Over the next twenty minutes, the parole officers rid Justine’s apartment of what they believe are dangerous weapons. They miss the electrical cords, shower curtain, and the very reason I was incarcerated to begin with—glass bottles, and I won’t mention the damage a man can do without any instruments or they’ll never fucking leave.
My eyes snap to Justine when their search stacks evidence onto my admission there’s more to her than what her outward appearance reflects. She has a drawer full of sex apparatuses. Not a handful. A lot.
“Don’t say a word,” Justine mumbles under her breath, mortified when the guard tosses them onto her bed so he can rummage through them.
If she’s embarrassed, she has no reason to be. I’m not staring at her because I’m shocked she needs sex toys. I’m fucking stoked she does. If she’s pleasing herself, it means there’s less men on my hit list.
Although, she’ll have no use for any instruments but my cock this weekend.
“Take them with you. Justine won’t need them. She’s got everything she needs right here.”
I wasn’t meant to say my last comment out loud, but I’m glad I have issues holding back. Justine’s face doesn’t give away her excitement, but the blush extending from the back of her knees to her nape sure as fuck does.
When the officer responsible for Justine’s embarrassment pushes aside a black dildo like it’s coated with cooties, my cock stiffens painfully quick.
“On second thought, maybe we should keep them.”
Just the thought of feeding my dick into her mouth while the dildo occupies her cunt has cum biting the crest of my cock, and let’s not mention filling her ass and cunt at the same time. There are so many possibilities, and I’m dying to test every one of them.
My wicked thoughts take a back seat when the sound of something being torn shreds through my ears. The officer who barged Justine earlier is tearing apart her couch—literally.
“You do realize we’re on the same team, right? I work in the justice system.” Shock highlights Justine’s tone.
It’s almost as palpable as my anger when the arrogant prick with his hand lodged halfway down her couch grunts at her. “You're not one of us. If you were, you would have let that scum rot in jail.” He nudges his head to me during the last half of his statement.
As I slide a letter opener off the desk I’m standing next to, Justine works the excuse she’s been working all night like a stripper does a pole—to perfection. “I didn’t invite him into my home. It was a mistake...” Her words fall short when the fastest jab of the letter opener into the lock of my cuffs releases my left wrist from its tight squeeze. “Put it back.”
If I weren’t already aware whose side she’s on, the faint whisper of her words leaves no doubt. If she truly feared me, she wouldn’t be pleading with me. She’d be running.
After checking the sharpness of the letter opener with my thumb, I goad the officer to step closer. He’s standing next to Justine’s light-colored couches. I don’t want them smeared with his worthless blood. That might make things awkward when I fuck her on them.
“Only a coward makes threats from a distance.”
The letter opener isn’t overly sharp, but its pointy end will make the parole officer’s death as easy as one, two, three—stab, twist, and yank. A novice would run the risk of him not bleeding out before medical helped intervened. Unfortunately for him, I’m a professional killer. I’m not going to aim for the worthless vein in his neck. I’m targeting the big one in his chest.
The officer who name tag states ‘Prentice’ stands to his full height, stupidly thinking he can goad me with his size. “Coward? You’re calling me a coward?”
As he skirts past Justine, he puffs his chest out, emphasizing the area I’m planning to hit him.
“I’ll show you how much of a coward I am.”
Justine’s hands shoot up to cover her mouth when Officer Prentice punches me in the stomach. His hit is so weak, I tighten the perimeter of my scope, certain his veins are as puny as the strength of his hits.
“Is that all you’ve got?” My mocking laugh adds to the heat on Justine’s cheeks. “Mydeduskhahits harder than you.”
When Officer Prentice prepares to hit me again, I curl my fingers around the letter opener, ready to strike. It will be as fast as a cobra but ten times more deadly.
Just as my fist careens toward the officer’s chest, Justine slips into the minute gap between us. Her movements are so quick, her freshly shampooed hair slaps me in the face.
Her quick thinking stuns me, but it has nothing on the shock I feel when she says, “If you so much as ruffle another hair on my client’s head, I’ll have you arrested for police brutality.”
No one has stood up for me before.
Not once.
I’m genuinely surprised—aroused as fuck, but shocked, nonetheless.
Justine steps forward to rule her empire with the stones thrown at her. “You arenothere to prosecute my client. You’re here to sweep my house. If that has been done, I suggest you leave.”
