Does It Hurt? (120)

“You know you’ll be walking out of there looking like a sucked-on raisin, right?” Troy calls the second my head pops out from the water.

Except him. Didn’t miss him.

I squint at my partner, trying to decide if I want to grab his leg and drag him in here so I can watch him panic, or if I should take my usual route and ignore him.

“And while I’m ecstatic that you finally found someone willing to put their mouth on any part of you, it’s not a cute look.”

“The fuck are you even saying?” I bark with annoyance. He acts like I’m supposed to know what the fuck a sucked-on raisin is.

“A wet, shriveled raisin. You’re going to look like a wet, shriveled raisin. Not cute.”

Before I can answer, the water shifts, just enough to draw my attention away from the blabbering idiot. A fin is charging straight toward me, so I steadily sink beneath the water.

The female great white is like a torpedo in the water, swimming at around twenty-five miles per hour.

Adrenaline rushes through my system, my heartbeat pulsing through every atom in my body.

Her mouth opens wide, rows of razor-sharp teeth on display. I kick my legs, angling myself so I’m perpendicular to her. My feet are out past her body and my torso is right in front of her mouth. Just as she reaches me, I grab onto the tip of her nose, using her momentum to vault myself above her, so I’m riding alongside her back.

She thrashes as I grab ahold of her dorsal fin, holding on tight while she glides through the water.

I’ve agitated her enough, so once she swims by the ladder, I release her and grab ahold of the metal steps, climbing out while she takes off in another direction.

When I pop my head out, I find Officer Bancroft and Officer Jones waiting next to Troy, along with Sawyer standing on their other side, shifting uncomfortably. Their boat is idling at the dock, still running.

Good. Means they won’t be out here long.

Sawyer went down to the station to answer more questions, and I’ve been waiting for them to call me to pick her up. She insisted on going alone, and while I didn’t like it, I respected her need to lay her past to rest on her own.

Seems they took the initiative to bring her to me.

“Gotta say, Mr. Vitale, you are an extraordinary man,” Officer Jones calls, peering into the water with the typical look I see from people—couldn’t be me.

“There’s nothing extraordinary about humans,” I respond. Troy rolls his eyes and mouths be nice, which confuses me because I don’t know what that means.

Jones chuckles dryly. “I suppose you’re right.”

I step onto the walkway with a frown, water pouring from my body as I stalk toward the group. I’ve seen enough of them in the past three weeks, and I’m pretty tired of their faces. Sawyer’s eyes briefly round before she quickly looks away, little red dots forming on her cheeks.

A grin tugs at the corners of my lips—something she catches sight of with a quick glance. Then, she’s tripping over herself before her gaze solidifies and glues to me, those strawberry lips parting as I approach.

Fuck, I love my little thief.

“Mr. Vitale?” the sudden intrusive voice snaps my attention away, and my smirk instantly drops.

“What?”

Troy sighs with exasperation at my tone.

“I see you’re still not interested in therapy,” Jones observes, a curl to his lips.

They’ve tried pushing a therapist on me to deal with murdering someone, but I don’t see why, considering I haven’t lost sleep over it.

“What gave it away?”

Jones doesn’t deign to give me an answer, but he huffs out a dry laugh.

“You might be a good role model for Trinity here,” Bancroft cuts in. “She might feel more comfortable going if you do.”

I stop before the group, staring at the two officers with a frown. Sawyer has held off on therapy, for now, not wanting to go to someone that was appointed to her. It’s hard to seek help when you’ve been forced to bury everything that gives you nightmares, never being able to tell another soul about it.

“Why are you here?”

Sawyer bites back a smile, shaking her head at me.

“Our investigators have seen substantial evidence of self-defense in this case. We wanted to tell you the good news ourselves that you’re no longer a person of interest.”

I cross my arms, staring at them for a beat before saying, “I already knew that.”

Troy’s eyes bug. He’s afraid of the police, and disrespecting them is no better than disrespecting the prime minister.

“Did you now?”

I shrug. “It was obvious considering he’s been hoarding dead bodies.”

“He’s very happy to hear that,” Sawyer cuts in, shooting me a look.

They don’t appear convinced, but I don’t really care.

“We gave Trinity some brochures on financial assistance and programs that might help her acclimate to society. I hope you encourage her to find her own independence, Mr. Vitale,” Bancroft explains, ending the last sentence with a stern, authoritative tone.

One eyebrow is raised, staring like when a parent is expecting you to go to college instead of living in their basement until they’re thirty.

The nuns that raised me are far scarier than her.

Said brochures are in Sawyer’s hand, and she’s staring at them like she plans on burning them later.