Mirror Amour (Circotica Series) (11 page)

My ruby lips curved. I loved the chase. I loved the kill. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. I didn’t enjoy murdering someone, but I did enjoy the knowledge that he’d never hurt another. My cut throat actions saved other would-be victims. Plus, that john deserved it.

Memories overtook my vision.
Heavy breath on my cheek, rancid smell as he slobbered on my neck. Then warm, oozing blood as my weapon of convenience—a long skinny oyster knife—buried deep in the man's groin. Ridding him of a vital piece of his anatomy and draining his body of crimson. One moment alive, the next—not. Then rushed practicality: Dispose of my surgical gloves. Wipe the corpse with antiseptic wipes. Remove the man's DNA, fingerprints, and blood from my body.

Adrenaline spiked, dousing my already overloaded system. My heart thudded as fast as the bass at a techno club. The pavement flickered and I stumbled.

No, not now!
My vision danced like a mirage. I no longer had control of my body.

Sirens were closer, screeching in my ears.
Keep moving, Ocean! For freakin' sake, move!

No amount of yelling could stop the migraine from consuming me. I screamed and clutched my temples, slamming to the concrete. The sidewalk danced under my phantasm goggles, no longer acting like rock and tar, but candy floss and gossamer.
I'm going. I'm going…

Cold claws grasped my bare shoulders. “You're coming with us.”

No!
The unrelenting crush of pain ricocheted in my skull. I wanted to die. Cuffs shackled my wrists, and I was dragged, then stuffed into the back of a police car.

The agony danced with nausea, tangoing in a way that tested my stomach’s willingness to evacuate its measly contents.

Precious minutes passed while I grappled with the migraine. When only a gentle pounding remained, I opened my eyes. I didn't know where I was.

The tense shoulders of policemen kick-started my breathing. I narrowed my eyes. It was quite a predicament to be shackled in the back seat of a police vehicle.

I glared at the fat, uniformed man who'd cuffed me. “You have no reason to arrest me.” Please tell me they didn't find the john. There was no way they could’ve found him already. And I knew there wasn't a drop of blood on me. There never was. I was clean. Efficient.
Ruthless.

While I waited to be graced with an answer, the lull of the car tires slowed my heart, and the rest of my headache seeped back like a tide.

“You're a working girl. We have every reason to arrest you.”

I sighed, slouching into the cracked vinyl seat. Relief flooded me. If this was just a routine grab-and-administer-friendly-sex-education mission, that was fine by me. I might even get a free dinner out of it. My stomach rumbled in agreement. Food would be good. Food was hard to get when you had no cash.
Too long this time, Ocean. You need to suck up your pride and go back.

The cop mistook my relief for annoyance. He turned in his seat, pointing a finger in my face. “You listen here, girl, we're only looking out for you. Don't pull that attitude.”

I slipped into slutty prossie, an act I'd perfected, but never played in real life. It was all an act—my entire existence. I didn't know the real me anymore. Batting my eyelashes, I pouted. “Attitude? I don't have an attitude. But if you let me go, I'll make it worth your while.” I licked my lips suggestively. Ugh, this was gross. As if I would stoop to sleeping with strangers.

His face turned beetroot red and he spluttered. Seriously, had he never been propositioned by a working girl? Highly unlikely, he was a cop working in prostitute alley, after all.

The officer driving muttered, “You keep that trap shut, missy, if you know what's good for you.”

I took his advice. We travelled the short distance to the cop station in uneasy silence.