by Amarie Avant
Dwayne Johnson. The thought popped into her head. Who the fuck was Dwayne Johnson, and why did this cop remind her of him? She shoved aside thoughts of Dwayne Johnson, the cop, and screwing either one of them in Hawaii. Firstly, she didn’t even know her own name, let alone the cop or who Dwayne Johnson was. Second, the officer glared straight through her as he continued to spout words of monotony. And third, why am I here?
“Could you shut up, please?”
The officer rolled his eyes and continued with, “Since I don’t have the right—as of yet—to search your car, why don’t you tell me more about why you were joyriding next to the police station?”
Mary Jane stretched her weak muscles, wishing her jeans weren’t so tight. “Um…sir, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Wulf,” he replied, leaning against the table. “Call me Officer Wulf. I’ve heard a lot about you, but I’m surprised they allowed you to leave The Petting Zoo. What’s your full name, Mary Jane? Do you have identification?”
Her hard gaze slid away from his. Good question. Where’s my identification? Mary Jane rubbed her hands over her jean pockets and laughed nervously. The clothing was too tight to hide anything. “No ID. I don’t—”
“I can help you.” His jaw tensed. “Before I can help, you must want to help yourself. Would you like to leave Beasley?”
Her eyes widened. She didn’t know what he meant. “Who? What?”
Planting his hands back on the table as he stared down at her, she gawked in fear of his football player physique. “It’s all fun and games with you girls, huh? No self-worth? What’s his little harem of women up to?”
She clutched at her forehead, hoping the drumming would cease. “I don’t like your attitude, Officer Wulf. I’ll speak with someone else.”
“Oh, you’d like special treatment?” Wulf sneered, “How does this sound? You tell me about the fingerprints on your neck. We can proceed from there.”
Again she glanced at the mirror and gaped at the faint wounds. Flashes of memories came to her mind, of being knocked to the ground and choked.
“Oh, I get it. You don’t know how that happened.” Wulf pointed to her. “This is a warning. We are not at The Petting Zoo. I’ll be back with a glass of water, then you can give me the dirt on Beasley. Big tip, you’d be wise to do so.”
Mary Jane closed her eyes, needing to remember. Once she formulated the truth in her brain, the officer would have to listen to her without judgement.
Am I dreaming? This is a nightmare. No, this is real. I awoke this morning, and…nope. I don’t remember a damn thing. Her hands drummed the table. Jake! She recalled them entering a gas station and how he’d put his life in jeopardy to save hers—well, not in too much trouble, he was a beast with a gun.
Wulf refused to feel guilty about his callous treatment of Mary Jane. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by her beauty even if it meant some asshole saw her as easy prey.
He rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath while standing outside of the interrogation room. The epitome of any man’s dream girl was broken, and he wanted to save her. He wanted to help her, but she wasn’t taking him seriously. Still, there was a determination in her eyes that he respected. She opened her mouth and in that sultry voice of hers, lied and sounded confused. She feigned confusion when he asked about the choking she’d endured.
He started down the hallway to the front of the station. There were six desks in two rows, one of which was occupied by a large woman named Patsy with pinkish, puffy hair. The rest of the seats were empty.
“Where is everyone?”
“Garland is at the Miller’s. Patrick jumped on his old lady again. Keller and the rest of ‘em were out before the poor thing hit your cruiser.”
He sat down at his desk, which was directly across from hers. She was the secretary, and he was the newest on the force. Wulf swiveled around, an incessant creaking helped him concentrate. He knew nothing about the girl.
Don’t think too hard, Wulf. She doesn’t want help.
He immediately began to condemn himself for that thought. A few years ago, LAPD had intensive sex trafficking training, and he understood the type of mentality abused women like her had—extreme loyalty, even to the detriment of her own life. Her desire for help did not matter, she needed it.
This isn’t no fucking Pretty Woman. He chuckled to himself. His little sister Shelly always got her way; needless to say, he was tortured by being forced to watch all of her romance movies.
Wulf stopped moving and the sound ceased. “Do you know the girl’s full name? She won’t tell me.”
“No.” Patsy shook her head.
He bit his lip for a moment. There were no other women in the office except for Patsy. She was too ‘nice’ and did not have the proper training to communicate with a victim of sex trafficking.
“You mind talking to her? Just a short chat to see if she has any family. Sometimes women feel more comfortable speaking to other women.”
“Um…” Patsy’s pale gaze flitted back and forth nervously.
“You know what, never mind. I’ll get her a cup of water and start over.”
The tension in her shoulders faded away as he stood up and went to the water cooler.
“Oh, Wulf. Keller replied,” Patsy said as he started back toward the hallway. “He said to let the girl go. Beasley should be on his way to pick her up soon. Just give her a ticket.”
“When did he—”
“I just noticed a text from him. Keller said there’s no reason to hold her. Beasley probably told her she could have a little fun. She’s joyriding. You know how these young, pretty girls are. Rule the town.”
He stared at Patsy. If she was this comfortable at talking, Wulf had a hunch she’d say a little more than usual. Like what really was going on.
“Officer Wulf, Beasley doesn’t let his girls do drugs. She’s not on anything. Just young, dumb, pretty. Give her a ticket, send her on her way. If Beasley has the funds to bail her, you know. Small town, we could use the funds.” She smiled, reinforcing his notion of their small town.
Patsy was right about one thing. Mary Jane didn’t appear to be under the influence of any substance. There were no track marks on her arms. Her cuticles didn’t look like a secret place to shoot up drugs. Besides, it only took a week as a rookie cop with the LAPD to learn the signs. Maybe they weren’t doing anything illegal here, aside from having Beasley pay financially for the screw-ups of his beautiful women. Women Wulf rarely saw around town. Something isn’t right. Wulf waited for her to continue chattering, but she just offered a smile.
“All right.” Wulf shrugged. He’d feign disinterest, which wasn’t hard to do since he’d started the job.
He continued down the hall, taking out his cell phone, then dialed Keller. He had a hunch and even if he’d condemned himself to this place, he would put Mary Jane’s life over his own and hope it did not end like last time.
Just as the call began to beep, Patsy shouted out, “Beasley pulled up. Get the girl ready and write out her ticket.”
He ignored her, waiting for Keller to answer. But the call went to voicemail.
The door opened. Officer Wulf walked in with a glass of water. He slid it across the table. Even though it chilled Mary Jane’s teeth to the core, she gulped it down. When she looked up to thank him, the edges of his mouth were turned up. She breathed a tad easier. Maybe he’ll help after all.
The smile turned into a sneer. “This is your lucky day.”
“Thank you, Officer Wulf,” she replied. “Thank you. Do you know who I—”
He cocked a grin. “Sure thing. Beasley’s here. Don’t be too happy.”
“Please don’t take me to Beasley!”
“Oh, a few minutes ago, you pretended not to know Beasley then you wanted to brush off the domestic violence incident. Now, you sound a little worried.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I offered to help in hopes that you’d want to change your ways, but all thi
s back and forth—it gets ridiculous. If you wanted out, you should have walked into the station like a law-abiding citizen. When you’ve had enough mistreatment from Beasley, that’s when I will be here for you.”
Mary Jane stood, refusing to cry. She grew angrier by the second. Her throat burned as she stared at the headstrong officer. They walked down a long corridor to a room.
A shiver of insanity rippled through her as the secretary stopped typing to offer her a look of empathy. Beasley. The name evoked a violent tremble in her gut.
Finally, MJ’s eyes flitted to the opposite side of the front counter. A balding man in a suit, who probably hadn’t seen his feet in years due to his bubble gut, smiled at her. Next to him, and a head taller, stood Jake. The fat man tracked Mary Jane as she moved toward the front of the station.
“Officer Wulf,” she whispered.
Ignoring her, Wulf stopped near the waist-high wooden gate next to the counter and took his key ring off his utility belt.
“Please, Officer Wulf,” she whimpered as he unleashed her cuffs, “don’t make me go with them.”
He said nothing. She sniffled and rubbed her wrists.
“Mary Jane, I hope these good officers have been treating you well,” Beasley said.
“Cut the fucking bull, Beasley. You could’ve let her stay overnight, get a little rest first,” Wulf retorted.
“Beasley!” Mary Jane screeched.
She bit her lip as Wulf unlatched the wooden door separating them. Her eyes went to the Glock in the holster at his side. She couldn’t go back to Beasley or Jake.
Mary Jane froze for a second.
“Harder, harder,” a man’s voice wove into her mind, “toss that elbow like you’re not only breaking a nose, but dislocating a fucking jaw. Toss it harder!”
A split-second flashback provided her with the fundamentals of how to react. She grabbed Wulf’s gun from its holster. It was positioned to the side of his temple in the second that she realized how natural she felt toting a gun.
“Oh my Lord,” yelped Patsy.
“What are you doing, Mary Jane?” Wulf’s voice was tempered.
She unclasped the safety. His demeanor stayed the same. Mary Jane’s mouth tensed. Resting her eyes on Patsy, Mary Jane snapped in a surprisingly calm voice, “Wulf is coming with me. If I hear a noise from any of you, I’ll pull the trigger! Let’s go.”
The lady nodded, cheeks jiggling.
Mary Jane pressed the gun harder against the side of Wulf’s skull when he didn’t walk. Guilt gnawed at her gut, but she held steady.
“It will be a cold day in hell before I’m afraid of you,” Wulf retorted.
“I will pull the trigger.” She glared at him. “I swear. Beasley, Jake, lie down!”
“MJ, let me help you.” Beasley’s Southern drawl was soft, inviting.
She gave him just enough of a glare.
He grunted, breaths shallow, and kneeled to the vinyl floor.
Again, she nudged Wulf’s temple. He sighed before moving with her at his heels.
“You don’t want to do this,” exclaimed Patsy from behind her.
Mary Jane growled, “I thought I said not a peep. Try me. Go ahead and fucking try me!”
“C’mon,” Wulf said in a calm whisper. “Give me the gun, Mary Jane. We’ll retract the last couple of minutes. You don’t want to do this. I’m a police officer.”
“I am not going with Beasley, or you.” She glared at Jake. An imaginary fist clutched at her throat, reminding her not to trust anyone.
Jake lay on the floor, nonchalant as ever. Only the sparkle of his eyes hinted at something different. Amusement? Pride?
“Open it, Wulf,” she ordered. As they went through, she noticed the only cruiser had a crazy concave bumper. The engine had to be sitting in the back seat. “Um, take me to your personal car.”
“Flaws in your strategy?” Wulf gave an unamused grin.
“Do you feel the gun at your head?” She nudged harder.
“Pull the trigger.” Voice calm, Wulf took even steps toward the side of the building where the police officers’ off-duty vehicles were parked.
She remained silent. To her horror, he led her to a Datsun truck that had seen almost as many years as the Corolla. She knew there was only a matter of time before the police and Beasley were on her tail. She wouldn’t be able to escape in the rattrap he unlocked.
“Are you serious? This is your car?”
“Oh, the junkie has high expectations.”
“Let’s keep the name calling to a minimum or die.” She slid inside and over, with the gun never leaving her target.
“I call ’em as I see ’em.” He got inside and turned the key in the ignition.
She chortled. “Maybe you don’t see correctly, because I’m not who you think I am!”
“Then who are you?” He turned toward Mary Jane, gaze locking onto hers.
And Mary Jane knew that his name calling was a trick. He wanted to get a rise out of her.
“Drive!” she ordered.
4
For almost an hour, Mary Jane tracked Wulf and the dusty road, all the while wondering, Who am I? The balmy air from the evening sun battered her face.
“Wulf, it’s too damn silent in here,” she grumbled. “How do you get around without a radio? I need some mellow music to calm my nerves.”
No response. After the longest silence, she would’ve assumed he’d nodded off had she been the one driving.
She continued, “You have this demeanor about you.”
He finally glanced over, and damn, his arched eyebrow was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Just the sarcastic look on his face brought life to her body. Mary Jane smirked. “Granted, broody is a good look on you, but I’m still learning about you. So I need more than a Neanderthal shrug. Where are you from?”
He finally spoke, baritone voice filled with power, even though it hardly rose above a whisper. “How about you tell me more about you?”
She cocked her head sideways and ignored his request. “Humph. Broody and hard of hearing. Except when it comes to rules and regulations. You chewed me out at Shit City Police Station because I hit your cruiser. I wonder if you would’ve been standing on that soapbox, regurgitating the Miranda, had I not hit your car.”
He scratched at the scruff on his angular jaw. “Thought I was correcting a woman who had almost killed herself for driving crazy. Forgive me for that.”
“Ha!”
The conversation died again. Mary Jane began to count Joshua trees and tumbleweeds.
“There’s a roadblock ahead,” Wulf warned.
He had a deep voice, but either he had spoken softly or she was still semi-lost in her own thoughts. Straightening up, she told herself to be in the moment, every single second of it. She recalled how her mulling had ended last time—with Lyle ramming the Corolla. Since she wouldn’t dream of taking the gun away from targeting his midsection, Mary Jane silently looked ahead. The same bright red F-250, and a black one, and a blue one were parked zigzag next to a sign headed out of town which she presumed read, “Bye-bye now. You’ve made it out of this hellhole.”
“Um, take this turn,” she perked up. The upcoming T in the road was the last one before the three big trucks. When Wulf didn’t slow down to prepare for it, she exclaimed, “Take it or we both die!”
He’d be shot. She wouldn’t make it out of a crash in an old truck. With no time left, he jerked the wheel. It skidded, drudging sand. He yanked the wheel back to the right side of the road, with effortless precision.
“Turn there,” she ordered, noticing a leaning street post.
“That road leads to nowhere.”
“Turn, Wulf, or die,” she replied simply.
“Oh, I see. ‘Or die’ is how you end every sentence while holding that gun,” he argued, tugging at the wheel to right the tires on the uneven pavement.
They hit a pothole. Bang! The gun went off. Her eyes closed in shock. The car whipped toward
the sandy side before lurching to a stop.
“You could’ve shot me!”
She opened her eyes. A hole pierced the seat two inches away from where his abdomen had been before they hit the pothole.
Oh, shit, what have I done?
“I-I wasn’t gonna…give you the opportunity to screw me over. That was a warning. I’m giving you a last chance. Go before I have to wipe your brain matter from these super-skinny jeans!”
Tense-jawed, he pulled back into the lane. “As I said, this street leads to a blocked-off bridge. A corroded, blocked-off bridge.”
“Mmhmm.” She almost smiled, not trusting a single word.
Twenty minutes later, the setting sun cast a glow over the alleged “blocked-off bridge.” She shook her head as he drove over the perfectly safe pavement, overlooking a dry lake. “Wulf, you have some balls, don’t you. Deceiving a desperate woman holding a gun. I could shoot you and toss you over onto the sandy riverbed below.”
His jaw tensed as she chuckled hard. After a few moments, he asked, “Are you done?”
“Yes.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, allowing her laugh to die with a sigh. “I haven’t laughed like that in…a while. We’ve been stuck in this truck for almost two hours. Let’s play nice. Tell me more about yourself, Officer Wulf. What’s your first name? What exactly are you? Polynesian, Hawaiian?”
“Samoan. Dylan. Tell me about you.”
“Tsk tsk. We’re learning about you, Dylan Wulf, who so happens to be Samoan. I detected a hint of a fresh island accent, but a little edgy—street edginess. Where are you from?”
He grumbled a minute later when the tip of the gun nudged his rib cage. “Los Angeles.”
“L.A.” Her eyes narrowed slightly as the place became familiar in her mind. Oh, yes. She’d seen the city in many movies—a big city with gangs, smog, traffic. “What did you do?”
