┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓

Suspect

┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Chapter 20: Suspect (Dante's POV)

It seemed like no matter how far we went, we'd still end up back to the beginning. The next morning's early hours bled into the late hours of the afternoon, and before we knew it, the sun was on its way to set. 

Anastasia and I spent the entire day looking through all the information we could find on the victims, and it took much longer than we anticipated to draw links between the victims and the guests attending. It was hard to determine who was an acquaintance of the victims and who was an enemy. 

Whether we liked to admit it or not, the truth was that we wouldn't be any closer to finding our culprit until they wanted to be found. The killer had a very strong motive here, some kind of mission or goal that they wanted to achieve, and until he or she did, we had to admit that we may not find them. 

But... at the end of the day, we were on duty, and as per the rules, we were obligated to work our asses off. Hence, we followed the sad excuse of a lead that we found, and that was Monica Coleman, our second victim's ex-husband. 

Looking through her belongings and searching through her apartment, police had found a man's belongings along with boxes of packed things and divorce papers from just three months ago. We had no evidence pointing directly at the man, but with no other option, we decided to question him so we could rule him out. 

The man's name was Sebastian Carter. Despite not having any connection to the first murder, we still had to look into him. Sebastian Carter wasn't exactly a stranger to this world. He was fairly well known as a smuggler and dealer across the city. Also infamous for often laying his hands on women around him, along with rumors of him beating his ex-wife. 

"I'm telling you," I said, drawing her attention to me as we walked across the parking lot and got in my car. "We're going to come up empty-handed again." 

She rolled her eyes as she buckled herself in. "Will you stop being so pessimistic? We're doing the best we can." 

"We're wasting time. You and I both know he's not the killer." 

"We won't question him assuming that he is. I just want to use this opportunity to see if he may know something that could help. He might know if someone wanted to kill his ex-wife, don't you think?" 

I shook my head slowly and started the car, driving to the warehouse we'd been informed he would be at tonight. "We're raiding his lair," I said, "I don't imagine it will go very well." 

"We'll ask nicely," Anastasia shrugged in response. "We come in peace." 

A man known to beat women, and Anastasia coming face to face with him? Peace? I highly doubted it. 

I glanced at her before diverting my attention to the road again. My gaze drifted to her one more time as I slowed the car at a red light and took that chance to take in her attire. 

I hadn't seen Anastasia dressed this casually in a long time with a pair of flared-out jeans that fit her body snuggly, kissing the curve of her hips; the jeans were low-rise, showing off a sliver of skin at her midriff. A plain black tank top hugged her upper body, with a black leather jacket covering her up. 

My own outfit was pretty fucking similar. Black pants, a black T-shirt, and a leather jacket like hers. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she planned it, but it was purely coincidental. 

Within the next fifteen minutes, we'd arrived at the address given to us by the police and parked the car off to the side. I stepped off and rounded to her side, opening the door. 

As she stepped out, I stood my ground and moved forward, closing the door and backing her up against it. Bracing a hand on the roof of the car, I stared down at her as I breathed out. "This is a bad idea, Vitalio." 

Her brows twitched up, almost in amusement. "Tell me that one more time. I dare you." Tipping her head back, she stared back at me squarely, a challenge dancing in her eyes. 

"Don't do anything rash," I told her, "you're not here to prove a point to me, I want you to remember that." 

Nodding dismissively, she ducked beneath my arm. "Come on." 

Knowing she wouldn't budge on this, I trailed a step behind her, both of us slowing to a stop at the door. Anastasia's hands flew to her waistband as mine did the same, both of us checking for our guns. "Ready?" I asked, taking hold of the doorknob. 

She shrugged and nodded lightly. Swinging open the door, we took our first step into the warehouse. 

Carter's voice echoed throughout the property, where huge cardboard boxes lined up the walls. I knew for a fact each box was packed, if not overflowing, with various kinds of drugs. After all, he was a smuggler and dealer. 

The further we walked, the clearer and louder his voice grew, booming through the walls until we spotted him in the center. A handful of guards, five to be precise, stood around the table Carter sat at alone, two duffel bags full of cash splayed open before him as he counted each and every bill by hand. 

Anastasia took a step forward, shifting out of the darkness and shadows and into the middle of the room. "Mr. Carter," she called out. 

The moment he and every other man in that room laid eyes on Anastasia, I wanted to take her hand and bring her out of there. Something didn't feel right. 

Every one of his men and Carter himself went utterly still, his fingers freezing above the stack of cash in his hands. "Who the fuck are you?" he spat out as his guards now stood armed, all five guns pointed at Anastasia. 

Cursing under my breath, I stepped forward and stood beside her, bringing attention to myself. 

"I'm with the FBI," she answered. "I tried contacting you earlier today, but you didn't respond." 

"What do you want?" he demanded. 

She continued slowly and cautiously, making her way toward the table as I trailed behind her. "I would just like to ask you a few questions about your ex-wife's murder." 

The look in Carter's eyes was... murderous. "Get out. Both of you, get the fuck out, right now!" he snapped, shooting up to his feet. 

I felt more of his men approaching before I heard their footsteps shuffling behind me, and the moment I did, my heart sank to the pits of my stomach. I should have held my ground, I should have fucking insisted that this was a terrible idea. Without backup, at least. 

Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes grazed over the seven men appointed behind us, guns pointed at our heads. Twelve barrels aimed at us. 

"Just a few questions, Mr. Carter, please," Anastasia persisted. "We're just trying to figure out what happened to Ms. Coleman. Do you think someone wanted to hurt her?" 

"I said get out!" he yelled. He certainly was acting strange for someone who didn't have anything to do with the murder. 

My eyes narrowed slightly. "Did you do it?" I asked bluntly, stepping forward. 

"No, goddamn it! Look here, I answered the police already, all right? Now, get the fuck out before I have you both killed right here. With a place this big, your bodies wouldn't be found for days. Leave." 

Powder churned beneath my shoe with each step I took. "Was that before or after they saw your little hideout here, Mr. Carter?" I asked, glancing around the place. 

"Stop," Anastasia hissed behind me. 

"I'd suggest answering our questions," I continued, holding his gaze. "We'll leave as soon as you do, and we can all walk out alive and happy tonight." 

His movement was so discreet, I would have missed it had I not heard someone shuffle behind us. With the smallest flick of his finger, one guard had taken a step closer to Anastasia. 

Reaching for my waistband, I pulled out the gun. Locked and loaded, I straightened my arm, aiming straight for the guard behind him, and without missing a beat, I pulled the trigger, a jolt running through my arm at the force of it. 

"Stop, what are you doing?!" Anastasia snapped, rushing to my side as she forced my arm down. 

Ignoring her, I faced Carter. The bullet had missed him by an inch, almost brushing against the shell of his ear, judging from the way his hand shot up to cover it. Lifting a brow, I stared at him expectantly. "Would you be willing to answer now?" 

Frustrated, enraged, yet defeated, he reluctantly agreed, telling us to take the seats across from him. He wasn't exactly a suspect in my head, but with no one else to investigate, we had to go about this assuming he was. It would be difficult to question him as a suspect without triggering him again, so I let Anastasia ask the questions and kept my mouth shut. 

I'd already done enough to get an earful from her later. But I'd fucking kill someone or die myself before I let Carter or any of his men lay a hand on her, even if that meant going against my own instructions for tonight.

After hearing his answers, I hadn't changed my mind about him. He truly was a vile man who wasn't even slightly ashamed of admitting that he would beat her. He never once hesitated to degrade her in front of us, even now, when she was dead. 

I could see Anastasia growing more infuriated as time passed. Unfortunately, by the end of our questioning, nothing had changed. 

Yes, he knew the victim. Yes, he had a motive to kill her since she'd demanded a divorce, finally having had enough of his brutality. But he had an alibi for the night the autopsy showed she was killed, not to mention, he hadn't seen her in the days leading up to it. Nobody had. 

It was highly likely that Monica was abducted in the days leading to the murder, even though there were no signs of torture or abuse of any kind toward her. Carter being the killer would have made things a lot easier because he had everything going for him, save for the actual means to kill her. 

We had to remember that she had been poisoned with abrin which was a natural poison found in rosary peas. The smallest of doses could kill an adult, and that too within seven-two hours. Monica had been poisoned due to inhalation of the poison in the form of a mist. The killer had practically trapped her in a gas chamber and poisoned her in it, and it was likely that the poison was made from scratch. 

Although Carter had experience with drugs, he didn't have the means to carry out a murder like that. 

Sighing in defeat, Anastasia turned to me and shook her head lightly. 

This isn't getting us anywhere. We need to leave. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it, Mr. Carter?" I asked, lifting a brow at him as I sat in my seat, leaned back, and legs spread and stretched out with my palms resting on my thighs. 

Anastasia's knee viciously bumped against mine, and taking the hint, I stood from my seat along with her. 

"You better not fucking bother me again," he seethed. 

"Trust me," Anastasia scoffed, "we won't." Spinning around, we began making our way to the doors. 

"Don't you dare let 'em out!" he suddenly shouted. 

Our guns were in hand as soon as he ordered his guards, but before Anastasia and I could even reach the door, we were surrounded. A series of gunshots went off simultaneously from both ends, and I felt Anastasia's back against mine as we covered each other. 

We didn't have enough ammo or time to stick around and fight; the priority was to get out. 

Bullets cut through the air, echoing off the cold, unforgiving walls of the warehouse. With each shot, the wretched stench of gunpowder began filling the air, and I knew it wouldn't be long before we ran out of shots. The deafening roar of gunshots drowned out all the shouts and orders Carter continued barking at his guards. 

In the frenzied movements, I could hardly make out anything beyond the silhouettes of the men firing at me, and I aimed for those, pulling the trigger mercilessly, unleashing bullet after bullet. "Move!" I demanded, taking a step back, encouraging Anastasia to start advancing toward the door as we still fired. 

I heard the door swing open and ricochet off the wall as we reached the exit, the majority of Carter's guards lying wounded on the floor. We were careful not to take a lethal shot, only shooting in areas to ward them off. The moment I felt Anastasia move away from me, I heard her gun clatter to the ground.

A scream escaped her as I shoved back the final guard and pushed the door shut behind me, swiveling to face her. "Get off of me!" she yelled in frustration, charging forward as she twisted back another guard's hand, his knife hitting the floor. 

Racing forward, I grabbed her hand and tugged her back, delivering a solid punch before kicking the guard to the ground hard enough to leave him wallowing in pain for the next minute. I reached for her hand instinctively. "Come on," I mumbled, both of us rushing to the car and slipping inside. 

Without wasting a second, I sped out of the parking lot and down the street, escaping. Catching my breath, I stole a glance at Anastasia, my gaze shifting to where she clutched her side as she threw her head back, groaning in pain. "Did he get you?" I asked immediately. 

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. "Just drive. I'll be fine." 

"Anastasia—" 

"Just drive, goddamn it!" 

Not wanting to argue with her when she was in what I knew to be agonizing pain, I kept driving, but instead of heading back to the office, I went straight for her apartment. I figured there wasn't another place she'd feel completely safe and comfortable in. "Put pressure on the wound. We're almost there," I breathed out, pausing for a second at the red light before I scanned both ways and disregarded it, running the light and turning onto her street. 

"That was a red light!" she exclaimed, glancing out the window. 

I turned to her. As if it fucking mattered. With the sharp right, we entered her parking lot, and I rushed out of the car and rounded to her side.

Wincing and groaning in pain, she eased herself out only the moment she did, her knees buckled as she crashed into me, shaking her head. "I can't do it," she panted, "fuck. Give me a second." 

"It's okay," I told her, catching her waist as I shut the door. "I got you." 

Her eyes cut to mine. 

I nodded slowly, "I got you," I repeated. As I reached forward to pick her up, she stopped me. 

"I can walk," she gritted out. "I'm fine." 

I watched blood trickle past her fingertips and onto the ground. "You're bleeding a lot," I said as we stepped into the private elevator in the parking lot. 

"I'm fine," she persisted, sinking against the wall, almost collapsing to the ground if it hadn't been for my arm around her waist. 

"You're not fine," I said quietly, keeping an eye on the countdown. 

"I will be," she argued, taking a few deep breaths. Within a minute, she had miraculously gotten control of herself. Her breaths were more even, and even though she was in tremendous pain, she was pushing through it. Holding onto the railing with a steel grip until the doors let up, she breathed out shakily and winced quietly as she walked out of the elevator and towards her front door. 

My hand lingered at the small of her back, ready to catch her the moment she stumbled. But she didn't. 

Unlocking the front door, she let out a groan of pain as she immediately threw her jacket off, discarded it on the floor, and stumbled into the kitchen. 

A sharp bark pierced the air before that big dog of hers began following us, incessantly barking at me. 

"Kenji," she sighed softly, quieting him. For several beats, she stopped at the island and steadied herself. With her first step toward the sink, her body began to give out, her knees collapsing and her balance shifting. 

I caught her just in time and let out an agitated breath, easing her onto the countertop. "Let me help you," I said sternly. 

"I can—" she argued. 

"No," I cut her off sharply, "you won't. Let me fucking help you, Anastasia. Where's your first aid kit?" 

She stared at me for several seconds, clutching her wound as she remained seated on the countertop. "Under the sink," she whispered a minute later.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 20

More was supposed to happen in this chapter. I was going to give y'all the tending to her wounds moment, but the chapter was already too long lol

I'll update tomorrow though, don't worry

next ch: wounds

PS- outfits are the first comment