"I can stand."
"Sit," he repeats, harder this time. "King doesn't like people hovering in his clubhouse. Especially cops."
I sit, mostly because my legs are shaky and my pussy is clenching with every breath. The chair is worn leather, comfortable despite its age. Rookie leans against the bar across from me, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes never leaving my face.
He's so fucking handsome it hurts. Dark hair that's perpetually messy, blue eyes that see too much, a strong jaw with just enough stubble to be sexy. The bruises on his knuckles are fresh, probably from punching Hayes, and I want to kiss them. Want to run my tongue over each one and thank him for protecting me.
"Stop looking at me like that," he says suddenly.
"Like what?"
"Like you want to fuck me." His voice is rough. "Because you don't. You hate what I am."
"I don't hate what you are." The words come out before I can stop them. "I don't even know what you are."
"A criminal." He pushes off the bar, moving closer. "Someone who lives outside your precious law. Someone who'd rather punch a cop than trust the system."
The bitterness in his voice is palpable. Whatever his history with law enforcement, it runs deep. But I don't ask. Can't ask. Because we're not here to share our pasts. We're here so I can beg him to give a statement that might save my career.
"I need your help," I say. "That's all I'm asking for."
"Yeah?" His hand comes up, cupping my jaw. The touch is gentle despite the roughness of his skin. "And what do I get in return, officer?"
My pussy clenches at the word. At the way he makes it sound dirty. "What do you want?"
"Dangerous question." His thumb brushes my lower lip. "Because what I want and what you're willing to give are probably very different things."
"Try me." My voice is breathless.
His eyes darken. "I want to know what you taste like. Want to hear you scream my name. Want to fuck that virgin pussy until you forget you ever wore a badge."
Heat floods through me. "How did you—"
"I can tell." His thumb presses against my lip, parting it slightly. "The way you look at me. The way you respond. You've never been fucked, have you?"
"No," I whisper.
"Good." His hand slides into my hair, gripping gently. "Because when I fuck you, and I will fuck you, I want to be the first. Want to ruin you for anyone else."
"Bring her in." A commanding voice comes from the hallway.
Rookie pulls back, his hand dropping from my hair. Shadow gestures toward the hallway. "King's ready."
I stand on shaky legs and follow Rookie down the corridor. Shadow trails behind us, silent as a ghost. We stop at a door, and Rookie knocks once before pushing it open.
The office is surprisingly organized: desk covered with papers, filing cabinets along one wall, a leather couch against another. A tall man sits behind the desk—six-three, muscular build, dark hair with silver streaks, cold blue eyes that warm slightly when they assess me.
This is King. The president Rookie already told about what happened this morning.
"Officer Collins." King's voice is level but carries authority. "Rookie says you need help."
"Yes, sir." I step forward, trying to project confidence even though my legs are shaky and my pussy is still throbbing. "My partner Officer Hayes sexually harassed me this morning during patrol. Rookie witnessed it and intervened. Now my chief is demanding Rookie's statement or I lose my job."
"We already discussed this," King says, his eyes moving to Rookie. "I told you bringing cops into our business was a bad idea."
"She came here," Rookie says. "What was I supposed to do? Throw her out?"
"Yes." King's tone is flat. But then he looks back at me. "Though I admire her balls for tracking you down."
