Page 34 of The Gentleness of Rage

“Jaelynn, I had to get you through that maze somehow.”

“Doughnuts, Slate,” I threatened, and Slate laughed again.

“Come on then. This place does fresh ones.”

???

Slate parked on the drive and walked me up to my door. I felt a little unsettled and smiled uncertainly.

“Thanks for today, it was nice…”

“Jaelynn, I’m going to kiss you. I’m telling you now so I don’t scare you when I grab you,” Slate interrupted. “Tell me if you don’t want me to touch or kiss you.”

I shook my head, and Slate stepped into my space. He cupped my cheeks and held my eyes before lowering his head and claiming my mouth. He was gentle, not pushing or trying to force the kiss.

I sighed and parted my lips, and Slate took that as an invitation. He didn’t command or take over but gave me one of the sweetest kisses I’d ever experienced. And hell, just the sweetness was sexy.

When it ended, I was pressed up against Slate on tiptoes. I blushed a little, but Slate ran his thumb over my bottom lip and smiled.

“We’re gonna take this slow. Like a fuckin’ snail. I’m not going to trigger you, and I realise what you suffered. Lynda assured me you weren’t raped, but it came damn close. That means you’ve got trauma, baby, and if I’m any sort of decent man, I’m going to take care of you. Jaelynn, we’ll move at your speed,” Slate murmured.

Slate gave me a gentle kiss one more time and ushered me inside. He waited until I’d locked the door before leaving.

I heard Slate’s Harley roar off and walked dazed into my living room. Holy shit, a unicorn!

Slate

“Need to talk,” Ramirez declared, entering the club.

“What’s up?” I asked, reaching for a water bottle and grabbing a stool.

“Did you visit the Haunted House last night?” Ramirez questioned.

Slate looked over his shoulder as Ben entered, expressionless. That put Slate on guard. Something had happened.

“The girls…” he said, rising.

“They’re fine. But security discovered a body dumped there. The victim died around eight o’clock, give or take an hour. It’s murder,” Ben stated.

“I was there on a date, you’d have checked the cameras,” Slate replied.

“They don’t provide full coverage,” Ramirez replied.

“Are you accusing me of something?” Slate demanded, temper heating.

“No, you damn idiot. We’re asking if you saw anything,” Ramirez retorted and shook his head.

“Oh. No, nothing stands out. You got a name or image?”

“Show him,” Ramirez ordered. Ben pulled something up on his phone and turned it so Slate could see. Slate’s blood ran cold.

“You say she was murdered?” Slate asked.

“Yes,” Ben replied, watching Slate’s face.

“She worked at the bar. Her name is Ariel Waddle. She lost her job due to pulling a fake sick day. That was two weeks ago. Mac sacked her and a few other girls. Was this a damn trap?” Slate demanded.

“Fuck you, drop the attitude, dude. We had no identification because she’d no purse or ID on her. Nor are Ariel’s prints in the system. Until you just gave us a name, Ariel was a Jane Doe,” Ramirez explained.

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