“No reason.” I smile. “You were telling me how sex is evil. Go on.”
She lets out a surprised laugh. “No, Ling. I wasn’t. Sex can be wonderful in a meaningful relationship between two people who love each other.”
Oh shit. She’s asking for it.
A dark smirk crosses me. “You know what’s even better?” I pause for effect. “Fucking a stranger down a dark alley. You don’t even exchange names. He pushes you against the filthy wall and it’s on. Like a mutt and bitch in heat.” I breathe deeply and rest against the sofa. “It’s invigorating.”
She looks disappointed
in me. “Ling, that doesn’t sound very fun.”
“Do you have sex with Bobby over there?” I ask, knowing full well this question will not be answered.
Dr. Maura blinks, surprising me with her response. “Of course I do. He’s my husband.”
I roll my eyes at her sweet disposition. “Yes, but do you let him fuck you.” I grin. “You’ve been a naughty girl. He puts you over his knee and smacks that round ass till it’s nice and pink.” I push some more. “Do you let him eat your pussy? Or is that too uncouth for you?”
Dr. Maura swallows hard and her voice quavers. “We’re talking about you, Ling.”
Adjusting on the seat, I sit up straight. “No, no. Let’s talk about you, Dr. Maura Sternson.” She’s in trouble now. “About your sad sex life and how your husband beats off every time you’re not home. Or about how you fake your orgasms to make him feel better about not being able to take you there.” My face turns mocking. “No, I know. Let’s talk about how women like me fuck husbands like yours down dark alleys. Or maybe about how your husband is at home spreading the luscious legs of your daughter and eating that tight little muffin of hers like he’s on an all carb diet.”
Dr. Maura’s face turns outraged, and she stands so fast that it amuses me. She points a trembling finger at me as she wears rage on her face for all to see. When she yells, “Shut your fucking mouth, you little bitch!” I know I’ve won.
Gasping at the realization that she’s just verbally abused a client, her eyes wide, she covers her mouth with a hand and rushes out of the room, a sob escaping her as she hurries past me.
I look around the empty office and rest back onto the sofa. “Was it something I said?” I take my purse and walk out of Dr. Maura Sternson’s office shaking my head and muttering, “And people think I’m fucked up.”
Four days have passed since my offer of cooperation to the San Francisco PD was made. And in that time, I’ve had a fight on my hands and points to prove.
Detective Deep-throat—aka Detective Jason Renley—has been on my ass every spare minute of his time, his threats laughable and cliché, trying his best to rough me up at my insinuation of his homosexuality.
Truth is, I knew the guy wasn’t gay, but for a dude who lived in a city of gay pride, I could scent his homophobia from miles away.
Best way to taunt a homophobe, as everyone knows, is to call him a fag.
And it seems he hasn’t forgiven me for it.
Imagine my surprise when Detective Renley threw me into a wall the day prior and moved to pitch his fist into my face when an unlikely champion had him down on his ass quick as lightning. Sergeant Dan Willem—the same sergeant who I asked if his wife plays with his asshole—got in the young man’s face and hissed out, “Chief says to stand down, boy, you stand down, hear me? Or do I need to bring you down a peg or two myself, Jason?”
Detective Renley’s face blazed a fiery red as he stood abruptly, getting close enough to the older man to show his irritation at the interruption without getting into his face about it.
The power struggle was thick in the air, tangible, but Detective Renley knew better than to disobey his superior and walked away without a word spoken.
Sergeant Dan Willem watched the younger man walk away and placed his hands on his hips, letting out a long sigh then turning to face me. “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay, because quite frankly, I don’t give a shit if you are.” His cool green eyes assessed me. “But the chief wants you in one piece, so I’m going to make sure you stay that way.”
He waited a moment, blinking at me.
I didn’t get it. What the hell did he think was going to happen? That we’d have some witty exchange and become unlikely allies?
Please.
I wasn’t about to thank him. I wanted to knock his head in. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Sergeant Willem smiled coldly. “Seems you do, sunshine.”
He didn’t see the blow coming, and the immense satisfaction I felt when my foot connected with his knee, causing his legs to buckle, was like my own personal form of ecstasy. With a yelp, he hit the ground, and I didn’t look back as I moved to make my way to the chief’s office.
During the day, I’d been given free rein inside the bullpen, but at night, I was locked up in a cell, like a common criminal. These guys still had no idea who they were dealing with. If they did, they’d know there was nothing common about me. But I’d give them time to grasp the fact. They needed that time. I had no doubt it would be a shock for them to realize they harbored one of the most dangerous men in the world, and that man let some no-name po-po fucks lock him in a cell every night. I would humor them for as long as it took, but when push came to shove, I was no man’s bitch.
As I walked inside, the chief didn’t bother looking up from his paperwork. “We talked about this, Twitch.” With a shake of his head, he lifted his face and looked at me over the reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Three days and you’ve made it your mission to injure almost every single one of my men and insult all of my female officers. When does it stop, Falco? You’re acting feral, and I have to tell you, it’s concerning.”
Having not stepped outside this building for days already, I was quick to respond with a light shrug. “Cage me like an animal, and suddenly I become one.”
“I can’t let you go, son.” He set his glasses down and shook his head gently. “You know I can’t.”
A harsh laugh was forced from me. “You think you could stop me?”
Straightening in his chair, he observed me guardedly. “Actually, yes, I think we could.” Damn. The chief was getting cocky again. And that sounded like a challenge to me.
I always did love proving people wrong.
In the early hours of the morning, in the partial darkness of the semi-lit bullpen, I unlocked my cell with the key I had accrued from the very first day and walked out of the lockup that was acting as my current residence. I scanned the key card I’d stolen this afternoon from—I looked down at the ID—a cadet named Janet Nolan and made my way out of the back entrance. A small smile hit me as I wondered how long it would take them to realize I wasn’t there.
That night, I ate a juicy steak and baked potato loaded with sour cream, slept in a decent motel bed and showered without an officer watching my ass like I was about to shoot explosives from it. And it felt damn good. Silence was good too. But my leaving was never meant to be permanent, more of a lesson learned the hard way.
I wake early that morning, shower and dress then walk to a diner to get myself a coffee and breakfast before returning to the station. The young Janet Nolan at the reception desk stands suddenly with her mouth gaping as I enter. Taking my sunglasses off, I ask, “He in his office?”
She nods quickly, and I drop her keycard onto the laminated counter. Suppressing her shock, she steps forward to frisk me before buzzing me into the cop shop. I wink at her as I walk inside, my head held high, and already I hear the commotion.
“You goddamn moron, you just let him leave?” This has me pausing just before I make it to the chief’s office. I can’t place the voice. I don’t know this person. “Have you any idea what you let pass through your fingers? The information this guy might have had would be invaluable. And what do you do? Fucking taunt him!” A harsh exhale. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
The chief sounds tired when he responds, “It wasn’t a taunt. I thought it was fact.” He pauses before adding, “Never had anyone escaped the hold before. How was I supposed to know he would?”
A scoff of disbelief sounds. “Gee, I don’t know, Peterson. Maybe because”—his voice rises to a shout—“he fucking told you he would!”
“Shit, Ethan, they all fucking gloat. This is the first time it’s actually come to fruition. I didn’t know.”
Ethan, whoever the fuck that is, lowers his voice mildly. “You have no idea what you’ve done. Heads are going to roll, beginning with yours.”
For a split second, I think about walking away
just to spite the chief. It takes only that split second to remember the woman—the angel—with long brown hair and smiling eyes, and my need to get back to her has my pride fading fast.
Placing my hand on the knob, I turn it and step just inside the office, standing tall, making my entrance one of impact.
Both men swivel to face me, and they say nothing, just stare. A full minute passes and not a word is spoken. The chief stares hard, blinking in confusion, as if I were a mirage about to fade away at any moment.
I move forward and take a seat on one of the cushy guest chairs in the chief’s office before lifting my coffee to my lips and speaking to keep the mood light. “I would’ve got you a coffee, Chief.” I sip. “But I really didn’t want to.”
The exact moment he implodes, I see it. And it makes me snuffle a laugh under my breath.
His face turns bright red and the veins in his neck bulge when he moves to close the office door behind me. The second that door is closed, he lets loose. “Where were you? We had a deal. You help me, and I do what I can to help you. You do not leave!”
My shoulder bounces. “Those are your policies, not mine. Besides, you should know by now that I don’t follow the rules.” My gaze hoods. “I make them.”
This does nothing to quell his fury. “Goddamn it, you son of a bitch.” The chief comes at me, rage blazing red in his eyes, but the other man in the room places a solid hand on his shoulder to stop him. Chest heaving, the chief stills before changing directions, moving to sit behind his desk, flexing his hands in a nervous gesture implying he has the need to fuck shit up.
I glance at the other man before jerking my chin up at him and muttering, “And who the fuck are you?”
The man’s gaze meets mine a long, somber moment before his eyes crinkle in the corners, and I can’t help but feel he might be holding in a laugh. Holding a clear note of authority, dressed in a charcoal gray suit with a plain white shirt and black tie, his salt-and-pepper hair cut and styled neatly, with his black dress shoes so shiny you could use them as a mirror, I immediately dislike him. It’s not necessarily his fault.