Good Gone Bad (The Fallen Men 3)

And like I knew he would, he ran after me.

I could hear his heavy boots striking the ground behind me, but I wasn’t terrified. It felt like I was flying as my long limbs carried me between the towering stacks of containers, as I led him on a merry chase I hoped I’d be able to end back at the van.

Unfortunately, I miscalculated.

Runner had been providing protection for Grant Yves long enough to figure out the configuration of containers.

Suddenly, I couldn’t hear his feet behind me.

I stopped running, my breath rasping through my lungs, hot over my tongue as it turned white in the air.

Nothing.

No sounds, but my thumping heart and wasted breath.

“Stop, police!” a voice cried from somewhere in the maze.

Then nothing, again.

Bang!

I jumped at the sound of the shot so close by and whirled around to see Runner fall to the ground at the mouth of the alley between containers, fifteen yards behind me. Then Danner, stalking over to his prone body, voice harsh but indiscernible as he read him his rights and cuffed him.

I jogged over, seeing the bullet graze bleeding lightly at Runner’s shoulder as Danner hauled him to his feet.

“You got him,” I noted, the adrenaline making me dumb, flooding my brain with too many endorphins.

Danner scowled at me then turned to Sterling who was coming up behind him with Yves. He shoved Runner at Sterling and asked, “You got ’im.”

The other cop’s eyes shot from him to me, read the fury in the air and nodded curtly. “Yeah, got them. Meet you at the station. I’ll tell Renner, you were doin’ a scan of the area to make sure it was clean.”

Danner nodded curtly at him then crossed his arms and watched the huge black man cart the two men toward the van.

Only when he was out of sight and hearing did I try. “Danner, listen—”

“Not listenin’,” he growled, lunging for me so violently, I squealed.

He pushed me hard against the side of the container, his hand on the back of my head so it wouldn’t hit, conscientious even his rage. I gasped when his other hand moved up from my hip over my belly to my neck where he gently—eyes such an intense contrast to the movement that it took my breath away—plucked the camera from my necklace and dropped it to the ground. I heard the crunch of it under his boot as he broke it.

Still, he didn’t speak. He stared at me for a long minutes before his radio squawked and the other cop in the van, Henson, confirmed that Yves and Runner were contained.

Still, he waited, staring at me with a fury so palpable I felt it slide down my throat and scorch my insides. I wanted to explain myself, but I knew there would be no words to make Danner understand why I went off half-cocked.

Then, his radio sounded again.

“Yard is all clear,” Sterling confirmed. “Got fifteen minutes then need you at the station.”

“Copy,” Danner growled into the radio.

Then his hand fisted tightly in my hair, tugging it back so viciously it brought tears to my eyes and his mouth crashed onto mine.

Immediately, I ignited. The stress and adrenaline the perfect kindling, his fury the gasoline and his lust the match.

I went up in smoke the second his hand found my tit and squeezed.

I was trembling, gunpowder residue on my hand that Danner wrapped around his thick cock.

“Jack me,” he ordered through his teeth.

I fumbled with his belt and zip then sighed when the hot width of him hit my hand. I weighted his cock in my hand then slowly, firmly began to stroke it.

“That’s it,” he rasped as he clenched my t-shirt dress in his big, wide hands and tore it with a snarling rip down the middle. My braless nipples instantly beaded in the cool air, perfect targets for his cruel, pinching fingers. His face was screwed up into a glare of dissatisfaction as he stared at my reddening tits. I should have known my silence wasn’t enough for him, that he wanted to taste my pants and moans like a Dominant’s ambrosia on his tongue.

Still, I was surprised when he lashed out and slapped across both my taut nipples with perfect precision, sending an electric current of painful pleasure straight to my dripping cunt. I threw my head back against the metal container and let out a hoarse shout.

“That’s my slut,” he praised as he ripped a massive hole in my leggings.

He dipped down to take both my legs into his arms, and then hefted me high into the air so they landed not around his hips, but perched against his shoulders, only my back against the metal container keeping me upright, my cunt completely exposed for his use.

“You think you deserve this cock?” he demanded, the crown of said cock poised at my entrance, rubbing back and forth across my clit, lighting it on fire with the friction.