Page 6 of Savage Lover

The cop shines his light on Vic instead, illuminating his bloodshot eyes and puke-spattered shirt.

“Step out of the car,” the officer says to Vic.

“Is this really—”

“Out of the car!” he barks again.

Vic opens his door and stumbles out, trying to avoid the vomit. His foot catches on his backpack, pulling it out into the street as well.

The officer makes him stand with his hands on the roof of my car.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” he says as he pats Vic down.

“Uh-uh,” my brother says, shaking his head.

I’ve gotten out of the car too, though I’m staying on my side.

“I’ll just take him home, Officer,” I say.

The cop pauses, his hand on the outside of Vic’s leg.

“What’s in your pocket, kid?” he says.

“Nothing,” Vic says stupidly.

The cop reaches into Vic’s jeans and pulls out a little baggy. My stomach sinks down to my toes. There are two pills in the bag.

“What’s this?” the cop says.

“I dunno,” Vic says. “It’s not mine.”

“Stay right where you are,” the cop orders. He picks up Vic’s backpack and starts rooting around in it. A minute later he pulls out a sandwich bag full of at least a hundred identical pills.

“Let me guess,” he says. “These aren’t yours either.”

Before Vic can reply, I blurt, “They’re mine!”

Shit, shit, shit. What am I doing!?

The officer looks up at me, eyebrow raised. He’s tall and fit, with a square jaw and bright blue eyes.

“Are you sure about that?” he says quietly. “This is a lot of product. A lot more than personal use. You’re looking at possession with intent to distribute.”

I’m sweating and my heart is racing. This is a huge fucking problem. But it’s going to be my problem, not Vic’s. I can’t let him destroy his life like this.

“It’s mine,” I say firmly. “All of it’s mine.”

Vic is staring back and forth between me and the cop, so inebriated and so scared that he has no idea what to do. I look him in the eye and give him the tiniest shake of my head—telling him to keep his mouth shut.

“Get back in the car, kid,” the cop says to Vic.

Vic climbs back in the passenger seat. The officer closes the door, shutting him inside. Then he turns his attention on me.

“What’s your name, Miss?” he says.

“Camille Rivera,” I say, swallowing hard.

“Officer Schultz,” he says, pointing at his badge. “Come here, Camille.”

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