Read Online Breaking Free: A thriller, M/F, erotic romance by Danielle Aretino - Free Book Online
Authors: Danielle Aretino
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surrounded by vomit a few feet away. Neither had a pulse. Tony backed away in a hurry, careful not to touch anything, as a million scenarios ran through his head. First thought: Dan choked to death and the hooker over-dosed. There was always two sides to every story, however, and this was one he was determined to solve before the news hit the rest of the biker peons in town.
"Call Missy," Tony ordered, his eyes never leaving the bodies. Funny how Dan's girl hadn't noticed he was missing.
She showed up about a half hour later by cab, and when they met on the front porch, she apologized: apparently someone had rear-ended her, and her car was in the shop. Tony waved it off, not interested in any excuses.
She screamed when she saw him—and it sounded real. Genuine horror. Grief. Tony kept her from touching the body, telling her that he had a guy who would sweep Dan for fingerprints or handprints or whatever the fuck those CSI nerds did. Missy collapsed in his arms, shrieking and crying. Her eyes were bloodshot when they met his.
"H-How?" was all she managed to get out. Tony looked away, unable to take the snot dripping out of her nose or the way her lips shook.
"We'll figure it out," he promised, and then sighed heavily as she started to cry harder. Damn it all. He shouldn't have brought her here. Probably would have been just as easy to give her the bad news over the phone, but in a way, Tony had wanted to see her reaction to the body. Judge her right then and there. Missy had never been much of an actress. He gritted his teeth and patted her shoulder, wanting to move her out of the bedroom but not entirely sure how.
If there was one thing Tony truly hated in this world, it was dealing with a hysterical woman.
Chapter 9
Dan's funeral took place on a cool day in early September. Even if he wasn't the best guy in town, a hefty crowd turned up to pay their respects. Most were gang members, but there were community leaders there too, perhaps wanting to earn favour with the notorious biker crew. His girlfriend Missy said a few words, quoting romantic poems and crying openly while the casket waited to be lowered into the ground. She thanked those who took time out of their busy schedules to be there, and insisted that she knew those who couldn't make it were there in spirit.
The roar of motorcycle engines sounded into the late afternoon, accompanying their fearless leader as he was set into a wide grave. Across the cemetery, a stone plate marked the grave of Sandy Hewett, local prostitute and assumed killer of gang's feared head rider. An investigation had gone on for the better part of the summer, handled internally and occasionally by a few of the crooked cops in the service of the DBD club. All evidence pointed to Sandy murdering Dan during a deviant sexual act, and then taking her own life sometime later.
No one left flowers on her grave.
It had been a black summer for the whole crew. There were fewer bar nights, no bonfires. The days were solemn. Everyone knew that once Dan was buried, the struggle for the next leader would start. More would die before the new king was crowned.
As soon as the casket was covered, various bikers taking a shovel and heaving piles of dirt as a final act of respect, the crowd dissipated. Many were headed to Morrison House to get stupidly drunk. Others planned drink at Dan's place instead, toasting his first night in the real afterlife the only way they knew how.
Curiously, Dan's girlfriend followed neither crowd. As the folks in their black outfits parted ways, Missy headed in the opposite direction. Only a few eyes followed her: with Dan gone, she was old news. The former queen no longer reigned, so why should anyone give a shit?
But for those who did watch, they might have noticed the way her tears stopped streaming as soon as her former lover was under six feet of dirt. They might have seen the strut in her walk, or the way her
"Call Missy," Tony ordered, his eyes never leaving the bodies. Funny how Dan's girl hadn't noticed he was missing.
She showed up about a half hour later by cab, and when they met on the front porch, she apologized: apparently someone had rear-ended her, and her car was in the shop. Tony waved it off, not interested in any excuses.
She screamed when she saw him—and it sounded real. Genuine horror. Grief. Tony kept her from touching the body, telling her that he had a guy who would sweep Dan for fingerprints or handprints or whatever the fuck those CSI nerds did. Missy collapsed in his arms, shrieking and crying. Her eyes were bloodshot when they met his.
"H-How?" was all she managed to get out. Tony looked away, unable to take the snot dripping out of her nose or the way her lips shook.
"We'll figure it out," he promised, and then sighed heavily as she started to cry harder. Damn it all. He shouldn't have brought her here. Probably would have been just as easy to give her the bad news over the phone, but in a way, Tony had wanted to see her reaction to the body. Judge her right then and there. Missy had never been much of an actress. He gritted his teeth and patted her shoulder, wanting to move her out of the bedroom but not entirely sure how.
If there was one thing Tony truly hated in this world, it was dealing with a hysterical woman.
Chapter 9
Dan's funeral took place on a cool day in early September. Even if he wasn't the best guy in town, a hefty crowd turned up to pay their respects. Most were gang members, but there were community leaders there too, perhaps wanting to earn favour with the notorious biker crew. His girlfriend Missy said a few words, quoting romantic poems and crying openly while the casket waited to be lowered into the ground. She thanked those who took time out of their busy schedules to be there, and insisted that she knew those who couldn't make it were there in spirit.
The roar of motorcycle engines sounded into the late afternoon, accompanying their fearless leader as he was set into a wide grave. Across the cemetery, a stone plate marked the grave of Sandy Hewett, local prostitute and assumed killer of gang's feared head rider. An investigation had gone on for the better part of the summer, handled internally and occasionally by a few of the crooked cops in the service of the DBD club. All evidence pointed to Sandy murdering Dan during a deviant sexual act, and then taking her own life sometime later.
No one left flowers on her grave.
It had been a black summer for the whole crew. There were fewer bar nights, no bonfires. The days were solemn. Everyone knew that once Dan was buried, the struggle for the next leader would start. More would die before the new king was crowned.
As soon as the casket was covered, various bikers taking a shovel and heaving piles of dirt as a final act of respect, the crowd dissipated. Many were headed to Morrison House to get stupidly drunk. Others planned drink at Dan's place instead, toasting his first night in the real afterlife the only way they knew how.
Curiously, Dan's girlfriend followed neither crowd. As the folks in their black outfits parted ways, Missy headed in the opposite direction. Only a few eyes followed her: with Dan gone, she was old news. The former queen no longer reigned, so why should anyone give a shit?
But for those who did watch, they might have noticed the way her tears stopped streaming as soon as her former lover was under six feet of dirt. They might have seen the strut in her walk, or the way her
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