by Mazzy King
One corner of his mouth turns up, and he gives me a nod.
You got this, he seems to say.
I swallow back the urge to cry.
Max can never hurt you again. You are stronger than him. You’re stronger than what he did to you. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I mutter.
“Miss Michaels?”
I look the prosecutor square in the eye and proceed to recount in disturbing detail everything Max ever did to me. The photos I offered the police are allowed in.
When I’m finished, the prosecutor gives me a nod. “Thank you very much for that, Miss Michaels. I can only begin to imagine how difficult that was for you. No further questions, Your Honor.”
The defense was called up next. He’s some hotshot Max pays a lot of money to, and he’s just as crooked as Max is. He comes at me with what feels like a zillion hard questions, but I stick to the truth and the facts and the evidence, and I endure him with as much grace as I can muster.
He seems disappointed at the end when he hasn’t been able to break me, and for the first time, I see Max’s arrogant smirk lose some of its confidence.
That’s all I need for me to completely let go.
Because I was attacked outside the police station, my security team wastes no time getting me to the unmarked SUV they brought me here in and hurrying me back to the safehouse. One of the officers informs me I have to stay until Max and everyone involved with him go to prison for good. I might even be called up again—but I fervently pray I won’t be.
Officer Hansen—Saint’s friend Gunner—is in the house when I arrive. He smiles at me.
“I just wanted to tell you what an awesome job you did today,” he says, shaking my hand. “And that I’m being pulled off this case to work on something else, but it was a pleasure to work with you, and I wish you all the best.”
“Thank you for everything,” I say earnestly. I’m facing zero jail time because of Gunner and Saint, and I’m eternally grateful for that.
“You bet.” He smiles. “Good luck to you, Lyra.”
“Thanks.” I pause, chewing my lips. “Can you—can you thank Detective Rivers for me, too?”
Gunner gives me this mysterious little smile. “Yeah, sure. I’ll pass the message on.”
I decide some comfort food is in order, as well as a carb-fest, so baked mac and cheese and mashed potatoes along with oven-fried chicken are the menu, STAT. I’ve just pulled ingredients for the mac and cheese out when there’s a knock at the door. It’s the standard two long, one short knock the security team uses.
Curious, I head to the door, wondering what they need. When I open it, I freeze.
Saint stands before me.
He seems to be as in awe as I am, but he finds his voice first. “Lyra. I missed you.”
I jump into his arms.
Somehow, we get the door shut and locked. He pushes me against the wall, devouring my mouth.
“Saint,” I finally gasp as he works on my neck. “I missed you so much.”
We strip each other’s clothes off, leaving a trail to the bedroom. Maybe we should talk first, but two weeks without him was two weeks too long, and I don’t want to talk.
“God, I’ve wanted you so bad,” he breathes against my mouth, then dips his head to my naked breasts and teases my nipples. I writhe on the bed beneath him, already soaking wet and so, so ready.
“Fuck me, Saint,” I beg.
“I fully intend to,” he murmurs, “but first I need to taste you. I can’t stop thinking about your pussy in my mouth.”
I scream when his tongue slides between my folds and laps up all the creamy wetness I’m leaking. He sucks my clit and licks me into my first shattering orgasm, and I spurt my juices into his mouth shamelessly.
Then he turns me flat onto my belly, spreads my thighs, and slides home. His body shudders above me. “Fuck, I forgot how tight you are,” he groans.
I tilt my head back and we tongue-kiss while he fucks me slow and hard, grinding into me deep with the leisure of someone who has all the time in the world.
Because…now we do.
We fuck in the bed until we both come, his teeth in my shoulder, his hand tight in my hair, my hand grasping at his hip to pull him deeper still. We fuck in the shower against the wall until the water runs cold. He has me for an appetizer on the kitchen counter while I try to make us dinner, and then I treat myself to swallowing his long, thick cock and his hot, creamy cum while he sits on the couch and I kneel before him. I sit on his lap and ride him while the chicken bakes in the oven, and then, after we eat and watch a movie, he fucks me nice and slow on the edge of the bed, the moonlight spilling in through the parted curtains across my body lying prone beneath him.
When we’re exhausted and cuddled together under the covers, I tell him, “I want to start my life over. But I don’t want to leave Ridge City.”
He’s quiet for a while, his fingers playing with my hair, then he says, “You told me before you did. I completely understand why.”
I shake my head. “That was different. That was before…you.”
“I don’t want to hold you back, Lyra,” he whispers. “But I don’t want to lose you, either. You’re the one I’ve been waiting for my whole life. My soul feels…put together with you here.”
I lift my head off his shoulder and look him in the eye. “Then that’s all the reason I need to stay.”
He kisses me deeply. “I love you, crazy-beautiful girl.
“And I love you,” I whisper back. “My hero. My savior.”
My Saint.
Epilogue
Saint
Ask anyone if they think I’m reckless. They’ll probably say yes.
That’s a quality that follows me off the job into my personal life. Although, I like to think of it as living life to the fullest. I’m a man who takes what he wants, and today’s no different.
Max Hendricks’s trial was swift, and unsurprisingly, he’s facing a whole lot of years in prison for his crimes. He’s never getting out—at least, if he ever does, he won’t be at an age where he’ll be interested in raising the kind of hell he has so far.
Lyra moved into my small house with me as soon as she was able. I let her have free rein over redecorating the house, and she’s done some awesome things. She’s made my house a home, and like my life, she was the piece that was missing for the longest time.
She does remote graphic design work for a business and has started her own freelance business on the side. In her spare time—when she’s not making love to me and blowing my mind with her sinful face and body—she’s working on her first artbook, a collection of amazing drawings cataloguing key moments of her life. She also likes to draw what can only be described as pornography, but it’s of me and her and it’s for our eyes only.
Oh, to be in love with an artist.
I walk through the door and find her in the kitchen. Cooking is her other love, stemming from her half-Italian side, and I love her for loving it. Not only does she keep me well fed, but I love to watch her at work. And especially on a night like tonight, where she’s wearing one of my white ribbed undershirts with absolutely nothing on underneath and a pair of heels.
Jesus Christ and all His saints.
“Oh, hey,” she says casually as if she’s not dressed like a sex goddess. “I’m making linguine with clams tonight. White wine sauce, just like you like.”
I stroll up behind her, immediately reaching for her breasts and stroking her peaking nipples through the tank top. “First of all, you could make me Brussels sprouts and liver and I’d happily eat it with you cooking like this…and second of all, I’m pretty sure that’s my shirt. And I’m pretty sure I didn’t give you permission to wear it.”
She smirks at me over her shoulder and pushes her ass back against my straining dick. “Then maybe you should take it from me.”
“Oh, I’m going to take you, all right. With
these heels on.”
She giggles. “Okay, but can I make the pasta first?”
I sigh. “Fine.”
But my act of martyrdom is just a ruse. As much as I definitely do want to take her, I need her to stay busy so I can put together the surprise I’ve been thinking about the past few weeks.
I head into our bedroom, then pause at the desk where her lightbox screen is set up. On the desk is a print proof of her first artbook, the one about key moments in her life.
I have a little drawing to add, too.
I flip to the back and stick in the sad little picture I drew over my lunch break. Then I head back out to the kitchen.
Lyra glances over her shoulder at me, smiles, then returns to the pasta. “Looking at the proofs again?”
“I just can’t get over how goddamn talented you are,” I reply, and mean it. “I also might have a criticism to offer.”
She whips back around, brows raised, and I do my best to bite back a laugh. “Oh, really? What’s that?”
“Well, I’ve taken the liberty of adding a drawing myself.” I hand her the proof book. “At the back.”
Lyra snatches the proofs from me, a dubious look on her face. She flips to the last pages, then turns them more slowly. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve left anything out—”
She finds my drawing and stops.
Finally, I let myself grin.
“Saint,” she whispers. When she looks up at me, I’m down on one knee, holding out a rose gold, princess-cut diamond ring.
She gasps.
I reach for her hand. “I firmly believe in soulmates,” I tell her, stroking her hand with my thumb. “And I believe in destiny. I believe you’ve always been mine, long before I ever knew you, and Lyra, I sure as hell have always been yours. You had my heart the second I saw you, and I knew somehow, we’d find our way back to each other.” I clear my tightening throat. “So, there’s a question on that picture for you.”
She sets the artbook down, pulling my drawing out.
It’s a sketch of a boy stick-figure kneeling before a girl stick-figure, a huge ring between them. Off to one side are the words “Will you marry me?” along with a box for “yes” and a box for “no.”
Tears stream down Lyra’s face as she steps away and reaches for a pen on the counter. She scribbles, then hands me the drawing.
X marks the spot.
Yes.
I stand up and sweep her into my arms, hugging her tight. “You make me want to be a better man,” I whisper in her ear. “I promise you, you’ll never get less than a hundred and fifty percent from me.”
“I’ve had a lot of demons in my life,” she whispers back, kissing my cheek. “But I finally found my saint. I love you. Forever.”
She found her saint…but I found my angel.
GUNNER
BADGE BUNNIES BOOK 4
A Steamy Alpha Bad Boy Cop Romance
The good Bad Boys of Ridge City…and the women who love them.
Put your hands where he can feel them…
Gunner
When a call came in from the bank about a robbery hostage situation, I didn’t hesitate to volunteer to go inside, posing as a civilian and becoming a hostage myself. My job is only to relay information back to the team and lay down cover fire when they get here. But then I meet Isla, a beautiful young woman scared out of her mind, and I know now I have to comfort and protect her at all costs. But will the nature of my work be too much for her to handle?
Isla
When a robber points a gun at me, my life flashes before my eyes. But then I see the hottest guy in the world walk into the bank. At first I think he’s just a hostage, and then I realize he’s an undercover cop. He protects me, and when he brings me home after the ordeal, I…want him to stay. All night. But despite my intense feelings for him, I can’t watch him risk his life over and over… Am I about to say goodbye to the love of my life?
This is an insta-love, happily-ever-after, STEAMY romance. No cliffhangers, no cheating. This is a standalone story part of the BADGE BUNNIES series.
Chapter 1
Gunner Hansen
So this guy walks into a bank.
That sounds like the setup to a bad joke, but in my line of work, it’s a reality. Like right now.
Things happen in the blink of an eye as a police officer, especially in Ridge City. One minute you’re cruising the streets with your partner, and the next you get a call to head to Ridge City Bank, where a hostage situation is currently going on.
I wish that was just an example, but that’s exactly what happened about fifteen minutes ago.
Jaxson Rivers, my baker partner for this lovely Friday afternoon, glances at me as I pull off the bulletproof vest that holds all my toys and tools. We’re both in plainclothes today, since our mission was to stake out some suspected gang members in a neighborhood they’re rumored to be found in. Then we got the call from dispatch about a disturbance at the bank. We’re across the street at a gas station. In front of the bank, though, are about ten squad cars with more on the way.
“You sure about this?” he asks, his mouth downturned.
I shrug, accepting the smaller, lighter Kevlar vest he hands me. I toss it on over the plain white T-shirt I wear under my hoodie, then pull the sweatshirt back on. “I’m an undercover officer. I go undercover.”
“It’s an active situation.”
“No shit?” I flash him a cocky smirk. “Since when?”
Jaxson rolls his eyes. He’s such a worrywart. He’s so different from his younger brother Saint, who rocks a devil-may-care attitude like nobody’s business. Jax could stand a few lessons, though I’d never say that in his hearing and risk getting an uppercut to the jaw.
Our sergeant arrives on the scene and locates us. He’s got silver-gray, short, spiky hair, but his face is so unlined, he could be my age, twenty-eight. “Run me down what the plan is.”
I shove my hoodie sleeves up. “I’m going in. I’ll get taken as a hostage. I’ll use my phone to text Jax intel so you can make a plan of attack, and then I’ll do my best not to get shot.”
Jaxson shoots me a mildly annoyed look. “Sarge, he’s going to let us know about how many hostages, the kinds of demands that are being made, if any, and how many assholes are inside. So far we know there’s at least three.”
I nod. “What he said.”
I’m not a shit cop, I swear. I do take things very seriously. I just can’t help my smartass mouth sometimes, and especially in situations where I’m about to go into the shit. It’s gotten me into trouble a lot, but I guess it’s a defense mechanism to keep my mood up and the thought I could very well die at bay.
That is a mindfuck, believe me.
Luckily, Sarge is well accustomed to me and my punkass attitude, so he lets the comment slide. “What are you taking?”
I pat my pocket. “I’ve got a phone here.”
Jaxson’s frown deepens. He doesn’t like that I’m going in unarmed, but if I had a gun on me and they found it, that’d be a death sentence.
“What if they search you?” Sarge asks.
“I’ll do my best to keep them away from me,” I say and shrug. I don’t have a lot of options. If they search me and find the phone, they’ll likely take it away from me. They might even kill me.
Yeah. It’s pretty shitty. But it’s a risk I have to take. It’s a risk I vowed to take.
My sergeant moves away to radio to the sergeant with the cops across the street. Jaxson clasps the arm I hold out to him and pulls me in for a tight hug. “Love you, brother. Watch your ass.”
“Always.” I pull back and shove a pair of binoculars into his chest. “And I got you to watch my ass. I mean, not literally. But—you know what I mean.”
“Shut up.” He chuckles, then gets serious. “You know I always got your six.”
I nod. It’s time to get my head in the game.
I jog across the street and subtly lift my hand toward some of the officers huddled beh
ind their open doors. A few of them recognize me and wave back. I slow to a walk, duck toward a side door, and slip inside. There’s a short hallway that opens up to the large lobby of the bank, and it’s disturbingly quiet there. I pause to take a deep, centering breath, then put my game face on.
Whistling, I stroll into the lobby. My gaze immediately flicks left and right. I take in as much information as I can as quickly as possible. People are huddled all over the floor, but it doesn’t look like anybody is hurt with my cursory glance.
I glance over at a young woman crouched on the floor underneath a teller’s window, and I’m momentarily struck by how beautiful she is. Long, dark-brown hair cascades in curls over her shoulder, and her bright, jade-green eyes are huge with fear. She locks gazes with me for an instant, and it feels like time comes to a stop.
“Hey, you!”
The loud, gruff shout makes me whip my head away. Ah, Asshole #1. Hello.
A hulking guy wearing all black and a ski mask charges toward me. I clock his weaponry—a sawed-off shotgun, pointed at me.
I throw my hands in the air. “Wh-what’s going on? What the hell!”
He reaches me, grasping at my arm. I skitter back, swatting at his hands. I do not need him to find the phone in my pocket, a text message to Jaxson already queued up and ready for me to input the details I need.
“Get the hell on the floor,” the guy growls, shoving me hard. “Who the fuck are you? You got anything on you?”
I dance out of his grasp. “Hey, hey, man! I’m just here looking for my—my girlfriend!” I point a finger at the gorgeous green-eyed brunette I spotted on the way in. “She was taking forever! Don’t hurt her, okay?”
“Get on the fucking floor!” he yells and seems to give up trying to check my pockets. He shoves me toward her hard. I let myself hit the floor and slide backward toward her. He sticks the shotgun in my face. “One wrong move, your brains will meet the wall behind you. Got it?”
