by K. Webster
Love and Law
Copyright © 2014 K. Webster
Cover Design: K. Webster
Stock Photo: Big Stock
Editor: Mickey Reed
Formatting: Champagne Formats
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information and retrieval system without express written permission from the Author/Publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
Quote
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Quote
My Books
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Apartment 2B (A Standalone Paranormal Erotic Romance)
Apartment 2B - Chapter 1
Broken (Book 1 in The Breaking the Rules Series)
A dark two weeks…
Broken - Chapter One
Aunt Nae, you’ve always understood my obsession with reading and supported my writing—a bond that I am truly thankful for.
I may be your favorite author but you’ll always be my favorite aunt.
“I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me.”
~Tupac Shakur
THE BANGING ON THE DOOR snaps Daddy awake from his nap on the sofa. Mommy always works at the Dollar General on Saturdays, so my daddy takes care of me. Taking care of me usually means sleeping while I play with Barbies. He’s been different lately—more distant. Mommy seems irritated with him, and they fight more than ever, which makes me sad. After jumping from the sofa, he makes his way over to the window and eases the blinds open to see who’s at the door.
“Motherfucker,” he curses under his breath. I hear him, though, and instantly know something is wrong.
“What is it, Daddy?” I ask as I set my Barbie down so I can twirl the hair around in my pigtail.
When things make me uncomfortable, I always twist my hair. I started playing with my hair after I became too big to suck on my thumb. Mommy bought some cream to put on my thumb that was disgusting. Needless to say, I quit the thumb real quick and moved on to another way to comfort myself.
“Go into your room, Maya,” he hisses under his breath as he looks nervously at the front door. Another bang causes us both to jump. “Dammit, Maya. I said now!” he instructs and yanks me up from the floor.
Daddy has never hurt me, so I don’t understand why he’s acting like this. Tears fill my eyes as I run into my room and sit on my bed, unsure what to do with myself.
He hurries into the room behind me and points under the bed. “Listen to me, honey,” he says more gently. “I need you to hide under the bed. Daddy did something bad and some men are coming to visit me. They aren’t going to be very happy with me. You’ll be safe under the bed until they leave. Can you keep quiet for Daddy and hide?” he asks and kisses the top of my head.
I nod and stand from the bed. Throwing my arms around his waist, I squeeze him hard. For some reason, I feel very worried for my daddy.
He grabs my shoulders and pulls me away. “Now, princess.”
Swiping away my tears, I crawl under the bed while he makes his way back into the living room.
I hear Daddy open the front door, and immediately, shouts fill our tiny house.
“Simpson! Where’s our fucking money?” a deep, angry voice demands.
Daddy’s voice is low and muffled as he seems to explain something to the man. I try strain to hear what he’s saying, but I can’t hear a word.
“That’s what I thought. O? Can we kill the fucker?” another voice asks.
There seems to be several people in our house, and I’m scared. Kill my daddy? I can hear Daddy pleading with them. A deeper voice—one much scarier than the other two—cuts him off.
“I gave you so many chances, Simpson. If you steal from me, you pay the price. You took my drugs to sell but never brought me the money. Did you really think you were going to get away with that in my fucking hood?” he growls out his question.
I hear a metallic click, and my heart pounds in my chest.
Daddy’s voice gets louder this time, so I can hear him now. “Please. We had a rough month. I promise I’ll get you the money. My wife gets paid next week. I’ll bring you that plus interest,” he begs.
The room goes quiet for a moment before the boss guy speaks again. “Okay, Simpson. Sure. I’m a nice guy. I’ll let you steal from me. No big deal. We’re straight, dawg,” he says with voice as sweet as syrup.
The hairs on my arm stick up. Even at nine years old, I can see through that man’s lies.
“Thank you, man. I promise—” Daddy begins, but the boss guy once again cuts him off.
“Naw, I’m just fucking with you, playa. You had your chance,” he says coldly.
My heart literally stops for three seconds.
One.
Two.
Three.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
My mouth is formed in an ‘o’ as I silently scream for my daddy. I’m scared that those men will drag me out from underneath this bed and hurt me too. Even from under the bed, I can smell an unfamiliar scent—gunpowder? The men quickly leave our small home and slam the door behind them.
I lie facedown on the dirty carpet, terrified beyond belief. The house is so quiet. It sickens me. Daddy! I scramble back out from under the bed and crawl over to the door. Hesitantly, I peek around my door into the living room. I see Daddy’s body on the floor by the sofa.
“Daddy!” I cry out as I climb to my feet and run to him on wobbly legs.
But as he really comes into view, I stop dead in my tracks. I suddenly feel very sick to my stomach and begin twirling my dark hair like crazy. No. This can’t be.
A dark pool of blood is quickly circling around his chest. He’s not making a sound. He’s not moving. My Daddy is dead.
Tears fill my nine-year-old eyes as I silently promise myself that I will one day catch the bad men who hurt my daddy. I will kill them just like they killed him. That is a promise.
I hurry to the window to peek out to see if I can catch a glimpse of the murderers. The one that I know must be the boss man looks over at the window where I’m peeking out and I freeze in my spot. His right eye is covered with a simple black eye patch and he looks terrifying. Thankfully, he slides into the car and closes the door behind him.
One day he will pay for what he did to my daddy.
Seventeen years later
“SIMPSON! LOPEZ! MY OFFICE, NOW!” Captain Sommerhaul booms from within his office.
Miguel, my partner, smirks at me as he stands from his desk. We’re always in some shit with the captain. He’s the typical police captain—short, balding, overweight, and pissy.
“Tell him I’ll be there in a second,” I laugh as I continue thumbing through my file. Captain Sommerhaul can hold his fucking horses.
“Maya, get your ass u
p and stop provoking him,” Miguel orders, tugging my hair on his way past me. Miguel is as good-looking as they come. Tall, with an olive complexion, light-brown eyes, dark hair—but he’s my best friend. You don’t look at your best friend that way—it just isn’t natural. He’s never been more than a brother to me.
“Fine, asshole,” I grumble and slam the file down on the desk.
Standing from my desk, I avoid the stares of all the seasoned detectives in our department. Most of these idiots are jealous that Miguel and I, the youngest detectives in the precinct, are the ones grabbing up all the accolades. We’re bold and fearless. Some would say reckless. Even though Sommerhaul rides our asses pretty much daily, we’re the ones kicking ass around here. He’ll never admit it, but we’re his favorites.
I stroll past Detectives Jim Hominy and Jake Lester. Jake isn’t much older than I am, and he is always fucking hitting on me. Unfortunately for him, I cannot stand one single thing about him. He’s got greasy hair and a cocky attitude, and he smells like Old Spice. Gross. But, unfortunately for me, I’ve fucked him on several occasions after getting shitfaced. He seems cuter and funnier when I’m not sober. Thankfully, now I just avoid alcohol altogether. Problem solved.
“Looking good, Milky Way,” he mutters under his breath as I walk by.
I flip him the bird as I walk past. His stupid nickname gets under my skin. That white boy is going to get his ass kicked by a black girl very soon—my patience is wearing thin.
“Fuck off,” I snap over my shoulder before walking into Sommerhaul’s office.
Sommerhaul’s already glaring at me as I walk in. What the hell did we do today? Miguel shoots me a look of warning, but I ignore it as I plop down in the chair.
“What’s up, boss?” I ask cockily. I know Sommerhaul hates when I act like this, but I just like watching his face turn red.
“Simpson, cut the shit,” he growls, tossing a file across the desk my way.
Miguel is already thumbing through his own file as I open mine. Profiles of sought-after drug dealers are stapled inside.
“What’s this?” I question, looking up.
Sommerhaul gets a smug grin on his face. I have the urge to throw my file in his fat face. Shit, I am being such a bitch today. It’s been too long since I got laid—it’s making me way too crabby.
“That, Simpson, is your next job.”
I glance over at Miguel, and he just shrugs his shoulders. “So Miguel and I are going to go after some well-known drug dealers?” I ask, flicking my gaze back to Sommerhaul.
He chuckles, and I get a sick feeling in my belly. I don’t like where this is going.
“Not Miguel. Just you,” he says matter-of-factly.
I snap my attention back to him. Miguel is my partner and best friend. We do everything together.
“I don’t understand,” I mutter under my breath.
“Female drug dealers are hot right now. The big players in the game are always evolving, and the newest development is they’re using women to push their drugs,” he explains.
Miguel shoots me a sympathetic look as I quickly put it all together.
“Ahhh, so I am going undercover,” I say, finally grasping the concept.
Sommerhaul smiles broadly, exposing his teeth, which are yellow from God only knows how many years of smoking.
“So, clearly, it’s just me. How am I supposed to go undercover without my partner? Seems dangerous,” I tell him. Honestly, I am nervous as hell. I haven’t done undercover work yet, and the idea of doing this makes my stomach roil—especially without Miguel. We’re a team.
“He’ll always be close by. He can be your ‘boyfriend’ or some shit. Hell if I care, but he’ll be close. You won’t have to worry. But we need to get to the center of this drug cell. Detroit is at its absolute worst, and I’m ready to annihilate these fuckers,” he grumbles.
I try to still my pounding heart, but of course, it doesn’t slow at all.
“When do I start?” I ask with false bravado.
Sommerhaul seems pleased with my answer, but I can tell from Miguel’s huff from beside me that he’s not happy. What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“Tomorrow, Maya. I want you to go get your ‘hair did’ and get some clothes to fit the part. And, Miguel, I want you to keep an eye on things. Maya, please don’t go in there guns blazing like you always do. I need you to keep your nose to the ground and ears open. We’re looking to take down the entire operation. We’re going to need all the evidence we can get. Can you handle it?” he asks.
I lift my chin. Of course I can handle it. I’m Maya Simpson.
“Are you scared?” Miguel asks as I hand him a beer.
We’re hanging out in my small apartment, drinking a beer after eating takeout. Typically a few nights a week, this is our ritual.
I roll my eyes and plop down on the couch beside him. “Fuck you, Lopez.”
He laughs and holds his beer out to me. I clang mine against his and take a long pull. Truth be told, I’m fucking scared out of my mind. I’ll never admit that to anyone but myself though.
“Paula is so excited to cornrow my hair,” I laugh.
Earlier, when I called her to see if she could assist me for a ‘job’ at work, she knowingly agreed. I’ve been going to her since high school, and she’s a great hairdresser. We’ve become pretty close, and I would consider her my best girlfriend. Since I’ve known her, I’ve kept my hair the same. Long, straight, one length. It typically falls just past my shoulders, but I’ve usually got it pulled up in a ponytail, so it’s hard to determine the true length. Paula always wants to try different things with my hair, but I usually kill her dreams by telling her to leave it alone. When I called her earlier, you’d have thought I’d announced that I was getting married and she was my maid of honor or something.
Miguel chuckles at the thought of Paula getting excited to fix my hair. “This is going to be some funny shit. I can only imagine what that girl is going to do to you. Doesn’t she change her hair every week?” he asks and sips on his beer some more. He’s never actually met her, just heard many of my funny stories about her. Paula is actually quite entertaining.
I burst into a fit of giggles as I think about her hairdo last week. Poor Paula has messed with her hair so much that she’s only got about two inches of it. But according to her, that’s okay because she can still get a weave in. The girl spends more on extensions than she does anything else. Paula may drive an old, beat-up Honda, but she’s always rocking some stylin’ hair. Last week, she put in a blond weave. After getting called Nicki Minaj by everyone who came in that day, she finally changed it, but not before saying that she “wore it better than that hussy.”
“Yeah, and now I’m scared,” I laugh.
He sets his beer down on the coffee table and pulls out his phone to aim it at me. “Say ‘cheese,’ Maya.”
After grabbing a pillow from behind me, I use it to cover my face. “No! Don’t take fucking pictures of me, asshole!”
He tries to pull the pillow away, but I’m too strong and stubborn. I hate having my picture taken.
“Dammit, woman. I need a before shot,” he huffs as he tries to wrestle the pillow away.
I manage to set my beer down on the table so I can have both hands free. He rips the pillow from my grasp and tosses it over the couch. When he goes to take another picture, I swat his phone and send it flying to the floor beside us.
“Maya,” he grumbles and pins me down on the couch.
Miguel has been my best friend ever since we were assigned partners. We’ve had each other’s backs from the get-go. But I don’t miss the look in his eyes sometimes—the look that says that he wants more. And tonight isn’t any different. I see the way he flicks his gaze down to my lips. For once, I let my guard down and close my eyes. I know that he wants to kiss me, and for some reason, I want to give him that kiss. Yes, Miguel is probably one of the hottest men I’ve ever met, but he usually feels more like a brother than a potential
lover.
Hot breath against my lips makes my heart quicken. Maybe I’ve been fighting the inevitable too long. Maybe Miguel is ‘the one.’
For a man as big and muscular as he is, his lips are soft as they gently brush my own. He presses them a little firmly to mine and we kiss slowly. It feels nice—comfortable.
When I feel his rather large cock harden between us, I ache at the thought of having sex. It’s been so long, and I need to be satisfied. But is Miguel the right person for that? Will things get weird afterwards? The last person I had sex with was Jake, and three minutes of awkward groping followed by a groan as he passes out on top of me hardly counts as anything memorable.
I ease my legs apart and Miguel’s body instantly grinds against mine as he deepens his kiss. The moan that climbs out of my throat is one of pure womanly need. I’m not kissing my best friend in this moment—a man is touching and kissing this woman. It feels primal.
My moan urges him on, and his tongue dances with mine as he digs his hard cock against my clit through my jeans. It feels so good, but it is Miguel. My best friend.
I begin to pull away, but he whispers, “Not yet,” against my lips and I comply. After this kiss, we’ll probably feel weird, so we might as well enjoy the moment. When his large hand slides up along my shirt and cups my breast through the fabric, I reward him with another moan.
“God, Maya, you’re sweeter than I imagined,” he admits between kisses.
I whimper in response, and he pushes his hardness once again against my sensitive spot. “Oh!” I cry out as I begin to feel the tease of an orgasm coming on.
He breaks his lips from mine and begins quickly kissing my neck as he continues his unrelenting grind against me. I try not to think that it’s Miguel, my best friend, pressed against me, bringing me closer to orgasm.
As he kisses my neck, he efficiently unbuttons my top and my chest heaves in anticipation. Anticipation of sex? With Miguel? When he gets my shirt undone and pulled apart, I suddenly feel embarrassed.
