Page 25 of Ripple Effect: Ep. 1

I never let them walk, and yet, I did. In spite of experience and wisdom, I let her free to turn me over.

It’s not that I’m concerned about her ratting me out, I’m pissed that I went against my instincts.

I’ve driven up and down the street where I first saw her, and though I tell myself I’m not looking for her, the truth is, I am. For four days, she’s rattled my brain. Sat caged inside my mind. I don’t even know what I’m doing. Why I’m looking for her. Don’t even know what I’d do with her if I found her. I hate the lack of direction. She is the wrinkle in smooth satin, the curiosity that won’t leave me be.

I tend to avoid impulse. I’m much more calculated than that, but after two days of torment, however enjoyable, I’m ready to rid myself of this preoccupation.

If it were a simple case of fucking up, I’d let it go. Move on and deal with whatever consequences came after.

It’s not.

From the moment I watched her get into that car, my better judgment took a back seat to something I don’t even care to explore. I should’ve driven away. Let it play out, even if that meant she was killed in the end. That’s how it works in the wild. You don’t save anyone. It’s kill or be killed.

I saved her, though, and it’s been fucking with my head ever since.

A cluster of scantily clad females stands at the corner of Kostner and West Van Buren, just outside of a club. I slow the car to a crawl and scan their faces.

She’s nowhere.

Beyond the group, strolling up into the club is a sprightly thing in a schoolgirl get-up, complete with white thigh highs and black stilettos. Not a prostitute, but my guess is she wouldn’t turn down a nice wad of cash.

I roll the window down and lean in. At my whistle, she turns around, tipping her head as if to see what’s inside. After a few glances around, perhaps to make sure she’s the one I called for, she saunters up to the passenger door. A once over and she’s smiling back at me. “Nice ride. You call me over, Handsome?”

“Wanted to ask who your designer is.” It’s not my forte, but I can be damn charming when I need to be.

She looks down at herself and giggles. “Fredericks of Hollywood.”

“You’re a long way from Hollywood.”

“Feeling a little homesick too. Looking to make a friend?” Resting her arms on the side of my car makes my eye twitch. I don’t like anyone touching the finish.

A flash of her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, as I slice a blade across her flesh, zips through my mind and I squint my eyes, willing it away. I cast my stare through the windshield, eyeing a cop car that sits on the corner. “Meet me in the lot out back.”

“You’re not gonna give me a ride?”

“I’ll meet you out back.”

Licking her lips, she pushes off my car. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

If she doesn’t annoy the fuck out of me, this will be a quick transaction. A means of exorcising the wicked fantasies that haven’t stopped playing on loop since I had the girl tied up in that factory.

I pull around the block, making sure the police haven’t caught on. I suspect watching the woman walk away was enough for them to rule out a hookup, because no one follows me.

She waits at the back door for me, like she’s waiting on her prom date. I set the vehicle to park and slide out of the driver’s seat, rounding the rear of the vehicle to open the door for her.

“Well, aren’t you just an absolute gentleman?”

I am a gentleman. And a predator. One who wants something from the woman, though I haven’t quite decided exactly what that is. I fuck women out of necessity, an urge separate from the one that calls on me to kill. I never take from them—I’m not a rapist—but the urgency that burns inside of me now is unlike anything I’ve felt before. It walks that dangerous line of killing and fucking, where I think they could be one and the same. Blurred. I can’t predict the outcome of the evening, and that sensation has me feeling a little drunk on the events unfolding. Although I’m very much in control, it threatens to slip away from me, just as it did with the girl in the factory and I like it. I want to drown in this shit tonight so I can focus on bigger things, like why Enzo has such a raging hard on to take down Marchetti. I might even hand this girl the reins for a bit, let her believe this was a serendipitous encounter with a gentleman.

After I settle back into the driver’s seat, I pull out a long black scarf from the glove compartment and hold it up to her.

“You … wanting me to put that on, suga?”

“Yes,” I say flatly.

“This is some … kinky shit.” There’s a shaky quality to her voice, on the verge of a nervous laugh. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You can’t.” I try not to mince words when it comes to this part. No one knows where I live. No one. And I plan to keep it that way or the girl will end up out on her ass without decorum. “You wear it or get out.”