His First Surrender (Stonewall Investigations Miami Book 3) Read online

  “All right. I’m sure I’ll feel it more tomorrow when I wake up. The bruises aren’t too bad.” I looked down at my purple forearm.

  “Did you get to talk any more with the detective?”

  “Actually…” I didn’t waste a beat. “We went out on, I dunno, a date? I guess. I think. Anyway, yeah, we talked some more. Well, mainly I did the talking while he did the listening and emotional blockading, but whatever. It was still a nice night.”

  “Ohh, interesting. Very interesting. And this was the detective you were calling a ‘sniveling and spineless worm’ the other day?”

  “Yeah so about that: let’s just agree I never said that.”

  “Mhmmm.” Hazel’s bubbly laugh filled my ear. “He does have that broody, mysterious kind of quality to him. And you felt like you two hit it off?”

  “I think so. I mean, when I say ‘date’ I’m using that term very loosely. I’d love to get to know him better, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t know…”

  “You’re scared of getting hurt?”

  “Very.” I looked both ways before crossing the street. “And he looks like someone who could absolutely devastate me.”

  “Yeah, with his di—damn it!” A honk cut through my phone. “Ugh, Miami drivers. I swear. I think I’d rather drive through an active war zone than here.”

  I laughed. “All right, I’ll let you focus on the road. See you soon.”

  “Byyyyye!”

  The call ended and I slipped my phone back into my pocket. A high-end clothing store was closing for the day, the employee giving me a friendly smile as I walked by while she locked the door, the bright white display lights staying on, shining on four chic mannequins wearing peacock-inspired body wraps. One of the mannequins was a man, wearing a tiny teal blue Speedo.

  I wonder how Rocky would look in those…

  Jesus.

  I need Jesus.

  Without Hazel to occupy my mind, my thoughts boomeranged right back to Rocky. He had not only managed to save my life and take me out on an impromptu date, but he’d also managed to implant himself directly into the center of my brain, making it impossible for me to push him out. He was like a splinter. A very annoying splinter that I couldn’t pull out, even if I wanted to.

  Which… weirdly, I didn’t.

  For the rest of the walk home, I allowed my imagination to drift off, painting all kinds of scenes in my head, mainly of Rocky in various states of undress, but there were also other scenes. Us on the beach, listening to music and laughing over dumb stories. Us taking our first trip together, Rocky and I buying those silly airport coloring books and finishing all the pages before the flight landed. I imagined a hell of a lot, and, for the most part, it kept the negative thoughts at bay.

  Until I was about three streets away from the apartment. I passed a two-story house, all the doors and windows thrown open, music drifting out into the street, a group of drunken college kids yelling loudly as one of their friends had apparently just arrived.

  It drew my attention. But it wasn’t the happy group of frat guys that sent me on a spiral. It was the girl behind them, sitting on the stairs leading up to the house. She wore a black dress and a pair of black Vans, with a jean jacket thrown over her shoulders. Her mascara was running down her face as she cried. A friend of hers sat down on the step. He put an arm around her, but she pushed him back. She stood up and yelled, loudly, “Fuck all of you!” before storming off, leaving the house and disappearing down the street.

  It sent me right back to the night I was at a party like this. It brought me back to the dumb glee I had experienced, partying it up with friends and living my best life. Thinking everything in the world was okay, that nothing could possibly go wrong when you were having this much fun.

  That was all until someone had slipped something in my drink. In a matter of minutes, I had gone from completely coherent to a blubbering mess who couldn’t even stand. So I wasn’t able to storm off and curse all the fuckers out. Instead, I had to be carried out and taken straight to the hospital. Thankfully, Hazel was there with me and instantly realized something was wrong. If it wasn’t for her, I was sure that whatever monster drugged me would have taken advantage of me without batting an eyelash.

  That was why I couldn’t see myself going to Rocky’s place and feeling comfortable enough to even do anything. It took me much longer to trust people after that night. Everyone I remembered talking to at the party seemed like they were fine, regular people. No one stood out as a date-rape kinda person, which, in the end, really taught me that people could wear so many different masks without ever revealing their true face.

  Our apartment building stood on the corner of a quiet street. There was someone walking their two Chihuahuas up and down the patch of grass in front of the building, the bright pink leashes reflecting the headlights of a passing car. I noticed Hazel’s car was parked on a meter.

  I took out my keys and unlocked the front door of the building. I wondered if Jesse was even home. As I climbed the stairs, avoiding the elevator that broke down way too much for my liking, I started feeling more and more nervous. Maybe this was a bad idea. My cheek still burned from where I’d gotten hit, and if Rocky didn’t intervene…

  I pushed the heavy stairwell door open and stepped out into the hallway, onto the forest-green carpet and under the fluorescent white lights.

  That’s when I heard it. A bloodcurdling scream. One that shot through me like a bullet, shredding me with its passing.

  It was Hazel. She was screaming at the top of her lungs. I ran, my heart pounding painfully in my throat.

  Her screams morphed into strangled cries. I fell into the apartment, the door having already been cracked open.

  “Sam,” Hazel choked out. She stood in the living room, her hands raised, her palms covered in dark red blood. “Get help, Sam!”

  10

  Rocky Hudson

  “But was she murdered by him, or by someone else? Was there ever a payphone by the Applebee’s? Will this ever be answered? Tune in to next week’s episode of Crime Hunters to find out. And don’t forget to use offer code DeadBody for fifteen percent off body pillows from this week’s fab sponsor.”

  The podcast faded out. I didn’t even bother switching to another episode or changing to music; it wouldn’t have made a difference. No matter what was coming through my car’s speakers, all I could hear in my head was Sam’s voice.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy. Fucking hell. The entire drive home had me consumed with the idea of Sam and how he tasted, how he felt. The attraction went beyond primal. It felt almost instinctual. Like nothing else in the world made more sense than Sam and I getting together. There was no explaining it. I couldn’t think of anyone who had made me feel this way, and so quickly, too.

  It meant I had to forget all about him. I’d figure out this case for Hazel, and I’d exorcise Sam out of my life. I’d light up sage or some shit. Whatever it took to get him to stop taking over my every thought.

  I drove over one of the main bridges that connected Miami Beach to the rest of Florida. It was a tall, wide arch, and it was lit up with bright purple lights on either side, lights that would slowly change into blue, then green, then purple again. The other bridges were also lit in the same fashion, setting the tone for anyone entering the beach at night.

  I lived in Coral Gables, a residential neighborhood that bordered the University of Miami. It was a neighborhood with money, that part was clear from the large homes and the fleet of expensive cars parked in the wide driveways. Lexus and Mercedes and BMWs. There were gated homes with massive front yards, and smaller homes with large backyards, while the streets were all lined with palm trees and manicured bushes.

  My house was surrounded by a tall black gate which opened automatically as I pulled up. There were thick green vines growing through the gate, making an impenetrable wall of green so that passersby couldn’t get a glance at my property. I enjoyed privacy, and this home offered me that.

  I drove up the cobblestone driveway, parking my car next to the stone fountain of a jumping dolphin, its long snout appearing to be turned into a grin. The previous owner had said a witch doctor gifted him that fountain and promised a lifetime’s worth of good luck to anyone who lived in the house. When I asked if he thought that was true, he answered, “Well, my wife left me for my best friend, and my two kids both hate me for reasons I’ve yet to figure out—oh, and I broke three bones in the span of two weeks, all while I was home. So no. I don’t. But it’s a nice fucking fountain, though, ain’t it?”

  It was a pretty nice fucking fountain.

  The Tesla’s locks clicked on automatically as I walked away. A toad, its bumpy back turned to me, sat on the path leading to my door. The little guy must have sensed me coming and hopped off into the bushes as I approached, the leaves rustling loudly as it moved its bulbous body through the foliage.

  As I walked inside my house, the lights all came on automatically, flooding the large entrance in light. I stretched, hooking my keys up on the hook next to the large double doors. I kicked off my shoes and unzipped my pants, pretty much my ritual whenever coming back home. As I walked through my foyer and the living room, I started to kick off the pants. When they were by my ankles, I stopped and finished pulling them off. I folded them up and placed them on the washer as I walked past the laundry room.

  In my kitchen, I went for a beer, grabbing one of the Coronas and popping it open. I leaned against the island, the marble cold against the back of my thighs. The beer was welcome, although I found myself wishing I’d brought Sam back to enjoy a beer with. The night had gone very well, even with how fucked up it had all started as. The image of Sam being beaten up flashed across my mind, making me see a lightning bolt of red. I
took a big chug of the beer, focusing in on Sam. On the time we spent after I had found him. His smile never seemed to waver, even though I was sure he had to have been in some kind of pain. He had a way about him that got me going, in all kinds of different ways. I wanted to learn more about him while simultaneously cracking myself open for him. Something I hadn’t done for anyone in as long as I could remember.

  Sam had me feeling brighter than bright.

  He also had me picturing him in ways I hadn’t seen yet. Picturing him with that smile of his, slowly falling to his knees in front of me, his chin tilted up so his eyes could lock with mine as he leaned in and kissed my cock, from balls to tip. I pictured him stroking me, using both hands to bring me pleasure, his permanent smile still on but tilted more toward a devilish grin.

  The daydreams had me rock hard. I rubbed myself, almost absentmindedly, the fantasies of Sam Clark transporting me somewhere else.

  I knew there was work to be done, but I had to take care of the rising pressure inside my balls first before I completely lost my goddamn mind.

  Fuck it. I need to jerk off.

  I set the beer bottle down on the countertop and walked back into the hallway and into my living room. I took off my shirt and tossed it onto the white leather couch. My nipples were hard to the touch. I pinched one between my fingers, letting out a deep breath, rolling it, barely able to even wait until I got upstairs. Sam had me so fucking worked up. I could have blown my load right there on the couch.

  My erection strained against my briefs. I dropped those, too. I stood naked, hard cock jutting out and pulsing lightly in the air. I gave myself a couple of strokes, but I needed more. My body wouldn’t be satiated tonight with just my hand. Not when Sam still swam through my mind, lighting up a bonfire at the base of my spine. And he looked so fucking good too, with his new haircut and that permanent smile of his. A smile I wanted to see wrapped around the base of my dick.

  I left my clothes in a pile on my living room floor. I walked through my house, cock swinging back and forth, and went up the curving staircase, taking two at a time, my balls slapping against my thighs with the momentum. The lights automatically turned on as I walked across the dark hardwood floor, still wearing my long black socks.

  Still hard as a fucking rock.

  I went to the door, the one past my bedroom, stopping at the keypad, the letters and numbers glowing blue against the black console. Before I could tap in the password, a sound echoed throughout my silent house, startling me at first before I realized it was just my ringtone.

  Not many people called me. Especially not at ten o’clock at night.

  With a frustrated sigh, I started back to my living room, where the sound was coming from, my boner slowly deflating as I walked.

  If this is a fucking telemarketer calling, I’m going to snap.

  I reached my phone, the ringtone still echoing around the large space, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings. The number wasn’t in my contacts, but it didn’t appear to be a telemarketer either. I answered and was instantly greeted by a panic-stricken voice.

  “Rocky, Rocky, it’s me, Sam. It’s Sam. I need—we need your help.”

  He was out of breath, and his tone trembled. I was bending down to grab the underwear I’d left on the floor as I asked him to start at the beginning.

  “It’s Jesse. He’s… Jesus, he’s dead, and they think Hazel did it. They think she murdered him. But I can’t—that can’t be what happened, Rocky. Please. They’re taking her to jail.”

  Before Sam had even finished, I was already fully dressed and out of my house, locking the door and running to my car.

  “I’ll be right there, Sam. Are you somewhere safe right now?” I asked him, the call seamlessly connecting to the car as I jumped into it.

  “Yes. I’m here, I’m home. I just, I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry.”

  “You called the right person, Sam. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I floored it, my wheels screeching as I raced down the street, no doubt attracting some attention from the normally quiet neighbors. It sounded like I was drag racing down the streets, and frankly, I couldn’t give a single fuck. My top priority was getting to Sam.

  Thankfully, the streets were relatively empty tonight. I zoomed through the lanes, my pulse pounding hard. Sam’s terror-filled voice triggered something in me that I thought was long dead, buried with the rest of my family.

  I reached Sam’s apartment complex, pulling into a spot just outside his building. Right next to the police car that was currently pulling out.

  In the back seat sat Hazel, her head held in her hands, sobs racking her shoulders. I could hear them through the glass. I could also see that her hands were red. A dark red, the color of dried blood.

  The police car drove off, the officer not even throwing me a glance.

  Sam stood at the stairwell leading up to his apartment. He looked at me, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Tears still streaked his cheeks, reflecting with orange from the streetlight just above us.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, seeing no blood on him.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m, I don’t know. I’m in shock.”

  Another officer walked past me, up the stairs, a roll of yellow crime scene tape held loosely in his hand.

  “Tell me exactly what happened.” I looked down into Sam’s eyes and tried to ground him. Tried to let him know I was here now, help was here. I tried, even though I could tell the fear already washed over him and threatened to drown him. The second the shock wore off, Sam would feel it like a visceral wound.

  “I came home,” Sam started, collecting himself. His lower lip stopped quivering, and his hands slipped into the pockets of his shorts. “I came home after the date. Or meeting. Whatever, the thing we had. I got here and I heard Hazel screech. I ran upstairs and found her standing there, blood on her hands. Jesse was in his room. I didn’t actually see him, I couldn’t. But Hazel said he had… a lot of stab wounds. There was a lot of blood. I…” Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I stopped myself from reaching out and laying a compassionate hand on his shoulder.

  He continued. “I called the police right away. Then I called you.” Sam’s lower lip trembled again. “They took her away. They think she did it. But she said she got the blood on her hands because there was blood on his doorknob, smeared underneath it. She didn’t realize at first what it was. She tried rubbing it off, and it spread to her other hand. She didn’t…” The tears he’d been trying to suppress bubbled up to the surface.

  “Did she have blood anywhere else on her?” I wanted to keep Sam away from the dark waters that his thoughts pushed him toward. I had to keep him focused on the facts, on helping Hazel.

  “No,” he said, confident, sniffling. “Just her hands.”

  “And she was going into Jesse’s room?”

  “She said she heard a weird noise. I think it was his last breath. She just went to check if he was all right.”

  I looked up the staircase, wondering who I would have to bribe to get into the crime scene. Sometimes the cops were all right with an outside detective coming into an active scene, but most of the time, they were angry dickheads who had raging attitude problems.

  “I’m going to look upstairs, see if I can spot anything. I’ll ask the neighbors if they heard or saw anything. This must have happened sometime in the past three hours, so chances are good that we’ll find whoever did this.”

  “Thank you, Rocky. Again. I ah, mean, Detective Hudson, thank you.”

  “Of course,” I said, never able to receive gratitude with grace. “Just wait down here, I’ll be back.”

  “Actually, I’m going to my parents’ house. I can’t stay here. I can’t. I wanted to follow Hazel to the station, but the cops said it’d be useless, she’d be separated from me and wouldn’t be processed until the morning.”

  “Go. Be with family tonight. Hopefully I have some good updates to give you tomorrow.”

  “Hope,” Sam said, huffing. “That’s funny.”

  Sam, his shoulders dropped and his head down, left then. I didn’t want to let him go alone. I wanted to be at his side. I wanted to assure him that “hope” wasn’t funny; it was real.