Phone buzzes. 3 AM. Homicide, Rue des Martyrs. I snap awake. Nightmares flee. ‘Betty Miller.’ Central’s voice: rough, urgent. Sanctuaire club. With Murat. Shit. I slither from sheets. Jeans. Sneakers. Tee. Jacket. Cop armor on. Grab my beater car. Ticketed. Fuckers. Burn rubber through Paris veins. Streets pulse. Neon bleeds. Pull up. Flash badge. ‘Inspector Miller.’ Bouncer nods. Basement reek of sex. Body in toilet. Young redhead. Strangled. Beautiful even in death. Rage boils. Murat smirks. ‘Client or cop?’ I bite back. Witnesses huddle. One stands. Rémi. Elegant pain in his eyes. ‘Talk?’ He nods. Outside. Leads to Butterfly. Velvet curtains. Mauve glow. Gin tonics flow. His story: orgy poetry. Her naked plea. He caresses, doesn’t fuck. She vanishes to death. Eighth gin hits. Heat rises. He pulls me down. Stairs sway. Music throbs. Bodies twist. I freeze. Then surrender. No. I choose. Mask cracks. Blouson off. Hands everywhere. I float. Horizontal. Power surges. Not victim. Queen. They strip me. Jeans drop. Bra gone. Panties peeled. Naked. Legs spread. Exposed. But mine. Rémi’s lips on pubis. Tongue dives. Electric. I grip his hair. Pull. Control. Thrust hips. Command the wave. Others watch. Touch. I own this. Clit throbs. Tongue lashes. Build. Explode. Scream rips. Orgasm crashes. Muscles quake. Fiery bliss. I rule.
Banquette cradles me. Aftershocks pulse. Couples reform. Rémi gone. Shame? No. Fuel. Clothes on. Storm bar. Shoulder tap. Fist rises. Drops to pat. His smile disarms. ‘Proud?’ ‘Pirate who rocked your ship.’ Banter flows. He saw my core. No a priori left. Promise: find killer. For her. For him. For me. Night air bites. Car hunt. Adrenaline hums. Secret burns bright.
The Mutation: Dropping the Mask
Dawn creeps. Home. Shower scalds evidence away. Uniform on. Mirror: steel gaze sharper. Case files wait. Murat’s drone. But inside? Fire. Unbreakable. They see cop. I know goddess. Night’s pulse owns me. Stronger. Ready. Hunt begins.