fist backwards to meet her nose.

Pain pierces my neck, but only for a split second. The heat of Ruby disappears, and I stand, turning around to face her. She wipes her face with the back of her hand, blood smearing across her menacing smile. Her tongue swipes across her lips. Memories of her licking my cum off them rush through me.

I push the thoughts down, burying them in the dark recesses of my mind. I stare at her, gauging my situation.

“Tsk-tsk.” She shakes her finger, scolding me in a way that only a teacher at a boarding school could. Something plummets into my right thigh, and for a moment I am dazed, completely enamored by her skill at misdirection. When I look down, a throwing knife sticks out of my leg—black with a circle at the hilt and a red gem gleaming at the end.

“What else are you hiding up that skirt?” I challenge her, pulling the dagger from my leg. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I don’t let it show. I spin the dagger around my finger. Soon my walls will be painted red with blood. Only one of us will leave this room alive.

Practiced fingers walk up her leg, lifting her skirt up to reveal the garter, three more daggers within its grasp. I take a step toward her, slow and deliberate, committed to a game I’m not sure I can win. She’s a statue. Not even her breathing disturbs her stillness. Another step, another dagger, this one grazes my arm, but I don’t shift my gaze from hers.

One down, two more to go.

“I’m going to kill you slowly, I think,” I tell her. “Take my time with you. Watch your blood as it spills from your veins and turns black on this floor.”

Another step.

Another dagger. This one misses completely. This is progress.

“I’ll probably have my way with you first. Pound that pussy of yours into submission.” I tell myself that I’m only playing the game, but she takes a small, uneasy step backwards. I wonder if anyone has ever challenged her the way I have. If anyone but me has ever made her stumble before.

“Your hands tied to the radiator over there, my fist in your hair.”

Another step.

Another dagger soars. It goes wide. The air in the room shifts.

An assassin of her stature, I doubt she ever misses.

Her hand flies to her mouth. Big brown eyes stare at me for a moment too long. A moment I use to close the distance between us. A bare foot kicks out at my chest, but I’m ready for it. My hand wraps around it hard enough to leave bruises if she lives. I yank hard.

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