“She still bugging you?”
I answer him honestly. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”
“Haven’t seen her?” he asks, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. “What’s that mean, Tommy?”
“Means she hasn’t been around to bug me. She’s not like the others, Vince.”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking Tommy.” Vince wraps his arms around my shoulder and leads me to the back room. “You talking like that to anyone else?”
“I haven’t said shit to anyone about anything.” That's always the correct answer to give.
“You sound like you’ve got something going on with her, Tommy. You talking to a cop?”
“Fuck no, Vince.” My body goes ice cold. I can't have anyone think I'm talking to a cop. That gets your ass killed.
“If you were anyone other than my cousin, I’d be thinking twice about believing the shit coming out of your mouth right now.”
“She’s a woman, is all,” I answer back.
“She’s a cop, Tommy. You can’t forget that shit. You can’t go easy on her just because she’s got tits. She’ll still use anything you say against you. Isn’t that one of their fucking lines?”
I press my lips into a tight line and nod diligently.
“Don’t fucking talk like that around anyone else. I can’t have anyone thinking you’ve got a thing going on with the cops. They can’t start spreading shit about you talking, Tommy. There’s only so much I can do to squash shit like that.”
He sounds desperate for me to listen to him. And I am, but only partially.
Even as he’s warning me away from her, I already know I’m going to lie to him. I already know I’m not going to listen. I think I’ve just been waiting for a reason to go to her, and she just gave me one.
Tonya
I shut the door, dropping my keys in the glass bowl on the end table, and drag my ass over to sink down on the couch. It’s been a long fucking day. I wince as I scrape the wound on my arm against the rough fabric of the sofa. I suck in a deep breath through clenched teeth. Fucking asshole made me chase him through the woods, all for what? A couple hundred bucks he stole from his parents? Seriously? It fucking pisses me off. I’m so fucking tired of dealing with junkies and this stupid shit. What’s worse is I know he’ll be out soon. Only to get hauled back in later. I lean my head back against the couch.
I put my hands on my forehead, and try to let the stress leave me. This isn’t what I thought being a cop would be like. I shake my head and forget that shit. I knew this was going to be hard. It’s not what’s eating me. I know exactly why I’m all fucked up. It’s because I have no leads to the only case I really care about.
My heart twists in my chest. I don’t want to think about him. I’ve been trying to avoid it, but he keeps haunting me. I don’t know what hurts worse, the fact that he could end this pain for me, or the fact that he’s gotten to me. I haven’t been with anyone in so long. I don’t remember it feeling like this. But then again, I’ve never been dumped like that either.
I snort, and force my tired body off the sofa. Like we were seeing each other. As if I mattered to him.
My gut drops, and I find myself regretting it. But I can’t stand that. I don’t like regret. I do what feels right, and I don’t do what feels wrong. It’s my own insurance policy so that I never regret anything.
At any point in my past, I know whatever I was doing was exactly what I wanted. At least right then and there. And I’d be a fucking liar if I said I didn’t love every minute of Tommy fucking me. I came alive under him. I smile, remembering how loud his bed was. I shake my head and open my fridge looking for a snack or something.
It sucked though, when it was over. I look at the half gallon of milk and the rest of my practically-empty fridge and frown. I close the door and try to shake off this shit feeling. I don’t hold it against him. It never should’ve happened. But it still fucking hurt.
I’m not going to let him stop me from getting to the bottom of Petrov’s case though. I’m sure as fuck going to avoid him like the plague though. I need to get him out of my head. If anyone at the station found out what happened between us, I’d be fucked.
I feel like a bitch for judging all of them and how hard they are after years of doing this shit. No wonder they look at me like I don’t belong. Fuck! I lean my head against the fridge and breathe in and out slowly. I can’t shake this negativity. I can’t get out of my own fucking head. I’m second-guessing everything, and feeling like shit as a result. I need to stop. But I don’t know how.
I slowly open my eyes as I hear a loud knock at my door.
My heart stills in my chest. I have no clue who would come over here this late at night. I wait with anxiety trickling through my limbs for a voice. But I don’t hear anything. I walk silently, but quickly to the end table and pick up my gun where I left it. I hold it down and walk steadily as I hear a loud knock again.
Bang. Bang. Bang! On the third, I hear his voice say, “Open up, Tonya.” Relief washes through my body and I almost put the gun down, but then I think twice.
I look at it in my hands and remember how angry the other members of the Valetti familia were. In two days, I’ve managed to piss off more men than my mom has in her entire life. That's saying something.
“I know you’re in there, you may be a bad girl, but I don’t want you pushing me right now.” His voice doesn’t come out hard, but it's not playful either. It’s almost a little worried. Like he’s fairly confident that I’ll answer him, but scared that I won’t.
I like that.
I like making him wait. Not because I don’t want to answer him, I do. The wild side of me is jumping at the chance to answer him. But I also like keeping him on edge.
I put the gun down on the end table. It may be stupid, but I don’t care right now. I walk to the door and unlock it. I wait a second to see if he’ll open it. But he doesn’t. He respects that boundary. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I can’t let myself go back to how it was before. This is going to be professional.
I open the door and curse myself as my eyes land on his hard, muscular body. Fuck, I want him. I want all of him. I close my eyes and don’t open them as he speaks.
“What are you doing snooping around?” He gets right to the point, and anger rises within me. Enough so that I can stare back at him.
“Snooping around?” I’m not snooping. I’m simply trying to get answers.
“You need to knock it off.” His voice is stern and admonishing. It pisses me off, but also lights something else in me. Something I need to let die.
“I don’t need to do anything, and as far as you’re concerned, you weren’t giving me what I needed, so I had to go somewhere else.” I know the double meaning there. And I hate that it slipped out. I feel fucking pathetic.
His eyebrows raise, and he looks me up and down like he’s sizing me up, but I can see he’s angry. “Is that so?” he says with a neutral tone.
I start backpedaling the best I can and say, “I need answers for my own sanity.”