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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ROMAN

“ S ydney!” Kincaid calls after her, but she’s gone before he’s finished saying the first syllable.

I turn to Blake. “Go after her. I won’t be long.”

With a nod to me and a final scathing glare at Kincaid, Blake follows Sydney. As soon as the door closes, I focus all my attention on the bastard in front of me.

“Was that the truth?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“The lone truth in a litany of lies. How very fucking noble of you.” I rest my hands on the bar at the foot of his bed.

“A commonality.”

“Don’t try and justify your bullshit lies,” I grit out between clenched teeth, rattling the bar. I’m still struggling with the idea that Kincaid isn’t the one who killed my sister. For the past three years he is all I’ve thought about day and night. My every waking moment has been spent planning his downfall then death.

“I lied to protect my daughter!” His tone defensive and pitch rising.

“Bull-fucking-shit! You lied to protect yourself.” I toss back at him, matching his indignation. Dropping my head, I take a deep breath, calming myself before I get thrown out or worse go through with my original plan of murdering Kincaid and walking away guilt free and full of justice for Annabel.

When I look back at Kincaid, he’s watching me knowingly. “Assume I believe you, you’ve been following JC’s movements, but how do you know where he’ll be each time?”

“It’s his little side game. Punishment of sorts. He knows I won’t go to the police, so instead he taunts me with his location and gives me twenty-four hours to save his next victim.” He visible shakes as he says the words. And against every fibre of my being, I might just believe him.

“If that’s true, why the fuck did my sister end up dead?”

He frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t fuck me around, Kincaid, because I swear to god I will kill you. I’m talking about three years ago in Richmond, Annabel, and you were the last one to see her.” I pull my phone from my pocket and find a picture of her, turning it to show him.

“I remember her, of course. We spoke for over an hour. I was upset because I was too late to stop JC that night.”

“Hold on, are you saying that Annabel wasn’t his only victim that night?” He shakes his head as understanding dawns, but I’m already there. “Then he was watching you. He thought she was important to you, so he fucking killed her to hurt you.” My mind spins with the possibility that JC has been picking his victims based on women who have had some kind of contact with Kincaid.

A nurse enters the room, coming up short when she sees me. “Visiting hours are over. You’ll have to come back later.”

I tap the bar, then turn to leave. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Roman, wait. What about our agreement, Sydney?”

I stop at the door and turn back to him. “We’ll take care of Sydney. You take care of staying alive until tomorrow.” He scowls, and I know he understood my veiled double meaning.

I find Blake and Sydney at the car waiting for me. But I’m not in the mood for explaining and ignore Blake’s efforts to interrogate me.

I thrash the shit out of the car on the drive to Sydney’s house after she asked me to stop by. Fuck knows why. I’m sure there’s nothing left but blackened debris and ash.

I was partly right. Half her house is still standing, but it’s cordoned off, and while it would be easy to slip inside, it’s not worth the risk of the whole building collapsing on us. Blake suggests stopping at the supermarket on our way home so she can get some clothes and basics. He takes her inside while I wait in the car, stewing on everything Kincaid said.

It seems I was right after all, and whatever happened between Kincaid and JC made it personal. His revelations about Sydney’s mother at least explain why there are no pictures of Sydney as a baby or with her mother. Talking about Annabel with him hurt like fuck. But it does reveal something about how JC chooses his victims. If Annabel was killed because he saw her talking to Kincaid, then it poses the question of if all his recent victims have been chosen for the same reason, and I wonder if Kincaid has ever actually saved any of the women. I make a note to ask him about it tomorrow.

I call Oz for an update into tracing the call Sydney received and tell him to keep looking for John Smith. Now we know who this guy really is, we can focus on looking for him. We already knew who JC was, but with him being dead—supposedly—we never spent any time on looking into him.

I’ve just finished my call when Sydney and Blake return carrying a shit load of bags, and I feel my bank card ching-ching with all the money they’ve just spent. Good fucking thing money isn’t an issue.

I don’t really care if I’m honest. She can have whatever the fuck she wants. If that were to include a repeat performance of last night, then all the better. The mental image has me shifting in my seat, and feeling Blake’s stare, I find him watching me with a knowing smirk.

He leans over to whisper in my ear. “What’s the matter, Ro, feeling a little tight in those jeans?”

“Fuck you!” I mutter as he rests back in his seat with a laugh.

“Is that an offer,” he parries back, not bothering to keep his voice low. Using the rearview mirror, I watch Sydney as she watches us. She didn’t miss our conversation, but she seems equally affected as she shuffles and crosses her arms to cover her hard nipples.

Despite her obvious arousal, I won’t be pushing her tonight. Blake, on the other hand, better be ready to soothe my feral beast.

Five minutes from home, Sydney finally breaks her silence. “Did you talk to Pa about your sister?”

I swallow my desire to bellow at her for bringing Annabel up and give myself a second to calm before answering.

“Yeah. It seems Kincaid spoke with her after she realised he was upset.” I’m not surprised. Annabel was always conscious of other people’s feelings even when they didn’t give a fuck about hers.

“You think that’s why JC killed her, don’t you?” Blake asks, reaching over to rest a hand on my thigh.

I flick my eyes to him. “Yeah. I fucking do.”

When we arrive back home, Sydney disappears off to her room and Blake and I talk in the kitchen with a beer after ordering pizza, neither of us in the mood to cook.

“She say anything to you when you found her at the hospital?”

“Nope. She’s processing. It’s a fucking lot to take in, Ro.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve had years to get my head around this shit, but even I’m struggling to understand it.” I balance my beer bottle on my knee, holding it up with one finger on the rim as my thoughts scatter. “What I don’t understand is why JC didn’t just kill Kincaid.” It’s something that’s been bugging me since Kincaid revealed he knew the killer. “Why then go after Sydney?”

“He’s toying with him. If you’re right and JC has been picking his victims based on interactions with Kincaid, then it makes sense for him to go after her.”

The pizza arrives, and Blake takes a plate up to Sydney. She takes it but he doesn’t think she’ll eat it.

“You think he’ll go after Kincaid again?” Blake asks as we eat.

“Probably. If it was me, then I would. But I’d also want Sydney.” I let that thought fester for a minute as I try to dissect my feelings on it. “She’s the obvious choice and the most hurtful.” I squeeze my beer bottle as thoughts of what that bastard will do to her if he gets his hands on her. I’ve seen the police reports, and they do not make for pretty reading.

“Switch it off, man. She’s here and she’s safe.” Blake gets up, collecting the empty pizza box and beer bottles. “How about I make you feel better. You can tell me what you were thinking in the car on the way home that got you so hard.”

I let Blake distract me—I need it. Getting up, I step up to him. “I was thinking about being balls deep in pussy while Sydney sucked your cock. But as that’s off the table, I’ll only be too happy to watch you come as I fuck you.” I groan at the visual my words created and adjust my cock over my jeans. I spin Blake around and push up against his back so he can feel just how ready I am. Then I force him forward, matching his steps as he deposits the rubbish in the kitchen before heading to our room.

By the time we reach our bedroom door, I’ve stripped him of his T-shirt and pulled his joggers down over his arse cheeks to release his cock. His steps falter as I push him against the door, stroking his shaft, adding a twist as I reach the top and swiping my thumb over his leaking head.

“Look at you weeping for me,” I say, grinding my hips into his arse, seeking some relief. His head drops as he pushes back against me, and I bring two fingers up to his mouth. “Suck,” I tell him, and he instantly opens, drawing my fingers into his warm mouth. When my fingers are drenched in his saliva, I pull them free and rub them over his tight hole before slowly inserting one finger, stretching him, then adding a second. “Relax. Let me in, Blake.” I keep stroking his shaft as he breaths out, letting me slip in further and further.

He slams a hand against the door as I curl my fingers inside him, hitting his prostate.

“Shh, do you want Sydney to hear?” I ask with a chuckle, knowing both of us would be happy to have her joins us. “Open the door, Blake,” I order, and he does. I push my fingers deeper inside him, tugging his cock harder as we step inside.

Releasing his cock, I grip the back of his neck, forcing his head down and bending him over. I quickly undo my jeans, pulling my cock free and fisting it tightly. Dropping to my knees and taking Blake’s joggers down with me, I scissor my fingers inside his arse, and hum as his muscles contract around my fingers. He knows what’s coming. Slowly drawing back, I grip his arse cheeks, opening him to me, and my mouth waters at the sight. I press my face into his arse, licking a path from his balls to his hole before running my tongue around the rim. My hips lift involuntarily, and Blake grabs my cock, fisting it tightly. I draw back and spit, shoving two fingers back in his arse, as he continues to jerk me off.

I suddenly become aware we are no longer alone.