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I follow my gut. Being a cop means good instincts are a must, and I follow mine always.
This time, my gut says that either choice is a bad one.
Dumping my cup in the sink, I grab my phone. Trying to avoid looking at all the messages and missed calls, I quickly find Jess’ number and send her a text to say I’m home safe before hauling my shit upstairs and take a shower.
By the time I reach the station my mood hasn’t improved, and as if to throw another coal onto the burning fire that is my life, my phone pings with another countdown message. An hourly reminder that in four hours my life will implode no matter what my decision.
I push through the station doors and am met with a symphony of sounds, all of which make my head hurt and emphasise everything I’ve worked my arse off for and will lose by the end of all this. I shake away the thoughts as someone calls out to me.
“Hey, Sarge, good to have you back. Did you miss me?”
“Sure, I did, Smithy,” I say all saccharine sweet, patting his cheek as I reach him. I wait for the first hint of a smile before continuing, “About as much as I miss a case of the clap.” Several of the guys closest to us begin to laugh as I walk away, and I can hear them ribbing him mercilessly. It’s all in good humour. Smithy is a good guy and decent cop. We’ve worked a couple of cases before, and he has a way with words that builds an easy rapport with people, both victims and suspects. I’d rather have him at my back over some of the other arseholes that work here.
I drop down into my chair and stare at the mountain of paperwork sitting on my desk. Taking the top file, I see it’s a case review for a missing person from two years ago. Only now it seems like there’s been a development. Most likely a result of the recent trafficking ring bust. As I go through more of the files, I realise they are all linked in some way to trafficking.
“Welcome back, Whitmore,” I mutter to myself as I open the file on a murder case from a month ago. This one I remember vividly. Hard to forget finding a dead body with their head missing, and as if that wasn’t enough, when we did discover the head, it was in bed next to the victim’s wife. It might not have been a horse’s head, but the message was clear all the same: You’re dead.
My life is one long death filled drama show, and it’s not about to improve any.
ChapterTwo
Maddox
Alow moan fills the room, and I swear there’s a hint of pain there too, but I don’t stop. Pulling back, I slam forward as my balls draw up tight, and the bitch I’m buried inside screams out in pleasure or pain, I don’t give a fuck. Tightening my grip on her nape, I pound into her again and again until the familiar feeling of release rushes over me.
The relief it brings is short lived, and I pull out as quick as I entered her. Releasing her, I dispose of the condom and am just tucking my cock back inside my boxers as the door flies open and in storms Zak.
“That fucking little weasel Tommy. I’m—ah, fuck, man,” he groans, covering his eyes before turning around.
Heather yanks her skirt back down over her arse as she rises from her position bent over my desk. She takes a couple of hesitant steps forward, wobbly on her feet from the fucking she just received. When she reaches me and stretches out a hand to my chest, I snatch her wrist away.
“Hands to yourself, bitch. Now, get the fuck out of here.” Letting her hand go, she glares at me before turning and stomping away. The slamming of my office door is her finalfuck you, but it’s barely a blip on my conscience.
“What’s Tommy done now?” I ask, rounding my desk and sitting down. When Zak doesn’t answer, I raise my head to see him staring at me. “What the fuck’s your problem?”
“That,” he says, nodding towards the closed door and referring to the chick I was just fucking. “Heather, of all the girls here, you choose her. She’s nasty, man.” His lips turn up in disgust.
“Fuck you, Zak. When you’re pissed you pump iron, me, I like to pump pussy. So fucking what.”
“Okay, man, your funeral. But there’s a hint of desperation wafting amongst the sex scented cloud above your fucking head.”
My eyes narrow at him, and he lets out a deep laugh. “Get to the fucking point of you barging into my office.”
Zak’s laughter is quickly replaced with a scowl. “The fucker tipped off Rogers. When we arrived, the cunt had already gone.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, I’m not fucking sure, but who else would be stupid enough?”
“And let me guess, no sign of Tommy anywhere, right?” Zak nods, pulling his phone from his pocket as it pings. He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. I’m expecting a visitor who might be able to shed some light on where Tommy is. I watch as a gratified smile kicks up the corner of Zak’s mouth, and his pierced eyebrow rises with it.
“What you grinning about?”
“Oh, you know, just tormenting a certain Detective Sergeant with some hourly reminders.”
“She said anything yet?” I ask, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it up. The smoke plumes above me as I exhale, and I’m reminded of a time when things were simpler.
“Not even a fuck you for the last few hours.”
