Hers to Protect
Kaia Sorano is a police officer in the dangerous and gang dominated streets of Chicago. She thinks she's prepared for anything, but when she responds to a bloody domestic violence call, only to find her high school sweetheart is the victim, she knows she has to find a way to help.
When Adrienne Contreras's mother moved her to the south side of Chicago at seventeen, she quickly saw her safe life and idealistic love with Kaia replaced with poverty, crime, and violence. Now twenty-seven, Adrienne is dating Gianna, a high-ranking member of a brutal gang. She has the streets figured out, but the first rule is to never talk to cops, even one she used to be in love with.
As their attraction grows into love, Adrienne and Kaia struggle to see past the changes in each other and escape Gianna and the gang, who have threatened both their lives.
Hers to Protect
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Hers to Protect
© 2018 By Nicole Disney. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13:978-1-63555-230-0
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, NY 12185
First Edition: June 2018
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Jeanine Henning
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the entire Bold Strokes team for all the hard work that went into making this book a reality, from the beautiful cover art to the typesetting and everything in between. A special thank you to Cindy for helping to smooth the rough edges with her sharp eye for detail, mastery of grammar, and always kind guidance.
With all my heart, thank you to the extraordinary women in my life who have shaped me.
To my grandmother, for keeping my books on your shelf, my reviews printed, and my covers framed. You make my dreams feel real.
To my aunt, for spending a family gathering reading my entire first novel in one sitting. At an age when dreams are so easily crushed, you believed in mine.
To my mom, for screaming in the middle of a crowded restaurant when I won my first writing contest, for crying with me when I got my first contract, for making my dreams yours, and for your endless support and love. Your belief in me gave me everything I will ever need.
To my wife, for being by my side through the messy parts. For listening to me talk in circles about characters and plots and arcs, for reading and rereading every word, and for helping me find my way when my word tangles become jungles. This book would not be what it is without your patience, encouragement, and creative input. Thank you for always getting it.
Dedication
To Cassandra. You are my heart, my love, my forever.
Chapter One
Darkness tickled the edges of her vision. Hot fingers pressed into the sides of her throat and a sweaty palm squished the pliable elastic of her windpipe closed. Adrienne knew at some point it would snap, that it would happen in an instant, and that it would kill her.
“Gianna,” she tried, but only spit and a squeak came out.
“Shut up!” Gianna screamed. “Don’t lie to me! I saw the way he looked at you.”
Adrienne usually tried to weather Gianna’s episodes, but she was all out of courage. She couldn’t believe Gianna was trying to kill her, yet she knew her life was in danger all the same. She couldn’t die over a meaningless smile from the grocery store bag boy. That couldn’t be the end of this ridiculous life.
Adrienne glanced around the room and quickly identified the lamp as the only remotely heavy object within reach. She swatted the air, desperately clawing for it. She felt her fingers brush the iron and grasped it. Gianna’s eyes followed Adrienne’s hand in time to see the shade swinging at her head. The bulb broke against the side of her face and sent the room into darkness.
Adrienne gasped for air when the vice of Gianna’s grip released her. The frantic inhale ripped through her burning throat. She ran through the dark, eyes only able to distinguish vague outlines of the furniture. She toppled a chair and muscled through the obstacle and the pain with Gianna’s string of curse words crashing after her. She slammed and locked the bathroom door just fast enough that Gianna’s attempt at the knob amounted only to a violent, frustrated rattle.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and struggled with her trembling hand that didn’t seem to be her own. She watched the foreign limb clumsily betray her, missing the buttons and nearly losing the phone completely. It seemed an irrational and panicked thing, incapable and helpless even as her brain felt hyper-focused.
“Open the door, Adrienne!” Gianna shook the doorknob. “What do you think you’re going to do? I’m not going anywhere.”
Adrienne heard a small voice from the phone she hadn’t yet put to her ear. The screen showed a connection to 911. Her heart dropped. Had she really done that? She’d never called the cops before. It was a dangerous line to cross. Gi would be furious. You never snitch. If there was one rule not to break in this world, that was it.
“Adrienne!” Gianna was loud enough the phone picked it up. Adrienne heard the insistent operator still chiming from the other end of the line, reaching for someone, refusing to disconnect.
It went quiet. Gianna stopped yelling. Adrienne stood, paralyzed in the silence. It was almost worse. What was she doing? Adrienne’s eyes rebounded around the drab bathroom, to the chipped paint, the floor laminate curling up at the corners. There was no way to barricade the door, no way to escape, and nothing to use to defend herself.
A massive thud shook the door. Adrienne jumped and backed into the corner by the sink. Another crash and the door shivered. She was breaking in.
“You don’t want to make me do this, Adrienne.”
“I’ll open the door if you calm down.” Adrienne tried to sound strong, but she knew she didn’t.
“You’re only making this worse for yourself.”
“Please.” Adrienne heard the fear in her own voice.
“Open the fucking door before I blow your head off!”
Adrienne put the phone to her cheek, surprised to find it slick with tears. “Four thirty-three West Sixty-Second Street. My girlfriend’s going to kill me.” She didn’t wait for an answer or linger on the mangled sound that was her voice struggling through the tears in her damaged throat. She set the phone down behind the toilet where Gianna wouldn’t notice it and left the line open.
Gianna slammed into the door again. The wood was cracking, surrendering to her weight.
“Adrienne!” Gianna screamed. “If you don’t open this door right now I swear I’m going to beat your face in.”
Adrienne heard herself crying, again feeling her body was someone else’s. Her voice wasn’t hers, her hands weren’t hers, the aching in her chest wasn’t hers. This life wasn’t hers.
“Baby, please,” she said, sliding down the wall, crumpling in terror. “Please, I swear I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before. Please.”
“I don’t believe you. I saw the way you looked at each other. You think I d
on’t have eyes? You think I’m stupid?”
“No! I love you, please just stop. We’ll talk about this, I promise.”
“You’re damn right, we will. Open the door!” Gianna slammed into it again without waiting for an answer. Adrienne knew it wouldn’t hold much longer. Gianna was all muscle, built tall and thick.
“Hello? Ma’am?”
Adrienne heard the 911 operator still calling for her from the cell phone she’d left on the floor. Another crunch and splintering wood. They were going to be too late.
* * *
“All cars, be advised I’m holding a domestic violence in progress at Four thirty-three West Sixty-Second Street.”
Carli sounded stressed out even though most people wouldn’t notice. Her voice always came through the radio in the ice-cold, even tone that made for a good dispatcher, but ever since they started hooking up, Kaia couldn’t help but pay closer attention to the subtle shifts in Carli’s word choice and volume when she really needed officers to pick up a call.
“You want to grab that?” Kaia asked her partner, Reid. He glanced over from behind the steering wheel, a grin spanning his face.
“That your girlfriend dispatching?”
Kaia and Reid were part of a special street crime task force. They wouldn’t be directly dispatched the way a patrol officer would, but they could volunteer if they were close or heard something of interest. Volunteering was an endangered practice, so much so Reid was able to assume Kaia’s ulterior motives.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kaia said. “We’re just…” She paused.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know. We’re whatever. That doesn’t mean I can’t help her out, does it? It’s right around the corner.”
He smiled again and picked up the radio from the center console. “Seventy-seven sixty-two Baker, we’ll grab your DV.” He paused for Carli to give him the information and turned to Kaia. “It’s not right around the corner, though.” He winked.
Carli’s voice scratched through the radio, moving through the details of the call at an all-business clip. At the pause, Kaia clicked the handheld radio hooked to her shoulder. “Copy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Carli’s response to Kaia’s voice was warm, the secret of their nights together playing in her tone, subtle but plain to Kaia nonetheless, and Reid for that matter.
“You’re such a cliché, Sorano,” he said. “Hooking up with a dispatcher.”
“Shut up, Castillo. God forbid we take a call.”
His smile was bright and sweet, standing out against his caramel skin. He’d been her partner and best friend for three years, and teasing each other was like breathing now.
“I hate domestics,” he said. “What did you get us into, anyway?”
Kaia swiveled the screen of the MDT toward her and scanned the notes of the call. “Female gave the address, said her girlfriend was going to kill her, left the line open. Banging and yelling in the background, then lots of screaming and crying.” The notes went on and on since the line stayed open, but that was the end of what she would describe as useful.
“Jesus, do you have a sixth sense for dyke drama?”
“I guess so.”
Reid flipped on the lights and sirens and accelerated down the quiet street.
The house was dark when they pulled up. The red and blue of their lights painted the splintered wood and sliced through the night. The house’s actual color was a creamy white, but the paint was peeling away and the structure looked warped. It wasn’t a good part of town, well known for drugs, gangs, and shootings.
They glanced at one another and moved up slowly. There was a window without blinds, but Kaia couldn’t discern anything inside from her distance. She listened for arguing, crashing, crying, but there was nothing. The lack of light or sound was eerie. It almost looked abandoned. Maybe the girlfriend really had killed her, then packed up and left. Then again, maybe it was just the wrong address. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
Kaia knocked on the door. “Chicago PD, open up.” She waited, on edge. She’d dealt with plenty of domestics, plenty of fights, weapons, the type that ended up bloody, endangered her life. She’d found bodies, seen people take their last breaths. The streets of South Chicago were as hard as they came, and she wasn’t skittish by a long shot, yet every now and then something routine still made her hair stand on end. Sometimes she just knew something bad had happened, and that feeling was bothering her now. She knocked again, harder.
“We know you’re in there. Don’t make us break it down!” Silence stretched.
“Sorano.” Reid was starting to move back down the driveway.
“There’s something here,” she said. She could tell he didn’t agree, but he didn’t say so. She loved that about him. He knew the value of instincts, respected them, even when they weren’t his own.
Kaia got closer to the window, nearly touching the glass with her forehead, hand ready on her gun. She saw a dark smear on the wall and a lamp out of place on the floor.
“We have blood.”
“Shit. I’ll get—”
A loud rustle crashed through the bushes on the east side of the house.
“Runner!”
“Got it!” Kaia jumped off the porch and launched after the figure in black. She heard Reid yelling their direction of travel into the radio, falling behind while he tried to be understandable. She knew he wouldn’t lose her.
The figure running appeared to be female, which matched the information from the call. She was tall and fast, black tank top, black pants, a blue bandana trailing in the wind from her pocket, denoting a gang affiliation Kaia didn’t have time to guess at. The woman cut through the backyard and flung herself effortlessly over the fence. Kaia followed, pleased with herself for managing it smoothly.
“Freeze!”
The woman ducked into the alley and opened into an impressive sprint that had Kaia concerned she might not be able to keep up. She had to. She forced her legs to go faster, ignored the screaming burn in her thighs. She heard Reid’s feet hammer the ground furiously, but he was still falling behind. Kaia heard a hint of fear in his voice as he yelled into the radio.
“Approaching Stewart, she’s eastbound in the Sixty-first, Sixty-second alley.”
Kaia’s pulse thundered in her ear. This couldn’t last much longer; one of them would be too tired. She just had to keep her eyes on this girl long enough for backup to box her in.
The suspect looked over her shoulder, checking her lead. She had big brown eyes, a cut on her cheek, darkish complexion, maybe Hispanic, shaggy brunette hair, muscular arms heavily tattooed. Kaia was trained to notice these things, break them down into pieces. The whole picture was that she was both beautiful and intimidating. Kaia had a height and strength advantage on most women she dealt with, but this one was going to be a struggle. She couldn’t afford fear or doubt. She pushed it away.
The woman slid across the hood of a car that protruded into the alley. Kaia jumped it, using the wall to kick off. She heard Reid tumble over it five seconds behind her. Finally, she heard sirens. The woman slowed just slightly, discouraged. Her head swiveled in search of a better escape route as the alley split at someone’s backyard. She veered north and sprinted on.
“Freeze!” Kaia tried again and forced herself to find yet another reserve of energy. The woman ignored her, but Kaia could taste the catch. She was on her heels. She lunged. Her palms hit square in the woman’s back and sent her tumbling to the asphalt. The momentum sent the woman sprawling and she scraped several feet across the ground and groaned.
“Bitch!”
“I said freeze!” Kaia rushed to pin her before she could compose herself. She put her knee on the woman’s back and yanked one hand behind her before the woman processed it enough to resist. Despite Kaia’s lead, the woman pulled her arm back toward herself as hard as she could and yanked Kaia off balance. Kaia’s shoulder hit the ground hard, but she wrestled back on top even as the woman ma
naged to prop herself up with her free hand. Kaia was determined not to lose control and more than a little nervous about that possibility. Kaia grabbed the woman’s arm with both hands and drove her weight down.
Reid caught up and grabbed the other arm. Without its support, the woman’s face hit the pavement chin first and she grunted in pain. Even then, getting the cuffs on was a struggle. Finally, Kaia heard the satisfying clicks. She backed away a few paces and tried to catch her breath. Reid sat the woman up, then stood for a breather himself.
Kaia reached for her radio. “Sixty-two Baker, we have one in custody. Next units into the house.” Carli echoed her and stated the time to document it; again their nights together seeped out in the sound of relief.
“Hey, assholes, these are too tight.”
Kaia spun to the woman on the ground. Part of her always wanted to tell criminals to shove it, what nerve they had to run, resist, and then complain. But she had vowed when she started in law enforcement not to get too cold, not to lose sight of compassion. She leaned over and checked the cuffs.
“No, they’re not,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Fuck you.”
Reid searched her pockets, hoping for an ID.
“Don’t have one, home boy.”
“I guess we’ll start with Hernandez,” he said, pointing to a tattoo of the surname across the woman’s chest, arching like a necklace.
“Yeah, ’cause there aren’t many of those,” Hernandez scoffed.
“Yeah, you got me there,” he said, his good nature remaining intact. “Why’d you run?”
She stopped answering.
“You got warrants?” he tried. Nothing. Kaia’s eyes wandered to Hernandez’s most prominent tattoo, “WAK” in bold letters on her neck next to an assault rifle. She didn’t know what it stood for, but she knew it was a gang.
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