Distrust

The rest of dinner went well enough. With embarrassing childhood stories and jokes thrown around the table, the tension eased about halfway—even with Simon glaring at me under his brows for most of that time.

Clary brought me comfort, giving my hand a squeeze every few minutes. Every laugh and side eye she sent my way made my heart stutter in my chest and my palms sweat. I hoped she didn't notice.

Simon checked his watch. "I have to get going," he said under his breath after having been silent since we came back inside. He stood, ignoring Valentine's questioning eyebrow. "Thanks for dinner."

He was gone quickly, and I could see how Clary scowled in disappointment. I felt guilty, knowing Simon was giving his friend the cold shoulder because of me. I didn't want to be the reason why her only friend disconnected from her, regardless of him wanting more. I knew she still cared for him like family.

"Hm," Valentine hummed, watching Simon disappear down the corridor. "Looks like we all survived dinner together, huh?"

I released a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "You underestimate me, Cap."

"Simon is still being stubborn," Clary grumbled, frustratedly pinching the hem of her skirt with her free hand under the table.

"Yeah, you know how his temper is." Valentine stood and leaned his palms on the back of his chair. "I'm sorry about what he said. He loved Jocelyn like a mother and refuses to see that she was the one to put herself in that situation."

I blanched and gave an understanding nod. "I get it."

A sad smile took over his face for a moment before he blinked it away and began picking up plates. "I got it, dad," Clary offered. "Get to bed."

Valentine obeyed, giving a wave goodnight and disappearing down a hallway that I was sure led to the bedrooms. Clary got up and began collecting the dishes from the table.

"Let me help," I said, grabbing my own and Simon's before she could. She gave a smile but her eyes were glazed over like they usually are when she was deep in thought. "What are you thinking about?"

Her legs idly took her to the sink where she began rinsing the dishes. "Just a little worried about my dad."

"How so?" I came up beside her, took the plates from her hands, and lined them in the dishwasher.

"I'm afraid to leave him alone after what Simon said."

"You think he's gonna use?"

She shrugged. "I hope not, but it's possible. Jocelyn has always been one of his triggers." Her lip tucked between her teeth as she turned around and leaned back against the counter to face me. I stepped close and placed my hands on her hips. "I think I'm gonna stay tonight."

I felt the blood rush to my feet. "Absolutely not."

"I have to make sure he doesn't hurt himself—"

"At the expense of hurting you," I hissed under my breath.

"There's a very real chance that he chokes on his own vomit or overdoses, I have to be here for any possibility. But there's also a very good chance that he will just go to bed and wake up still sober."

"I can't let you be alone with him based on chance."

Her expression went from a worried frown to a smug smirk. "You really wanna sleep at my house, huh?" She joked, playfully bumping against my chest.

I wasn't amused, and I knew she could sense it. "It's not about that. It's about you getting beat every time he decides to get high."

The playful atmosphere around her diffused just as quickly as it came. "I know," she sighed. "But this is something I have to do."

"Then I'm staying, too." The words left in a rush that I didn't give second thought to.

"Jace—"

"No, if you're staying then so am I."

"I can protect myself—"

"You shouldn't have to protect yourself against your father," I grit. She stayed silent and avoided the fire I was sure flicked through my eyes. I forced myself to calm down slightly and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear.

Her small hands rested on my chest, making my heart clench behind my sternum. "Okay, you can stay, but you have to sleep on the couch." I began to protest but she cut me off. "The bed in my old room is too small to fit both of us, plus if he finds you in my bed with me under his roof, he might arrest you and get away with it."

"Fair enough," I said resentfully.

Her fingers drummed against my collarbones. "Not to mention it would sort of break the rule."

"Oh now you're so concerned about the rule? I very vividly remember you begging me to kiss you a half hour ago," I teased.

Soft cheeks turned pink. "I had to convince you to come back to dinner somehow."

"Ah I should've known it was a manipulation tactic."

"Shut up," she laughed and pulled my shirt, effectively bringing my lips to hers in a kiss that was nothing shy of passionate. Kissing Clary was euphoric, ten times better than any cigarette or bottle of scotch. She was addicting…and instead of fighting the thought for the millionth time this week, I embraced it.

This woman will be the death of me.

I settled on the fluffy couch with thoughts of Clary on the forefront of my mind as I pulled the throw blanket to my hips. She had gone to her bedroom a few minutes prior, leaving me in the silent, unfamiliar living room.

This house gave me the creeps. It would be a miracle if I got a good night's sleep tonight. Images of the evidence found in the basement made goosebumps litter the skin of my arms. Endless amounts of blood spatter found with ultraviolet light, small chunks of human sawdust between the cracks of the basement concrete, circular saws with traces of victims blood dried in the teeth spokes of the blades—every piece of evidence only reminded me of the remains found in the woods. Each mutilated, half decomposed part that I had to track down myself.

I blinked a few times and settled farther into the cushions.

I remember investigating Clary before Jocelyn. I hadn't found much, any social media she had was sparse but public, indicating that she had nothing to hide. There weren't very many pictures of her, the only ones appeared on Facebook, but the images were taken years prior with family.

It wasn't a surprise that I didn't recognize her face or name when the Captain partnered us up. It had been six years and I had already caught my killer, so all other suspects' faces disappeared from my memory in favor of the twisted grin of the Butcher.

Despite all the negative feelings being in this house instills, I couldn't bring myself to regret being here for Clary. I knew deep down that I would go through the 9 rings of Hell and back for her if she asked. That line of thinking was dangerous but the feeling has become too strong to ignore.

My anxiety waned with each passing hour, allowing me to nod off from the exhaustion the last however-many-days had brought me.

The sound of smashing glass made me shoot upright from a short lived dream. My chest fell and rose quickly as I strained to hear any other noise to prove it hadn't been a dream. Blood rushed past my eardrums in tandem with my racing heart.

"Dad, stop!" Clary's shriek scraped at my nervous system.

I bolted from my spot on the couch and raced down the hallway, following the undeniable sounds of shattering ceramic and crumbling drywall. A bedroom door was wide open, lit up only by the full moon through the windows where the curtains had been ripped from its mounts. Valentine stood in the middle of the room with a table lamp in hand, the wires half gutted from the body as if he had torn it from the wall.

"Put that down!" Clary pleaded.

"I'll kill you!" Valentine bellowed and reeled the lamp back. Clary covered her face with her arms, bracing for the impact. I skidded into the room and tucked her into my chest just as the lamp was thrown. It crashed hard against my back, nearly knocking the wind from my lungs.

"Jace!" She screeched, scanning my face for any sign of pain.

"Go to your room and lock the door," I grit and tried to push her through the doorway. Behind me, the Captain continued throwing punches into the drywall with bloodied knuckles.

She desperately clawed at my shirt. "No I can't let you hurt him—watch out!"

I ducked, narrowly missing a fist as it flew in a right hook into the doorjam. "Call the cops," I ordered Clary, turning to the man that I had looked up to for all of my career as a Uniform and a detective. "Hey, Cap, I'm gonna need you to calm down." My hands were open in front of me to look like less of a threat.

"The things she did," he huffed, eyes wild and bloodshot, "the things she put me through—put Clary through." His hands opened and closed at his sides repeatedly in rhythm with the way his pinprick pupils dilated and contracted erratically.

"It was horrible, what she did," I agreed in a calm voice. "But she's gone now."

"Bullshit," he cried. "She's everywhere. I see her everywhere. She'll kill Clary, she'll kill me, I know it."

I had to tread lightly, he seemed to be calming from a ten to an eight. "I got her, Cap, she's in the back of my cruiser right now."

He suddenly burst into another fit of rage, snatched his nightstand from beside his bed and threw it. It smacked and splintered against the mounted tv on the opposite wall. The screen broke from its mount and hung sideways by one bolt. I took my chance and barreled into him, knocking us both to the floor.

We wrestled along the carpet, swinging punches and throwing kicks until I was able to put him into a chokehold.

"Jace, stop!" Clary cried from the doorway.

Valentine struggled in the crook of my elbow, I squeezed harder. "Go call the police." My teeth were clenched so hard while I fought against a thrashing drug fueled man.

"I can't," she whispered with trembling lips. I squeezed harder just as his body began relaxing involuntarily. Then he was unconscious.

I released him and stood, unapologetically letting his body thump to the floor. My palms scrubbed down my face. "Are you okay?" I asked the woman in the doorway.

She came up next to me, staring at the limp frame of her father. "I'm alright." Thin arms wrapped around her torso.

"Did he hurt you?" I grabbed her face in my hands, scanning every inch of her skin for any sign of redness or bruising.

She pushed my hands away with a scrunched nose. "No, I'm okay."

"Why didn't you call the cops?"

"I can't—I couldn't, Jace. He would go to prison—"

"Maybe he should if this keeps happening."

"No," she bit. "He is all I have left."

I sighed and pulled her against me. "We at least have to tell him the truth. He can't keep doing this to you."

"I know," her voice was soft, as if she had already come to the conclusion herself.

The bedroom was a wreck. Broken ceramic and glass littered every surface and wood lay in splinters around the carpet while a dozen fist sized holes decorated the walls. A black bag sat on the unmade bed, surrounded by a syringe, spoon, and rubber tie.

"I have never seen anybody react to heroin that badly," I mumbled, striding over to the little baggy laying beside the spoon. The contents weren't the texture I had expected, instead of smooth pebbles of Black Tar at the bottom of the bag, there were white crystalline rocks that resembled shards of glass. "Did he tell you he was specifically shooting heroin?"

"Yeah, he's talked about it in NA."

"This is bath salts." I held up the baggie. She raised a questioning brow. "Speed. Meth."

She paled. "Oh."

I collected his fix kit and handed the baggie of drugs to Clary. "Flush this." Her face was green as she trudged to the master bathroom with the packet pinched far from her body as if it would bite her. I snatched the handcuffs from his other nightstand and snapped one loop around his wrist and the other to the bed frame, keeping him in place until the drugs wore off.

The toilet flushed before Clary came back out. "Can you take me home?" she asked, grasping her elbow.

"Are you okay? You don't want to make sure he keeps breathing?"

She shook her head stiffly. "He's done this so many times and has been fine. I'm just…tired…"

My heart ached for her. "Of course. Let's go."