Page 29 of Havoc

“I had my phone turned off,” I replied, clutching my purse tighter, my fingers trembling.

“Yeah,” he snapped. “I noticed. You look like you’re doing the walk of shame. Is that what this is? You screw some biker and come crawling home at dawn?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. His words were invasive, humiliating—and completely out of line.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I managed to say. “Not like this. Not in uniform. You’re not even on duty, are you?”

He gave a dark little chuckle. “Does it matter? I do what I want. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I was in the area and saw you coming home at a weird hour. Just making sure you were safe.” He leaned in. “They’ll probably give me a damn medal for being such a conscientious officer.”

My stomach churned. That wasn’t concern. That was control. He was telling me, point-blank, that he could get away with anything.

“I don’t need you to check on me. This feels like stalking.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. His face twisted into something dark. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he hissed. “I won’t let some little tramp smear my good name.”

My breath caught in my throat. “What? Why are you saying these things to me?”

“I saw you,” he growled, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me closer. “I saw you with that filthy biker. Holding onto him like he owned you.”

“You don’t know that was me,” I stammered. “I was wearing a helmet—”

“I know it was you!” he shouted, shaking me. His fingers dug painfully into my skin.

I gasped and tried to pull back. “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“Not as much as he will. You don’t know what you’re doing, Riley. You think those bikers care about you? They’ll use you up and toss you aside. That what you want? You want to be their club toy?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I said, voice shaking. “We’re not together. We never were.”

“That’s where you fucked up,” he snapped. “You could’ve had me. I gave you plenty of chances.”

I managed to wrench my arm away, but he stepped in again, backing me up against my car. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, desperation rising like a tide. “What do you want from me?”

He leaned in, the stench of sweat and stale alcohol hitting me like a punch. “Maybe I just want a little taste of what that biker got.”

His hand reached for my neckline. I screamed as he yanked, fabric tearing, exposing the top of my bra. My hand flew up to cover myself, my voice cracking.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

“You belong with me, not him. You’re not stupid—you know you’d never have a decent life with some outlaw lowlife.”

“Let me go,” I whispered. “Please.”

He grabbed my shirt again. “I think it’s time I take you in for questioning. Make you tell me everything you know about the Dark Slayers. Just you and me. No witnesses. No cameras. No rules.”

Tears stung the backs of my eyes. “Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair, jerking my head back until I was forced to meet his eyes. And what I saw there terrified me.

“I like redheads,” he said, his voice low and twisted. “They’re hypersexual. Once I get them going, they just want to wallow on my cock for days.”

I was almost shocked beyond my ability to respond to his crude words. I stammered, “We’ve never dated. We’re not even friends. Am I just some random redhead to you?”

His eyes narrowed as they dropped to my cleavage. “When we danced at the club, I could tell you were into me,” he said, voice lowering. “In case you’re wondering, the ass grab was the giveaway. The way you reacted made me want you. I like women who play hard to get. Makes the sex all the more passionate.”

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “You’re crazy. Everything you just said is crazy talk.”

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