Page 43 of Cursed to Be Mine
“I know what I saw,” I snap.
“But that speed’s impossible. A bullet travels eight- nine-hundred miles an hour.”
“Hence, my question of, ‘Is it fucking normal?’”
“Hey.” He grabs my hand, and when he squeezes it, I take a deep breath. Exhale. My nerves are turning meinto a bitch. I know that.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Derek says, turning towards the safe lights of the city. “Right now, you need to get home and some sleep. You have an important meeting with the Commissioner and Deputy Mayor tomorrow you can’t fuck up.”
My use to the WALL. Most likely the only reason Derek came out to save me. I need to approve the higher budget for the police and get Derek’s out-of-town buddies transferred here to join a new gang-focused task force that can go to war with the sups and finally weed the vampires out of the police department.
But any anger I might’ve felt about being so blatantly used is swamped under my desire to kill every last sup in my city.
That werewolf might be able to catch one bullet, but I’d like to see him try that with a whole fucking SWAT team armed with automatics.
“I’ll get it done,” I vow, bending down to tuck my gun away in its holster. “So what are we going to do about the bodies?” I ask as I sit up, my brain grinding through ways I can spin their deaths to my political advantage. “I won’t be able to bury all that paperwork.”
“Henry died as a hero tracking down a gang lead off duty,” Derek says so quickly, I know he’s thought of this before. I wonder if he has stories ready for all of our deaths in all the different scenarios. What would he have said if I shot Scarlett?
Shifting with a hard swallow, I look out the window. “I’ll make sure to put pressure on the Commissioner to bring in as many Death Hunt members as they can.”
“If they pick up the mutt that can catch a bullet, call me,” Derek says. “I’ll deal with him in jail.”
I nod, not bothering to ask how he’ll do it. Healways finds a way, and he isn’t keen on sharing the details. Says it’s too risky if we get tortured for the information.
I wonder if anyone I saw get attacked tonight is alive.
Taken somewhere to be tortured.
The car slows as Derek pulls onto a random drive. Far from the road, behind hedges and trees, he stops at a garage. The door opens to show my black Lexus parked inside.
This must be Derek’s house.
And he must have had someone move my car before coming out to get us. Wouldn’t want anyone seeing me arriving at Detective Henry Howard’s house after his time of death, especially if they already saw me leave with him in his van. No one exits until the garage door shuts behind us, granting us privacy.
“What’s my alibi?” I ask as I dig out my keys and step out.
Daniel grabs my wrist, his thumb brushing over my skin. “We need to get you patched up first.”
Because we can’t go to the hospital.
And I can’t be seen with any wounds.
“You went to see Henry Howard for a get together,” Derek informs me. “You left with him, but he dropped you off here. One of the neighbors will collaborate your story, saying he saw you get out and the van drive off around eight o’clock. You then went inside and stayed for a few hours before sneaking back home.”
I purse my lips. Benjamin is going to flip hearing this story, but an affair will stop the police from asking any further questions. With owed favors and greased palms, with luck, it won’t even end up in the news.
Daniel guides me to a cabinet along the wall andpulls out a first aid kit. “Where are you hurt?” he asks.
Wincing, I pull up my shirt, the blood caked to my skin hugging the material and irritating the wound as it peels off.
His mouth tightens in a thin line as he bends down for a better look. “Luckily, you don’t look like you need any stitches.”
Thank God.
As he starts to clean and dress it, I look at Scarlett. Her face is hidden behind Derek’s bulk as he tends to her, but I know she’s glaring at me. Hating me.
“What’s Scarlett’s alibi?” I ask.
