Pushing past him, I glare at all of them.
“Oh, come on, Adams, you know you don’t have to be a bitch just because I turned you down. You know more than anyone that rules are rules.”
I stop in my tracks and look over my shoulder. That is not how that played out and he knows it. Everyone seems to look away, not wanting to witness what is about to happen.
I want to punch him. I want to manhandle his ass.
“Right,” I mutter, my anger flowing through me like wildfire.
Hazing. Who knew a fucking sheriff’s department would have it.
I get in my squad car, my breathing harsh and violent, my hands aching to hurt something or someone. I’m so sick of being called a little girl, mocked for doing my job.
***
The sun is hot, and the calls have been coming in left and right. At least I don’t have a partner anymore.
“5Paul69, we got a call about a disturbance. Caller said she heard yelling, possible gunshots.”
“5Paul69, copy that. Send me the address.”
“5Paul69, affirmative.”
Glancing at my MDT, I look the address over and my eyes widen. It’s the place the party was at the other night. Shit!
Flipping on my lights, I turn my cruiser around and fly that way.
“5Paul69, do you have any other information?”
“Caller said she saw a couple of motorcycles, but wasn’t sure if they were passing by or leaving the premises.” Fuck. Fuck!
“5Paul69, copy.”
I hit my siren, trying to get traffic to clear. The traffic so thick my car is practically crawling. Once I’m outside the city limits, I shove my foot to the floor, reaching 135mph trying to get there. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there, though. What if Zeek is there? I shake my head and lift my shoulders. If he’s there, and he's a suspect, I will take him into custody.
The house comes within sight, a couple of old pickup trucks sitting in the driveway. I race into the yard and slam the car into park.
“5Paul69, I'm at the disturbance call, if you’ll move me.”
“Affirmative.”
I get out and secure my car, drawing my weapon, before heading toward the front door. Glancing in the cab of the truck, I check around the corner to make sure nobody is around. Never know if someone's hiding, and I have to be prepared. Stepping up to the front door, it’s barely hanging on by the hinges. Shit!
I hit the door with my boot, and it slowly opens. Taking a deep breath, I swing around the door frame, weapon aimed.
“Sheriff’s department!”
It’s quiet, and I see no one. Stepping in a little further, I look around the house, but I don’t find anyone.
“Well shit,” I mutter, my feet coming to a rest. Noticing my stance is off-level, I look down, finding the carpet ripped up, like someone recently cut it out. Little strings and frays of carpet are everywhere.
Hunching down, I inspect it, looking at what could have possibly been there. Did it happen at the party and they took it out? Or did the Sin City Outlaws return for payback, and this is them removing evidence?
“5Paul69, situation is stable,” I inform.
“5Paul69, affirmative.”
Bikes, the lady said she saw some bikes. Racing out of the house, I get back in the cruiser and drive the opposite way I came in.
My heart is racing, and my hands grip the steering wheel tightly. Driving the same road for ten minutes, I begin to call defeat when I spot a couple motorcycles in the distance.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, butterflies swimming in my stomach.
“Should I do this?” I murmur to myself. A part of me wants to turn the other way and say I saw nothing, and that has me disturbed. Why would a morsel of my soul want to do that? Digging deep, I know why, though. It's because no matter how I try to play it, Zeek got to me.
“You’re a sheriff. Get it together!” I scold myself. Zeek is the enemy, and I’ve already betrayed my department by yearning after him. I need to do this, even if it’s to prove to myself that I’m not a traitor. To remind myself that Zeek is an outlaw.
Turning my lights on, I race forward, determined to push out my second-guessing and show the whole department I am not some little girl. Some rookie who's insufficient at doing her job. No, no more petty crimes for me; if I can take down an Outlaw successfully, everyone at the department will stop looking at me like Daddy's little girl. The bikes brake lights all shine, and they pull over to the shoulder.
“5Paul69, making a traffic stop,” I inform, getting out of the car.
The men on the bikes turn off their engines and drop their kickstands. My hand on my weapon, I pass them all, heading right to the culprit.