I give a small laugh. “Yes. You?”
“No, I never really knew what I wanted to do. Bounced from job to job, looking for the right one.”
“You think this is the one?”
He tilts his head to the side and looks out the window. “I dunno, but I get a gun and that is definitely better than anything I’ve done before.” He laughs.
Heading down the strip, the traffic comes to a stop, letting pedestrians walk.
“You sure this way is quicker?”
“Oh, yeah. Going around would have added an hour.”
“Damn,” he whispers.
Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I skim the nearby businesses. I spot Sin Casino, and none other than Zeek himself is standing out front with some of his men. He laughs at one of his guys, his face giving off a youthful look that I doubt many would see under his tattoos and leather. His eyes catch mine before doing a double-take, his smile turning into a tight-lipped smirk as he squints. My stomach falls, and my hands grip the steering wheel. He lowers his head, his stare dropping from mine, but not for long. As if he can’t help but look back, his eyes find mine again and I feel like my heart stops beating.
“Go!” Shaking my head, I hit the accelerator a little too hard, making the tires screech as we’re thrust forward.
“Jesus!” Chewie curses, his hands clutching the dash.
“Sorry,” I whisper, my cheeks feeling warm.
“The Sin City Outlaws,” Chewie whispers.
“What? What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?” I ramble. After he doesn’t answer me, I look over at him, finding him smiling big.
“What?”
“Please, I saw you. Hell, everyone saw you.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I inhale sharply, trying to get ahold of my racing heart.
“Yeah, okay, let’s play dumb,” he mutters. “You do know they’re criminals, right? Blood-spilling animals?”
I ignore him, looking at the GPS. “Looks like we’re about fifteen minutes away.”
He sits back in his seat and drops it, and my fingers finally let up on the steering wheel.
Pulling up to the location, I spot a big three-story house with white pillars out front.
“5paul69, please move me to Prairie Drive.”
“Affirmative.”
Stepping out of the car, I draw my weapon. Walking up to the front of the house, I look at the door and windows and see nothing.
“Let’s head to the back,” I whisper. Chewie gives a nod and we start in that direction. A loud crash sounds from inside the house and I grip my weapon tightly.
“Oh, fuck, someone’s in there!” Chewie whispers loudly.
“Shh!”
Getting in stance, I slowly make my way around the corner and find the back door busted in, as if someone kicked it.
Taking a quick breath, I turn the corner and find someone dressed in black, complete with black ski mask, and bat in hand.
“Sheriff’s department, get on the ground!” I shout, my weapon aimed. The person slowly raises their arms, their back turned toward Chewie and me. Stepping forward, he gets his cuffs out but the person quickly turns, ramming the bat right into Chewie’s gut. He grunts loudly and falls to the ground as the person takes off up the stairs.
“5paul69, send backup. Deputy down!” I call in from the portable radio setting on my shoulder.
Jumping over Chewie, I race up the stairs. Just as I reach the top step, a man growls and a bat swings my way. I quickly duck and grab the end of the bat, slamming the end into his chest. He falls on his back and I tackle him, fishing out his wrists.
He tries to pull from me, so I dig my knee into his back.
“Stop resisting!” I order.
“Ouch, I have a bad back!” he cries. Finally getting one of his wrists, I pull my cuffs out of my belt and cuff him.
“Oh, good, you got him,” Chewie huffs, finally making it up the last few steps.
“How in the hell did you pass the academy?” I question, out of breath.
“Really? The man had a bat!” he hollers, gesturing toward the weapon.
Shaking my head, I reach for my radio. “5paul69, situation stable.”
Seconds later, sirens blare up the driveway as I haul the man down the stairs and out the door.
Slamming the guy against the hood of my car, I start patting him down.
“Fuck your car is hot!” he cries, trying to move off the hood.
“You got any more weapons?” I question, finding his wallet.
“No.” He shakes his head.
“Harold Whitney. Age thirty-four, six feet, one inch,” I read off his driver’s license.
Chewie takes the ID and grabs Harold, reading him his rights.
Adrenaline is racing through me and I feel like I’m flying, like I can do anything. I just took down a criminal. Me!
FOUR
JILLIAN
“Oh, my God, I look stupid,” I whisper, pulling on my jeans. Alessandra looks great in a small black dress and red heels. Hell, she looks good in anything. I, on the other hand, can’t wear anything. Sure, it looks great on the mannequin, but as soon I get it home, it never looks right.