Dirty enough to fit right in.
Going to look so pretty wearing my teeth marks over that badge.
Twenty minutes later I’ve summoned my pack to the table and detonated the cereal-aisle confession right in their faces.
“A cop?” Orion growls, cracking his knuckles.
“We end him now,” Callum says, like it’s item three on today’s to-do list.
Elliot lifts one finger. “We’re already balls-deep in Oksana and Dmitry. Adding law enforcement is a whole new tax bracket of fucked.”
“Name,” Callum snaps.
“Reid Calloway,” I say, tasting it. “Dirty as they come.”
Callum freezes.
Then barks a laugh that could strip paint.
“Reid fucking Calloway? Yeah, I know him. For the right envelope he’ll make a body cam catch amnesia and an evidence locker sprout legs.”
Orion’s eyes narrow. “So you’re already on a Christmas-card basis with the new guy?”
I can’t help it, I laugh, low and filthy.
“So he’s useful,” I purr.
“Hard-ass with a hero complex,” Callum says, grinning like a shark. “Picture my moral code, Orion’s trigger finger, and Elliot’s patience on a day he’s medicated.”
Noah pouts dramatically. “So nothing like me?”
“You’ve got Sweet Boy Vitaly for the sunshine-and-rainbows slot,” Callum says, leaning over to smack a loud kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Let the adults have their corrupt cop fantasy.”
Noah shoves him off, cheeks pink. “So is Reid useful for the Oksana situation?”
“We’re handling Oksana,” Orion cuts in. “Juliet decides if the cop is housebroken. Last thing we need is him chewing the furniture or pissing on my boots. Or worse, leaving wet towels on the goddamn floor.”
I open my mouth to eviscerate him, but Elliot taps the table with his pen. Three sharp knocks that shut everyone up.
“Priorities,” he says. “One: Oksana and Dmitry stay breathing, under surveillance until we decide it’s safe to move. Two: Juliet decides if the dirty detective gets a collar or a shallow grave.”
“Hey,” I say, mock-offended. “I do not collar men.”
Four voices in perfect unison: “You absolutely fucking do.”
“It’s an Olympic event at this point,” Callum adds.
“With medals,” Noah whispers, “and breeding categories.”
I sit back, cross my legs, let the smile go full predator.
“If Reid wants in,” I say, voice honey over razor wire, “he’ll have to prove he can heel.”
Callum snorts. “And if he bites?”
I shrug, sweet as cyanide. “We crate-train.”
The table erupts.
