Love and Law Page 4

  I AM IN OVER MY fucking head. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m fucking holding hands with a drug dealer! I have to keep telling myself that it’s all part of the act. There’s no way my heart pounds when this man gets close to me with his sexy scent. No fucking way there are butterflies dancing away happily in my belly. Nope. All an act.

  “What’s your name?” he asks in the low voice that makes my pelvis ache. Shit.

  “Kerry,” I lie, using the lookalike actress’s name. “You can call me Braids.” Kerry? Braids? I’m on a fucking roll. If Jake were here, he’d be laughing his stupid ass off.

  Pac turns to look at me with one eyebrow raised. That eyebrow is not sexy. Not sexy at all. “What did I tell you about lying, baby girl?”

  My heart slams against my chest for some reason, and I have the urge to stupidly tell him my real name. Thankfully, common sense takes over and I try to smooth out my mishap.

  “I’m not lying. You don’t like Braids?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.

  “It doesn’t suit you, for one. And it also doesn’t sound like a very good street name. I think you should go by Mack since that’s where I found you.” His lips brush against the upper part of my ear as we walk, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ll still call you baby girl until you tell me your real name. And when you do, it’ll be our little secret. I’ll need to know what to call you when I’m balls-deep inside of your sweet pussy.”

  Officially can’t breathe. This man—this drug dealer—thinks he can seduce me right into bed. The Detroit police department doesn’t pay me enough to go that undercover.

  He turns between two buildings and walks me down an alleyway. I nonchalantly notice my surroundings, taking mental notes as well as one can get without being obvious.

  “First of all, Pac, I think Mack is a boy’s name. And second of all, you’ll be getting nowhere near this pussy. I’m gay. I love women,” I lie.

  This time, he snaps his head over and glares at me. We’ve stopped walking, and his friend bumps into me before hastily making his way around us and into a door, leaving us alone. My pulse quickens as I realize that he caught me in another lie and he looks pissed. I don’t care though. I’m going to see this one through. I’ll convince him.

  He advances on me, causing me to stumble backwards until I bump into the wall with my ass. “You’re not gay. You’re a liar.”

  God, he can see right through me. I need to step up my game.

  “I have a girlfriend,” I tell him defiantly.

  He slides a large hand up my neck and he drags his thumb along my jaw. Breathing has become quite difficult.

  “If you have a girlfriend, then why are you so turned on? Your pulse is pounding against my palm. I know you aren’t afraid of me, which means you’re enjoying my touch.”

  His self-assured manner pisses me off, but he’s right. Everything about him drips sex, and I’ve been long deprived. I want this man, but obviously I can’t have him.

  “I should leave. This isn’t going to work out,” I mumble. If I could pull away, I would, but this man muddles my brain.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, dipping his head close to mine.

  He smells so good that I can’t help closing my eyes and inhaling him, taking in his soapy scent. My entire body is so hyperaware of him that, when he steps closer and presses his chest against mine, my knees nearly buckle underneath me.

  His other hand grabs ahold of my ass and he pulls me against his very thick erection. “I’ve got you, baby girl,” he says in such a low, quiet voice that I almost don’t even hear him. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest, warring between right and wrong. At the moment, wrong is winning by a long shot.

  Soft lips meet mine, at first unsure, but when I part them open, the kiss becomes more demanding. His tongue thrusts into my mouth, and I greedily taste him. The hand at my neck slides down my throat and along my chest. He cups my breast, and it’s in this moment that I know the butterflies in my belly are real—and that scares the hell out of me.

  “Stop,” I breathe out between kisses. My body is telling my mouth to shut the hell up and go with it. Thankfully, my brain is against the idea as well.

  “No.”

  More kisses. More touching. More grinding. God, I want this man.

  “Pac, please,” I try again.

  This time, he breaks away and rubs his nose against mine before resting his forehead against my own. “Not gay.”

  I bite my lip to try and hide my smile to no avail. “Not gay,” I admit with a giggle.

  He grins at me and pecks my lips again. His eyes darken and he becomes serious.

  “I can sniff out lies, baby girl. I’ll always find out. Just like now. I’ve been known to resort to torture to extract the truth. With you, I’d spend hours torturing your sweet pussy with my tongue. I bet after multiple times of being brought right to the brink of orgasm and then denied, you’d tell me whatever I wanted to know—deliver that shit on a silver fucking platter. Now, let’s get inside and down to business before I tear off your expensive-and-clearly-not-from-the-ghetto jeans to torture you with this tongue right here in the alleyway.”

  All I get out is a whispered, “Okay.” Something about his threat doesn’t seem horrible at all, and I feel like a crazy bitch for wanting him to do just that. But I need to snap the fuck out of it. This guy is clearly a big player in the drug scene and about to take me into his world. Here I am just wanting to pounce on him like a lioness in heat instead of doing my fucking job.

  I’m geared up and ready to focus when his hand trails down the rest of my body and cups me between my legs. Surprisingly, he pushes a finger between my legs, knowing exactly where my throbbing clit awaits.

  “I will have my tongue on this very soon.”

  With that bomb, he pulls away and stalks into the building. I stand there on weak knees, attempting to catch my breath before putting my game face on and following him inside.

  I am in so much fucking trouble. This can’t end well.

  Much to my dismay, Pac has left me sitting in the lobby of a run-down building for three hours.

  Three fucking hours.

  Whatever want or desire I had for him is completely gone now as I sit here boiling with rage. Did he forget about me? Was this some sort of test? What the fuck is going on?

  I’m about to lose my shit completely and storm out of here when Pac’s friend comes out of an office and over to me.

  “Pac found some other girls and we’re about to start your training. Want some water or something?” he asks.

  “No, asshole! I don’t want fucking water! How about fucking dinner? Why did you guys leave me here for so long? Where’s Pac?” I demand, standing to face him. He’s well over six foot, but in my moment of rage, I’m pretty sure I can deck him. I’ve taken down Jake plenty of times and he’s about the same size.

  “Cool your shit, woman! We’ll grab some food shortly. Pac wanted to train everyone at once. You better lose the attitude or you’ll piss him off,” he says nervously, looking over his shoulder.

  “Does it look like I give a fuck? I don’t know what kind of operation you’re running around her, but it is a fucked-up one. Seriously, I’m out,” I snap and burst toward the door.

  Pac’s friend stomps after me, and I’m almost to the door when he grabs ahold of my arm. I try to jerk away, but he grips me too tightly.

  “CJ, get your hands off of her!” Pac’s voice booms across the room, causing both CJ and me to jump.

  “Shit, boss. I was just trying to stop Shorty here from leaving. I’m sorry,” he says quickly, backing away from me.

  Within moments, Pac has crossed the room and is now inches from me. I’m still furious at him for leaving me, and I have to physically force myself to not inhale his delicious scent. They could bottle up that soapy, musky, manly scent and I’d pay too damn much for it like a fucking coke addict would for a line of the really good shit.

  “Where are you
going, baby girl?” he demands in a soft yet authoritative voice.

  “I’m out, Pac. This is bullshit.”

  His hands latch onto my hips and pull me to him, making me to yelp out in surprise.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss at him.

  Ignoring me, he dips down and puts his lips close to my ear. “I had to gather some troops. I’m sorry I made you wait for me. I’ll make it up later,” he whispers into my ear before sucking my earlobe into his mouth. All ferocity and anger are gone as I melt to his touch, my hands greedily snaking around his back.

  What is wrong with me? I have zero self-control around this man—who I’ve only know a few hours. A fucking drug dealer, no less. I’m about to pull away when his lips trail down my neck and he gently sucks on it.

  “Oh!” I gasp. Sliding my hands into his back pockets, I squeeze his hard, muscled ass.

  This time, he sucks harder and I moan embarrassingly loud. His cock is hard and straining to escape his jeans. I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I want him right now in my life.

  CJ clears his throat to get his attention. “Ahem.”

  Pac goes from sexual to furious in seconds. “CJ,” he growls, whipping his head over to him. The break gives me a moment to clear my head, and I slip my hands out of his pockets.

  CJ doesn’t speak, only nods his head to the other side of the room, where three real ghetto girls stand.

  “Shit!” I groan and stumble away from Pac.

  Two girls look harmless, but the one with short hair plastered to her head looks like she wants to scratch my eyeballs out. By the way she is glowering at me, I can see that things won’t go well with this bitch.

  Pac seems to go into business mode, and I hurry away from him to the other girls.

  “Sleeping with the boss? Way to make your place,” the bitch mutters under her breath.

  I ignore her, happily knowing that, no matter how ghetto she is, I’m the one with police training and could easily kick her ass. An ass kicking seems to be in the forecast. Hers, not mine.

  Pac saunters over to us, and I try to look up at his face—not the tight, white wife-beater tank and low-slung jeans that make him look like a sexy gangster. Even his stupid, big, white K-Swiss tennis shoes look hot on him. My gaze lands once more on his ripped chest before coming back to his eyes as he stops before us. Of course he watched me blatantly check him out, and he winks at me with a smug-ass grin.

  “Ladies, welcome to O Town. My boss, now your boss too, is the smartest, most successful dealer in Detroit. We recruit only the best. I’ll show you all how we do things. If you can’t hang with us, you’re out. We only have a few rules here: Be smart. Make money. And don’t lie. Most people get tripped up on the first rule and get kicked out. A few of you will have trouble with the third rule,” he says, casting a look in my direction. “But given our formula for success, you will make money. We do things differently than all the rest, which is why none of our asses are sitting in jail. Are you ready to live the dream?”

  Who the fuck is he? He makes dealing drugs sound like we’ve just landed a job at a Fortune 500 company. I’m suddenly furious at how ridiculous his spiel sounds. It’s a crime—they’re not lucky winners of an all-expenses-paid vacation to Disneyland.

  The girls beside me chatter excitedly. I can’t help but glare at Pac. Seriously. He’s pulling in these young women to deal drugs. If—no, when—they get caught, they’ll do time in prison. But he makes it sound like a fucking career choice straight out of college. My sanity gains purchase and reminds me that I’m a cop. Not some drug lord groupie.

  I don’t miss the slightly confused look on his face when his gaze meets mine. I’m livid, and if laser beams could shoot from my eyes, they’d be doing just that right now. He continues to go through his speech of territories, enemies, selling prices, and tactics, but I’m only half listening. I don’t plan to get too far into that part of my undercover job. I’ll get right to the source and quick, taking down the whole fucking operation. That’s my style. I go in guns blazing.

  “Okay, ladies. Now that I’ve told you how things work, CJ and I will show you where you can stay. We take care of our employees until they can get on their feet. Follow me,” he instructs and makes his way through a doorway.

  We all trail behind him through a narrow hallway, passing many doors before we reach one. He pops open the door and turns on the light, revealing two bunk beds in an office-turned-bedroom. Not exactly the Ritz Carlton.

  “Bunk beds!” one of the girls squeals, running to one and hopping onto the top bunk. Her excitement sickens me as I think of how young she may be, already being dragged into such a toxic world.

  The other girl hurries to the bottom bunk below and sits down. Shit, now I’m left to share a bunk with Bitch Face.

  “The office next door has a refrigerator and microwave. That room is stocked with everything you could need, so please help yourself. Get some rest, because, tomorrow, we get to work,” Pac orders, retreating from the room.

  And in a confusing shift of mood, I suddenly don’t want him to leave me. “Where are you going?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  “Clingy cunt,” Bitch Face mutters out before stomping over to the free bottom bunk.

  Pac narrows his eyes at me. I can tell that he knows I’m not happy with him or these living arrangements, but he doesn’t question my hot-and-cold attitude.

  “Out,” he replies coolly before storming out of the room.

  I’m fucking hurt and I hate myself for feeling that way.

  “SMELLS GOOD, GRAMMY!” I PRAISE, walking in the front door.

  “Pooh Bear!” she calls out from the kitchen. “It’s almost ready. I’m running a bit behind. Lynetta called and tied me up a little longer than I wanted. Damn gossip just wanted to talk about everyone down at the church.”

  The house smells amazing—just like always when she makes my favorite meal.

  “Okay. I’ll be in the basement until it’s ready,” I holler back. I toss my keys and phone on the table in the entryway and bound down the stairs.

  I’ve got so much pent-up sexual frustration from dealing with Kerry or Braids or whoever the fuck she is that I need to release some energy. I’ll throw myself into a project to get my mind off of her.

  The chest material sits in a pile beside my workbench, but I’m not interested in that right now. I want to create a piece that represents her—strong, yet beautiful. So much for working to get her off my mind. I try not to think about her as I kneel down and begin digging through some unique pieces of wood I’ve collected recently.

  Dad was always one for collecting random pieces of wood because “sometimes a project will just speak to you” and you’ll have something beautiful and unique to work with. I select a piece of mahogany that looks dark, mysterious, and resilient—just like her—and set to sanding it down.

  “Dad, what will you do with this ugly piece of wood? Want me to throw it in the scrap pile?” I ask, turning the weathered piece over and over in my hands. It looks ugly.

  Dad smiles and walks over to me. He pulls the piece away and studies it proudly. “No, son. I picked this piece out for a reason. There’s potential here.”

  I scrunch up my nose and look at him confused. “How? Who would want it?”

  “I’m going to make your momma something special with this piece. It’s just the perfect size to make a jewelry box. Do you think your momma would like that?” he asks.

  To be nice, even though I think she’ll hate it, I nod. He laughs and sets to work on the piece. A couple of hours later, he’s built a beautiful top and bottom for a box. I watch him with curiosity as he adds hinges and a latch. He walks over to his cabinet and pulls out a scrap of pink felt.

  Carefully, he cuts the felt to perfectly fit inside the box. It is small but beautiful—just like he knew it would be.

  “Dad, she’ll love it!” I praise. My dad is so creative. I want to be just like him when I grow up.

 
“That she will, son. Now you know why I look for those special pieces. I hope you’ll see the beauty now in something that others would normally look over.”

  I nod my head, knowing that I will never look at a scrap piece the same again. In fact, I’m excited to look in our backyard for anything workable. Dad already said that he thinks I’m grown enough to show me how to use the saw. I’ll find something to make for Momma and Grammy.

  “Now go and wash up. Grammy and Momma are making our favorite dinner!” he laughs and tickles my sides. I giggle all the way up the stairs as Dad, my hero, chases behind me.

  “Pooh Bear, supper’s ready!” Grammy shouts from the top of the stairs, yanking me from my happy memories. I’ve managed to sand down the piece of mahogany to my liking in the short amount of time I was down here.

  “Be right up!” I yell and set the project down.

  Bounding up the stairs, I’m met with the delicious aromas of Grammy’s home cooking and my stomach grumbles loudly. When I walk into the kitchen, I nearly groan out loud in delight. She’s got quite the spread tonight. The table is full of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and homemade gravy, green beans, and buttermilk biscuits. Grammy’s already piled my plate high and has it sitting on my placemat, waiting for me. I’m totally spoiled by this woman.

  “You outdid yourself tonight!” I compliment as I sit down to dive right in. I’m already picking up a hot piece of chicken when she stops me.

  “No, sir! We didn’t say our blessings yet,” she admonishes, sitting down beside me.

  I freeze mid-bite and set down my chicken breast. My mouth is watering, but you don’t cross Grammy—not when she’s just made your favorite meal. I know there’s a big piece of chocolate cake waiting for me, and if I piss her off, I’ll be watching her eat it alone.

  She bows her head and begins her prayer. “Dear Lord, we thank you for your many blessings. Thank you for giving our dear Benjamin a career that provides for us, oh Lord. He’s got his daddy’s woodworking skills, and we thank you that he’s not on the street like so many from this area are. And thank you, sweet Jesus, for giving me such good health in my old age. Eighty-four years old and I’m still doing better than that old cooter, Lynetta—damn gossip! Oh, forgive me, Lord, for cursing, but you know how much she drives me crazy. And finally, I pray you find my sweet Pooh Bear a good woman with childbearing hips that will give me plenty of great-grandbabies. In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen,” she says.