Read Online Hot Mess (An Iron Tornadoes MC Romance Book 5) by Olivia Rigal - Free Book Online
Authors: Olivia Rigal
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Kristal sees the corpses in the morgue and the body of the one kid who miraculously survived the race, it should be easier for me to talk her into helping us with the case.
"Scare the crap out of her," I explain. "And if that doesn't work maybe the promise of some serious time in our state facilities should convince her that her best interest is to cooperate."
Cracker lets out a small whistle. "Good luck with that."
* * *
15
I t's night again and it's drizzling. Kristal is behind me on my bike shivering. She holds on tight, tighter than she did when we drove out from the Styx to Point Lookout hospital. On the way out, I could tell she'd never been on a bike before. She was holding fast because she was scared. Now, she's holding on to me as if her life depended on it, but it has nothing to do with our means of transportation.
She's trembling in horror. I don't think she'd even seen a corpse before. Maybe I'm wrong, she could have seen the body of her recently deceased mother but that didn't prepare her for the horror I showed her.
None of the kids made it. The one they tore away from his machine earlier in the day didn't survive.
Kristal has a strong backbone. She trembled but didn't look away. When I was done talking with the employee of the morgue, she followed me silently, looking so devastated the only thing I wanted to do was to take her in my arm and tell her that everything was going to work out fine.
But I didn't. I acted as if I didn't give a crap about her. I just motioned for her to get behind me and she did.
We're back at our starting point and there are a few cars and bikes in the parking lot. Week nights are not the busiest but there's still some action. Out of season, everything but weekends used to be real quiet. It's changing now that Pat organizes special events. We've got "tied up Tuesdays" with Shibari classes and "flaming Thursdays" with fire play basics. Now the Styx draws a sufficient crowd to open five to six days a week.
Kristal follows me up to my studio. Only after I have switched on the lights and locked the door behind me does she find her voice again.
"Ernest, did I do that?" Her lower lip trembles.
I stand closer to her and look into her eyes. I stall looking for the proper answer to that question. How much guilt should I lay on her? I don't want to crush her, just to make her see that she needs to help me.
"The drug that killed them, it's the same one you were delivering," I tell her. She bites her lower lip and blinks. Fuck, I hate doing this to her. Even though I shouldn't, I can't help myself and attempt to soften the blow. "There's no way we'll ever know if it's the batch you delivered or another."
"What do you think?" She looks at me in earnest and something inside of me crumbles. I want to open my arms and be her shelter.
"There is only one way we'll ever find out," I answer, keeping my eyes locked on hers. "We'll know once we've arrested those bastards."
She looks away and turns her back to me. Silently she walks to the window and looks out in the garden. The tension in her shoulders tells the story of her inner struggle. A minute passes and the only sound in the room is the distant echo of the loud music on the lower floor.
I'm about to give up and take out the heavy artillery when Kristal asks, "Can I help?"
I let out a silent sigh of relief.
"Yes, you can," I tell her, coming to stand by her side. "I'll tell you how in the morning. For now, why don't you get some sleep."
Kristal looks up to me and then at the omnipresent California king-size bed. I smile and tease her, "I'll let you pick the side you want." She returns my smile, shyly. I push her gently away from the window. "Come on, get ready. I'll let you have the bathroom first."
While waiting for her to return, I switch on the nightstand lamp and pull out the heavy drapes that block the light from the patio lanterns. I put my weapon away in the drawer with my wallet and remove my jacket.
"It's all yours,"
"Scare the crap out of her," I explain. "And if that doesn't work maybe the promise of some serious time in our state facilities should convince her that her best interest is to cooperate."
Cracker lets out a small whistle. "Good luck with that."
* * *
15
I t's night again and it's drizzling. Kristal is behind me on my bike shivering. She holds on tight, tighter than she did when we drove out from the Styx to Point Lookout hospital. On the way out, I could tell she'd never been on a bike before. She was holding fast because she was scared. Now, she's holding on to me as if her life depended on it, but it has nothing to do with our means of transportation.
She's trembling in horror. I don't think she'd even seen a corpse before. Maybe I'm wrong, she could have seen the body of her recently deceased mother but that didn't prepare her for the horror I showed her.
None of the kids made it. The one they tore away from his machine earlier in the day didn't survive.
Kristal has a strong backbone. She trembled but didn't look away. When I was done talking with the employee of the morgue, she followed me silently, looking so devastated the only thing I wanted to do was to take her in my arm and tell her that everything was going to work out fine.
But I didn't. I acted as if I didn't give a crap about her. I just motioned for her to get behind me and she did.
We're back at our starting point and there are a few cars and bikes in the parking lot. Week nights are not the busiest but there's still some action. Out of season, everything but weekends used to be real quiet. It's changing now that Pat organizes special events. We've got "tied up Tuesdays" with Shibari classes and "flaming Thursdays" with fire play basics. Now the Styx draws a sufficient crowd to open five to six days a week.
Kristal follows me up to my studio. Only after I have switched on the lights and locked the door behind me does she find her voice again.
"Ernest, did I do that?" Her lower lip trembles.
I stand closer to her and look into her eyes. I stall looking for the proper answer to that question. How much guilt should I lay on her? I don't want to crush her, just to make her see that she needs to help me.
"The drug that killed them, it's the same one you were delivering," I tell her. She bites her lower lip and blinks. Fuck, I hate doing this to her. Even though I shouldn't, I can't help myself and attempt to soften the blow. "There's no way we'll ever know if it's the batch you delivered or another."
"What do you think?" She looks at me in earnest and something inside of me crumbles. I want to open my arms and be her shelter.
"There is only one way we'll ever find out," I answer, keeping my eyes locked on hers. "We'll know once we've arrested those bastards."
She looks away and turns her back to me. Silently she walks to the window and looks out in the garden. The tension in her shoulders tells the story of her inner struggle. A minute passes and the only sound in the room is the distant echo of the loud music on the lower floor.
I'm about to give up and take out the heavy artillery when Kristal asks, "Can I help?"
I let out a silent sigh of relief.
"Yes, you can," I tell her, coming to stand by her side. "I'll tell you how in the morning. For now, why don't you get some sleep."
Kristal looks up to me and then at the omnipresent California king-size bed. I smile and tease her, "I'll let you pick the side you want." She returns my smile, shyly. I push her gently away from the window. "Come on, get ready. I'll let you have the bathroom first."
While waiting for her to return, I switch on the nightstand lamp and pull out the heavy drapes that block the light from the patio lanterns. I put my weapon away in the drawer with my wallet and remove my jacket.
"It's all yours,"
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