He’d gone as far as to admit that he wanted to make me better, whatever that meant. It looked like he’d already begun with his twisted plan. He was testing me, pushing me—trying to see how far I would bend before I would break. Why does this all feel so eerily familiar somehow? Something is horribly wrong. I snorted. Right. Because my life was normal before Lucian entered the picture. “Tiffany, you all right back there?” Moretti glanced in his rearview mirror at me in the back seat of his police car. “Just peachy,” I grumbled. “So why don’t you have a partner? I thought that guy who was with you at Club Elite was him, maybe? But you always seem to be by yourself.” “I’m—” He cleared his throat. “I’m in between partners at the moment, and since we’re short staffed I’ve been on my own.” “Isn’t that like dangerous or some shit?” I was always on my own and I liked it that way, but wasn’t it required for cops to have partners? Not that I knew what I was talking about, not really.
