by T. R. Cupak
“Let’s just go to the pub. We can Uber there, get white-girl wasted, and dance until we drop.”
“Sounds good.” I head to my bedroom to get ready for our night out. I don’t know if the outfit I choose to wear is because I love it or because I know Kade will love it. Deep down, I t want to sexually frustrate him like he sexually frustrates me in my dreams.
Regardless of my motive, I’m rocking a red romper that ties in the back and has a deep V that dips in the front, drawing attention to my cleavage. Since we’ll most likely be dancing a lot, I decided to wear my black Jimmy Choo wedges. Wedges feel sturdier when I dance. I can be clumsy at times, so stilettos are not an option unless I want to end up on my ass and then in the emergency room.
“Hot damn!” Sydnee comments when I walk out of my room. “Maybe I will eat your taco.”
“You’re such a perv,” I respond. “You look pretty tasty, if I may say so.”
“Well, duh. This”—Sydnee uses her index finger to point out the entire outfit—“is your white lace bodysuit and black leather skirt.” Of course, she’s wearing my clothes. She always does. Whenever we go shopping, I swear Sydnee tells me I look good in everything she wants to borrow.
“Are those my peep-toe booties, too?”
“Go big or go home, right?” She winks.
“Come on. Our ride is here.”
It’s not long before we arrive at McShane’s. The parking lot is full, which makes me glad we got dropped off. Drunk assholes and car doors don’t mix well. I don’t know how many times I had to have the auto body shop pound out dents on my previous vehicle from people being reckless when getting into their cars, swinging their doors open, and hitting my undeserving vehicle.
Once inside, Sydnee and I snag the last high-top table close to the make-shift dance floor. To create a space for dancing and room for the DJ, all they did was rearrange the seating area, making it more crowded.
“The usual?” Finn asks when he makes it to our table.
“Make them doubles,” Sydnee shouts so he can hear her over the music.
“Coming right up.”
The shots go down easy, and when the DJ switches it up from hip hop to house music, and Avicii and Nicky Romero’s “I Could Be the One” fills the room, I can’t sit still any longer, so I grab Syd’s hand, dragging her to the dance floor. Closing my eyes, I let the music move my body, slightly swaying during the downbeat and practically jumping when the upbeat drops. That’s when I feel his hands grip my hips, pulling me into his steel frame.
I keep my eyes closed, dancing in the moment because the second I open them, the moment will fade, and I know Kade will walk away, or my brother will interfere as always.
“This is a dangerous outfit, Brit.” His warm breath tickles my neck when he whispers by my ear. Goosebumps speckle down my arms as tingles trickle down my spine. Turning around to face Kade, I keep my eyes shut and let everyone around us fade away. Our bodies move to the beat as if they were one. Sliding my hands up his arms, I lock my fingers in place. That’s when I finally decide to open my eyes and take in all that is Kade Beaumont.
The heat behind his gaze tells me he wants me, and without thinking, I lean in and place a featherlight kiss to his neatly manicured jawline. Kade’s hands grip my hips tighter, but before anything else can happen, he pushes me away.
“Fuck,” Kade growls before he turns and stalks away angry, leaving me alone on the dance floor.
Frustrated, I push my way through the people dancing around me and stagger back to my table to find Sydnee sitting there with shock written all over her face and shots waiting.
“Girl, you’re fucked,” my friend says, pointing out the obvious. I swallow back my shot of Jameson, then the second followed by the pickleback.
“You think?”
“I was damn near ready to cream my panties just watching you two.”
“Come on, Syd. Ew.”
“Ladies,” some random preppy-looking guy greets us when he bumps into our table. “Can I get you another round?” The way he asks the question rubs me the wrong way. A flashback of waking up in the hospital after being raped in college has my right hand clenching into a fist. Without thinking, I swing, landing the punch in the dead center of his face, knocking him back a few steps.
“You fucking cunt! You broke my fucking nose!” he yells out as blood drips from his nose. Those close to us erupt in cheers. My brother comes out of nowhere, grabs the guy by the back of the shirt, and escorts him out. I’m pretty sure once they are outside, Deacon flashes his badge because the preppy asshole doesn’t return. That or he had to go to the hospital. Looking down at my hand, I see it’s beginning to swell. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face because the puffiness is confirmation I put the hurt on him.
“Are you okay?” Deacon asks when he returns. I shrug my shoulders, giving him a non-committal answer as I shake out my hand. My brother grabs my wrist to avoid causing me more pain to my injured hand. “Make a fist.” I do as he says. “Okay. Just makin’ sure it’s not broken.”
“Here you go, Rocky.” Finn hands me ice wrapped is a bar towel. “Remind me never to piss you off, doll.” He flashes a smile before strutting back toward the bar.
“I’ll be right back. Get me another shot, D.” Deacon gives me a thumbs up, indicating he heard my request. I roll my eyes and shake my head at his cheesy acknowledgment. As I shuffle past people on my way to the restroom, people shout, “Tyson!” “Rocky!” “Holyfield!” “Layla Ali!”
I reach the women’s restroom when the door across from it opens. Destiny steps out, pulling her hair back into a messy bun, and when her eyes meet mine, a Cheshire cat grin spreads across her face. Tilting my head to see past her, it’s the sight of Kade that makes my stomach twist into a knot. There’s no mistaking what my eyes see this time. He’s zipping up his jeans when he finally looks up and notices me standing there, and all the color from his face drains like he just saw a ghost.
Turning around, I hurry back to the table. Thankfully, I had not one or two shots waiting for me, but three. God bless my brother.
“I figured you could use the extra shot for the pain,” he explains with a bump to the elbow.
“You figured correctly, big brother.” Without any hesitation, I shoot back all three shots in record time. Instead of the pickleback, I down the glass of water that was sitting in front of me as well. Grabbing the damp ice-filled towel, I place it on my hand, hoping it will take away some of the swelling.
Sydnee sits quietly, evaluating my current mood. She knows not to ask what’s wrong because her best friend senses are telling her something is up with Kade.
“Bro, where’ve you been?” Deacon shouts past me. I don’t need to turn my head to see Kade approaching. He’s the only person on the planet that Deacon calls bro.
“What the fuck happened to your hand?” Kade asks once he reaches the table.
“Nothing,” I snap out.
“She punched some drunk jackass and broke his nose.” Deacon answers Kade’s question with pride behind it.
“You okay?” Kade directs his question at me. I’m on the brink of tears when my best friend comes to my rescue.
“Hey, Brit. Your hand isn’t looking so great. Let’s go.” Sydnee senses my unease and provides an excuse to leave. Nodding, I stand and follow her outside.
She pulls her phone from her skirt pocket and arranges for an Uber to pick us up. Standing silently beside me, she wraps her arm around my waist and leans her head against my shoulder. It’s getting more difficult to hold back my tears, so I don’t. I let them stream down my face, mascara and all.
“Brit.” Kade’s husky voice comes from behind us. Without even knowing what went down, Sydnee turns around, and before I can react, she slaps Kade across the face. A couple of people outside smoking witness the slap. One woman comments that we are a couple of brawlers. She couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve never hit someone before tonight. Well, unless sparring
against my brother counts, and I know for certain Sydnee would never hurt a fly. I think Kade broke my best friend.
“Stop fucking with my friend’s head, asshole!” Syd yells as she steps closer to Kade, invading his personal space as my focus remains on the car that pulled up. “I don’t know what you did, but you did something to deserve that slap.”
“Our ride is here,” I squeak out past the knot in my throat. Without any more words or physical confrontation, Syd turns back around and steps past me to open the back seat door. I slide in and over behind the driver. After she’s in the car, I watch as she flips off Kade before slamming the car door.
“Sorry,” she apologizes to our driver. The driver senses our foul mood and doesn’t attempt to make small talk.
The drive home is quiet. Neither of us breaks the silence even when we get home. I go through my nightly routine and crawl into bed. All I want is for this day to end.
“Hey,” Sydnee says when she enters my room. “Here.” Sitting up, I take the glass of water and two ibuprofen she’s offering. Syd then hands me a package of frozen peas for my hand.
“Thanks.”
She pulls back the covers and slides into my bed on the other side. We both lie back, and she wraps her arm around my midsection, pulling me into a spooning hug. She doesn’t push for me to tell her what happened, but as I cry through the short story, she holds me tighter while cursing Kade to hell.
11
KADE
I can’t even begin to explain what the fuck happened the other night. When I walked into the pub, Britney was out on the dance floor looking hot as fuck in her red whatever-the-fuck-it-was she was wearing. Her mere presence drew me in without her knowing it. It was like a magnetic pull, moving my feet in her direction.
The way her body gyrated to the beat was making me hard, and when my hands settled on her hips, it was as if she had been waiting for me. The more we moved in unison, the harder it was for me to control myself, and I knew Deacon would be there any minute.
Before I had a chance to walk away, she turned around to face me. And that was my undoing. My dick needed attention, and before I died from the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever experienced, I walked away.
Making my way down the hall to the men’s restroom, I’d hoped cold water to the face would help snap me back to a more rational state, but it didn’t. I exited the bathroom to find Destiny waiting by the storage room door, so I thought, “What the hell.” She can blow me while I pretend it’s Britney.
Destiny pushed me against the liquor rack, wasting no time. She dropped to her knees, unzipped my jeans, and pulled them and my boxer briefs down far enough to release my dick from confinement. The second her mouth wrapped around the head of my cock, I closed my eyes and thought of Britney. My hands tangled in her hair, gripping the roots tighter as her mouth continued to slide down the length of my shaft until she couldn’t take any more. I worked her head back and forth, thrusting my hips forward hard and fast, pushing myself closer to my release. Nails dug into my ass cheeks, and that’s when I lost it, shooting my load down Destiny’s throat while calling out Britney’s name. Let’s just say, Sydnee wasn’t the only one that slapped me that night.
After Britney and Sydnee left the pub, I continued to get shit-faced with my coworkers. Deacon never questioned where I disappeared to, and when I returned, why I continued to get more hammered than usual. If he had asked, there was no way in hell I was going to tell him the real cause of why his sister leaving was because I did the one thing, and the reason he put our childhood pact in place—I broke her heart.
“Fuck!” I repeat over and over as my fists pound the punching bag in front of me. My face on the bag is all I picture with each blow. If only I could kick my own ass.
Fifteen minutes go by when my phone alerts someone is at the front gate. A part of me is hoping it’s Brit, but I’m not that lucky. Glancing down at the screen, I catch the back end of Deacon’s truck passing by the camera. Throwing my towel over my shoulder, I chug my electrolyte infused water and jog up the stairs to the main floor of my house. Once I clear the last step, I drag my feet down the hall to the living room where Deacon has already made himself at home.
“Good workout?” he asks.
“Not good enough.” It really wasn’t. I’m still pissed that I was weak and took what was offered to me, only to fail at getting Britney off my mind. In hindsight, it did the exact opposite. “You mind if I shower?”
“Please do. You stink.” Deacon settles back into the couch and turns on the television to pass the time while I take care of business. I’m not gone long when my friend barges into my bathroom while I’m still in the shower. The water cascading over my head muffles his words, so I step back and tell him to repeat what he said.
“Bro, hurry the fuck up. I just got a text from Lil Romeo, and he says he’s with our guys.”
“With them? Like, hanging out?”
“Fuck if I know. Romeo gave me an address, that’s all. Get dressed. We gotta get to the PD now.”
“I hear you. Now get the fuck out.” It takes me ten minutes to finish my shower, get dressed, and grab my work shit. I’ve learned to get ready in no time when I became SWAT. When we get called out, which happens randomly, the rule is that we have thirty minutes from being notified to get to the police department, get dressed in our SWAT gear, and loaded onto the command vehicle. Once the team is on the command vehicle, we get briefed on the situation at hand. Luckily, I’ve only had to go out four times in the two years I’ve been in this assignment.
If what our CI texted is accurate, we may have our guys in a few hours. First, we need official confirmation. Once we have that, then we can submit our warrant request to the judge. It helps that it’s daytime, and we aren’t waking the judge in the middle of the night when most warrants happen. Otherwise, search and arrest warrants take longer to acquire.
I’m following Deacon to the station when he calls, so I hit the button on my steering wheel to answer.
“What? We’re almost to the PD.”
“I trust Lil Romeo’s intel, but maybe we should take a detour and drive by the address he provided. You know, to see for ourselves.”
Deacon has a point, but my car in the neighborhood we need to scope out will only draw attention when we need to be inconspicuous. His truck is loud and all tricked out, but it will fit in better than my car because the area we’re heading to has a lot of construction and agriculture residents who have flashy trucks too.
“Pull into the Starbucks parking lot. I’ll leave my car there and jump in with you.” Not needing confirmation that he heard me, I hit end before my friend can respond.
Now that we’re in one vehicle, we drive in the direction leading us to the street address Romeo provided to us. I sent our CI two texts since jumping into Deacon’s truck but still haven’t heard anything. If this is all a goose chase, I’m beating the shit out of Lil Romeo for wasting our fucking time.
“Park there,” I tell Deacon, pointing to a space large enough for his truck and only one house away from the last known location of our wanted gang members.
Twenty minutes pass by when my phone chimes with a text from our informant.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Deacon spouts off. “What’s it say?”
“Flores and Chico Hernandez are in the garage, and Jesus is in the living room with him. He says they have two young girls who look underage that appear to be high as a kite. He can’t confirm, but he thinks they may be part of a sex trafficking ring.”
“How does the FBI not know about sex trafficking minors?” The realization that these men are into way more shit than we knew pisses me off.
“Maybe they don’t know,” Deacon responds, trying to justify our lack of knowledge.
The garage door goes up on the house we’re staking out, and my phone chimes again. This time Romeo tells us they’re getting ready to leave, and they’re taking the girls. I quickly texted back that we’re outside and asked him to stall
them.
“Fuck! We don’t have time,” I bark out.
“Cowboy up?” Deacon asks, not even looking at me.
“I’ve got both my on and off-duty guns, extra magazines, and two sets of handcuffs. You?”
“Same.” That doesn’t surprise me. On days we work, that’s our typical arsenal. Days off, we stick with our off-duty guns only. You never know who you’ll run into when you leave the safety net of our town.
“Our asses will be handed to us if we don’t call this in and wait for backup.” I take a moment to remind us what our clear directive is and what the consequences will be if we defy our leadership’s orders.
“We don’t have the fuckin’ time. It’s not just drugs we’re dealing with anymore. We can call it in, but we need to be in a position to react now, not in ten minutes.” Even though I agree, I still pull up our sergeant’s number.
“Sarg, we have eyes on Flores and the Hernandez brothers. We also have confirmation they’re heading out of town with two young girls, possible trafficking. We’re calling for back-up but can’t wait. I’ll pin-drop our location.” The call took seconds to make, only because I didn’t give our boss a chance to stop us.
My phone begins to ring non-stop, so I switch it to vibrate. Deacon and I take our badges from our belts and hook them on chains to wear around our necks for visibility. We double-check that our Glocks and CZs are loaded; it’s better to be safe than sorry. Once we have our handcuffs in our back pockets and our extra magazines in our front pockets, we both exit the truck from the passenger’s side.
“Bro, we’re not wearing tactical gear. Try not to get shot.”
“Way to jinx us, asshole.” Sometimes I don’t know what the fuck Deacon is thinking. Nobody should ever say shit like that before walking toward danger, but my dumbass partner seems to forget that.
Crouched down, we make our way to the car parked in front of the truck. Sirens sound in the distance, so I pop my head up far enough to see through the window of the vehicle. Lil Romeo was right. Chico and Flores are in the garage but don’t seem fazed by the sounds of sirens. As far as they know, they think they’re safe.
