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He raises a single eyebrow and scoffs. “Clever little girl that one, sending a cop.” He shakes his head as he speaks. “That’s how it started for us too.”
I blanch a little, wondering if he remembers me from the other night, or how he could possibly know I was a cop, but I push on. “That’s right, Iama cop, and I’m also here to tell you that you won’t be seeing Amy anymore.”
“But have you toldher?”
He’s mocking me in his menacing voice. My finger taps against my expandable peacekeeper still tucked into my belt. “This isn’t a joke.”
“Of course it is, and you are the punch line. You have no idea what you’re getting into. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk away now, while you still can.”
Without thinking, I react, pulling the baton from my pocket and extending it to the full length. I lunge at him. He doesn’t expect my attack and falls on his back. I mount him and hold the baton to his neck. It’s the first time I smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You need to keep away and stop hitting women.” I push the baton a little tighter against his throat, and he splutters a little when he tries to talk. I hold it there a moment longer to ensure he gets the message before releasing the pressure, but only a little.
“It’s not what you think,” he sputters at me.
I hate when guys make excuses like that or any excuses at all. I’ve seen so many black and blue victims, and the excuses are always the same. It’s never their fault. My father never took responsibility either. It was always her fault.
“You can’t do this, you’re a cop. I’m going to end you. Your career is done. You’re done.”
Something inside me snaps. Maybe it was the sour alcohol breath that heated my face or the feigned innocence. Maybe it was his blue eyes or the way he kept threatening me. I don’t do well with threats.
The baton connects with his nose, which immediately erupts in a flood of red. He howls in pain. Derek wriggles beneath me, trying to get his hands to his face, but I don’t give him the chance. I need to shut him up. The baton lands a second blow, this time to the side of his head, smashing his temple and rendering him unconscious. His body goes limp below me and his howls of pain die in his throat.
I look around us, sweeping the area, searching for movement or any prying eyes, allowing myself a brief moment to be relieved as I stand up and do another quick scan. When I still see no one, I drag his body away from the path; we are way too exposed. I pull him toward a thicket of trees, leaving a trail of blood as I go. He moans a little as his feet drag along the path and one of his shoes comes off. He’s heavy as dead weight.
I throw him on the grass under the canopy of a large tree and tuck him behind some bushes before I go and retrieve the shoe. I throw it at him. It hits his chest and rolls away. He barely makes a sound.
Fuck.
Sweat drips into my eyes making them sting as I look down at his chest. It rises and falls steadily as he lies and moans in broken sounds. This wasn’t meant to happen. I only wanted to threaten the guy and now, this could end my career, my life.
I draw in a few long breaths, fall to my haunches, and cover my eyes, squeezing them shut as I let humid air fill my lungs, calming my thundering heart. I remind myself that I am a cop, I am a father of two beautiful girls who need their dad, and that the man lying on the ground is a piece of shit. I’ve been here before.
I stand up, resolve icing itself inside me. There are two things I am now sure of; I can’t let this man wake up and recognise me, and I can’t get caught.
I pull out my baton and clutch it till my knuckles blanch, staring at the man on the ground. His head lulls and pained groans drip from his blood-soaked lips. He won’t stay down for much longer. I draw in a steeling breath, listening to my blood rushing around my head as my heart thunders and spikes before smashing the baton hard against his skull, once, twice and a final blow that renders him unconscious once again.
I stare at my handy work. His chest still rises in slow broken breaths, but I’m sure I’ve hit him hard enough to cause enough internal bleeding and some swelling of the brain. If he remains unfound for a few hours, I can only hope the damage I inflicted would be severe enough to wipe out his memory of his night. Rifling through his pockets, I remove his wallet, keys, and a half-drunk whiskey bottle in a paper bag, then pull the ring from his finger. The man is married – scumbag.
I shove everything into my pocket and take a final look at Derek. His limp body leaks blood from his nose and ears.
There are plenty of unsolved violent crimes in the city; no one will find him for a few hours. Just enough time for the damage to set in. I’ll throw his things in the river on the way to the tube station.
I step towards the edge of the tree line and take a long look around me. When I see that the coast is clear, I move out of the shadows and back onto the path, making a beeline to the tube station, pulling my cap lower over my face.
I weave my way through the dark, empty streets, stopping briefly to dispose of Derek’s items before making it to the station. My stomach churns and my jaw clenches, and I fall into an empty seat. Bile threatens to burn its way up my throat, but I swallow it down despite the rising dread inside me. I draw in long sharp breaths and close my eyes, letting my head fall back. It lulls with the shuddering train as flashes of my father and Derek mould into one inside my brain. This time didn’t feel as bad as the first.
By the time I get to my stop, some of the tension in my body has leaked out. All I did tonight was take a creep off the streets, and the more I think about it, the more it occurs to me that I don’t feel bad for striking him, for possibly ending his life or disabling him on a permanent basis. All I care about is me. Getting caught isn’t an option.
When I get home, I strip off my clothes, discarding them on the floor, then crawl into bed and clutch Annie’s body, pulling her into me as my fingers dig into her flesh. I seek her warmth, her softness, her comfort. She moans a little as she shuffles back against me, her ass pressing against my cock. Her wet hair tickles my face, freshly washed and smelling like her floral shampoo. I can’t help myself. My body is full of tension and anger and I crave release.
My hand slips under her shirt then slithers up along her belly till I cup her large breast and begin to roll her nipple between my fingers. She moans as her ass grinds against my cock and for once, she doesn’t stop my advances. Fully awake now, she doesn’t turn to me, doesn’t say a word as I keep teasing her, only her body responds to mine, the familiarity of it, the need for touch, for release. I force down her pyjama shorts and underwear, exposing her ass and sweet pussy, then push down my boxers, just enough to let my cock fall out. I’m inside my wife in seconds as I bite the back of her neck and plough into her wetness. I need relief. I don’t know what she needs, but she meets me stroke for stroke.
I know I should think about her needs, I know it’s been a long time since we’ve been together like this, but all I think about is the sound my baton made as it connected with Derek’s face. The way his face exploded as I struck him again and again. The more I think about it, the more desperate I become, more consumed in my anger and need. I dig my fingers deeper into her hip, knowing my nails are clawing her skin. I pinch her nipple hard, too hard as I pound into her pussy. She moans, but I can’t tell if it’s in pleasure or pain, and my grip keeps tightening and my hammering strokes smash relentlessly into her. I come hard and fast, biting down my release, silencing myself as my body juts and shivers.
She doesn’t say a word as I pull out of her and find peace in sleep.
