Page 32 of Wife Number One

“Be a good little officer and tell the chief the VP of the Slayers would like a word. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige.”

The officer put a hand on my chest to keep me moving backward. “Sure, sure, Hawk,” he said in the most condescending of tones. “I’ll get right on that. Right after I finish all the paperwork you created for me tonight, take my dinner break, wash my hair, fill my car up with gas…” He raised an eyebrow. “Get in the fucking room already, would you? No amount of your bullshit is getting you an audience with the chief tonight. You want to talk to him? Wait ’til you aren’t in fucking handcuffs and he might actually take you seriously.”

Chaos sniggered.

I shot him a death stare. “Why are you laughing? You enjoy strip searches?”

Chaos shrugged. “No. But I enjoy watching you embarrass yourself.”

I twisted so I didn’t have to see his fucking face.

In the next room we were met by another officer who grabbed my arm none too softly and shoved me to a table. The first officer did the same with Chaos, patting him down for the second time that night while explaining how the strip search would work. At the third table, a guy was already half naked, a cop checking his shirt pockets while the guy covered his bare chest with his arms like he had tits he didn’t want us to see.

His gaze landed on Chaos. “This is all your fault! I should have known better than to hire some street thug who claimed he wanted to turn over a new leaf.”

The cop pushed Chaos up against the table so he could undo his cuffs, and he let out a grunt of irritation. He swiveled his head to face the weedy, older man squawking at him.

“I was defending Carli. What did you want me to do, Simon? You should have banned those hockey dickheads years ago. They’re always trouble, and you never do anything about them.”

“Trouble!” Simon squeaked, glaring at Chaos. “They’re paying customers. You can’t just turn away paying customers. You’d know that if you had any business sense. But we both know you don’t. That’s why you’re in the back, and I’m out front.”

“Take your pants off, please, sir. Your underwear too,” Simon’s cop interrupted.

Simon’s face crumpled, like he wanted to cry at the officer’s command.

I didn’t bother hiding my laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Simon snapped at me. “You’re about to get the same treatment!” Then he turned to the cop. “This is all a misunderstanding. I wasn’t even in the room when the fight broke out. My only crime was giving that man a chance. He was a street thug, born loser before I took him in. Completely useless in the kitchen until I taught him everything I know. But look where supporting the community got me? I’m being punished for being a good person!”

Chaos stared at his boss, his voice dry with sarcastic humor. “Thanks for all your support, Simon. I’m so glad you taught me all the ins and outs of bad coffee and flipping a few fucking burger patties. It was real damn hard to learn that, so you really should pat yourself on the back.”

“You ungrateful—”

“Quit your fucking whining and drop your pants and underwear,” the cop said again.

Simon’s mouth drew into a thin line as he took off his clothes. “You’re fired, Hayden. So fucking fired! I don’t care how damn attractive you are, having a bit of eye candy around isn’t worth all of this.” He lowered his pants to his ankles, his underwear following. He glared at Chaos, anger heaving his chest.

Like he didn’t give a flying fuck, Chaos did the same. He pulled off his grease- and blood-spattered T-shirt, quickly following up by removing the dirty black jeans and a pair of tight black boxer briefs.

Chaos’s dick was fucking huge. It hung halfway down his thigh, dark hair thatched beneath the thick base.

I burst out laughing at the comparison to Simon’s shriveled pecker. It was the nicest way I could describe it. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

I meant for Simon, but Chaos clearly didn’t take it that way. I saw the flash of something in his eye before he turned around, letting the officer run his gloved hands all over his body.

The cop traced every line and ridge. His fingers trailed over Chaos’s biceps and down his back rippling with strong muscle. He had a lot of tattoos, probably at least as many as I had. But beneath them, scars. So many of them. I searched out each and every one. I knew where they all were because it had been me who’d stitched the asshole back together after he’d been left for dead on the side of the road all those years ago. I knew every inch of his body because I’d been the one who’d washed the gravel out of every cut. I’d been the one who’d taken the bullet out of his upper chest and sewn it back together. And then with the limited knowledge I had, somehow kept him from getting an infection. He had an ugly keloid scar, but fuck, I’d done all right considering I had nothing more than a high school education.

We hadn’t exactly been planning on keeping the prick alive. My instructions had been to fix him up so we could get the info we needed from him. Not to become a plastic surgeon.

But that gunshot wound was one that would have killed him if it had been an inch lower.

This prick fucking owed me everything. Even if I hadn’t exactly had his best interests at heart.

The cop groped between Chaos’s legs before running a hand along the seam of his ass.

Chaos’s eye caught mine.

I looked away before he could say a fucking word.

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