Dark Justice by Kristi Belcamino (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗

greenness of forest, maybe blown over from Marin County.

Suddenly the waiter was in front of me.

Thank God. I was done with finding dead bodies for a lifetime.

He grabbed me and kissed me, pressing me back against the wall. I planted my palms on his chest and pushed him away. Hard. He was lucky I didn’t demolish his balls with my knee.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“I saw the way you looked at me.”

“You’re just a kid,” I said, not denying his words.

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Like I said, ‘a kid.’” But he was older than I’d thought. He actually couldn’t be my son. Thank god. I’d been feeling like a pervert for the way I looked at him earlier.

“You’re so sexy,” he said, his hands on my waist, drawing me closer. “Let me show you how sexy I think you are.”

“Where’s your vape? I asked. But inwardly I groaned. His lower body pressed against mine, and I could feel his hardness and it made any resolve I had melt away.

I hadn’t had sex for a long time. Since Ryder in Barcelona. That seemed like a lifetime ago. And before that, when Nico was still alive but in the care home, I went without sex for years. It was ridiculous. Sex was healthy.

I loved sex. I wanted sex. Once upon a time, I didn’t even think twice about having sex with a stranger. In fact, I took pride in it.

We took turns smoking his vape. It was some damn good weed. Top notch stuff.

He handed me a joint. “You can have this for later. To remember me.”

Aw, he was cute.

He leaned back toward me, his face before mine, his eyes trained on my mouth. Then his lips were on my neck.

“I think this is a bad idea,” I said. Even I recognized it as the feeble protest it was.

“I don’t believe you,” he said in a low, husky voice. “I don’t believe for one second you buy into that sexist double standard. Men can be with younger women, but women can’t be with a younger guy? That’s total crap.”

He had a point.

His mouth was working its way up my neck. One of his hands was still firm on my waist. His other hand wrapped around the back of my neck, tangled in my hair. His breath was heavy now and I matched it. The anticipation of another kiss was irresistible. All logic and reason fled my mind. My body took over.

I could feel the heat coming off of him in waves. He leaned forward, his mouth was on mine, and despite myself I groaned in pleasure. And it just got better from there.

After, I pulled the hem of my dress back down as he buttoned up his pants.

“Holy shit,” he said, still breathless.

I exhaled loudly. “Okay, maybe it actually was a really good idea.”

He pulled me close and kissed me again. I let him.

Then he drew back.

“I gotta go,” he said, looking over his shoulder, but still holding onto my waist. “Do you think maybe one day…”

He trailed off. He already knew the answer.

I shook my head.

Then he was gone, back down the stairs.

I walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down at the city below me.

I’d lived around the world, but this city would always be my compass point, my ground zero, my homing beacon.

Even though I’d grown up in Monterey, I hadn’t felt like myself until I moved to San Francisco after my parent’s murder.

It would always be home.

I rummaged around in my bag and found my pack cigarettes and gunmetal Zippo lighter.

I pulled the joint the waiter had given me from the pack, lit it, and inhaled deeply, savoring the flavor and instant feeling of mellow gold that suffused my entire body.

At first, I was more annoyed than anything when I heard voices and the door open up behind me.

I didn’t turn around. I hoped if I ignored whomever it was, they’d go away.

Then I heard the squawk of a police radio. I couldn’t make out what it said.

I froze.

“Gia Santella?” a deep voice said.

Cold fear trickled through me. “Yes?”

“You’re under arrest.”

At first, it didn’t register. Then I thought about the boy I’d been with only moments before. He’d told me he was twenty-three. And pot was legal now in California...

It took a second for me to register the rest of what the police officer had said.

“You’re under arrest for murder.”

Thirty-One

Charles watched with hooded eyes as the uniformed police officers stepped out of the elevator into the restaurant. Most of the well-dressed and half-sauced crowd didn’t notice their arrival. But Charles did.

He’d been the one to call them and tell them Gia Santella was at the party.

Shortly after they arrived James had received a call that an arrest warrant had been issued for Gia. Nicoletta had overheard the conversation in the elevator. She immediately texted Charles.

Then, when they arrived in the restaurant, Charles was standing near Nicoletta and James when Gia stepped out of the elevator.

“Shouldn’t we call 911?” Nicoletta had said to James.

He’d looked at her like she was crazy. Then he had turned his wheelchair to face someone else and struck up a conversation.

Nicoletta was ashen faced.

Charles was humiliated for her. He wanted to strangle the stupid cop. How dare he treat her like that. Nicoletta glanced over at him and Charles held up his cell phone.

She gave a sly smile.

Charles dipped into a corner and dialed 911.

Now the cops scanned the crowded room. Beatrice Stanford was closest to them. They approached her and said something that made her fling a bejeweled hand up to her mouth. Then she pointed at a door.

Less than five minutes later, the officers emerged with Gia Santella between them.

She was handcuffed. She held her head high and her eyes were straight ahead.

Damn. She was a force.

Suddenly, Charles wished he’d handled the entire thing differently.

He wanted to see what she was like in bed.

Probably the exact opposite of Nicoletta.

Gia Santella was probably a wild cat.

Now, he’d never know.

When he looked up,