I thought drinking and fucking would erase the smell, the feel of Rookie’s soft skin, the softness of her hair between my fingers, from my mind. It didn’t. So I put my cards on just sobering up, blaming it on the booze and wanting what I can’t have, what I shouldn’t have… But I still want her. I fucking want a deputy sheriff. I’m losing my goddamn mind.
Ever since the day I saw her, she’s been on my mind, and I can’t fucking escape her. From her brave tone to her rippling weak stance. The way she looked at me and I suddenly felt like I was kicked in the balls. I was raised to be a killer; I don’t have time to deal with bitches.
I still smell her on me, taste her innocence in my mouth. She smelled clean, like fresh laundry.
Shower. I need a shower. A cold one.
Throwing the blankets off me, I high-tail it the adjoining bathroom, turn the water on cold and step in. The water feels like razors, pelting into my back, but my dick is as painfully hard as it was last night. Grabbing the nearest shampoo, I dump a bunch in my palm and lather it up in hopes to wash her from my skin, and mind.
She’s a sheriff, fucktard, one who wants to put you behind bars. She is one of them, and would step on you in a heartbeat. In the end, I just want to fuck her, my dick is just tired of the same ol' * around here. It wants a challenge. That has to be it.
After jerking off in cold-ass water, and with the thought of Deputy Jillian Adams still lodged in my memory, I give up and get out.
I wrap a towel around my lower half, and open a drawer for a pair of clean clothes. My rosary beads shift in the back of the drawer as I shuffle through the shirts. Grabbing the beads, I let them slip between my fingers. My mother gave them to me when I was a kid.
“Zevin, wear these when you feel like you have nobody else to turn to, are backed into a corner without answers. You pray, son, you grip those beads, clutch that cross and pray for forgiveness, for the answers. Because whatever you’re thinking, whatever demon your father implanted in you, boy, will surely guide you into the flames of hell.”
A knock sounds at the door, and I slam the drawer shut along with the memories of my mother.
“Hey, brother,” Felix greets, stepping in.
“Sup?” I jut my chin out.
“You all right?” He lifts a brow in question.
“Yeah, why?”
“You came back last night, and were just hell-bent on something. I couldn’t tell if you were angry or happy, but you were off the fucking charts.”
I shrug, not really remembering much. “Just tired of wasting my time on shit deals. The Gentry boys getting pissed because we rejected their offer? That was some bullshit, and it ain’t over with!” I point at him, avoiding what's really bothering me. If I told him my head is spinning over a certain deputy, I’d have my balls cut off, my position as president of our club questioned entirely. That alone should be enough to stay away from some forbidden *.
“Yeah, that was messed-up. They knew better. How the hell are we going to make money on some farm trucks? They need to up their stealing game or something.” Felix laughs. I thought going into business with them boys, they had some high-end cars they were scrapping, but they didn’t. They had Ford trucks from the eighties, which were run to hell.
“They need to do something. That was petty.” I drop the towel and pick my clothes up from the floor, smelling them for cleanliness. They’ll do.
“Dude, can’t you wait to change until I get out of here? I’ve seen your dick more than I’ve seen mine, I swear.”
Shuffling into my boxers, I shrug. “That’s because mine's so big it overshadows yours.”
“Yeah, okay.” He chuckles. “All right, just checking on ya, brother. I’m around if ya need me, you know that, right?”
I give him an awkward look. “You going soft on me?”
“What? No, pretty sure you can ask that bitch you were screwing last night if I’m soft, brother.” He winks.
“I think we need to visit the Gentrys, show them what the hell happens when you shoot at some Outlaws,” I suggest, my hands aching to spill some blood, my chest thumping at the thought of violence. I sigh in relief—finally a familiar feeling surfacing. Violence, maybe that’s what has me so twisted. I need to spill some blood, get revenge. The rush I get from it has become an addiction. One I can satisfy easily.
“Sounds like a great idea to me. Tomorrow?” A menacing smile crosses his face, as an evil grin passes mine.
SIX
JILLIAN
A few days later
Coming out of the locker room at work, I run into Deputy Needon and some others. They all stop laughing and look my way.
“Oh, everyone stop what you’re doing. Wouldn’t want to commit a crime in front of our newest deputy,” Orlando taunts. They all laugh, and one of the girls I thought was a friend giggles loudly.
“What the hell?” I sneer.
“Oh, nothing, Rookie. Just letting our fellow deputies know that our newest little girl on the squad is hell-bent on not breaking any rules.” He points at Deputy Greg suddenly. “You better pick up that tissue, maggot, or Deputy Adams will have your head!”
Leaning my head back slightly, I purse my lips and glare at him.
“You’re such an asshole.” Everyone stops laughing, and Orlando pins me with a serious look.