Page 2 of Draven

Half-naked girls scramble to cover themselves with whatever scraps of material are close at hand, their eyes blown wide. The two Caucasians Moretti arrived with hold their hands in the air, their erect dicks quickly deflating, hanging limply between their legs.

Rick scurries down the hallway with three of his guys, busting each door open, then disappearing inside. A loud slam reaches me, and I race to the rear of the house in time to see Moretti lunging over the back fence. One of the cops is in the middle of the yard, out cold, while the other one desperately clasps at Moretti’s jacket…and misses. Moretti fires his gun wildly, then disappears.

I wrench open the back door and spill outside. “Stay with him,” I order the second cop, pointing to the prostrate body lying on the ground, a pool of blood spreading across his shoulder. “Call an ambulance.”

Sprinting across the unkempt and overgrown lawn, I throw myself over the fence, power surging through my thigh muscles as I take off after Moretti. He’s gotten a head start, but foot by foot, I cut the distance between us, reeling him in. My lungs scream for more air, and I suck in gasping breaths, pushing myself to sprint even faster.

He fires his gun over his shoulder. I duck, stumble, and my toe catches in a tree root, sending me sprawling to the ground with a thud. My face meets the thankfully damp earth. If the ground had been solid, I’d have a busted nose to go along with the agonizing twist to my ankle.

“Argh!”

I launch upright, limping after Moretti until the searing pain in my ankle eases, then I put on a spurt of speed. This bastard is not escaping. Not after all the hours of intelligence, of sitting in cars watching from the shadows, and gathering evidence so we could finally put an end to his activities. No, this time Moretti is going down.

“Your ass is mine, motherfucker.”

Slowly, with each passing second, I inch closer. Moretti glances over his shoulder to check on my whereabouts before he sets off another flurry of bullets, but that’s his mistake. He slowed down to shoot at me—a fatal error that allows me to pounce. Tackling him to the ground, I straddle his hips. He wriggles and writhes, but I’m far too heavy, so I grip the scrawny bastard’s wrists, wrench his arms behind his back, and snap on the cuffs—a memento from my time with the NYPD. I should have handed them in when I left. Then again, I’ve never been one to abide by rules.

“Don’t even breathe, asshole.”

I stand, hauling Moretti to his feet by the scruff of his neck before I spin him around. The bastard smirks at me, and those dark, shark-like eyes focus with complete disdain—the assured confidence of the type of scumbag who thinks themselves untouchable.

“Wanna take a guess on how long it’ll be before I’m out and running more girls?” Moretti twists his lips to one side in thought. “I’d give it a week. Probably less. I know people in highfalutin positions. People who’ll pull a few strings, grease a few palms, and bam! I’m out.” He throws back his head and laughs. “Must be so fulfilling to have an occupation like yours. While you’re pointlessly chasing me, I’m sticking my dick in countless hot, wet pussies while my other bitches spread their legs for my punters and earn me more money than most people see in a fucking lifetime. And you know what? They love it. The fucking whores love it.”

Rage rushes through me, Moretti’s unapologetic speech the final straw, and I headbutt him. His nose caves in. Blood spurts everywhere, and he goes down.

I peer at him. Huh. He’s out cold. Fucking sissy. While he’s on the ground, I take the opportunity to stamp the heel of my boot right into his crotch. Fucker is so out of it, he doesn’t even flinch.

“Won’t be sticking your dick in any pussies for a while now, will ya? Asshole.” I draw back my foot and kick him in the back, right where his kidneys are. “And, as an added bonus, you can enjoy pissing blood for the next two weeks.”

“Draven!” Rick appears from behind me, red-faced and panting. He takes one look at the bloodied mess lying at my feet and curses. “Terrific,” he says, sarcasm prevalent in his tone. “You any idea how much paperwork that’s gonna cost me?”

I shrug and throw my hands out to the side. “What? I found him like that.”

I expect Rick to laugh. We’ve worked together on several cases since I left the NYPD, and although Rick doesn’t cross the line like I do, he walks pretty damn close at times. Except there isn’t a flicker of amusement in his gaze. He crouches and presses two fingers to Moretti’s neck. Satisfied he’s still breathing—fucking sadly—Rick straightens.

“You gotta stop this, man. I know how hard it is, how pointless it seems at times, but this is not the way to solve the issue.”

“Fuck off, Rick,” I growl. “I left the NYPD because I’d had enough of being constrained. Of having to follow rules and procedures that meant the bad guy always had the upper hand.”

Rick gives me a look that screams bullshit. “You left because you had no choice. Because they didn’t give you a choice—not really. Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes. I mean it, Draven. Rein it in, otherwise your position as a security contractor with my force is over, and along with it your SCI clearance.”

I narrow my eyes, barely able to believe Rick’s audacity, and I plant my feet wide. “Don’t fucking threaten me, Rick.”

He sweeps a hand over his face and expels a heavy sigh. “All I’m saying is don’t pen me into a corner. Look, you’re a fantastic investigator—the best I’ve ever worked with—and the fact you’re a gigantic sonofabitch isn’t a bad thing, either. But we all have to follow the rules. Without them, we’re just as bad as the perps we put away.” Rick turns his back and mutters into his walkie-talkie, calling for an ambulance.

Pissed off with Rick as well as the piece of shit lying on the ground, I stomp off, calling over my shoulder, “I want my fucking handcuffs back!”

Chapter 2

Draven

After knocking back a glass of scotch, I tap two fingers on the bar. Once an operation ends with the bad guys locked in a cage where they belong, the team likes to go out, sink several tall glasses of beer, and get laid. In other words, they like to party hard. Me? I crave silence and solitude to help quieten the voices raging in my head.

Goddamn Rick and his holier-than-thou attitude. Sure, my methods might not be entirely legal, but Rick knows the score. I push boundaries, but I get fucking results. It’s one of the reasons Rick and I work well together. I’m not constrained by the limitations placed on serving police officers like he is. I left that shit behind me a few years ago, and I’m glad for the freedom I get in this job. The company is growing fast, and we have a team of ten investigators supporting Ciaran and me now.

But for Rick to threaten me is a step too fucking far. Moretti deserved the rough takedown. He asked for a busted nose and a heel-stamp on his undoubtedly tiny fucking dick. Sex traffickers like him merit brutal treatment. It’s language they understand, and I’m all too happy to speak in their tongue.

In the future, I’ll make damn sure there are no witnesses.

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