Double Tap (Code 11-KPD SWAT 2)

It was who I was made to be, though.

The Navy SEALS had trained us, and it was just something I continued doing out of habit, even though I’d been out for years.

“So when’s the Kumbaya this week, and where?” Bennett asked.

“We had it at my place last week. It’s one of y’all’s turns,” Luke said, leaning against the brick of the building.

“We can have it at mine,” I said. “Y’all just better not fucking drip on any of my furniture. It’s new.”

Bennett grinned. “That wasn’t me, it was Michael. And Downy.”

“It wasn’t me, boy,” Downy said, walking up and joining the group.

I’d seen him walking up, but Bennett had had his back to him, so he couldn’t see when he’d pulled up and started walking towards us.

Downy exchanged handshakes and gave Reese a messy toss of her hair before looking at me.

“Some woman’s drag racing a couple of teens in your truck,” Downy said without preamble.

I looked down at my toes and pinched the bridge of my nose before slipping my hand into my pocket and withdrawing my phone.

“Hello?” Georgia answered.

“Alright, Niña mala, I don’t know if you realize this, but everyone knows my truck around town. I’d appreciate it if you save the racing for when you’re in a vehicle of your own,” I growled while still looking down at my feet.

And what did she do? Fucking laughed.

“Bad girl’s all you could come up with? Come on, even your teenage self could’ve done better than that,” Georgia giggled.

I sighed. “I swear to God, if you hurt my truck in any way, I’m going to give you the spanking of a lifetime.”

She hung up and all I could do was shake my head, while laughing softly to myself. She’d always been spunky, and it was nice to see that side of her again.

When I finally looked back up, it was to see everyone surrounding me staring at me as if I’d grown a second head.

Hell, even some of the other officers milling about were looking at me the same exact way.

“What are you looking at?” I asked one of the rookie officers who’d frozen in his tracks.

He shook his head hastily and power walked inside, not once looking back.

I turned to find Reese staring at me disapprovingly.

“You just scared that poor kid to death. I bet he’s going to go into a bathroom stall and cry,” she scolded.

I shrugged. “If all it takes is me staring at him to make him cry, then it’s obvious he doesn’t need to be a cop. This job will chew him up and spit him out.”

I got murmurs of agreement from the rest of the men surrounding me, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face. That woman would be the death of me, but it’d be one hell of a ride on the way down.Chapter 4Admit it. You sleep with your feet covered because you’re too afraid of something touching them in the middle of the night.

-Food for thought

Georgia

Something annoying was playing with my foot.

Creep, it had to be.

Creep was my cat, and he was the biggest bastard in the world.

Every morning at five, he’d start tumbling around the house. If I didn’t get moving within ten minutes of his gymnastic session, then it’d get worse. For instance, he’d lay on my chest, placing his ass towards my face, and slowly swish his tail back and forth until I either knocked him away, or got up.

The feet ticking thing was new, however.

So was the way he started running his fingers up my leg.

Fingers. Leg.

I sat bolt upright, gasping in terror.

My mind was locked in a horror I couldn’t get out of.

They were fighting again.

They always fought.

Why the hell couldn’t I have a normal fucking father?

His angry, drunk bellows were loud. So loud that they had to be in the hallway next to my door.

The hard thunk-thunk of something hitting the wall had me standing in angry indignation.

My mom wasn’t a fighter. She’d sit there and take it like it was her duty.

When I didn’t hear anything else, I decided to get back in bed.

There were no more angry shouts, no whimpering, and no crying. I deluded myself into thinking that she was fine and laid back down, pulling the covers up over my head.

Today had been a long day, and my father hadn’t helped one damn bit. It’d been me and the bigger boys moving the cattle; my father just sat on the front porch drinking like he normally did.

It wasn’t until I was nearly asleep that I felt the hand around my ankle.

It was strong and relentless as I tried hard to stop myself from being pulled down the bed.

My struggles were for nothing, though, because my father had a death grip on my ankle, and he was about five times stronger than me.

My legs swung free of the bed, and my upper body soon followed as my body hit the floor with a strong thump.

My head slammed against the floorboards, but I had no time to react as I was dragged like a bag of trash down the hall and into the living room.

I wasn’t screaming. I was trying to, but I couldn’t catch my breath.

My father’s face looked thunderous as he threw me down onto one of the kitchen chairs. I ended up next to one of my brothers, and then my father bent down looping my hands together with one of his, and threading a zip tie around my wrists. He pulled it painfully tight, grabbed me around the shoulders, and sat me upright in the chair.

My head was spinning as I started to struggle, but it was too late.

He had my legs zip tied to the chair legs, surprisingly smooth for a man that I could smell the whiskey pouring off of him.

That was when I finally looked around and saw all of my brothers in much the same predicament I was in. They were all strapped to the chairs, them with duct tape and zip ties instead of just the ties. They all looked incredibly frightened, and were looking at me to tell them what to do.