Blood Lines: Edge of Darkness Book 3 by Vanessa Skye

Author:Vanessa Skye [Skye, Vanessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-10-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One

Berg winced as she made her way up the stairs to the detectives’ level. She hadn’t been worked over that brutally in a year and had forgotten about the aftereffects.

The skin on her back was black and blue and still oozing with blood. She had worn a dark, long-sleeved blouse and covered it with her jacket, hoping that none of it would bleed through. She should have gone to the hospital and gotten patched up, but she didn’t want to answer the inevitable questions the wounds would prompt. She felt enough shame at her actions without having to explain them to anyone else.

She had covered the bite mark on her ass with a bandage as it, too, still oozed blood when she moved. Given who inflicted it, she couldn’t help wondering if she should get a rabies shot.

While the evening had achieved her intended outcome—bliss for the few hours when the cacophony in her head was quieted by the pain and pleasure in her body—she resolved to never go back to the club and run the risk of coming across Oliver. He already thought he and Berg were in some kind of relationship as a result of their interlude and had called twice that morning already.

I’m better than this. Jay’s gone, but I don’t need this anymore.

She made her way slowly over to her desk only to find her chair occupied.

“Jesus, Berg,” Arena grumbled from his chair, popping the last of some sort of breakfast item in his mouth and crossing his arms. “Why are you so fucking late? We’ve been waiting since eight thirty!” He gestured toward Detective Short who stood and let Berg have her seat back.

She sat down and tried not to wince. “Fuck you, Arena. Usually I’m the one waiting for you to roll in anytime you fucking feel like it.”

Short laughed, and Arena scowled but didn’t say anything.

“Can I get you a coffee, Berg?” Short flashed her a perfect, white smile. “You look wiped.”

“Thanks, but I’ll get it,” Berg said, fighting to stand without reacting and gingerly making her way to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Arena asked with a frown, standing up. “You’re moving like you’re injured.”

“Nah, just a little stiff.” She felt shame flood her face but shook her head. “So what’s up?” She eased back into her chair once more and prayed for five minutes of quiet stillness.

Short pulled up a spare chair, spinning it around, kicked a leg over the seat, and propped on the back. “So there’s been another killing of a dealer in south Chicago. The MO’s the same as the others.”

“Eyes gouged? Tongue cut out? Fingers broken? Dumped in a public place?” Berg asked, leaning forward.

“Yep, it’s all the same, including the lack of physical evidence left behind,” Short replied.

“Tell us about the vic.” Arena sipped his coffee.

“It’s not my case, but a colleague tells me it was a local guy—known dealer, recently prosecuted, but released. Suspected gang affiliate.”

“Was he dumped in gang territory like Lopez?” Berg asked.

“No, not this time.

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