It’s the nickname we’ve given to the asshole guys majoring in Criminal Justice. You’d think that as future law enforcement officers, they’d be more gentlemanly. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. They are rude, obnoxious, and conceited. Especially Dean Lancaster. I don’t know what I did to deserve his special brand of torture. But he picked me as his target when we started college last year and hasn’t let a chance to bully me pass him by since.
I glance their way and instantly regret it when I see the smirk on Dean’s face as he and one of his friends break away from the group to strut across the quad toward us. I hate to admit that my heart races every time he looks at me that way—and not just from the fear of his next attack. I’d have to be blind not to see how sexy he is with his dark shaggy hair and wide shoulders.
His smile widens, like he can read my thoughts. It’s not a friendly smile. It’s sinister, and I know that whatever comes out of his mouth will make me hate myself for noticing how impossibly soft his lips look. Because his words are sure to be the opposite.
“Look, Mac.” Dean waves his hand toward Sheila and me dramatically. “It’s the Dancing Dollies.”
Riley MacMillan laughs as he steps up to the cart to order while Dean makes his way over to me. Riley is like the sidekick of the villain. He’s not nearly as cruel as Dean, but he has no problem laughing at my expense when his counterpart makes a fool out of me.
“Those tights are looking awfullytight,Sly,” Dean whispers in my ear before letting out a dark chuckle when I jump away from his proximity.
Damn it,I silently scold myself. I know better than to react to him. He’s like a shark smelling blood in the water. Now, he’s sure to be on the attack. Despite knowing it will only make it worse, I square my shoulders and turn to face him.
“My name isSloan.” I force myself to look him in the eye as I spell my name. “S.L.O.A.N. Not Stallone. Not Sylvester. NOT Sly.”
Somehow, when he heard my name last year, he connectedSloanto SylvesterStallone.He’s called me Sly ever since and I hate to admit how much I like it.
“You’re sassy today,” he says before snatching up my latte as soon as the barista calls my name. He holds it up like he’s offering me a toast. “I’ll save you from the risk of splitting the seam on your pants. See ya soon…Sly.”
I watch as he lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip before spitting it right back out. I laugh as I follow Sheila toward the musical arts building. Losing my unsweetened soy latte was worth it to see the look on Dean’s face.
“Just so you know…you won’t get sugar from me by stealing my coffee, Dick,” I shout over my shoulder.
I twist and turn in front of the mirror as soon as we step into our contemporary dance class, looking for the fat Dean was hinting at before letting out a sigh when I realize that my pants aren’t any tighter than normal. Dean just knows the right buttons to push.
CHAPTER TWO
Dean
Iwatch my tiny dancer from where I’m parked across the street. She looks around when she pulls out the envelope I left in the mail slot, but I know she won’t see me. I’m the last person she would expect to see in Thorngrove. I’m the last person she’d expect to come for her.
I treated her like absolute shit when we attended the same college in Cherokee Falls. It wasn’t how I wanted to treat her—most of the time—but it was the only way to keep her safe. Because even then, I knew that my life was going to take a dangerous turn.
I have a knack for making people see whatever version of myself I want them to see. It’s why I knew I’d be specializing in Undercover Operations when I graduated and joined the Cherokee Falls Police Department. I could have joined a federalagency and taken my career further. But I tend to straddle the line of being a cop and the criminal my cultivated persona has become.
I take full advantage of living the life of a crook while knowing I’m safe from prosecution since it falls under the clause of maintaining my cover. The real danger is the possibility that one of my nefarious associates could discover that I’m a cop. I like punishing the bad guys…thereallybad guys. But if any of them ever find out that I’m the reason they were busted, I’m a dead man.
One of them came close last year. Victor, the president of the Hell Hounds—a notorious motorcycle club—overheard a phone conversation with my captain when I was standing outside their clubhouse. Thankfully, I spotted him before he heard too much, and I was able to spin it as a deal for guns to supply his club. It was stupid. The Hell Hounds don’t have any code of honor. If I hadn’t been so quick on my feet, I’d have met the reaper that night. For the first time in years, I questioned my life choices.
I thought about the man I’d become and the man I could be. The man I would be if I’d done things differently in college. I’ve never wanted a suburban life as a family man with a wife and two point five kids. But I did want—Idowant—to know what a certain dancer looks like when she dances just for me. Sloan is just wild enough to handle my life the way I live it, and I can’t wait to make her see that she’s always been mine.
So, when I got the call from the new Captain of the Thorngrove Sheriff’s Department’s Southside Division, offering me a position as the head of their undercover operations, I agreed to an interview. I was shocked when I walked in and saw that the Lead Detective had the same face as my dancer. What surprised me even more was the recognition on her face when she saw me. Because even though I know she is Sloan’s littlesister, Becky, due to my obsession with her sister, there is no reason for her to know who I am.
I’ve kept detailed tabs on Sloan the past five years with Mac’s help. Even though he graduated with the same degree in Criminal Justice as me, he went to the dark side before we left college. He’s a master hacker and makes a fortune working for organizations ranging from motorcycle clubs to crooked billionaire business moguls. He’s even done work for the mafia. But he’s still my closest friend. He’s the only one I trust to know me on both sides of the law. So, of course, he’s the one I trust to help me track my tiny dancer.
Six YearsEarlier
“Here come our girls.” Mac bumps my shoulder with his as we sit in the crowd at the Spring Showcase.
“Notourgirls,” I correct him. “Sloan hates me, and Sheila will never be with you if you keep running with the thugs you’ve been working for.”
“Sloan only hates you because that’s the way you want it,” he reminds me, ignoring my jab about his extracurricular hacking job. “What are you gonna do when we graduate next year and she runs back home to Thorngrove to escape you?”
“She’ll never escape me…even if I let her think she has,” I tell him seriously. “Now, shut it.”
Mac looks like he wants to say more, but he locks it down and turns his attention back to the stage as Sloan and Sheila take center stage with the rest of the junior class. Sheila is exactly what you expect a dancer to look like—tall, blonde, and slim withvery little curves. Sloan is not. She’s short with brown hair so dark it looks almost black, and thick in all the right places. It doesn’t take away from her grace on the stage, though.
She glides through the routine without a care in the world…until her eyes find me. It’s like she could feel me watching her and I get a sick satisfaction at the thought of her seeking me out. I give her a nod followed by an evil grin as she misses a step. She shakes it off and finishes the dance, looking over her shoulder at me once more before exiting the stage.
