Bleed Blue 69: Twenty-Five Authors…One Sexy Police Station Page 18

  Levi

  A day later I was following the woman I’d booked. Even bruised and battered, I recognized her. I’d only seen pictures, but I knew her. My orders had been simple: go undercover and scope out any corruption at Precinct 72. Then she showed up and suddenly I was calling in sick to 72 on my second day.

  “I’m doing what?” I asked.

  “72 has been implicated in corruption going back further than we have records.” Sergeant Jackson Carter pinned me with his green eyes. “They’re making the rest of us look bad. We need to fix this shit.”

  72 was notorious for their affiliation with the Pavoni crime family. The Pavonis were basically the mafia and Gabriella De Luca, the beautiful head of hair I was following, was a known associate. I’d only seen her photos in files at 69, but there was no denying her. She was one of a kind.

  I wished I was following her because she was a lead, that I thought her face, whipped rosy by the New York winter wind, would take me somewhere and crack my case wide open. As I watched her purchase an illegal gun, placing it into her thousand-dollar purse, I justified it to myself by saying it was something I could use, but deep down, I knew better. She was in my blood.

  The first time I saw her face was years ago, on a case I wasn’t assigned to. The Pavonis and the De Lucas were always showing up in one way or another. Her mournful, albeit resolute stare had lifted through the glossy picture, reached into my chest, and settled in my heart like a bullet. Still, she had been nothing but a file. A case. A number.

  Seeing her stare in flesh and bone yesterday had catalyzed me.

  So I’d followed her.

  And now I followed her out of Brooklyn and into Manhattan.

  I watched her walk into the swanky, fenced-in, private Gramercy Park—you know the one, the park you only got a key to if you had money so old Benjamin Franklin touched it or were so famous John Stewart knew you personally. Eyebrows furrowed, I watched her meet with a brunette woman. She was like every Upper-Easter I’d ever known: designer clothes, bag on her elbow worth more than a year of my salary, elegant cheekbones high in conceit. Pretending to be on my cell, I walked along the fence and watched them, trying to hear what they had to say.

  Laughter reached me and I looked over to see both of them doubled over. Abruptly I stopped, feeling like an ass. I had stalked a woman to a meeting with her friend. I was off my rocker. She was fine. I nearly put down my phone and continued on my way, but then, “There’s no way you can help, Belle. You’re more prisoner than I am…” drifted through the iron slats. Stopping again, my ears perked, but their voices hushed. I kept up the pretense of browsing on my phone, though they were hardly paying attention to anyone else.

  “Oh, is robust-Y-chromosome cop gonna help you?” The brunette’s voice carried over, snarky yet worried. I frowned. What the hell did that mean?

  Robust Y chromosome?

  Cop?

  Were they talking about me?

  I shook my head, feeling arrogant. I leaned closer, ear basically against the iron. It was foolish and dumb, throwing out all of my training, but I had to hear. What trouble was this girl in?

  “I don’t want you going back to that man.” The brunette clutched Gabriella, her eyes beseeching. “You can still run. I’ll help you!”

  More heated, hushed words were exchanged and then Gabriella shrugged her arm from the brunette. With a smile, she left the park. After she exited, the brunette looked around the park, paranoia hovering like gnats around her person. I quickly shoved my phone in my pocket and went after Gabriella.

  Gabby

  “When did you meet a cop?”

  I looked to Belle, my only friend in the world. Even though it could cost her everything, she’d agreed to meet me in the park. Wrapped up in a creamy white winter coat trimmed with even whiter fur, she was beautiful. She had long, curling brunette hair and almost unnaturally clear cornflower blue eyes. Unlike me, who’d grown up in this world, she’d been thrust into it.

  “Not long after I ‘fell’ down the stairs. I just…I couldn’t take it. Giovani was hitting me. I still hadn’t fully healed. I ran out of the house. I screamed bloody murder. I yelled that my husband was beating me. It was…it was bad. I was dumb.”

  “Gabby…” She placed a hand on my shoulder and I hardly registered the feeling, so lost in my memories, a statue in time.

  “Anyway.” I shrugged her off. “He called the cops on me.”

  “What?” she exclaimed. “But he was beating you. You lost your—”

  “He has a very robust Y chromosome…the cop does,” I cut Belle off, deflecting just as snow fell from the trees onto my head. My eyes drifted from my friend up to where little flakes of ivory snow shook off the limbs as if it was still snowing.

  Belle burst out laughing. “That is not a thing.”

  “It is too a thing!” I argued. “You know there are guys who are just like…” I paused and made fists, trying to explain. “They’re just like umph! Like they exude manliness.”

  Belle raised a brow. “Like a beard?”

  “Not necessarily…” I tried to explain. “Come on, you know the type. Like Khal Drogo—I’m talkin’ he was the Khal before he even got the part, he is that manly.”

  “Okay…” Her lips moved to the side in thought, though I knew she didn’t have to think all that hard. The Beast got his name for more than his barbarous acts. “I get what you’re saying. So the cop is that guy?”

  “Oh he is…” My words drifted as once again I got lost in thought, thinking of Bear and his sturdy, muscular arms. His deep, probing eyes. His thick, dark hair. I licked my lips, shook my head, and returned to the present. “He makes the Khal look like a little boy.”

  “Damn.”

  “That”—I pointed at her—“is the exact reaction my vagina had.” We both sat in silence for a moment, neither wanting to break the spell. Sighing, I looked at my watch. “I have to go. You have to go. Thank you for meeting me.”

  Frowning, Belle reached for me. “Wait, let me help.”

  “There’s no way you can help, Belle. You’re more prisoner than I am.”

  “I don’t want you doing this alone!” Belle exclaimed. One of her perfectly curled locks fell over her face, but she didn’t bother to push it back.

  I looked away. “I’m not totally alone.” I had a gun, which was more help than I’d ever had before or could ever hope to have.

  “Oh, is robust-Y-chromosome cop gonna help you?” she asked, snark evident.

  I frowned, folding my arms. “Well, when you put it like that…”

  “I don’t want you going back to that man,” she said. “You can still run. I’ll help you!”

  “Don’t worry.” I reached forward and pushed the stray lock behind Belle’s ear. “It will give you wrinkles, and then what will the Beast want with you? Or never mind. Worry lots.”

  “Gabby stop joking.” She grasped my arm as I turned to leave. It looked like a fairytale around us. Snow blanketed the trees and sidewalks. The fountains were turned off but covered with thin layers of crystalline ice and alabaster flakes. It was like walking into the past, where the bustling pressure of the city and twenty-first century life vanished. All that existed was us.

  I breathed in the gelid air and turned back to my friend. “I’m not joking.” This was no fairytale. Belle belonged to the Beast, the meanest man in the city—in the world, probably—and current Boss of the Pavoni crime family. When she got home, she would be raped. Abused. Used. And just like the past, she was forgotten.

  No, it certainly wasn’t a fairytale.

  I kissed my friend on the cheek, a kiss we both knew might be the last, and left the park. It was a short walk home as the De Luca family had settled around Gramercy Park. I paused just outside the building, feeling for the gun inside my Louis Vuitton clutch.

  I would do it. I would go inside and kill my husband. No more being a victim.

  “Gabriella.” I gasped at the sound of my name, spinning around.


  Levi

  “You’re that new cop—Bear. Did Giovani send you? Does he know?” She pulled the gun out, hands shaky. “If you want to take me in you’ll have to kill me first.” I held up my hands, advancing toward her with a slow step. Her aim was uncertain and unsteady. I reached into my coat and she shook harder.

  “Hold on, sweetheart,” I cooed. “I’m just getting you my card.” She frowned, but lowered her aim a bit. I pulled out my card—the real one, not the fake one they gave me to go undercover.

  So. Fucking. Dumb.

  But I gave it to her anyway. She yanked it from me and went back to her shaking. I slowly backed up then turned to walk away. As I was walking, I wondered if I should go back to 72 or 69, considering I’d just completely blown my cover.

  “Wait!” she called out. I paused at the urgency in her voice, but didn’t turn around. “If I go inside…” she whispered. “If I go inside, I’ll kill him.”

  Gabby

  “Is this where you live? I mean live live. You’re clearly an undercover cop, so is this your house or the place they set you up in?” He handed me a cup of water, gaze never straying from mine. I licked my lips as I set his business card down, trading it for the water. It read Levi Luchessi 69th Precinct—kind of a dead giveaway he wasn’t working for the 72nd. Still, I waited for him to spin a lie.

  I sat perched on his couch. Yeah. His couch. In his apartment. After taking my new gun, unloading it, and stuffing it into his waistband, he’d offered to take me anywhere else. Pizza. Starbucks. The movies. An Otters game. I said no to every single one. It wasn’t on my mind to go to his apartment, I wasn’t planning it, but then he said, “Want to go to my place?” and “Yes” jumped out of my mouth.

  It was nice, about what you’d expect for a cop in New York. It wasn’t anything like I’d grown up with. There were no opulent paintings, no rugs that cost more than people could make in five lifetimes.

  It was wonderful.

  “Yes, this is my home, the real one, not the one they set me up in,” he responded. Instead of being angry at how he lied, I felt relieved, relieved that the little bit of light I felt in him was probably true. Sitting opposite me on a chair, he pinned me with such a feral gaze I felt it in my core. I shifted, drinking water to cool down more than to hydrate.

  “Why did they give you Bear as a nickname?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “My mother was from the Seneca tribe so they thought giving me the name Red Bear would be hilarious.” I lowered the glass. I wasn’t really surprised, not because it was an okay thing to do, but because 72 was comprised of assholes like my husband.

  I suddenly felt horrible for calling him Bear in my head.

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  “I don’t really care,” he said, standing up and sitting down next to me on the couch.

  “I don’t believe that… My name is Gabby. I hate the name Gabriella.” He gave me that curious, hot stare again that made me feel stripped raw. I fiddled with the buttery hem on my jacket. I exhaled and unbuttoned it. It was too fucking hot all of a sudden, so I took it off, folding the creamy item on my lap.

  “Hot?” His voice sounded so much closer, warbled, and rough. I felt it in my marrow, vibrating against my bones. I was afraid to look up. “Gabby,” he whispered, gently tugging on my chin. My eyes met his, those deep dark chocolate pools. Just like the first time I met him: honest. “You’re safe here. Do you want me to go into the other room? You can watch whatever you want out here. I’m stocked with the necessities: chocolate, ice cream, and pickles.”

  I looked away so he couldn’t see the tear forming. Giovani never let me eat. Gotta maintain that figure, he always said. My stomach growled involuntarily.

  “You’re hungry,” he stated. “I’ll make you something. Grilled cheese? Spaghetti? Mac and cheese? All of the above?” My mouth watered just thinking about it. Some days the only thing Giovani let me eat was ice. Here was this man offering to make me three separate meals.

  It was too much, too nice.

  I swallowed and stood up quickly.

  “I think I should go.” He didn’t say a word as I walked to the door, but I felt him on me, like a solidified shadow against my back. As I reached the door, I pressed my palm to the wood, pausing, feeling his breath.

  I spun around and he was there.

  So close.

  His warm, fresh breath caressed my lips.

  “I’ll walk you to a cab.” His voice was husky, the words sounding caught in his throat. I nodded, but didn’t move to leave. We stayed like that, locked in some kind of vortex of lust and longing. His eyes, my lips, together drugged. His hands slowly moved to either side of my head, splaying flat against the door. As if on autopilot, I reached out to lightly tug the hem of his shirt.

  “I—” Levi kissed me, cutting off whatever word or thought I had, and I mean really fucking kissed me. Not the slobbery, invasive kisses of Giovani—a man thinking of no one save himself and his pleasure—but a kiss from a man who inexplicably knew exactly what button to press and when to press it. It hurt a little bit because of the bruising, but it was a good hurt…a really good hurt. I felt his touch everywhere, from the tingling on my lips to the throbbing in my lower lips. I gasped for breath against his mouth, simultaneously trying to suck in my own air and the life from his lungs.

  Levi pushed me against the door, grasping both of my shoulders in his big hands. He sucked my lower lip then dragged his mouth down my chin and sucked my throat. His lips continued until he met the hollow at my collarbone. I panted, gulped, coming undone just by his kiss.

  “We can’t do this.” I gasped. I was going to kill my husband. I couldn’t get involved with anyone, much less a cop. A good cop. Not to mention, if I failed, if Giovani lived and found out, Levi would die. This was not the time to start an affair.

  “Then tell me to stop,” he rasped, voice sounding rough and hard. He pulled my shirt aside, revealing the skin of my shoulder, and started to suck. My eyes rolled back at the sensation of his tongue licking the skin. “Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll walk away.” He removed his lips and came up so he was eye level—well, he was a head taller than me, so I was looking up at him, but our eyes were locked together. He flattened his palm against the wall, eyes dark with need. “But Gabby, please, please tell me quick.”

  I gulped.

  I already missed his lips on me, already missed his heat. His hands weren’t enough. My thighs quivered and I was actually aching and throbbing. I knew it was wrong and dangerous, but I just couldn’t say no.

  I took my lip between my teeth and met his deep brown eyes. “Please don’t stop.”

  Levi

  The minute she gave me the okay, I picked her up then set her on the counter. No time to head to the bedroom—I needed her right then. The way she looked at me with those big brown eyes shrouded in thick lashes, teeth pulling in her juicy red lips…

  Quickly I unfastened her jeans, pushing them down enough so they fell just below her round, juicy ass. She had thick hips and such an amazing ass; I was going to get my hands on the thing soon. I pushed my palm into her underwear, cupping her warm pussy.

  A sound a mix between a moan and a gulp left her the minute my fingers hit skin. She leaned against the counter, bracing herself, and I let my palm slide way down, then way up so I lifted her shirt a little bit to reveal her soft stomach.

  It was rushed and hurried, and that wasn’t how I wanted to be with her, but dammit I needed to feel her, taste her, then I could calm down. I kissed my way down her stomach, as if with each kiss I might commit her to memory. The taste, the feel, the little freckles.

  I got to my knees and spread her legs wide, my shoulders keeping her split. I was so love drunk I almost missed them—the bruises. The ones on her body were yellowing and healing, but these were impossible: hand-shaped bruises on her thighs.

  “Gabby…” I caressed her skin, as if my touch could heal her.

  “Stop
,” she said immediately. “Please. Don’t ruin this.” Our eyes locked and I saw the somber determination. I kissed the bruise gently and returned to her center. She was so wet her underwear was stuck to her. I could see the outline of her perfect slit. I gripped her thighs, pausing for a moment, just admiring how goddamn beautiful she was.

  A minute ago I’d been so fucking horny I planned to tear apart her underwear, but she deserved better, she deserved gentle. She deserved someone who could hold it together long enough to not give her bruises. I grasped the sides of her silky underwear, getting ready to pull them past her thick thighs.

  “Wh—what are you doing?” Her chest was heaving in the most beautiful way. Up, down, up, down. Her eyes were big and wide.

  “I’m going to take care of you.” I was so going to take care of her—I was about two seconds away from it, but truthfully, this was going to take care of me too. Once I pulled away the thin fabric, I might fucking pass out. Still, I needed to know that she was okay with it.

  “Do you trust me?” I asked. She nodded. “Say it, Gabby.”

  “I trust you, Levi.” My lips quirked and I pulled down her panties, slipping them over the glorious arch in her legs. Her hands wove their way into my hair just as my lips wove themselves onto her pussy. I groaned as her wetness seeped down my chin. When fingers tightened in my hair, I glanced up at her. She was coming undone. Her pants had progressed to moans and she was positively stuck on me. She was mesmerized by what I was doing.

  That made me grin harder.

  I plunged a finger inside her and her head fell back.

  When she finished, I lay my head against her thigh, looked up at her and said, “Stay the night.” She slid down my body and I felt every inch of her until she was resting on top of me and damn, did I curse my jeans then.

  She murmured words I didn’t catch and kissed me, taking my lower lip between her teeth. She pulled it out and my lids lowered as I focused on nothing but her. One of her hands snaked out from behind my neck and grazed down my chest, her delicate hand falling over the bulge in my jeans almost nervously, shyly even. I groaned as her little hands tested the waters, stroking me over my jeans.