Make Me (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 4)

I could tell he didn’t want to tell me.

I tipped my eyebrows up in challenge, knowing that he wouldn’t back down from it.

“Justice,” he said finally. “And if you tell anybody that, I’ll have to kill you.”

When he walked off after that, I followed him outside and watched him move.

He went straight to his garage, picked up a socket wrench, and went back to work.

All the while, I tried not to hyperventilate.Chapter 5

Listen, before I had my coffee, I didn’t know how awesome I was going to be today, either.

-Coffee Cup

Justice

“Stay away from the girl.”

I looked up to find my immediate boss, Sergeant Tellings, staring at me like I’d done something stupid.

And maybe I had.

I could’ve easily let what I’d seen about to happen, happen and allowed Royal to have her face fucked up by Marcus. But I hadn’t.

I couldn’t stand the idea of calling the cops and letting them deal with it when I was just across the road, watching everything go down.

“I’m not doing anything with the girl,” I lied. “I just didn’t want to see her get beaten up like I did her brother.”

Fuller rolled his eyes. “Marcus wasn’t going to do anything. All it looked like from our end was that you were getting attached to the girl, and you didn’t want Marcus near her.”

That was true.

I hadn’t wanted him anywhere near her.

I hadn’t even wanted to give him her name when Marcus had asked who was asking around about him.

Yet, I had.

Because if I hadn’t, it would’ve looked suspicious.

“All I’m telling you is that you need to stay away from her,” Fuller continued. “We’ve put months into this investigation, and we can’t afford to have Marcus go to ground.”

That was true. I’d put in a month already, and they’d been working it for two months before I’d even arrived.

Plus, Marcus Gomez was a problem. A big one.

Not only did he think he ruled the roost, but he also thought he could get away with murder—which we knew he had—for now.

That was my goal—to find evidence on who he killed.

And I would.

Eventually.

As long as I didn’t let my dick do the talking.

Because the first time I’d seen her across the street in her dirty overalls? I’d been fucking lost.

It was her hair, I was thinking.

She was short for a girl. Shorter than my sister by far. About five foot three if I had to guess. But she made up for that in curves. Her breasts were big—and when I say big, they’d overflow my hands, big.

Her eyes were a beautiful gray. Like a foggy morning, translucent gray. Her skin? It was like milk, white and silky. She probably burned to a crisp if she was out in the sun too long.

But she had these rosy cheeks that looked so cute when she was exerting herself.

And her ass. Oh my God. Her ass.

I wasn’t normally an ass man.

I was all about boobs.

I didn’t really know what did it for me when it came to boobs, but they were normally what drew me in first.

But when I first saw Royal St. James?

It was her hair. Followed very shortly by her ass.

She’d been in a dirty pair of overalls. The kind that were thin but fire retardant. The top part had been off her top half, hanging off the back of her as she stood in the middle of the parking lot talking to her boss, Stratton. She’d been gesturing wildly with her hands, leading one to think that I’d been attracted to those beautiful breasts that’d been swaying as she talked.

But nope.

It was her ass. Her ass that was holding up her coveralls on its own.

It was big, shapely, and goddamn I wanted nothing more than to bend her over at the waist, pull everything down to her ankles and sink my cock so far inside of her that she’d never think of another man again.

“Are you even listening to me?”

I blinked, surprised to find every single eye in the room looking at me.

Which wasn’t like me at all.

I didn’t lose focus. Losing focus meant you could get killed and getting killed wasn’t on the top of my list of things to do—ever.

“I think I’m coming down with something,” I patted my chest. “It’s getting hard to breathe.”

Luke’s eyes rose.

“You look fine to me,” he said.

I cleared my throat and shrugged. “It just started this morning. I was considering going to get it checked out before it got to the point where it always gets.”

“What’s that point?” Luke asked.

“Pneumonia,” I admitted. “Every time that it starts, it always just starts like this. Congestion. Fatigue. Morphs into the fucked up illness from hell. Never fails. I’ll end up with bronchitis and pneumonia by the end of the week.”

Luke frowned. “That’s not normal.”

I shrugged. “It is for me.”

Luke sighed. “I have a doc friend. I’ll give you his number. We can’t afford you getting sick when you’re this close to Gomez.”