Page 42 of The Opposite Effect

Not giving him the chance to reply, I disconnect the call and house my cell back into my jeans. Since it is early on a Saturday night, the sidewalks are populated with heavy foot traffic. My heart thrashes against my chest as I weave through athrong of people completely oblivious to the anger blackening my blood. Just the thought of any woman being hurt makes me furious, but since it is Clara, my anger is reaching levels I’ve never experienced.

Upon reaching my bike parked half a block down, I throw my leg over it and shoot out of the car park not even thirty seconds later. Within minutes, I’ve reached Inked. My fists are balled, my jaw is clenched, and red-hot fury is seething through my veins, but nothing can slow me down—not even the close call with death I had on the way here. I’m running on pure adrenaline.

As I guide my bike down the alleyway, I dart my eyes in all directions, both assessing the situation and seeking Clara. Diesel is on my left talking to three teens. Charity has her shoulder braced against the brickwork near the dumpster, and Johnny is manning the back door.

I park my bike to the side, dismount, and make my way to Diesel. My furious pace slows when, in the corner of my eye, I spot a flurry of blonde. Clara is huddled on the stained concrete ground shaking like a leaf. The furious heat scorching my veins intensifies when my eyes run over her bloody, scraped knees.

“Why the fuck is she still sitting in the alleyway?” I ask Charity, who is two steps up from Clara.

“She won’t let anyone touch her.” Charity’s voice is as shaky as Clara’s composure. “I think she’s in shock.”

I crouch down in front of Clara and lift her downcast face. The fiery spark that usually brightens her eyes has been snuffed, replaced with a haunted glint. Her lips are cracked and quivering, and her cheeks are stained with tears. Her defeated pose angers me even further.

“What happened?” I shift my gaze to Charity.

She shrugs. “I didn’t get the full story, but from the marks on her neck and wrist and the fact all her jewelry is missing, I’m assuming she got jumped.”

“Fucking hell. I told her to take that shit off,” I mumble under my breath.

Even though my declaration was only meant for me, Clara must hear it as a painful whimper escapes her lips while a new flood of tears rolls down her cheeks.

Riddled with guilt at placing unwarranted blame on her shoulders, I seize Clara’s wrists and pull her into my arms. She must be suffering from shock as she doesn’t put up a single protest.

I stand from my crouched position, draw her in close to my chest, and amble to the back entrance of Inked. “When Ryan arrives, send him into my office,” I demand, not once taking my eyes off Clara gathered in my arms, staring up at me with a pair of bleak eyes.

By the time Johnny announces Ryan’s arrival, Clara’s tears have created two large wet patches on my shirt. She hasn’t spoken a word for the past ten minutes, but the earth-shattering shakes havocking her body have simmered to a dull vibration.

Ryan smirks an uneasy grin as he strides into my office. After removing a pile of invoices from the couch, he takes the spare seat next to Clara and me. When he locks his eyes with mine, I’m not shocked to see they’re clouded with anger. He’s witnessed some bad shit no man should ever see. Unfortunately, not all of it has been from his service in the police force.

It takes a bit of effort on Ryan’s part to get Clara to open up, but the cocky statement he made at the strip club months ago rings true. He is a great detective, one of the best I’ve ever known, so with a little encouragement, he eventually gets Clara talking about what happened.

I will not lie. Over the past thirty minutes, I formulated at leasta dozen ways to kill a man with my bare hands. The desire grew even more potent when Clara mentioned her assailants were carrying guns. If it weren’t bad enough she got jumped in the alleyway by three men while taking out the trash, two of them were wielding weapons.

I’ve never been more ashamed of this part of Ravenshoe than I am right now.

“Did any of the jewelry have distinguishable markings?” Ryan queries, his eyes lifting from the notepad in his hand to Clara.

She runs a tissue under her nose before gently nodding. “My necklace pendant has an inscription on the back.” Fresh tears prick in her eyes before she quietly mutters, “To C, Happy 18thBirthday, Love Remy.”

Ryan snags a few extra tissues out of the tissue box on my desk and hands them to Clara. “That’s all I need for now, but if you recall anything you believe may help my investigation, Brax has my number.”

Clara nods while accepting the tissues.

When Ryan gestures his head to the corridor, I turn my eyes down to Clara, who is still sitting on my lap. “Will you be all right if I talk to Ryan for a minute?”

Her massively dilated eyes bounce between mine for several heart-pounding seconds before she gently nods. I stand from the couch, taking her with me. It takes all my strength to pivot around and place her back on the sofa. The only reason I do is because I want to know who is responsible for doing this to her.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I advise Clara. I wait for her to acknowledge that she has heard me before stepping into the hallway.

Ryan’s mouth opens, but I begin speaking before he gets the chance to say anything. “Was it the teens Diesel was talking to when I showed up who did this?”

Ryan shakes his head. “No. They saw the assailants running out of the alley. When they discovered Clara, they were the ones who sounded the alarm.”

His answer removes three names from my hit list.

“Give me a chance to do my job before you step in, Brax,” Ryan requests, sensing I’m on the verge of dishing out my own form of punishment.

Mine won’t be as pleasant as Ryan’s. Guaranteed.

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