Blood and Motive

1

I reach out to her, cupping her face gently as I look into her green eyes.

My thumb caressed her cheekbone, her eyes flickered shut briefly as she leaned into my touch.

“Look at me,” I said softly, my voice raspy.

She opened her eyes and locked them onto mine, I reached for her, pulling her towards me.

Our mouths collided, the kiss hungry and desperate like it always is.

Her hands flew to my face, her fingers threading into my hair.

I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto my lap, her knees on either side as she straddled me.

Her warmth seeped through her clothes, as she grinds against my hard cock. She knows exactly what she's doing, she knows what she wants and how to get it.

I smiled against her neck before kissing my way lower, down to her decolletage. She tilted her head back, giving me more room.

I start to unbutton her blouse and her hand reaches for my belt buckle.

“ Not so fast, I want to savor this moment,” I said giving her a little smirk.

I kissed across her collarbone, slow and deliberate trying to enjoy every moment. When I reach the curve of her breast I feel her shiver, her body arching towards me.

With a deft touch, I pulled the lace bra down, exposing her full and pert breast, with nipples stiff and erect.

I run my hand from her neck down to her breast massaging one with my free hand and give her nipple a little flick.

I lowered my head, taking a nipple in my mouth and she gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders as I teased her with my tongue.

I sucked gently, drawing a soft moan out of her as I slid my hand up her thigh.

“Bed now!” she whispered against my lips, her voice laced with need.

I lifted her and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I carried her to my bed, my fingers digging into the curve of her ass.

Her palms brush against the bulge in my pants and her hands find my belt buckle again and this time I don't object, her fingers quick and steady. I watch her, as she pushes my jeans down exposing my cock.

Her eyes darken and her lips part as she takes me in.

I lower her onto the mattress and I press against her, I'm at her entrance, skin to skin as her nails are digging into my back as I ground my hip into hers.

Just as I was about to thrust into her, a loud knock at the door made me freeze, and a voice called out my name, jolting me awake.

“It was just a dream.” I groan.

I got up from the bed and headed to the door to know who was banging on the door

“I'm coming,” I yell. I open the door and it's two police officers.

“Manuel Salazar?” One of the police officers asks

"Yes, that's me. Any problems?”

“We'd like for you to follow us to the police station” He explained

I take a step back,

“Why do I have to go to the po….?”

Before I can complete my question, he is pinning me against the wall and handcuffing my hands behind my back. I try to free my hands from his grip but he's holding me firmly to the wall.

“Manuel Salazar, you are under arrest for the disappearance of Cassidy Jones.”

My face pales and my eyes go wide.

Is Cassy missing? She can't have disappeared. How was I being charged with her disappearance?

I saw Cassy yesterday, and when I left her at the hotel. What did he mean she disappeared? Is this some sort of joke?

If they are coming here it means I was the last person to see her alive and they think I did something to her.

“You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you by the state. Do you understand the rights I have read to you?”

I don't even say a word. Michael rushes out of the kitchen and freezes his mouth open, staring at me with wide eyes. He was as shocked as I was when I opened the door. He's asking the officer a lot of questions. The policeman says they are taking me to the police station downtown, and he should come to the station for further information.

The officer leads me to the police car and helps me get in. I can't hear anything except my heart beating in my ears.

I think of last night with Cassidy at the restaurant, she wore a red strapless dress. It was beautiful on her.

The journey to the police station is slow and painful. The sky that looked clear for a minute is now cloudy like it's about to rain.

I get to the police station, and the officer, whose name is Paul, leads me to a room with grey-colored walls, three chairs, and a table in the middle. It smells of stale coffee and gives off a bad vibe but I mean it's an interrogation room.

The room is brightly lit; the light is harsh, and it hurts my eyes. There's a black window, but I can't see through. I know there are people on the other end watching me.

I've watched a few episodes of Law and Order. I know how it works.

He tells me to sit down, and I do, then he handcuffs me to the table and leaves. I can't help but think about Cassidy and the fact that she's missing

Was she kidnapped after I left? Maybe I shouldn't have left her alone. Maybe if I had stayed with her or woken her up to let her know I was leaving, someone wouldn't have taken her.

I sit there looking around as a million thoughts go through my head, and after what seems like hours

The door opens, and two men enter the room with coffee and files in their hands.

“Good afternoon, Manuel,” one of the men greeted.

I don't say anything; I just look at them both, my voice lost in my throat.

“My name is Detective Nathan, and this is my partner, Dan,” he announces, pointing to Dan and taking a seat on one of the chairs opposite me.

“Do you know why you're here today?” Nathan asks.

“I don't know anything about Cassidy, " I answered bluntly, almost too fast.

“So you do know why you're here?” He taunts

Detective Nathan is about my height, a black man with very low-cut hair. He’s quite muscular and has an intimidating stare, but I'm not scared; I have nothing to hide.

"Yes, you people think I have something to do with her disappearance, but I don't. She was at the hotel when I left her.” I answer, trying to hide my frustrations.

“We would like to ask you some questions, and we'd like to record it. Is that okay?” His partner asks

I nod, and he takes out a recorder from his pocket, drops it on the table, and turns it on.

For the benefit of the tape, today’s date is Saturday, 13 November 2023.

Myself, Detective Nathan, and DI Daniel are both present.

I think they are trying to do good cop, bad cop, but it's not going to work.

“Tell us about the events that took place on November 12th, 2023.”

I clear my throat and ask them for a bottle of water before I start. I began to tell them everything that happened yesterday.

The truth is that if I'm charged, I'll go to prison. How's it going to look like a Mexican murdering a rich white lady?

“So yesterday she texted me asking if we were going to meet at the usual place we always do,” I started.

We always met at a restaurant, The Ritz. It was nice and sophisticated. It was a little bit prized but I didn't mind. Conversations at dinner I always looked forward to and after dinner, we'd go out maybe dancing or to a club but if we were too lazy we'd go back to our hotel.

The hotel was one of those classy hotels no one knew about but was beautiful on the inside, quiet and everyone always stayed in their lanes, minding their own business.

Cassidy was one of my longest clients and I would say we were friends sort of, and I have known her a while, I would never hurt her on purpose.

“Which place did you guys usually meet?” Dan asked

“Before you continue, can you state your job for the record?“

“I'm a male escort," I answer

“So you're a sex worker?”

I don't answer; I just continue narrating the events of yesterday.

“So after you finished your job, what happened next?” Nathan asks

“After I finished, we fell asleep.”

“You fell asleep, If you fell asleep, how did you get back to your apartment?”

“I had a class the next morning, so I woke up and left. I went to my apartment.”

“How did you get to your apartment? By train, bus, cab?”

“A cab. I took a cab from the hotel to my apartment.”

“Where do you live, Manuel?”

“I live in an apartment in Bushwick, Brooklyn, with my friend Michael.”

“Bushwick? You must have a lot of money, isn't the rent there $3,000 for a small apartment?”

“You make all that money, fucking ladies, don't you?”

I knew he was trying to rile me up and get a reaction out of me, so when I didn't react, he'd shoot me in the head and say I was trying to kill him, so I did what anyone would do in my place. I kept quiet.

“Just admit it, you killed her in cold blood, took her valuables, and left.” the pitch of his voice increased.

“I did no such thing. She's just missing how do you know she's dead.”

“Because you killed her,”

“I didn't do that; Cassidy was my client. I would never hurt my client.” I reply, trying to keep calm.

“But you killed her, didn't you? You can admit it, and we can get you a deal.”

Deal? I wasn't going to confess to a crime I didn't commit and throw my life for what? Hell no!

“I would like my phone call now,” I ask.

“Did you love her? Is that why you killed her because she didn't love you back?

I thug at the handcuffs. I'm starting to get uncomfortable.

“Where is Cassidy Manuel?” Nathan asked me his voice threatening

“What do you mean? I left her at the hotel and went to my apartment. I told you that already.”

“I'd like a lawyer now, please.”

“Where is Cassidy Manuel?” He asks again, changing the tone of his voice like he's talking to a child.

“Where is her body, Manuel?’ he asks, growing impatient. Slamming his fist on the table.

“I don't know. You don't have her body, so how do you know she's dead? She might just be passed out on a bench somewhere or in a different country.”

Detective Nathan slides the folder across the table to me his gaze on me sharp.

“Take a look,” he said flatly, gesturing to the folder.

I hesitated. But I opened it, and the first photo struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Blood everywhere, so much blood.

The bed, the white sheets soaked in crismon, and the carpet was almost black.

But there's something that makes the whole scene even more scary.

Written on the walls above the bed, with blood in capital letters was,

‘THE BITCH DESERVED TO DIE’.