Julietʼs Fangs

“I would do him,” Shadow decided.

They both watched the black-haired PI drinking his coffee at a table on the other side of the room.

The PI was hot, Vixen agreed as she stirred her ice coffee with a spoon.

Whilst not as big physically as Shadow, who could have easily played football like his former-pro father but preferred the drums, and who often had to duck his head in doorways, the PI was still a large man, around six-foot, built lean, though his shoulders filled the leather jacket nicely, and she would bet he had nice arms – a man did not get that V shape without working out.

He had a fine arse on him too, displayed nicely by his habitual jeans, as both she and Shadow had reason to observe in tailing the man around over the last couple of weeks.

Ten am, Fridays, coffee, black, and half an hour on his laptop in the café, same table if he could get it, facing out towards the windows. Between ten fifteen and ten twenty, depending on whether she was behind, his mother would walk by. He would watch her with an expression of raw yearning and anger that broke Vixen’s heart. Then he would finish his coffee, close down the laptop, and continue with his day.

Raven was a good name for him, for his hair was the black of a raven’s wing. It was his legal name, too, which was interesting. His mother looked like the sort of woman who would name her child Raven, with her waist length, silver threaded dark hair and hippie skirts. A flower child, Vixen thought, stranded in the city. Raven took after her in looks.

The PI had not noticed them tailing him over the last three weeks. Used to following people, and not being followed himself, she presumed, because whilst she and Shadow were good, they were not that good. And, today, he was additionally distracted by the gay couple at the table near the window who held hands across the table surface and flirted over their meal.

“Not as straight as his dating history would indicate,” she commented.

“Yay for me,” Shadow sucked in his straw. “Can I have your cherry?” She passed it to him. He held it between his teeth, grinning at her, before biting into it. “Mmm,” he licked his lips and gave her the side eye. “I have had your cherry and your cherry, now.”

“Are you looking for a spanking?” She asked, mildly.

He flicked her a look from under his eyelashes. Absolutely he was.

She would make him wait for it, the cheeky sub.

She arched an eyebrow and flicked through the file on her phone. Raven Thornton, thirty-two, single though with a steady stream of semi-regular girlfriends who frequently left his apartment in tears, ran his own PI business, with three sub-contractors each with specialities – a computer tech, and analyst, and a lawyer. She presumed the last was employed as much to keep Raven out of jail, as to consult on cases. The PI had the look of someone who frequently crossed the line.

A broken boy, she thought. It always saddened her when she came across them, and Raven was an extreme case. He had drunk deep from the toxic masculinity cup. His life revolved around his work, a career that leant itself to violence and risk-taking, and she would bet he was sexually repressed, and emotionally unavailable with his sexual partners. She knew the type. She specialised in them.

“What do you think?” Shadow asked.

They had been asked to distract the PI from his investigation into Gregory Holmsworth. Gregory was dealing with some problems as he legitimized his business, that he did not want observed or recorded, and having a nosy PI snooping around was poor timing. There were lots of ways to be distracting, but the more she delved into the PI, the more her plans had changed.

“I think I need to get the crazy glue out,” she grinned around her straw.

She took her phone out of her handbag and opened a new message. “You want to know Gregory’s secrets? Password: Decadence. VIP. Ask for Vixen. XXX” She typed an address into the text field, and a time, and sent, before slipping it back into her bag.

She heard the beep of his phone, and saw the frown pinch his brows together as he read the message. The gay couple finished their meal and Raven lifted his eyes from the phone to watch them go, and she sighed at the expression on his face.

“Society is f-ked up,” she complained to Shadow.

“Yep. Here comes mummy.”

They both watched the PI watch his mother walk by.

He had a nice profile, Vixen thought. It would not make the cover of a magazine, but there was a strength to it and a character in the set of his chin and fullness of lips. With the overgrown black hair, and stubble that was just beginning to edge into beard, he had that big-boy toughness to him that she liked in her toys.

“Sad,” Shadow said quietly. He did not ask why the PI did not go speak to his mother. They both knew that there were many reasons a child became estranged from parents.

Raven finished his coffee and closed his laptop.

“Time to go, Shadow.”

He did not argue though he had not finished his milkshake. He grabbed the last of his fries to take with him as she’d had the foresight to order them in a takeaway box. They walked casually towards the door. Raven opened the door for Vixen, with a charming and flirtatious smile. She returned it, nipping her bottom lip between her teeth as she did so and looking up at him through her eyelashes. His smile widened into a grin.

Brown eyes, she thought, her favourite. Soft, brown eyed, broken boys. Was there anything yummier?

Raven watched the lush arse walk out the door with appreciation. The woman did not skimp on her squats, that was for sure, he thought, nor did she favour salads over a burger and fries, and he would bet she drank her milk with cream, none of that two percent crap.

She held the hand of the big brunette man, despite her blatant invitation to Raven. The big man had a leather cuff around his wrist which was printed in pink diamantes: Hers. Lucky guy, Raven thought, ruefully. If he had a piece like that at his side, he would be advertising it too, though probably not in pink diamantes. That was just… odd.

The brunette was an impressive guy. From the way his arms stretched the arms of his t-shirt, he spent a lot of time at the weight bench, and he filled his jeans well. Footballer, Raven decided. And there he was, again, he snarled at himself, checking out a guy as if he were a woman.

He had known since he was eleven that he found men as attractive as women, but, f-k, he did not have to indulge in it. He had nothing against gay people, his best friends probably were though they had never exactly come out as such. Being gay was fine for other people, but not him. And there was a vast difference between admiring the form of another guy and wanting to f–k him, he added defensively.

Raven liked women, he had a solid history with women, he understood women, at least in the bedroom. Outside the bedroom, they just f-ked with his head, he added as his latest conquest blew his phone up again with a stream of vitriol.

Why couldn’t women just chill? He wondered. Why did everything have to end in tears and drama? He never made promises, he just was not the relationship sort, but it seemed inevitable that women made assumptions, and suddenly he was to blame because they had gotten the wrong idea.

He was a nice guy. He always paid on dates, he f-king opened doors like a gentleman, and he always made sure the woman got off before he did in bed. He had never physically intimidated a woman, and certainly never used his greater strength to hurt one, and he always made sure consent was clearly stated.

What more did women want from a guy?

The footballer opened the passenger door to a bright yellow 4WD that had been customized to within an inch of its life, and the fine arse wriggled her way in. Yeah, lucky guy, Raven thought with admiration as he slid into his silver sedan.

He changed cars frequently, so no single car became identified as being his. For some of his long-term surveillances that was a risk. He stuck with popular cars, midrange, and in standard colours, never black or red. Nothing that stuck out, a car that odds were there were five others almost identical sharing the road at the same time.

Who was Vixen? He wondered. He had obviously been made on his investigation into Gregory Holmsworth, and that was a problem. Gregory Holmsworth was not the sort of guy you wanted to know that you were looking into. That left him with the question: did he go to this meet, or stay away?

He parked the car under his building, and took the elevator up to his apartment, dropping the keys and his bag onto the couch as he went to the office. The walls were covered in cork board, though it was hidden under paper and photographs. Each board was devoted to an active case.

He checked the time. He had a harassment case that he had to follow up on in half an hour. Really nice guy, not. He hated DV cases. Exes who did not know when to bow out gracefully. It was worse when there were kids involved. Thankfully, this one was between two twenty-somethings, no kids. He should be able to growl at the guy and scare him into behaving like a man and not a spoilt brat who did not know how to withdraw with dignity.

His phone vibrated. Wade, a contact in the local police force.

“Hey, Wade.”

“Raven,” Wade was in the office, the noise behind him loud, voices and yells. “Nothing on Gregory Holmsworth that I know about, but I will put the word out, eh?”

“Yeah, I would appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Do you know what you are looking for? Might help if I could narrow it down some. Narcotics, Vice, homicide…?”

Raven ran his free hand through his hair. “A bit of column a, a bit of column b, I suspect. Nothing concrete. Organized crime?”

“Alright, I will try Claudia Callahan.”

“Thanks, man.” They disconnected.

Back to the mystery message, he opened his laptop onto the desk and typed in the address. Office building. Owned by Iblis Holdings. Overseas company, not exactly unusual. Music company. That was interesting, seeing as Gregory Holmsworth had been dabbling in the industry over the last five years. Offices would be closed at the time Vixen had set. Was he being invited into an after-hours tour?

What the f–k was with the password?

He sighed and pushed away from the desk. Time to go intimidate a heavy-handed stalker.