Badge by K.L. Savage

 

That damn box is burning a hole in my nightstand. She just had to do that. She just had to be… sweet and nice to me. She had to care. Why does she have to care? Why does she need to be thoughtful? What else can I do? She’s… so fucking beautiful.

She’s a little slice of heaven brightening up my hell.

I stare up at the ceiling, then look over at the wall next to me, wondering if she’s there. Seeing her nearly washed away all the bad shit I was feeling along with all the blood I felt today. I swear I still feel it slipping between my fingers. She has no idea how much I want to kneel at her feet and just give in.

But I can’t. I honestly don’t think I can remember how not to constantly fight my feelings.

I sit up with a sigh and flip on the light, rubbing my hand over my eyes. There’s no way I’m going to be able to nap. I want to, but every time I close my eyes I see Morgan’s dead body, cut open and fucking butchered as if she didn’t matter.

Not only am I fucking up by not telling Reaper the truth about my job, but I also fucked up with Maizey. I love that little girl. She was the first one I dared to care about and sometimes caring for her morphs into guilt. I don’t feel like I’m allowed to love another child.

It’s impossible, isn’t it? To ever love another child like your own? I miss her so much.

I miss her so much that I just want to fucking die already. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair for a parent to outlive their child.

I press my palms against my eyes and the emotion, the pain, the turmoil that boils under the surface of my skin tries to come out, but I swallow it down. It will go away. One day, it will fade.

Even if it did, do I really want it to? If it fades, will it mean I’ve forgotten her?

I can’t take any more cases like this one. I’m slowly starting to unravel, and I need to tie the knots back tight before I slip up more than I already have.

With an exhale, I open the drawer and take the box out of the cubby. I was an ass for tossing it in there like I didn’t care about it, but all I could think to do to show my appreciation was to kiss her—and that’s completely out of the question. I have Bullseye to think about and I know I’ll get a dart in the dick for even thinking about touching his daughter.

“Best to stay away.” I begin to untie the ribbon, but my fat fingers have trouble getting the knot out. It’s one of those tiny ones that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get it, but cutting it isn’t a fucking option. I won’t get defeated by a stupid piece of string. I lift the box and place the ribbon between my teeth and try to tug, but all that accomplishes is getting it wet with my spit.

Fucking gifts.

This is why I don’t like them. I get too excited, and then if I can’t open it, I get pissed off. I yank the drawer out again, grab my pocketknife and flip it open, then give the ribbon a good tug along the sharp keen blade. The ribbon finally gives.

“Fuck you, gift box,” I declare, triumphant.

I jiggle the lid off, and a piece of paper falls out. I pick it up first before I look at the gift. It’s a handwritten note.

Badge,

I saw this and thought of you. In Native American culture, bears are sacred—at least that’s what the saleswoman told me. Maybe she just said that in order for me to buy it. Anyway, she said one thing that really stuck with me since I saw it for you. Bears were believed to have magical powers because they were so strong that they kept fighting after they were wounded.

I think that’s what you do, Badge. You fight.

I’m here whenever you want to take a break from it.

Your friend,

Hope

“Ah, Hope. You do have a lot of it, don’t you?” I say to the sheet of paper, folding it gently to not mess it up and place it in the box. Next, I take the square piece of foam out and finally see it: a leather band.

It’s fucking nice. Real leather, like my cut. It’s quality. I rub my fingers over the braided material and lift it into the air. That’s when I see the silver pendant of a snarling bear. She saw this and thought of me which makes me feel… warm.

It’s different. I’m used to feeling so damn cold.

How does she know me better than anyone else and she’s barely talked to me?

I take the ends of the necklace and wrap it around my neck without thought, then stand and make my way to the en-suite bathroom. I flip the light on and, huh, I’m impressed. The necklace actually looks good around my thick neck, and it sits just in the right spot, not too far down my chest, but not a choker.

Because I think that would be weird.

It’s one of my favorite gifts.

My phone rings, cutting me out of my trance, and I groan internally when I see Moretti’s name pop up on my screen. What in the hell could he want? He got what he wanted from us. He got his brother back and is doing God-knows-what to the bastard.

“Yeah?” I ask, already annoyed he is calling me.

“I know about your little private investigation business.” I open my mouth to ask how, but he beats me to it. “I have eyes everywhere. I need you to come to the hotel. I have problems and I want them taken care of privately.”

“You’re going to need to call the cops.”

“I don’t want to call the fucking cops. I’m calling you, aren’t I?” he sneers, and in the background, I hear a door shut. “I have a dead body, Badge. I didn’t put it there. What’s that tell you?”

“Reaper doesn’t—”

“Reaper doesn’t need to know. I need you down here. I can take care of the body, but I want to figure out why it’s here. That’s the third one in a week.”

“Alright. Alright. I’m on my way,” I say, annoyed as hell that I have to leave. I really want to sleep.

“And I’ll pay. Twenty thousand.”

My brows lift my hairline. I open my mouth to respond but he’s already hung up. Mateo Moretti is a man who always finds a way to get what he wants. I throw on some fresh clothes and tuck my wallet in my back pocket before grabbing my keys again. When I open the door to leave, instead of taking a right, I hang a left. Hope’s door is open and when I peek inside, she’s sitting on the bed working on her laptop while Faith is next to her on a pillow. The TV is on and some girly medical drama with a guy that has great hair has me rolling my eyes.

Always that fucking guy.

“Badge?” she says my name and it’s sweet, reminding me of the little slice of heaven I had earlier. “I mean, Ogre, is that you coming out of your cave?”

“You’re funny,” I say without laughing.

We fall into an awkward silence, and she puckers her pink lips and nods her head slowly. “So what can I do ya for, Ogre?”

I want to kiss you until we both need to come up for air, but decide suffocating is so much better.

“I’m going out, do you want anything?”

“You’re offering to pick me up something?”

“It’s not a big deal. If you don’t want anything, just say so.”

“Actually, yeah. I need some formula for Faith since…” her cheeks tint and she looks away. “Since I’m not producing milk anymore.” Her voice cracks and she clears her throat to try to hide it. “I have some money I can give you.” She sniffles and stands, making her way to her purse. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t expect to need to buy it—”

Before I know it, I’m right behind her, smelling the damn strawberry shampoo wafting from her hair. She got it done. It’s no longer bleach blonde, but a tad bit darker to match her roots. It looks incredible and sexy. My eyes close as I nearly paste my front to her back. Her breath hitches when she feels me standing so close and she leans back, just enough for her shoulder blade to kiss my pec.

It’s barely a touch.

But it’s everything.

God, why does she feel so good to be around?

I place my hand on hers, stopping her from getting any money out of her wallet. “Don’t worry about it. Think of it as a gift,” I say, hoping she catches the meaning. I know she notices the necklace and I want to thank her for it, but I don’t know how. A gift for a gift, sounds nice, right? Maybe I’ll get her a massage gift certificate. Becks isn’t here anymore, so we don’t have our in-house therapist any longer. Hope’s a mom, she deserves some pampering.

I run my nose over the top of her head, becoming addicted to her sweet scent. Every fiber of my being is aflame. She slowly turns around, her hand still underneath mine. So soft, so delicate.

Her eyes lock onto the necklace, but I can’t read her emotions. Is she happy I’m wearing it?

“Well, I better get going.” I tug my hand free; I already miss her. It’s been too long since I’ve been touched by someone that matters and Hope most definitely matters.

She tugs me back and the strength behind the pull surprises me.

“Wha—” I’m cut off as she throws her arms around my neck and slams her mouth against mine. I don’t move. I can barely think. My hands clench and unclench at my sides. This isn’t a good idea, but damn. she feels like the best idea there ever was.

“Kiss me back, Badge. Kiss me,” she begs against my lips.

I can’t.

I grab her arms gently and stop her. Her lips are red from moving against mine and for as long as I’ll live, I’ll never see a prettier sight.

“Is it me? Do you not want me?” Her gorgeous eyes water from rejection.

I could be a dick right now. I should say no, that I don’t want her. Maybe then she’ll hate me as she should. Like I want her to.

But deep down, I don’t want her to hate me.

“Just go.” She shoves me against my chest, and I stumble to the door. “I get it. I’m too young or too thick. You probably like the whores more than you like me. Just go. We both know you don’t want to be here.” She opens her purse again and, with jerky motions, hands me a hundred-dollar bill. “There. That should cover it.”

Without saying a word, because right now, saying nothing seems to be better than saying something, I take her hand and place the money in her palm. Then I do something out of character.

I bring her silky fingers to my lips and kiss them. “It’s better for you to not be with a guy like me.”

“And what kind of guy would that be?” she asks impatiently.

I back away and go to shut the door behind me when I remember what she calls me. “I’m an ogre, remember?” I shut the door and finger the pendant around my neck, needing it to feel balanced for some reason before I begin to walk out the door.

She’s changing everything. For some people, change is good, but for me, change means forgetting, and I can’t do that.

Knowing the ogre is forever who I’ll be, I don’t look back. I head out the door to the truck, knowing she’s better off without a damned beast like me.