My Fiction Fix #01

Writing idea #41: Elite In Crime

CHAPTER 1

Hudson Ambrose was lounging on the red classic Chesterfield sofa, a Shakespearean novel between his slender fingers, I straighten next to him, moving my legs from his lap, "Where are you going?" He asks me, not lifting his indigo eyes from the page he's on.

"I need a drink." I mutter.

"Hallelujah, so do I." Leonardo Swanson was the comical jokester of our group of four males and little ol' me. The only female in a group of too much testosterone and wealthy heirs with money to throw at air in a single-handled manner without losing a precious dime. Ashton Welsh was a silver eyed wealthy heir, he sat across from the one I was closest to in our defined, prestigious item. Hudson, we were the only blondes in the group, platinum blonde and considered the eccentric twins. A title Hudson loathes since we live together and have lived in the same bed since we were both thirteen. Parentless. I was. He still had his parents, not that they were much at this point. I flick the kettle on and Leo gives me a pout and points to the whiskey.

"It's ten in the morning." I point out.

"So?" He questions.

I fold my arms at him, a muscular chest moves behind me, "She's right, your health comes first." Hudson says. His fingers no longer preoccupied with a book in hand, but rather my arms, he rubs up and down my bare skin calmly. Feeling the tenseness in my neck, he massages me gently. My phone vibrates on the table. I look over my shoulder, thanking Hudson with body language alone and grabbing my phone.

"Evangeline Denver speaking." I answer with.

"Miss Denver, this is Officer Andrew's from Windsor's police department. Do you have a few moments where we can talk, I have some upsetting news?" A sympathetic female officer says on the other end. I still in my form and slowly take a seat on the couch, pausing the television.

"Yes." I answer with, feeling Hudson's eyes, as if he could read the passiveness in my expression. I use my periphery to see the others glancing over and watching. Alexander steps from his room, furrowing his eyebrows, his ginger hair on every which end.

"We've found a body at Windsor's lake. We believe you knew the victim, ma'am. Your name was in fact tattooed on the victim's skin. We believe you may be associated with him." She tells me. I lean back slowly.

"Do you have a name?" I ask.

"Ma'am, it may be best if you can come to Windsor, coast of central London. To identify the body and then we have further questions to ask you." She tells me.

"When do I need to be in by?" I ask her, sliding into my stilettos.

"If you can make it in by noon, the sooner we get on this investigation, the better." She tells me.

"I didn't get your first name." I say to her, furrowing my eyebrows. Hudson folds his arms and leans on the kitchen counter, scrutinising me.

"Officer Natasha Andrew's. Of Windsor PD, ma'am."

I stand slowly, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Thank you." I hang up after that and stare at the television for a second.

"What's wrong?" Hudson asks me.

I look at him, "I'll have to tell you when I get back." I tell him, grabbing my coat and sliding that on, grabbing the keys to our Maserati. He grasps my hand, I stop him from grabbing his coat, shaking my head at his six foot three form. Broad shoulders that straighten, making him appear taller.

"Whatever it is, we do it together. Is it work?" He asks me.

I shake my head at him, "This is far more complicated than that. I promise, I'll tell you when I get back. Don't worry." I cup his cheek, the high cheekbone was warm against my cold hand. He rests his forehead against mine. Whispering in Latin under his breath. I say the same thing, pulling away and closing the door behind me. Before feeling the tracker he put in my coat. I open the door and throw it back at him. He catches it with a closed fist. Eyes narrowed, and those indigo colours vibrant with concern holds mine in its own deep, penetrating grasp.