The Token 7: Thorn (A Token Novel) by Marata Eros

at Kiki. I pull my keys out of my pocket and stride to my Porsche.
    I break every law getting to Simone's shitty addy.
    Not wanting to.
    Praying I'm not too late.
     
    *
     
    I cuff the steering wheel for immobility, tweak the alarm on, and shut the door. The cherry I leave on the roof.
    Let the dredges take my cop's light. It serves as identifier and warning in one red orb.
    I sprint to her apartment entrance.
    I look in either direction. Humanity’s indifference meets me at all sides.
    The latch had been compromised. The metal tongue that engages the striker has been covered with tape.
    Fuck me.
    I tear the door open, run and leap over the short flight of steps to her apartment, landing on the balls of my feet at the base of the stairwell. I grunt softly at the impact.
    I have my gun in my palm before I've thought to do it.
    The door to Simone's apartment covers broken remnants of the contents of her apartment like a boogie board on top of an ocean.
    I don't surf it, but move between the islands of broken glass and tossed drawer contents.
    Someone's been searching. None too subtle either.
    I wind my fingers around the grip of my weapon. The gun comes up, rounding each corner before me. I sweep the piece in my path.
    Silence greets me.
    I'm on intimate terms with the quality of silence, and this one has people in it. I don't know how I understand it, but it’s one of the aptitudes that allowed me to survive my childhood and nail perps by intuitive leaps of logic.
    I employ that now.
    I move into a shadowed hallway, gun first.
    I slide my arm down the hallway, dipping a sliver of my face into the hall like a crescent moon.
    Nothing.
    Not a breeze, movement, shift or hint of anything.
    There are people here.
    I move into the center of the hall, a bigger target there isn't.
    So does Simone.
    I almost raise my gun, but her figure is all aligned in the curves of a woman. I recognize female instantly.
    I shove the gun into the back waistband of my pants.
    Simone watches me with shocky eyes. I move toward her slowly, feeling as though she'll spook.
    I ask her if she's all right, and she mouths yes when her eyes say no. Eyes can speak if you look hard enough.
    My gaze shifts to an open doorway to my right, flicking back to hers.
    She tracks my movements.
    Glass and harsh light greet me in the bathroom next to me.
    A body is on the floor.
    Caucasian male, early thirties, two hundred... six feet tall. The assessment is automatic.
    I sink to a crouch and check the pulse at his carotid artery.
    Steady, but out cold.
    I stand.
    Simone is just standing there.
    Early shock.
    I scan her body for wounds. There's a red mark at her sternum in the deep vee of her leotard. Solid hit.
    Rage surfaces inside me at the thought of anyone touching her in violence.
    A second thought hits me. Someone already has, and not just today.
    Simone is no stranger to violence.
    My eyes slide from the fresh wound to her hand. She's holding that small metal baton. I blink at the solid stainless rod. It's shaped like a dowel, maybe half a foot in length, half inch in diameter.
    It's coated with blood.
    My gaze lands on the perp at her feet.
    He's gone.
    He's got the look. There's something about a body without life. It doesn't look asleep; it lacks animation.
    Our eyes meet. She seems to sway. Her eyes talk what her mouth can't.
    Simone looks at me with need.
    I realize I need her more.
    I hold out my hand to her. It's the bravest thing I've ever done. The body between separates us in death.
    Our lives stand at either side, but strangely parallel. I wish I'd seen it earlier.
    But Thorn is a master at denial.
    My palm floats in the air, disembodied and adrift.
    The seconds tick past. It's forever. A lifetime.
    My chest grows heavy with shame. Her rejection is more than my fragile little secret set of emotions can stand.
    I didn't realize I had any left.
    I'm naked before Simone.
    I'm naked without her.
    Her hand sliding into mine is like cool water, and that knot