Free Murder and Mayhem by Rhys Ford

Martin.” Dante cleared his throat. “As you probably know, your grandson is a suspect in a murder case—”
    “Let me tell you about my grandson, Detective.” Martin leaned forward in his chair and stabbed at the air in front of Dante’s face. “Actually, let me tell you about all of my kids and their damned kids. I’ve got thirteen grandkids, and only two of them are worth anything, and they’re both queer. The rest of them are leeches and goddamned turkey stupid. I’m surprised they don’t drown when it rains. I thank God Beatrice’s boy found his way back here, because at least he’s got a damned brain. So I don’t give a shit if you found him dancing in the middle of dead babies covered in blood and flossing his teeth with their guts. I will fight like hell to make sure that boy walks free. Because that’s what my family’s come down to, two faggots and a bunch of drooling idiots squatting over me and waiting for me to die. And I can only depend upon the faggots to keep this family going.”
    “One thing you forget, old man,” Rook growled at his grandfather as he strolled into the room, his fingers hooked into the waistband of his low-slung jeans. “Us faggots can still have kids, but no matter what you do, you can’t ever fix the stupid. So how about a little respect there.” His odd eyes gleamed behind his dark lashes. “Hello, Detective. Imagine meeting you here. Did you find another dead body you want to pin on me, or was it you just couldn’t get enough of my ass?”

     

Six
    Rook Stevens was a punch to Dante’s balls.
    Dante’d been punched there before. A cop didn’t work the streets of Los Angeles without taking a shot to the nuts more than a few times, so he was very familiar with the sickly sweet curl his stomach made when he was at his most vulnerable.
    When Rook Stevens walked into the library, Dante Montoya’s stomach reacted as if he’d just taken a line drive to the groin by a cannonball.
    He tried shaking the feeling off, but no matter what he did, the tingle was still there. A telltale frisson of nerves, lust, and want that made Dante wish he could roll up into himself and set it on fire in the middle of a crucible so nothing else would be caught in the raging flames. And as much as he longed to blame his discomfort on anything but an attraction to the oddly-eyed man prowling around the center of the library, Dante knew he couldn’t.
    Squaring his shoulders, Dante inclined his head toward Stevens. Knowing how squirrelly the thief was, Dante’d expected him to be nothing but dust in the wind, and he’d nearly choked on his own tongue when his suspect ambled into the library as if he were showing up for a tea party with his grandfather. The men were definitely two of a kind, predators in their own way. Stevens went for the con, manipulative and charming, while the old man was definitely a take-no-prisoners aggressor.
    One he could deal with.
    Two he’d have to be very careful around.
    Dante stopped himself from clearing his throat. The carrion hunters were definitely circling, and any sign of weakness, however accidental, would throw Rook and Archie a psychological advantage he wasn’t willing to give up. “We were actually wondering where you were, since apparently throwing you in jail doesn’t seem to keep you in check. Luckily, here you are, since Detective Camden and I have some follow-up questions for you.”
    “You don’t have to say shit to them, son. Not without a lawyer. If they want to talk to you, they can make an appointment.” Archibald nearly spat on Hank’s shoes as he spoke.
    “I’ve got nothing to hide, Archie.” Rook met Dante’s gaze. “They’re just going to have to listen to me tell them I didn’t kill Dani. And I don’t know who did.”
    The glittering hardness in Rook’s eyes challenged Dante on so many levels, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch the man or bend Rook over a table to fuck him. A primal need reared up in Dante’s