He was the opposite. All-consuming of the space he was inhabiting. He was in all black, so he almost melted into the inky darkness around him, but the lines of his body seemed to jump from the night air, hinting at his muscles beneath.
Luke glared back at me.
“Perhaps,” Keltan said.
“So is this an intervention, or do you want me to take a workshop or something?” I asked, feigning impatience. “Because trust me, you couldn’t afford me. And you definitely couldn’t handle me.” I directed that one at Luke too.
“We can fuckin’ handle you,” Luke seethed.
I tilted my head. “Give it a try, then,” I invited. “Is that why you’re here, to ‘handle’ the female?”
“No,” Keltan said. “We’re here—”
“We’re here to ask you what the fuck you’re doing?” Luke interrupted. “You think you’re some kind of Robin Hood? Or do you think it’s up to you to punish the guilty?”
I didn’t blanche at his anger, his fury. “No, but I think it’s up to someone to avenge the innocent, and I’m as good a woman as any.”
Luke’s glare endured. “You’re a woman. Out here on your own. That’s no place for—”
“Be very careful about what comes out of your mouth next, Luke. About what you say I can and can’t do because of my tits. And my genetic predilection for being more awesome than anyone with a Y chromosome.”
“You’re not doin’ this shit anymore,” he said instead.
I raised my eyebrow at the same time I tapped my gun against my thigh. “Really?” I asked placidly. Calmly. In a tone that most men who valued their lives would recognize.
Luke’s face told me he didn’t currently value his life. Or at least he didn’t take me very seriously as a threat to it.
He wasn’t the first man to make that mistake.
He wouldn’t be the last, either.
“Really,” he gritted out.
The following moments could’ve gone a lot differently had it not been for Keltan, a man who did recognize my tone. Mostly because he was a lot smarter and because he was married to a woman who likely taught him about said tone.
“Okay,” he said, fluidly stepping between us. “Let’s not do anything we’ll regret.”
I smiled. “Oh, I won’t regret it.”
Luke’s anger pulsated through the open air and he stayed silent, his version of disagreement.
I’d never met anyone more stubborn than him, apart from myself.
“Oh, I beg to differ, darlin’,” Keltan said casually, his laid-back demeanor cutting through the tension rippling between Luke and me. “Now, how about you put the gun away and we’ll chat.”
I focused on Keltan and did not put my gun away. “Now, if your chat is going to entail you trying, in your endearing little accent, to tell me not to do something, I’ll tell you that being married to my best friend and having a cute accent isn’t going to change my answer to that question. It’ll just reduce the curse words and death threats.”
Keltan, instead of taking my threat as a promise, smiled. Instead of finding it supremely irritating, it was somehow reassuring, not patronizing as it most likely would’ve been coming from men who underestimated me—i.e. Luke.
“No, I’d never dream of doing such a thing. Unlike Luke, I actually value my nuts. I wanna have kids one day,” he said, glancing to Luke, who was still glaring.
I idly wondered what the record was for the longest continuous glare. Luke was surely close to beating it.
“I’m going to offer you a job,” Keltan continued.
I blinked and said, “Seriously?” at the same time Luke said, “What the fuck?” Actually, he yelled it.
Keltan, interestingly, didn’t look at the man who’d yelled at him. He acted like he’d never even heard him.
Neat skill.
“Surprising, I’m sure, but I’m serious. I’m more serious about talking about this in a slightly more savory environment and with a beer in my hand. Fancy going to our place? I’m sure Lucy would love to see you and hear about your secret identity as Batman.”
I grinned. “Although black is timeless and chic, my secret identity would obviously be Superman. I look kick-ass in blue, plus flying is so much cooler than driving an obnoxious car. Wouldn’t mind the butler, though.”
Keltan grinned.
Luke stepped forward, in front of me and right in Keltan’s grill. “You can’t be fucking serious right now. I called you here to help me stop this bullshit, not encourage it,” he seethed.
Keltan kept his easy expression. “Now I’m sure you know Rosie better than to think anyone, especially us, can stop her from doing anything,” he said. “Stopping her was never gonna work. I’m offering a mutually beneficial solution.”
“It’s not very fucking beneficial,” he clipped.
“In time, you’ll agree with me. For now, let’s get off the street before the fuzz comes.” Keltan looked to Luke. “Guessin’ you’re not ridin’ with me?”
Luke shook his head once and Keltan grinned, turning to leave in the opposite direction of my car.
“Oh, the police are already here,” I snapped to Keltan’s statement, despite him walking out of earshot.
It wasn’t for his benefit anyway.
Luke snatched my arm. “I’m not a cop anymore. You’re well aware of that.”
I thought I did well at hiding the pain his words held. “Once a cop, always a cop. It’s those pesky morals. They don’t disappear as easy as a badge does.”
His eyes glowed in the moonlight. “You’d be surprised what doesn’t disappear and what goes away completely,” he murmured, half dragging me to the car. “Like me imagining the taste of your pussy on my tongue. Or the way it’s gonna clench against my cock when you come. That kind of shit isn’t gonna leave me ever.” He pinned me against my car, my entire body pulsating with his words, the way they roused the memory so stark that I could feel his lips everywhere, despite his mouth being inches away.
“I’ll be turning those imaginings into reality, make no doubt about that,” he rasped. “But first, you’re getting in the fucking car,” he demanded.
Chapter Fourteen
My downstairs area was pulsating as I sat in the car, my panties wet from just the pure sex in Luke’s tone. As he got in beside me, I wanted to jump him right there, forget the rest of the other shit, my anger, our fucking heartbreak.
I just wanted him.
I was close, very fucking close to doing just that when he spoke.
“This isn’t your job, Rosie.”
I started the car, screeching away from the curb, seething in the lost moment, being deprived of sexual release.
“Well, whose job is it?” I snapped, hands tight against the steering wheel. “It’s not yours anymore. And even when it was, who was it deciding what constitutes right and wrong and how wrong is punished? And more aptly, how to get off fucking easy? Huh? Fat guys in expensive suits with bad hair and worse tans are sitting in their comfortable seats in their big white houses, controlling things. Controlling the law. How it’s enforced. Controlling what we think about the fucking world. What’s good and bad. I’ve seen bad. Experienced it. Felt it. I feel like I know better than those fat guys what constitutes punishment, so I disagree with you there. It is my job, much more than it ever was yours.”