Page 2 of Flame
I brush my fingers along my jaw and barely feel any pain. It’s like I’m numbed to everything but the here and now. His smell takes precedence over any other sensation, his nearness overwhelming.
Whenever I try to think about the million other pressing concerns in my life, only a few stick out.
“I have to work today,” I say absently, though panic sets in at the thought of leaving. Branden will be looking for me, for one. My lease runs out by the end of the week thanks to his efforts. I have no idea how to navigate my usual routine, taking all of that into account. “That’swhat I’m worried about,” I add with a tattered laugh. “I have to work today.”
“I’ll talk to Zhang,” Rafe says, referring to my boss. He turns away from me and rummages through the fridge, withdrawing a brown bottle of beer. Despite the early hour, he pops the lid off on the edge of the door and takes a deep swig, throwing his head back.
For the first time, I step outside of my own worries and put myself in his shoes. He looks almost as bad as I feel. I have a sinking suspicion as to why.
“The missing girl. Faith,” I say thickly. “You knew her.”
“Yeah…” He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze distant. “She was a good kid. What happened to her is fucked up.”
He sounds genuinely upset, and I hate the jealousy that unfurls when I try to imagine why. Just how well did he know her?
No better than Branden,a part of me snarls in response.He’s the one who had her hair clip, you idiot.
Ashamed, I focus my attention to the window as another car drives past. A sharp pain in my hand makes me realize that my fingers are clenched, the nails cutting into my palms. “Do… Do they know what happened to her?” I whisper.
Maybe I’m a masochist, feeding off the weight of the heavy sigh he releases. His obvious regret drills in this reality like a hammer on a nail—this is real.
“Not yet. They found her body on the outskirts of the city, and—” he breaks off with a grimace. “I’ll spare you the details.”
Traffic is still moving down below, and another car zips by too quickly to inspect in full. I tear my gaze away and find myself staring down the hall instead, toward a stack of boxes.Tell him,my conscience warns.Tell him now.
“She was in trouble,” I say, skirting around the truth again.Troublethat wound up with her dead and a piece of jewelry hidden among my belongings. My palms grow slick with sweat at the memory, my pulse increasing. “H-How?”
Rafe grunts, and I turn to find him taking another sip of beer. “She got caught up with the wrong motherfuckers and paid the price for it. And I couldn’t help her…”
“Her friend,” I say. “The one we saw the night of the vigil. She claimed a man, DW, was the one bothering her—” Not Branden for whatever it’s worth. “Do you know who that is?”
“No,” he growls. “If I did, I’d be ripping the sick fucker apart, wouldn’t I?”
“And Faith never told you anything?”
“I know he’s a cop,” he says in an icy tone. “And that he was using her somehow. As a drug mule? An informant? I don’t know. It’s not like I can go ask Gino about it, now can I?” He slams the bottle onto the counter and takes a bite from his sandwich, an obvious clue that he’s done talking about it.
For now.
But I can fill in some of the blanks on my own. Faith fell in with his rival Gino—a thug who owns what Mara deemed a “tittie bar.” There she met a monster who supposedly made her do awful things.
A monster who found her silence well worth killing her for.
But that doesn’t explain why her hair clip is in a shoebox in this very apartment. A threat? A warning? Branden isn’t reckless. He took my only other piece of leverage against him, ensuring no one would believe me even if I came forward.
He wouldn’t implicate himself in another murder so easily.
So why taunt me with that item in particular?
The more I think about it, the more confusing it all becomes until I’m rubbing at my throbbing temples, trying to make sense of the tangled web.
“Drink,” Rafe commands, drawing my attention.
I blink to find the rim of the beer bottle beneath my nose.
“I don’t drink,” I insist, shaking my head.
“The fuck you don’t.” Rafe fixes me with another searching look, but one devoid of sympathy. An eyebrow raised, he tilts the bottle toward me again. “Trust me, bunny. You need a fucking drink. You look like shit.”
