Undercover Rockstar: A Bad Girls novel

by Ann, Jennifer

  “He’s gonna survive this, Sash,” he coos, running his hand over my wet hair. “That guy’s one helluva a fighter.”

  The four of us work to lug Trent’s impossibly heavy body onto the dock, laying him on cuffed hands. Blood drains from my face when he’s settled, and I get a good look. He’s pale…lifeless. Around a stain of red on his wet jeans, there’s a small bullet hole.

  He’s not breathing.

  And I can’t find a pulse.

  “Does anyone’s phone still work?” I ask as I’m positioning myself over Trent. “We need an ambulance—he’s been shot.”

  “Calling them now,” Ryker volunteers behind me.

  I grab the sleeve of Liam’s t-shirt, dragging him closer. “Take that off and hold it against his thigh. I don’t need him bleeding out while I administer CPR.”

  Liam kneels at my side, wet shirt pressed to Trent’s wound. My mind scrambles as I recall everything I learned in first aid. It’s not the first time I’ve done the procedure, but it’s the first time my own life depended on making it work.

  Administering compressions, I begin humming Stayin’ Alive.

  “Come on, baby, breathe,” I plead through a noisy sob. “Don’t leave me.”

  When he’s still not responding, I tilt his head back and lift his chin before delivering breaths to his perfect lips. I break into another frantic round of compressions, willing whatever entity makes the world go ‘round to bring him back to me.

  “Ambulance is en route,” Ryker reports. “Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

  When it seems my world is about to end, Trent revives with a violent sputter. Liam and I roll him to his side barely a full second before water spews from his lips. As he recovers, pulling in gasping breaths, I comb his wet hair away from his forehead and pepper his face with kisses.

  “You’re okay, baby,” I whisper, attempting to steady my ragged breaths along with him. “You’re okay.”

  * * *

  At the hospital, Trent’s taken into surgery to extract the bullet. One of the EMT techs assures me they expect he’ll make a full recovery, but my nerves don’t lessen any after Trent’s wheeled away. There’s no chance of relaxing when I haven’t heard back from Emersyn and Sgt. Kendall since they took off after Bentley.

  Though I’d much rather pace while obsessively checking my phone for updates, Ryker and Liam insist I consult with a doctor on my leg. After an X-ray and a handful of tests reveal a femur fracture, they schedule an appointment with a specialist for the following day to see if a rod is necessary. After I’m given a cocktail of painkillers, I crack jokes about being the next Terminator to the nurse that delivers me back to the ER.

  The crew from In Disarray and Blood Hands nearly lose their shit with the sight of me in a wheelchair. They go out of their way to make sure I’m comfortable, soliciting odd looks from everyone else waiting in the ER. A handful of them throw Ryker and crew curious looks like they might recognize them, but no one’s brave enough to ask for selfies and autographs.

  A good hour and a half later, a surgeon tells us Trent’s surgery went well. I’m told I can visit him after he sleeps off the remaining anesthesia. As the guys make plans to celebrate, Sergeant Kendall texts me, saying to meet her outside the emergency room doors.

  Shrugging the blanket from the paramedics off my shoulders, I catch Ryker’s eye. “I need to go for a walk,” I announce. Through a loopy haze, I look down at my legs. “Or…a ride.”

  “I’ll take you,” he offers, cracking a smile.

  We find Emersyn on the sidewalk outside, appearing ready to bolt as my sergeant sucks down a cigarette at her side. Sergeant Kendall actually looks…happy. Maybe even relaxed. Or maybe I’m only imagining things through narcotic-induced glasses.

  “You’re a little young to be breaking a hip, Green,” Sergeant quips. “Must’ve been one helluva fall.”

  Emersyn throws me a sideways glance. “You alright?”

  I throw her a thumbs up and wink. “I’m solid. Except for my leg.”

  “And high as a kite,” Ryker adds at my side, letting out a little chuckle. Arms folded and brow arched, he eyes Sgt. Kendall. “Thought you quit for your kids.”

  She stomps the cigarette out with a boot, sniggering. “You don’t have to tell Hunter. It’s only a little victory fix. Detective Olivia and I caught Bentley red-handed while he was attempting to unload the goods onto a freight-liner. He had over a kilo of V in his yacht. Considering his history with the local authorities, I decided to call the feds in. They were more than happy to intervene. He’s being detained at the station with his attorney. So far he’s being somewhat cooperative, hoping to cut some kind of deal by disclosing where the drugs are being made, but the feds aren’t having it. Either way he’s looking at life in prison.”

  I huff with a noisy breath. Trent wanted to bring the hammer down on that bastard himself. He’ll be pissed that he missed his chance. “Pissed…missed,” I mutter aloud, lifting my heavy eyes to Emersyn. “I’m a poet…and I kinda know it.”

  She giggles behind her fingers. The other two ignore me.

  “What about the murder of Dean Matthews?” Ryker asks the sergeant.

  She tilts her head, appearing skeptical. “We’re looking into it. The DA’s charging him on felony possession with intent to distribute. After I interview Risotto, we’re hoping to add attempted murder for dumping him in the river.”

  Well it’s a start anyway. I blink heavily, thinking how nice it would be to set my head down somewhere. Maybe they’ll let me take a nap beside Trent.

  The sergeant’s voice rattles on. “There are still some facts to sort through, but far as I can tell, Green’s assignment is complete. Whether or not my captain can accept that it’s Bentley, he has his perp in custody.” She dips her chin in my direction, offering a smile that makes her drop-dead gorgeous. “Congratulations, Detective Green. You did a commendable job bringing Bentley down. I look forward to reading how it all went down in your report.”

  Hands held up, I shake my head. “I couldn’t have done it without the Scooby gang…especially Trent. Matter of fact, him and me—”

  “She’s not up for this conversation,” Ryker interrupts, grasping the handles of the wheelchair. “It’s been a long day, and they suggested she eat something to go with all the painkillers before she rests. My wife and I are taking her in while she recovers.”

  Sgt. Kendall hums. “Big brother to the rescue, eh? Well, I suppose you’re right. Don’t need the drugs in her system altering her story.” Fishing her buzzing phone from her pocket, she lowers her chin in my direction, speaking with slow and deliberate words. “You can write your report from Blackwoods’ place. I’ll swing by to fill you in once Bentley’s arraigned. Then we’ll discuss what’s next.” Barking her name into the phone, she marches toward the parking lot, heels tapping the pavement with purpose.

  “Wait.” I grip the wheels on my ride, trying to figure out how to move so I can chase after her. She doesn’t seem to hear me though, and the wheelchair won’t budge. “Ryk, wheel me over. I gotta tell her the truth…’bout me and Risotto.”

  “No, you don't,” Ryker argues, rolling me back. “You gave her someone to pin all this on. Whatever went down between you and Risotto while you were undercover was part of the job.”

  “No it wasn’t…it was so much more than that. I’m plannin’ to stick around.”

  Smirking, he lifts an eyebrow. “You’re sticking around?”

  Emersyn clears her throat. “While I was waiting for Sergeant Kendall outside of Bentley’s, I put in a call to our old Sarg back in Chicago.”

  Of course she did. Eyes flashing up to the ER overhang above us, I snort. “What’d old Nazi Yauzi say?”

  Even though I’m the one who asked, her eyes gravitate back to Ryker. “Granted he was pissed that I woke him after his nine o’clock bedtime, but he assured me that while sexual misconduct on the job is a serious violation, hypothetically speaking an undercover offi
cer engaged in a valid relationship would be looking at little more than unpaid leave for a period of time to be determined by Internal Affairs. Worst case scenario, she’d be demoted back to probationary deputy and have to work her way back up.”

  Ryker turns back to me, hand on his neck. “You serious about this guy?”

  I picture Trent recovering somewhere in a hospital bed, and smile. “How could I not be?”

  Forcing a hard breath, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Guess I could persuade Sergeant Kendall to overlook it. She owes me a favor or two. And believe it or not, she’s a softie when it comes to matters of the heart.”

  Vaughn comes tearing out the automatic doors, breathless. “You need to get in there, Taya. Trent’s awake and demanding to see you. He’s outta his mind—wrestled a security guard down when they tried to restrain him.”

  “Go,” Emersyn prods me, waving her hands through the air. “Calm that beast down before they knock him back out. We’ll have time to talk later—I’m not leaving town for another day.”

  Excited that I’ll have more time with my roomie, and just plain happy with the world, I wave goodbye…at least for now. “Thanks, Em! You’re the best!”

  Vaughn turns to Ryker. “I’ll take Taya to his room.”

  Ryker chuckles in reply, clapping him on the back. “Good luck. The narcotics are kicking in.”

  As Vaughn starts pushing me back toward the doors, I glance at him over my shoulder. “Remember that time I told you my name’s not sweetheart? It’s not Taya either…”

  15

  Trent

  Irritation gnaws at my insides, even with Sasha’s soft fingertips discreetly tracing my knuckles. When I first came to in the hospital, I’d feared Bentley got to her too. I was outta my damn mind, thinking she was dead. Then Vaughn brought her into my room in a wheelchair, acting whacked out of her mind, and I fuckin’ lost it. Haven’t let her out of my sight since, except while she was in surgery.

  We’ve been holed up at Ryker’s place while her leg heals so Zoe can take care of her when I’m at work. About killed us both when the doc said Sasha couldn’t have sex for eight whole weeks. It’s pure hell when she begs me to make her come in other ways, and starts squirming around. Can’t tell if her cries are from pain or pleasure, and she won’t tell me otherwise. Probably makes me a bastard that I don’t stop.

  For the first time since I learned about my near drowning, my thoughts are focused entirely on something other than Sasha. Bentley stands in the courtroom beside a team of three high-end lawyers as the judge rattles off a bullshit sentence.

  Six months in prison.

  That’s nothing to a man like Bentley. I’d expected as much, considering he’s a coward and was quick to give up “a supplier.” He still has half the South Side in his back pocket. I’d hoped he’d have enough power to have the charges dropped without jail time so I could deliver justice on my own terms.

  Staring down at my legs, I run my finger back and forth along my jagged scar. They’ll send him to one of those white collar prisons where they’re allowed to watch TV and play fucking tennis. I’d give anything to watch him suffer—to end his life the same way he ended my little sister’s. Haven’t been able to get what he said to me in the tunnel out of my head.

  I was growing awfully fond of that sweet ass.

  The memory of those words in his voice has my stomach heaving. Did he fucking touch her? Was Cali desperate enough to exchange sex for drugs? Fuck no. She wasn’t strung out, wasn’t a typical junkie. He was only trying to get a rise outta me, plain and simple.

  It fuckin’ worked.

  Even after I was shot and drug out to the dock, I kept going after the old asshole. Knocked him on his ass a second time, drew blood from his head. Guess he must’ve gotten scared by my determination to bring him down when he had them toss me in the river.

  “Trent, the hearing’s over,” Sasha whispers, fingers clenching around my bicep. “Let’s go home.”

  Torn from my dark thoughts, I look up to discover Bentley being led to a door beside the judge’s chambers. I’ll spend the next six months going insane. He doesn’t get away this easy.

  Bolting from the bench, I start for him with Sasha and the others calling me back. I’m on Bentley like white on rice, rewarded with a satisfying crunch when my fist slams into his wrinkled face. There’s a ruckus behind me of yelling and feet pounding on the floor in pursuit. I continue to wail on the asshole with several sets of arms attempting to pull me back.

  Hate that he’s handcuffed and unable to fight back. It’s satisfying to break him all the same. Break him the same way he broke my sister. Blow-by-blow, I wait for his face to cave like a rotten pumpkin. I wait for him to take his last breath.

  Sasha’s voice rises above the chaos, raw and authoritative. “Trent Risotto, stop right now, or I’ll be forced to shoot you!”

  From somewhere in my rage-induced delirium, I believe her. Would serve me right to get shot again if I abandoned her for a life-long murder sentence.

  Uncurling my fist from his bloodied shirt, I slowly rise to my feet, hands held up until a bailiff cuffs me. I don’t take my eyes off Bentley’s shattered face for a moment. Son of a bitch smirks like a demented clown, blood smeared over his normally bright teeth.

  As long as he’s alive, this is far from over.

  * * *

  Never been as happy to see Sasha as I am when she appears outside my cell a couple hours later, even though she refuses to make eye contact. In the same suit jacket she wore to court, cane in hand, dark hair pulled back, beautiful face shadowed with irritation, I wanna kiss her more than ever. Figured she’d make me sweat it out for the night. I deserve as much.

  The uniformed officer at her side unlocks the cell. “Risotto, you’re out on bail,” he grunts.

  I step out and move to Sasha’s side. Kills me that I can’t touch her while she’s at work, but I’m happy as shit that her boss gave her a second chance after Sasha admitted we’re together.

  My gut hardens when she takes off at a furious pace for someone with a cane. Helpless to change her mind, I shuffle along behind.

  Outside the courthouse, I’m finally able to catch up. She turns to hand me the contents from my pockets that were confiscated during booking. Her eyes don’t leave my hands. “They’re giving you a court-appointed attorney. Your arraignment’s set for Monday morning. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

  As she’s turning away, I snag her wrist. “Hold on. You’re leaving? Do I even get a chance to say I’m fuckin’ sorry?”

  Still unable to look at me, she sniffles. “It’d be a lie.”

  “You’re right—I’m not sorry for beating the shit out of that bastard. I’m sorry I forced you to draw your weapon on me. Wasn’t fair to you.”

  Lips quivering, her glare burns down to my spineless soul. “I was seconds away from putting a bullet in you, Trent. I wasn’t going to let you kill him.”

  “They’ll give him a pass, and you know it,” I sneer, releasing her wrist.

  With a click of her tongue, she shifts her weight to the cane. “How many times does Ryker have to tell you he’s taking care of Bentley?”

  “He’s running out of time!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You don't know Ryker the way I do. He has it under control.” She steps in closer, stabbing her finger into my chest. “You lost control in there, Risotto. I almost lost you.” Eyes filling with tears, she flattens her hand against my pectorals. “Don’t you dare do that to me again. This will end in a way that doesn’t involve you spending the next thirty years in prison. I can’t afford to lose you. It would kill me. Do you understand?”

  Slowly shaking my head, I gather her in my arms, burying my lips inside her dark hair. Though she’s completely irresistible when mad, fuckin’ hate seeing her upset like this because of something my stupid ass did. “You’re right. I’m sorry, babe. I’ll let Ryker take over if it’ll make you happy.”

  For
a moment she clings to me, shaking just a little. Then she backs away, wiping at her wet face. “There’s something I wanna show you.”

  She leads me over to where she parked her new SUV at the end of the lot. I drive according to her directions, taking us beyond the South Side. She’s otherwise quiet, leaning back against the headrest, eyes fixed on the road.

  After parking in some residential area, I drag my knuckles along her fine jawline. She’s perfection. Touching her satiny skin never fails to make me steely hard. When I think of all I could’ve sacrificed by going after Bentley, I wanna kick my own ass. “I don't deserve you, Sasha Green.”

  Tucking her chin a little, she collects my fingers and presses them against her pillow-soft lips. “Days like this you definitely don’t.”

  “When this is over—when you’re back to a hundred percent, me an’ you are goin’ somewhere nice for awhile. Somewhere we won’t be bothered.”

  Pinning me with a sultry look, she kisses my hand again. “You won’t hear any protests from me.” Releasing her seatbelt, she slides in close to unzip my jeans, releasing my swelling cock. I grunt as her slender fingers work me over. “For what I have planned, we’re gonna need somewhere extremely…remote.”

  Swallowing down a snarl, I thrust into her hands. They expertly work me over like they’ve done at least a dozen times in the past week. It’s the only way she’s gotten me off after the time she laid on her back, begging me to fuck her mouth. Doubt I’ll make it a full minute however many damn weeks from now once I’m able to sink back into her warm cunt.

  Balls drawing tight, a shudder runs through me. Sasha pivots around to her knees. I know I should tell her to be careful, but the bastard in me rejoices as her warm lips seal around my shaft. I fist the bun in her hair like it’s a handle, and shoot a large wad down her throat. It’s not even close to the first time we’ve messed around somewhere public in the light of day, but this time it’s something different. It feels more like acceptance. Forgiveness.