The Dirty Dozen: Damsel Edition

by Kay Maree

  The curve of her shapely hips as they narrow at her nipped in waist is the stuff my wet dreams are made of. Her long, lean legs toned from years of rigorous training to become and then keep her certification as a paramedic haunt me as I picture them wrapped around my back twice.

  I might only have my imagination to keep me company at night, but thankfully, it’s vivid, and I’m creative by nature because, in my fantasy, Tatum’s perfect cunt is waxed bare, glistening with her come after I’ve tongue fucked her to orgasm.

  And while the filthy images running on repeat in my mind are amazing, it’s Tatum’s gorgeous face that drives me to distraction. It’s what haunts my dreams when I’m in bed, alone and I have to reach into my boxers and stroke one out just to get enough relief to manage a few measly hours of sleep.

  Trace doesn’t seem bothered by his daughter’s theft; if anything, he looks a combination of proud and resigned. Then grinning at her, Trace snorts, “You know, since you stole my only coping mechanism for dealing with your sisters’ shit, I’m holding you entirely responsible if you come home to find them buried somewhere in the backyard.”

  “You know; they say yoga is good for stress relief. Maybe you should try it out,” Tatum smirks, sticking out her pretty, pink tongue.

  “Not happening,” he states, narrowing his eyes at her. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Tatum gasps in mock outrage.

  Yeah, she’s up to something alright. I even feel a little sorry for Trace, the poor bastard because when Tatum has her mind set on something, she’ll do anything in her power to make it into a reality.

  Sighing heavily, Trace mutters, “She’s beautiful, Tate, but a woman like that needs a man without the kind of baggage I come with. Not to mention, I’m way too old for her, Princess. So let it go; it’s not going to happen.”

  “Seriously? You’re hardly over the hill, and she’s thirty-six, dad, not eighteen. And for God’s sake, will you stop saying you’ve got baggage. Refer to it as spatially challenged due to the delayed departure of those you share DNA with or something to that effect,” she grins.

  Cracking a grin, Trace stands up and slides his cell into the front pocket of his jeans and his wallet into his jacket. “Next time, call first, Princess. That way I can make sure I don’t have anywhere to be so we can actually have lunch together.”

  Sounding panicked, and for good reason, Tatum asks, “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got an appointment across town with Chase. A new skip came in last night, and he needs someone with my skillset to track the fucker down,” he answers, pulling her into his chest for a tight but quick hug.

  “Okay, but promise me you’ll be careful,” she mutters into his shirt. “I really don’t want to have to explain to the Triplets of Terror that they won’t be getting that pony they wanted for Christmas because their dad ran away and joined the circus,” she tacks on the end sarcastically.

  As funny as that statement is, Tatum’s not remotely incorrect with her description of her younger sisters. Kristina, Jayla, and Lydia may not be triplets – what with them being twenty-two, twenty, and only just nineteen – but they are holy terrors. And not in a good way.

  There are some women, like Tatum for example, who blow into your life like a hurricane, turn your shit upside down, and leave you a changed man. For the better, no less. Then there are women like her sisters who storm into your life, steal your shit, and fuck with your head, only to leave you broken, bitter, and angry. Thankfully, or not depending on how you look at it, I fell in love with the right sister. Because honestly, I pity the poor bastards who end up with the other three.

  Pressing one last kiss to his daughter’s forehead and giving me a scathing look, Trace makes his way to his truck. I wait patiently until he has exited the building, leaving it in his rear view mirror before moving a muscle. All the while, neither Tatum or I say a word to each other. So much so, you could probably hear crickets chirping if you listened closely enough.

  Eventually, Tatum stands up as if she’s going to leave without so much as an explanation or an apology. And if that is indeed the case, then Tatum better think again because there’s no way she’s walking out on me without answering my questions. Nor am I letting her get away with pulling that kind of a stunt without swift, yet pleasurable consequences.

  Reaching out, I snag her wrist and spin her around to face me. Her bright blue eyes and sparkling, but if you look below the surface of the brave façade she’s trying to hide behind, there’s just the barest hint of fear.

  “You got a minute?” It may be phrased as a question, but it’s not. Instead, it’s a carefully worded demand that I know Tatum won’t be stupid enough to ignore.

  “Not really, but it doesn’t look like I have much choice,” she sighs, glancing down at my hand.

  Her pointed look doesn’t prompt me to release her because I know as soon as I do, Tatum will run. Avoidance is Tatum’s middle name; it’s what she does best. It’s just unlucky for her that my middle name is persistence because, no matter how long it takes and how hard I have to fight, I will knock down those walls she’s hiding behind. Whether she wants me to or not.

  “I’ve just got one question for you before you take off and make me chase you for the next week to get you to talk to me,” I tell her.

  Cocking her eyebrow at me, a small grin creeps across her face at the knowledge her grand plan has been foiled. However, sadly, Tatum drops her head to study her shoes before I have time to look my fill and appreciate how it lights up her beautiful face.

  “Ah, okay,” she murmurs, not once taking her eyes off the floor.

  Hating that Tatum won’t look at me, I use my index finger under her chin to tilt her head up. Softening my tone and my expression, I ask,

  “Why did I hear that you were arranging a time and place for a date with some guy called, Josh this Saturday night? In case you forgot, you’re married, Tatum. And I should know because I was right there next to you signing the goddamn paperwork.”

  Chapter Two

  Tatum

  Shit, fuck, dammit all to hell and back! I should have known the sneaky fucker would find out about that, not that I was really trying to hide it or anything. Josh is just a friend and colleague, nothing more. After all, it would be highly inappropriate for me to have a relationship with a co-worker. Not to mention, Lucifer’s right; I’m a married woman, and cheating is just plain wrong regardless of the circumstances.

  Thrown by the gruff tone of his voice and the hard length of his body pressed against mine, I try to wrench my wrist out of his hand. It’s useless, though. Lucifer has a firm grip on me and isn’t releasing me anytime soon. Not that I want him to. In fact, I want nothing more than for him to hold me close and never let me go. However, that just isn’t realistic. I have learned over the past few months, that as people, Lucifer and I couldn’t be more different if we tried.

  Lucifer is serious, if not a little scary with how intense he can be sometimes. He’s dedicated to his job as if it’s his reason for breathing. And for a while it was.

  After his wife died, Lucifer needed something else to focus on; something to help him dull the pain of losing the woman he had spent almost fifteen years with. That’s where my dad came in.

  Dad was a detective with the Waterfield PD until he was shot in the line of duty seven years ago. The dispatcher said it was supposed to be a straightforward domestic dispute; it was anything but.

  The couple lived in a single-wide in the Shady Hills Trailer Park. It wasn’t in the nicest part of town, but it wasn’t the worst, either. That claim to fame went to, Jacobs Bend, a squatters’ paradise that should have been condemned by the city a decade ago.

  Duncan and Mary-Lou Redding were what you would expect of an out of work couple, living on food stamps with a penchant for too much of everything that wasn’t good for them. They were rough around the edges, their neig
hbors hated them, and I’m pretty sure neither of them would live to see their forties.

  Waterfield PD had attended numerous callouts to the Redding’s residence over the years, so dad thought nothing of it when Carla, one of only four dispatchers servicing the Lower Falls/Waterfield area radioed him about the complaint she received.

  Thank God, I wasn’t working that night because from what I’ve been told, my dad was lucky to make it out of the Redding’s trailer alive.

  According to Mark, the paramedic on duty the night dad was shot, Mary-Lou was brandishing a twelve-gauge shotgun, muttering to herself, “Never again. Not ever again,” over and over until, Austin, my dad’s partner at the time pulled out his Taser, took aim, and fired. But then it was too late, though. Duncan Redding was dead, lying face down in a pool of his own blood, and dad was in critical condition with a bullet lodged precariously close to his heart.

  It took nine hours of surgery and three weeks in the hospital due to a particularly nasty infection, but eventually, dad was given the all clear. He would have to take it easy for a few months while he recuperated at home, but the doctors were positive that dad would make a full recovery.

  My brothers, Levi and Wyatt, and I staged what dad like to call ‘a strategic intervention on a helpless dying man,’ a few days after his surgery. The three of us had spoken at length about our concerns about dad returning to his job on the force. None of us wanted him to go back, especially me, which is why we did what we thought needed to be done.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my dad. He had raised my brothers and me alone from the time Levi was five. Wyatt was four, and I was three when mom ran off with her long-time fling, Peter. She didn’t like the life of a police officer wife, but she hated being tied to the house with three children five and under more. From what I can remember about my mom, which isn’t much, she was never affectionate. What’s more, she only interacted with us when it was absolutely necessary. Needless to say, we weren’t heartbroken when she left, and neither was my dad.

  Mom’s affair with Peter didn’t come to light until she was throwing her suitcases into the back of his car. She told dad that she had never loved him, and it was his fault she ended up looking elsewhere for the attention he didn’t give her. Her explanation that there was never enough money to go around, and that when he was home, my dad doted on us instead of her summed up my mother’s true nature perfectly. She is a selfish, uncaring, heartless woman, who never deserved a man like my Trace O’Neil.

  Eighteen months after mom left us, Dad met, Lucy. At first, I thought they were perfect for each other, but I soon learned otherwise. Lucy was just as selfish, if not more so than mom; she was just better at hiding it. She would wait until dad left for work or he wasn’t in earshot before taking out her hatred for the fact dad had fathered children with another woman on us. More often than not, I shouldered the brunt of her violent rages, but Levi and Wyatt had their fair share of run in’s with her too.

  Kristina was born when I was five, almost six, Jayla two years later, and Lydia the year after that. In the space of five years, we went from a family of four to a family of eight, and all of us were miserable.

  Thankfully, Lucy, like mom, didn’t hang around for long after Lydia was born. She too claimed that dad was more interested in his children than making sure she was taken care of properly. So once again, my dad was left holding the bag, but this time, instead of three kids, he had six.

  Levi was eleven when Lucy left in the middle of the night without a word to anyone about where she was going or if she was ever coming back. Between the boys and me, even though I was only nine at the time, we helped dad look after the girls and kept the house running as best we could.

  None of us begrudged helping dad, we all pitched in and did our part, but that didn’t mean it was easy. The boys were just starting to notice girls and were focused on trying out for the school’s baseball team, leaving me to pick up the slack. Eventually, I took over nearly all of the household chores, cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the three hellions that liked nothing more than to make life harder for all of us.

  In the beginning, I figured that Kristina, Jayla, and Lydia were just adjusting to life without their mom, that they would settle down when the realized this was their new normal. But that didn’t happen; it still hasn’t. And things only got worse when dad started working with Lucifer, running his own business.

  Dad’s best friend, Chase – yes, I know, their names rhyme – was looking to expand his business, and with Lucifer’s help, they’ve done that and then some. They’re smart, excellent at reading people and finding patterns in people’s behavior where there don’t seem to be any. They excel at what they do, which is why Sentinel Enforcement Services is now the most sought after bond and skip enforcement company this side of the Ark-La-Tex.

  Speaking of reading people, Lucifer’s eyes scan my face for any signs of weakness, before repeating, “I asked you a question, Tatum, and I expect an answer. Why the fuck would you agree to go on a date when you’re wearing my ring?”

  It probably isn’t the most mature response to point out I’m not actually wearing a ring, but no one ever said I had to be a grown-up all the time. “Ah, hate to break it to you, big guy, but I haven’t worn your ring since the day we got home from Nevada.”

  Lucifer’s face turns an interesting shade of red as his grip on my wrist tightens. “No need to break shit to me, sweetheart. I can see that for myself. That still doesn’t answer my question, though, babe.”

  Yeah, about that.

  Josh has been my partner since he moved to Waterfield two and a half years ago. Previously, he worked with the Ripley Fire Department in Arizona. Josh’s mom, Mabel was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s a little less than three years ago. He knew it wouldn’t be long before she would need someone to watch over her when he couldn’t, so Josh went to his mom’s only living relative, his aunt, Lulamae for help.

  There is a significant age gap between the sisters, what with Mabel in her early fifties, and Lulamae being only thirty-six, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are as close as two sisters could be. So, with someone to care for Mabel, Josh was able to apply for the job with Waterfield’s fire department – a job which he was the only applicant for.

  I’m not completely naïve; I’m aware that Josh has feelings for me, not entirely professional feelings at that, but he hasn’t acted on them. A fact which I’m more than grateful for. Which is why Lucifer referring to me going out with a friend for dinner as a date serves only to piss me off.

  Shaking my head at the infuriating man in front of me, I grit my teeth and try to refrain from doing anything that may get me arrested for assault and battery. “You do understand that I’m allowed to have friends, right?”

  “Female friends, sure,” he quips with a careless shrug. “Men who want to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck you, no.”

  “Jesus, Lucifer,” I hiss. “Not all of the men I meet want to fuck me. When will you get that through your thick head?”

  Dropping his head so that we’re eye to eye, Lucifer growls, “Around the same time you open your eyes and realize, you’re fucking wrong.”

  “Can we stop talking about this, please?” I ask, feeling highly uncomfortable all of a sudden.

  “Happy to,” he mutters. “Just as soon as you call the asshole and tell him the date’s canceled.”

  “It’s not a freaking date,” I bite out through gritted teeth. “We’re going to Jack’s to eat wings and drink beer, maybe shoot some pool for, God’s sake. He’s not taking me back to his place to cook dinner and seduce me.”

  There have been more than a few times in my life when I’ve let my mouth run away from me, and based on the deep rumble that starts in Lucifer’s chest and escapes his throat, this is one of them.

  In an instant, my body is jerked into his, and his arms come around my waist tightly, making it impossible for me to ignore hi
s next words. “I know you like it when I take my hand to your ass, baby. Is that what you’re trying to do here? Get me to turn you over my knee, and spank that gorgeous ass of yours. Because I will if you say shit like that again. You’re mine, Tatum. My woman. My wife.”

  Working my hands up between our bodies, I lay my palms flat on the hard wall of Lucifer’s chest. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think before I spoke,” I whisper sincerely.

  “No, you didn’t,” he replies tersely. “That doesn’t change the fucking fact that I want you to call that motherfucker and tell him to find his own woman. He wants to eat wings and drink beer, then he can hook up with one of the bitches that troll Jack’s every Friday and Saturday night.”

  Not wanting to give up yet, I tell him, “Not happening, big guy. Josh is my friend, and I’m not canceling our plans just because you think he wants to sleep with me.”

  “He doesn’t want to sleep with you, Tatum. He wants to fuck you.”

  Shoving at his chest, I shout, “Whatever! It’s not going to happen, so I don’t care.”

  “Well, I fucking do,” he yells back. “You’re my wife, Tatum. The thought of you going out with another guy is driving me insane. It only makes shit worse that you refuse to wear my ring or tell anyone about us. I’ve given you time, Tate. Nearly four goddamn months and your dad and brothers still don’t know we’re together. You spend almost every night in my bed with my cock buried inside you, but you won’t tell your family we’re married. Enough is enough, Tatum. If you don’t tell them, I will.”

  “Lucifer,” I say carefully in warning.

  “No, Tate; I’m done fucking around. Either you come clean with your old man, today, or he and I are having a long overdue conversation come tomorrow morning.”