Page 85 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“I know,” I mutter despondently.

“Hey.” He gently grips my chin and turns my face toward him. “Just tell me next time, okay?” A small smile curves his mouth and I chuckle.

“There’s not going to be a next time, believe me.” I shake my head. “Lesson learned.”

“Come on, we’d better go and find Chan,” Danny says and gives me a little nudge to get me moving off the bed.

“He’s right,” Dusty says, flapping her hands and practically hyperventilating. “She could be chained up in a sex dungeon as we speak.”

“Really?” I glance at Dusty before I grab the bag and start pulling clothes out for me and Danny. “Your mind went straight from date to sex dungeon?”

“I’m kind of glad I can’t hear most of this conversation,” Danny mutters as he gingerly manoeuvres his bad leg off the bed and lowers his foot to the floor, keeping the sheets across his lap. “Um, maybe Dusty could give us some privacy to get dressed?” He blushes.

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby so you can check out.” She rolls her eyes and disappears.

* * *

It feels weird as I slide my key into the lock of our new flat. It still doesn’t seem quite real and it sure as hell doesn’t feel like home, but I guess that will come in time.

Pushing the door open, I step to the side so Danny can hobble past me. After dropping our overnight bag on the floor, I reach out to close the door and see a folded piece of paper taped to the back.

Danny sets off in search of the bathroom and I pluck the note from the closing door and open it up, scanning the neat handwriting.

Jacob Marley is coming to The Rainbow Room with me tonight. You’ll have him back tomorrow - Brandy.

“Hmm, short and blunt,” I mutter to myself.

She better bring my cat back. I saw them making heart eyes at each other, and as much as Jacob Marley likes to treat me like a slightly dishevelled blanket that he’s chewed and dragged around the flat, I actually do love the obstinate little shit.

“Uh, Tristan?” Danny’s voice calls out from the bedroom. I can’t quite place the tone. “Can you come here a minute?”

“I thought you were going to the bathroom,” I reply, smirking as I saunter toward the bedroom we’d decided would be ours. “Do you need me to hold your—oh my holy fucking Christ!” I freeze in the bedroom doorway and blink, sure I’m hallucinating.

“I–” Danny says helplessly as we stare at what is supposed to be our bedroom.

I know Chan said they’d take care of everything, but I am truly speechless and not necessarily in a good way.

The giant monstrosity of a bed dominating the room is heart-shaped. Seriously. A Bed. In the shape of… a heart. And I really wish that was the worst of it. A bloody ginormous canopy hangs over it, draped with gauzy fabrics and chiffon in bright, garish colours. Bright purple bedding covers the surface and is piled high with tasselled rolls and cushions in orange, magenta, and animal print.

Edging the room and pushed up against the walls are a wardrobe, armoire, and chest of drawers, all of them finished with a kind of faux gold-leaf which quite frankly hurts my eyes.

“Oh my god,” Dusty mutters in awe behind us, eyeing up the huge bed. “It’s like a 1980s porno. Next thing you know, Danny’s going to be growing a bushy moustache and offering to fix your pipes.”

“I–” Nope. I have literally no words. I turn to Danny to find him in a similar state, only his eyebrows are raised so high they’ve practically disappeared into his hair.

“If you’re this speechless, you probably don’t want to see the living room then,” Dusty says wryly.

“Why? What’s wrong with the living room?” I blurt.

I turn to Danny and we stare at each other for a second before scrambling toward the door. When we enter the living room, we stop and stare with wide eyes.

“Uh…” I’m not sure what I’m trying to say but it comes out as a kind of high-pitched squeak.

“It’s… um…” Danny tries to take in the details.

Pushed against one wall is a huge sofa, hot pink and shaped like a giant pair of lips. Hanging above it is a three-foot painting of a naked man holding his very huge, very erect cock.

But the statement piece really has to be the coffee table, if you can call it that. It’s a 1940s pin-up girl with victory rolls in her hair, siren-red lips, and black stockings and heels. She’s on her back and reclining on her elbows, knees raised and legs spread, and resting on top of her is a large oval glass surface.