Within These Walls

Chapter Four: The Fiancée From Hell

Dante Richard Hawke

I shove through the crowd, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Nova is moving like a heat-seeking missile straight for the bar, and I know that look. It’s the look of someone who is about to commit a felony in front of three hundred witnesses.

"Nova! Get the f**k back here!" I growl, but she isn't listening. Her eyes are locked on Marcus Thorne. Her blood is clearly boiling; I can see the pulse jumping in her neck from five feet away. She’s vibrating with a rage so thick I can practically smell it.

I reach the marble counter at the exact same time she does. We both slam our hands down on the bar, flanking Thorne like bookends of pure spite.

Thorne flinches, looking between me and this goddess in a blue dress who looks ready to tear his throat out with her teeth.

"Detective Hawke," Thorne stammers, his eyes darting to Nova. "And... you are?"

Nova doesn't even see me. She’s staring at Thorne like he’s a ghost. "You piece of—"

"Nova!" I bark, grabbing her arm and pulling her flush against my chest to muffle whatever career-ending insult was about to fly out of her mouth. I force a grin that feels more like a snarl. "Sorry, Marcus. My girl gets a little... impatient when she’s thirsty."

Thorne looks confused, but a friend of his taps his shoulder, whispering about a private toast in the lounge. Thorne nods, looking relieved to escape the heat coming off the two of us. "Right. Excuse me."

As Thorne slips away, I whirl Nova around, my hands on her shoulders. "What the f**k was that? You almost blew the whole goddamn night!"

"Let go of me, you bastard!" she hisses, trying to shove my chest. "That man is mine! You don't understand, he—"

"Hawke! There you are!"

I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I turn slowly, keeping my arm firmly around Nova’s waist so she can’t bolt. It’s Captain Miller. He’s red-faced and grinning, looking like he’s had three scotches too many.

"Captain," I say, my voice dropping into a professional rumble.

"I’ll be damned," Miller says, his eyes widening as he looks at Nova. "The 'Grim Reaper' of the precinct actually has a life. And a hell of a life at that. Who is this?"

I feel Nova tense up. I know she’s about to say something like 'I'm a private investigator who hates this man,' so I beat her to it.

"Captain Miller, meet my fiancée, Nova," I say.

Nova’s head snaps toward me. Her jaw literally drops. Her blue eyes go wide, flashing with a mix of shock and 'I am going to kill you in your sleep.'

"Fiancée?" Miller bellows, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. "Well, s**t, Hawke! I thought your only hobby was filling out paperwork and scowling at the coffee machine. A fiancée! Must say, Detective, you’ve been holding out on us."

"We like our privacy, Captain," I say, squeezing Nova’s waist in a silent plea for her to shut up and play along.

"I can see why!" Miller laughs, leaning in. "Well, Nova, you must be a saint to handle this grumpy prick. How did he even propose? Did he read you your rights first?"

Nova Starling Quinn

I am going to murder him.

I am going to find a way to make Dante Hawke disappear, and I’m going to use my digital skills to erase every trace that he ever existed. Fiancée? The word feels like a physical weight on my chest. I stare at the Captain, my face a mask of frozen horror.

"Saint isn't the word I'd use," I manage to choke out, my voice tight. I lean into Dante, my nails digging into his side through the expensive fabric of his suit. "He’s certainly... unforgettable."

"I bet!" Miller chuckles. He starts rambling about some precinct story, calling Dante 'Big Dog' and 'The Ghost.'

I wait for a break in the conversation. "Excuse us, Captain. I need to fix my lipstick. It’s a bit... smudged."

I grab Dante by the lapels of his tuxedo and drag him toward a quiet alcove behind a velvet curtain. The second we’re out of sight, I shove him back against the wall.

"Fiancée? Are you f*****g kidding me, Dante?" I hiss, my face inches from his. "I am here to take Thorne down, not play house with a pig! You have no right to use me for your shitty career optics!"

"Listen to me, you crazy b***h," he growls back, his hands coming up to grip my waist to keep me from hitting him again. "Miller was about to start asking questions I can’t answer. Thorne is skittish. If he thinks I’m here on official business, he’ll vanish. If he thinks I’m here with my woman, he relaxes. You wanted into this gala? Well, you're in. Now play the f*****g part!"

"Only for tonight," I spit, my eyes blazing. "And if you ever call me 'your girl' again, I will break your nose."

"Deal. Now get out there and look like you love me. It’s making my skin crawl just as much as yours."

"Go to hell."

I turn and walk away, smoothing my dress. I don't look back at him. I wait for five minutes, pretending to mingle, watching Dante get cornered by Miller again. Dante is trapped. He’s the center of attention now, the 'hero with a fiancée.'

This is my chance.

I slip away from the main ballroom, my movements silent despite my heels. I find the service hallway. My heart is pounding, but my hands are steady. I know where Thorne’s private suite is—room 1204. He’s meeting someone there later, but I’m going to be there first.

I reach the elevators and slip inside just as the doors close. I look at my reflection in the gold-mirrored walls. My cross tattoo stands out against my skin.

"I'm coming for you, Thorne," I whisper.

Downstairs, I know Dante is looking for me, his eyes scanning the crowd, realizing his 'fiancée' has vanished into the shadows. Let him look. I have a debt to collect.

Dante Richard Hawke

"So, Big Dog, when's the big day? You better not invite the whole damn precinct, I can't have the station empty for a wedding!" Miller is barking out a laugh, slapping my shoulder so hard I nearly stumble into a tray of shrimp cocktail.

"We haven't set a date, Captain," I say, my voice sounding like it's coming from a different zip code.

I’m scanning the room. My eyes are darting over every silk dress and diamond necklace in the place. Where the f**k is she? One second she was standing right next to me, radiating enough "f**k you" energy to power the city, and the next, she’s a ghost.

"She’s a spitfire, Hawke. Dark-skinned women with that kind of fire... they’ll keep you on your toes," Miller winks at me, leaning in close. He smells like cheap cigars and expensive scotch. "Reminds me of my ex-wife. She had that same look in her eyes—like she wanted to kiss me or kill me. Usually both."

"Yeah. She’s definitely something," I mutter, my jaw aching from the fake smile I’ve been wearing for twenty minutes.

My skin is crawling. I look toward the bar where Thorne was, but he’s gone too. My gut twists. I didn't tell Nova that I’m hunting Thorne because the bastard helped cover up my parents' murder. I don't know why she was looking at him like she wanted to carve him like a turkey, but if she gets to him first, she’s going to get herself killed—or she’s going to ruin the case I’ve been building for ten f*****g years.

"Excuse me, Captain. I think my fiancée is getting lonely," I say, cutting him off mid-sentence.

"Go on, get out of here, you lucky bastard!"

The moment I’m out of his line of sight, the smile drops. I look like a man possessed. I move through the crowd, my large frame shoving aside socialites who are too slow to move. I check the balcony. Empty. I check the restrooms. Nothing.

"Goddamn it, Nova," I hiss under my breath.

I head toward the back elevators. I see a faint smudge of purple silk caught in the closing door of the service lift. My blood runs hot. That’s her dress.

I hit the call button for the guest elevator, my thumb pressing it so hard the plastic cracks. Come on. Come on. The light dings, and I shove my way inside, hitting the button for the 12th floor. I remember Thorne's dossier. He keeps a permanent suite here for "private consultations."

As the elevator climbs, I check the Glock tucked into the small of my back. My heart is a thudding mess in my chest.

"If you blow this, Nova, I’m throwing you off the balcony myself," I growl to the empty cart.

The doors open on 12. The hallway is silent, the thick carpet muffling my footsteps. It’s too quiet. I turn the corner and see her. She’s standing in front of 1204, her tall frame bent slightly as she works a set of lockpicks into the handle. She looks like a goddamn professional, her long black hair falling over her shoulder, shielding her face.

"You have got to be f*****g kidding me," I say, my voice a low, dangerous rumble that echoes in the hallway.

She jumps, spinning around with a small blade appearing in her hand like magic. Her ocean-blue eyes are wide, feral, and absolutely pissed.

"Dante? How the f**k did you get away from your babysitter?" she whispers-shouts, her chest heaving.

"I’m a detective, remember? It’s my job to find people who don't want to be found," I step into her space, looming over her until she’s backed against the door. "What the hell are you doing, Nova? This isn't part of the 'date.'"

"Get out of my way, Dante. This is personal," she says, the blade glinting under the hallway lights. "I don't care about your job or your Captain. I’m getting into this room."

"Personal? You think you’re the only one with a vendetta?" I snap, my hand flying out to grab the wrist holding the knife. I twist it just enough to let her know I’m stronger, but she doesn't drop it. She leans into me, her heels making her almost my height, her face inches from mine.

"You don't know s**t about me," she hisses.

"And you don't know s**t about what’s behind that door," I counter.

Suddenly, we hear footsteps inside the suite. Heavy ones. And the sound of a safe clicking open.

We both freeze. Our bickering stops instantly. Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, the hatred is replaced by a cold, shared realization.

Thorne isn't alone in there.