Cassian's POV
The bastard, Flanagan! Why did he let the brotherhood get to him this quick?
His death just ruined my carefully curated plans. Now I would have to start all over again. I gritted my teeth, jaw clenched, almost unnoticeable behind my smirk as I quietly appraised Flanagan's killer.
She was lean and wiry. But I wouldn't be fooled by that, especially not after I saw how she handled Dante at first. There wasn't just speed in her movement; there was power and strength and grit.
Her lean body was bundled in a leather jacket and cargo pants, with fingerless gloves in her hands. All she wore was black, now stained red with Flanagan's blood. A racer. That much I could tell.
If her grit and style weren't evidence enough, the car oil stains on her boots were another hint. But the longer I stared at her, the more I failed to understand how she could have tricked Flanagan into doing away with all his security and then killed him.
Sure, she was attractive, beautiful, though in the gritty sense. With long dark curly hair tied in messy braids on her head, smooth caramel skin, and a sharp and intense storm-grey pair the color of a raging storm.
Sure! Flanagan would die to get between her thighs. But he would also know she was the kind who would shine his jaw with a couple of punches before he could even glimpse her panties…
Moving fast, she launched herself for the fence, trying to escape. Dante didn't wait for my order. He didn't need to. He went after her, battling her to the ground. He pinned her to the grass, burying her under so many pounds of muscle.
He slipped me a satisfied wolfish grin as he turned her around while she struggled against him. He shoved her wrists behind her back, pinning them with his massive hand.
He dragged her to her feet while she still struggled against him. "Let me go," she yelled at him. "I didn't kill Jake."
When he still didn't let her go, she turned to me, face tightened in a snarl. She looked as though she would murder me if she got the chance.
I grinned, brushing my thumb on my lips as I drew closer. "If you didn't kill Flanagan, then who did?"
"I don't know." She fired, yelling at me. "All I know is that I didn't kill him."
I let my gaze drop to her bloodied clothes, and she followed my eyes down to them. "This isn't enough evidence to conclude I killed him. I was attacked by the killer, and I fell onto the blood on the floor…"
I stopped listening. It absolutely doesn't matter. She could be the killer, or not. She could have been sent by the brotherhood, or not. All that mattered to me was that Flanagan was dead, and since he's taken my plans down with him, she would have to make-up for it. Being a racer, she was perfect.
Abruptly, she stopped yelling and stopped explaining. Her eyes narrowed on me. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah. I wasn't." I smirked. I poked my pinkie in my ear, making it look like I was cleaning out her words. "I get bored of so much talk. You can bore the police and the jury with all those details when you get the chance."
"Let me go, bastards. I can't go to jail. I can't. I didn't kill anyone." She struggled against Dante, kicking and shoving. It couldn't get her anywhere.
There was a genuineness to her plea, a pain to her voice, that suggested she could be telling the truth. But killers also lie.
She screamed more at me, and yanked harder at Dante's grip. "I didn't kill Jake. I didn't. I met him dead."
I studied her carefully again, and I went over the scene of Flanagan's death in my mind as I saw it a couple of minutes ago in his office. The cut on his neck had been too clean, done so swiftly that he didn't even have a notice of death. The killer had done it that way so he couldn't get much blood on him, yet she had Flanagan's blood on her.
Perhaps she was telling the truth. Perhaps she was just a victim of the wrong place and the wrong time. Still, I wouldn't let her go. I needed a racer, and she looked experienced enough for the job.
I traced my lips with my thumb, keeping my dark smile low enough that it hid my intentions. "How about we do it like this—" I paused, and I slanted her a look to fill up with her name.
She shook her head indecisively for a moment. "Sarah," she said.
She didn't fool me. That was too smooth to be real. "Your real name."
She shook her head indecisively again, this time for longer. She eventually sighed, and she muttered. "Raven."
That seemed about true. Raven. I almost whispered the name. I liked the feel to it, and the name fitted her well. With her clothes and style, she looked like one, except human and prettier.
"...how about we do it like this, Raven? I'll help you clean up the crime scene and bury all the evidence against you. I can even have one of my men take the fall…."
"And what's the catch?" She sneered.
"That you work for me. Be my racer."
She scoffed. She wanted to deny being a racer, but she looked down at herself and shook her head. She couldn't lie out of that. "Thanks," she sneered with the whole of her face. "But I'll pass. I don't fancy becoming anyone's slave for a crime I didn't commit."
I smirked, "The way I see it, Miss Raven. You have no choice. It is either me or jail. I am your best option."
"You wish." She gave me a dark, rueful grin. "I make my own options. Fuck you."
She jammed her boots against Dante's nuts with an expertly executed backheel. Dante released her instantly, going quickly for his nuts, face strung tight with pain. She bolted fast for the fence once again.
I lunged fast for her. I caught her waist, dragged her down, and pinned her to the fence. She glared up at me. Her breath was raspy, nostrils wide open, hunting for air. Her breasts heaved against my chest as I flattened her to the wall.
A strange feeling coursed through me as I held her so close, feeling her body quiver beneath me, but I shook it off. Focus, Cassian.
My grip on her waist was firm, and so was her hands. I flattened them to the wall behind her. They were useless to her, no matter how hard she struggled.
"Let me go. Let me go, bastard," she screamed, glaring at me.
"Perhaps, you thought I gave you a choice earlier. I should rephrase. You are coming with me, Raven, and for that, I will help you clear up the murder you committed."
"I don't need your fucking help," she snarled.
"And I am sorry, I wasn't asking. You are coming with me."
"You are going to have a pretty hard time trying to make me do that." Her lips curled in a sly grin.
"I don't really think so."
Before she could say another word to counter. I struck her at the side of her neck with the blade of my hand, and she went limp instantly. Now, she was mine.