Any Day Now (SWAT Generation 2.0 8)

“I got her, Simmy,” Adam said.

The rookie officer that looked no older than twenty-one nodded his head and went back into the building to get another arrestee, leaving me with Adam.

“I had no other choice.”

I know that he didn’t.

I mean, I was the one to punch the man in the face in front of all of those people.

I knew what I was doing when I did that.

“I’m not saying that you did.” I shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he chose silence as he led me to his cruiser.

The moment we got close, I spoke up, trying to hide the way his closeness was making me feel.

“Can you, maybe, put me up front with you? I swear that I won’t try to like, steal your car or anything,” I promised, hoping that he would give me that.

The idea of getting in the back of his police cruiser with all that nastiness on his seats from the other people he arrested was really quite debilitating for me.

I mean, seriously, when I washed my hands in the bathroom, I used a paper towel to open the door. I wiped down my buggy with about eight disinfectant wipes, and I carried a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer with me everywhere I went just to make sure that I could wash my hands after I touched something that other people touched.

His back seat was likely filled to the brim with germs.

“That’s fine,” he rumbled, sounding amused. “But they make us clean it out once a night. And nobody has been in there tonight. It’s clean.”

“How do I know?” I asked. “When you say ‘clean it out’ what do you mean? Like, you vacuum it out? Or what?”

“Vacuum if we need to. Disinfect the seats. Shit like that,” he answered as he opened the passenger side door of his cruiser for me.

I looked at the long jump up into the SUV, then at him, then at me with my arms loosely handcuffed behind my back.

He uncuffed me, but before I could help myself into the seat, he had his hands on me and was putting me there before I could say another word.

Then he had my hands cuffed again, this time in front of me instead of behind.

I licked my lips at the way he made me feel.

God, my breasts were tight, my nipples were hard, and my clit was tingling in anticipation.

Sadly, the trip to the station wasn’t filled with banter. It was filled with Adam talking on the phone to his superior about what happened, training tomorrow, and something else about a team-building exercise that they had next week.

When we arrived at the station, it was to find the entire place in chaos.

There were pissed off men everywhere that looked as if they’d been beaten to hell and back—the ones from the club—and the women that’d done the beating not far away.

Adam led me to a small desk to the side of the room and leveled the man behind it with a look. “Need to process her, Dornet.”

Dornet looked at me, then at Adam, then back to me.

Before he could say anything, the mic at Adam’s neck went off.

“All units be advised, we have a man from the jail that escaped. Five-foot-nine white male. One hundred and eighty pounds. Last seen on Booker Street.”

“Fuck,” Adam said.

That one word was said so deep and raspy-like that it made my clit do things that should’ve been impossible.

“Be good to her, Dornet,” Adam ordered. “Gotta go.”

I looked over my shoulder at Adam.

He leveled me with one look that said ‘behave’ and I couldn’t help the small smile that graced my lips.

Batting my eyes at him, I watched the grin cross his face as he walked backward out the door.

Only when the door closed between us did he turn and start jogging down the steps toward his cruiser again.

***

Sadly, the moment that I got put inside the jail cell, I was no longer anywhere near as happy to be there anymore. I just felt tired.

But that was mostly due to the fact that the man that’d done the arresting was no longer around.

He’d been paged out on a call the moment that we got into the building, leaving me to get processed by the sweet, but definitely no push-over Dornet. He then had me escorted by an officer I vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite pinpoint why, to the shared jail cell where I would be spending my next however long.

The shared jail cell that was occupied by Twat Tiffany—apparently her real name seeing as she was a hooker. Rowdy Rhonda—the police gave her this name because apparently, she liked to get drunk and disorderly on days that end in Y.

Oh, and the entirety of the bachelorette party that had come in and kicked the bachelor party’s ass. The gaggle of ladies that had gotten me here in the first place.