Read Dead Bad Things for Free Online Page B

way.
    Â Â There was nothing here to worry about. Nothing at all to fear.
    Â Â He's gone, she thought. Long gone. I'm not scared anymore.
    Â Â "You OK?"
    Â Â So why the fuck did she flinch so violently when Benson called out behind her?
    Â Â "Shit, man. You spooked me." Her voice was light but she did not smile as she turned around. She stared at him, her eyes narrowed to slits she could barely see out of. "Don't do that again." The silence which followed was uneasy and filled with too many unspoken questions. Her ears began to buzz.
    Â Â Benson dropped his gaze. He looked nervous. He always did when he came to her place – perhaps he too felt the chill of her father's shadow. Because that's exactly where they were, standing in his shadow: the long, cold, dark shadow of Detective Inspector Emerson Doherty. He was a real legend, the old man; one of West Yorkshire Constabulary's finest sons. It was her father who had solved the famous "Bradford Bathnight Murders" back in 1972, and who had worked on almost every high profile case of the last thirty years – even that of the Ripper, as part of the main task force who had struggled so hard to find the killer until he'd been brought in by two ordinary beat coppers.
    Â Â Her father was a legend.
    Â Â He was a legend and a bastard.
    Â Â Her father was a legend and a bastard and a pervert.
    Â Â "I'm sorry," she said, moving quickly and lightly across the room towards Benson. Her bare feet slapped softly against the floorboards. "I'm just feeling a bit edgy. You know?" She slipped her arms around his waist, scratched gently at his muscled back, feeling him relax.
    Â Â "It's OK. Last night was rough. We're both bound to feel a bit shitty about it." He pressed his body against her. His dick was hard. His scars glistened in the growing light. A halo of dust hung around his head. Sarah almost pulled away. "We're fine," he whispered in her ear, and she felt his damp breath against the side of her neck. The scar tissue was smooth and almost slick to the touch. "I promise."
    Â Â "Fancy some breakfast?" Now she did pull away from him – but at least this time she had an excuse. "I have bacon. Maybe even a couple of eggs, if you're lucky." She edged towards the door.
    Â Â Benson nodded. His mouth was smiling but his eyes were hard, like chips of coal. His teeth were very white. They made Sarah think of dentists… and of their hydraulic chairs. She felt suddenly short of breath.
    Â Â "Come with me. You can talk to me as I cook." She left the room, knowing that he would follow close behind her. Sometimes, when his guard was down, he was like a loyal puppy. He would trail her, allowing her to manipulate him in small ways. Benson was strong, but she sensed that she was even stronger. She could probably break him with the flick of a wrist, if that was what she wanted. But she didn't know what she wanted. That was part of the problem.
    Â Â At least the kitchen was clean. Her first job upon arriving at the house had been to make the room hygienic. She had scrubbed it for hours, and even moved in the pots and pans and appliances from her old flat. They looked out of place on the old work surfaces and in the rickety cupboards, but they provided an odd form of comfort. Bits and pieces of her new life making her old one seem less threatening. At least that was the plan.
    Â Â Sarah grilled the bacon and fried the eggs. When the toast was ready she buttered it and sliced the rounds into triangles, which she then arranged on a large plate at the centre of the oval dining table. Benson sat at the table and watched her, his lips twitching. It was the closest he had come to a smile since they had found the dead boy. His shoulders were bunched, tension apparent in his posture.
    Â Â "Do you miss him?" He kept staring at her as he spoke. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable, but she was unable to pinpoint why. Her legs were cold;