Wild Abandon

by Ronica Black

  Dave shook his head and took a step away from her, lowering his hand from her shoulder. “Then that frightens me even more.”

  As he spoke, a tiny part of her deep down began to burn with what she recognized as anxiety. Was she out of control? She shoved the possibility from her mind and stared down her longtime friend. She had known exactly what she was doing; she always did. And what always came first and foremost was her own protection. The rookie’s words and his attitude had threatened that, crossing an invisible barrier they both knew was there. He had gotten what he deserved. If anything, they should be patting her on the back; she had done them all a favor putting the meathead newbie in his place.

  Dave stared at her like he was waiting for something. This wasn’t like Dave, she’d never had a confrontation with him before. It made her uneasy and the closet seemed to close in on her inch by inch. It was obvious Dave was upset with her and her heart sped up at the realization. All over some smart assed rookie. Keeping her anxiety in check, she said, “I think you’re overreacting.”

  “Are you serious? ”

  “The guy was out of line. You were there. You saw him.”

  “I saw a kid showing off in front of an attractive woman. Dumb, yes. But not worth risking disciplinary action over.”

  Sarah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Something Dave would never understand was that being a woman on the job meant having boundaries and ruthlessly enforcing them. Her male colleagues had no idea what she would have to put up with if she showed the slightest weakness.

  “If we’re done here, I’ve got work to do,” she said coolly.

  “We’re done.” Dave gave her one last look of disappointment and shouldered into the door, leaving her alone in the cramped closet.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah sat in her cruiser underneath the overpass staring in a daze at the rush of steady traffic. The headlights streaked past her, hypnotizing her.

  Dave hadn’t said a word to her since their conversation in the closet. While other cops had glanced curiously her way at their nightly briefing, having heard or seen what happened, Dave had avoided her eyes and sat across the room. That was the first time he had ever sat anywhere but next to her and the first time he’d ever questioned her behavior. Her mind raced to find the reason why and latched onto Danielle.

  The weeks since their breakup had been stressful for her as shadows from her past stepped into the light once again, forcing her to relive and remember. She had fought as best she could, refusing to let the shadows win. But the painful memories hovered, leaving her guarded and edgy just like she used to be when she was fourteen, poised for fight or flight at the drop of a dime.

  She closed her eyes softly as she realized just how many times lately she had chosen to fight in response. Just a few weeks earlier, she and Dave had been called in as backup on a routine traffic stop. The officer who’d pulled the guy over ran his license and was alerted that he had a warrant outstanding for rape and battery. It took three of them to wrestle the man to the ground and get cuffs on him.

  Sarah had seen scum like him all too often and she was relatively calm as she escorted him to the cruiser. Their suspect was in obvious pain, his face coated with the sheen of sweat. She could smell the beer on his breath and she kept her face slightly averted, avoiding the images that seeped from her memory. As she brought him up next to the cruiser, she placed a firm, black-gloved hand on his shoulder, thankful to be getting rid of him.

  The guy took this opportunity to share what was on his mind. “I usually don’t like ’em so big,” he grunted. “But you’ll do just fine.”

  Rage surged through her as the words sank through her skin and stabbed her insides. She slammed him up against the car and held a hand around his neck. “What did you say?”

  He snickered, flying high with wild eyes, unafraid. “I said I usually like ’em smaller, like around thirteen, their cherries just ripe for poppin’.”

  Sarah felt a darkness invade her body like a cold steel demon. Voices, memories, smells from the past all came screaming back at her. She tightened her grip on his throat and lowered her left hand to his crotch, where she squeezed his testicles with all her might. The man whimpered, his face contorting in pain.

  “How does it feel, huh?” she demanded, squeezing and yanking on his sac, determined to make him suffer. Just like his young victim had.

  His eyes rolled back in his head as the lack of oxygen began to affect him, but Sarah eased her grip on his neck only enough to ensure that he would feel the pain from his crotch. As he struggled to breathe, the stagnant odor of nicotine radiated out from his damp skin and the alcoholic wave that rose up from his throat nearly made her nauseous. Her mind took over, sucking her into a wormhole that led to the past.

  She heard laughter so loud and out of control it was threatening. She eased her way up to the kitchen wall where she stood, tall, gangly, and silent.

  At the table six adults sat, laughing, carrying on, cussing. A thick haze of cigarette smoke hung around them like their own private cloud cover, harboring them, encouraging them, encaging them. When they got like this they couldn’t see beyond that haze. They couldn’t see the real world. They couldn’t see her.

  Her father sucked on his near-empty beer bottle, draining the fiery fuel that she had long ago come to hate. “Shit! You’re killing me, Scottie, killing me.” He laid down his cards with force and rose from the table, shoving back his chair with a screech so loud it made her jump. “I need another beer.”

  He made his way to the fridge and she knew from his sloppy movements that he was already drunk. The door to their old Frigidaire banged open as his head disappeared inside.

  “Get me another one!” her mother called from the table.

  “Get it yourself!” he shouted, slamming the door closed. “We’re out.”

  Sarah took a timid step back, afraid of the look on his once-handsome face.

  “Go get some more,” her mother responded, a Pall Mall cigarette hanging loosely from her bright red lips. Her eyes were heavily painted and firmly fixed on her hand of cards.

  “Why don’t you get off your fat ass and go?” Roy Monroe sauntered over to his chair, where he plopped down and nearly fell. He gripped the table for support and cursed to himself.

  Sarah’s mother calmly plucked two cards, never offended by her husband’s drunken verbal assaults, and laid them facedown on the table. Raising her eyes, she said to their longtime friend Scottie, “Hit me.”

  Scottie, all grease and no good, grinned. His fingers riffled two more cards and then pulled back to smooth through his wet-looking hair. He leaned back in his chair and retrieved the pack of cigarettes he wore tucked away in the front pocket of his T-shirt. With practiced grace, he lit one and sucked on it so hard his shiny cheeks caved. As he blew the smoke out of the side of his mouth, he eyed his feuding friends. “Why don’t you send Sarah?”

  “No, Roy can go,” she heard her mother say.

  “Fuck you, Harriet. I’m the one who works his ass off for you. I’m the one who pays for the goddamned beer, and for all your shit!” He was getting louder and Sarah took another step back, this time hiding behind the wall and losing her visual. Quickly, she retreated down the hall to her bedroom, their voices loud enough to follow her.

  “Fine, send Sarah,” Harriet Monroe shouted. “Jesus, Roy. Calm the hell down.”

  “No, I won’t calm down, damn it! I’m sick and tired of—”

  “Sarah!” her mother called, and Sarah froze in front of her door, eyes closed, as the bickering continued.

  She wished she could disappear. Disintegrate and float away, every last molecule to another place. A safe place. A home like her friends had, one where parents didn’t drink and didn’t fight.

  She jerked at the sound of her name being called again, this time high on a scream. Wiping away a tear, she walked slowly back toward the thick haze of smoke in the kitchen.

  “There she is.” Scottie’s beady eyes ass
aulted her twelve-year-old body with blatant approval. “Hiya, Sarah.”

  His grin made her feel sick. He had been looking at her like that for a few weeks now, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.

  “Sarah, say hello. Don’t be rude,” her mother chided, still concentrating on her card game.

  Sarah raised her arms to hug herself against Scottie’s lingering gaze and meekly said, “Hi.”

  Her father dug in his pockets for the wad of cash he always seemed to have. “Go down to the store and get us a case of beer.” He caught hold of her arm and yanked her close, plopping some money into her palm. “Get yourself some gum or something, but hurry back. Don’t fuck around.”

  His mood instantly changed at the prospect of getting more beer and he stood up and danced his way over to the kitchen counter. He switched on the transistor radio and turned up the volume. “Don’t fuck around, ’cuz I wanna dance!” He sauntered toward his wife, smiling, humming, and snapping his fingers. Tugging her up, he held her close to his body. “Come on, baby, dance with me.”

  “Roy!” She resisted, but then laughed as he squeezed her ass. They glided across the kitchen, holding each other tight as her father sang along with the radio.

  Scottie and the others clapped and cheered and then rose to join in, each man taking hold of his woman—with the exception of Scottie. He had no girlfriend, and he moved toward Sarah like an evil demon searching for a soul. She shoved the money down in her pocket and turned to go, but a strong hand on her arm stopped her.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” He pulled her into him with ease and she stiffened at the contact. A rough hand brushed her cheek and she could smell the nicotine on his fingers. His free hand quickly brushed her backside and he grinned as he hugged her closer. “Dance with me, darling.”

  Her heart thudded its resistance and she raised her arms to push him away. “No, I have to go.”

  “Not so fast,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her eyes flew to her parents for help but they were in their own world, laughing and dancing, oblivious to her as always.

  Scottie squeezed her closer, tighter. She could hardly breathe, and she felt something hard jabbing against her hip. “You’re such a pretty girl, Sarah. I bet the boys is just all over themselves over you.”

  Around her, laughter filled the room. He pulled his face back and spoke again, but she was panicked and she couldn’t hear him. The alcohol on his breath assaulted her nose, burning it. She fought back a gag as he rubbed against her, grinning, groaning. Scared and confused, she shoved him away as hard as she could.

  “No!” she cried out.

  He staggered back and dropped his hands as his eyebrows rose. “I was only teaching her to dance,” he said with startled innocence.

  Her parents looked her way as she stood breathing heavily with fear.

  “Sarah! Don’t be rude to Scottie,” her mother insisted.

  As the words stabbed her heart, she turned and ran. The screen door banged behind her and she hurried down the steps as the tears ran down her cheeks in warm rivers.

  “Sarah! You get back here!” Her father’s voice, loud and angry. “Don’t forget my beer!”

  Sarah reached down and sipped her now-cold coffee as she refocused on the present. After she’d almost choked the prisoner to death during that callout, Dave had told her to take the rest of the night off. No report had been filed against her. Lucky. Or maybe it was more than luck. Obviously Dave had done his best to sweep the incident under the rug. For that, she was grateful.

  She could still remember how she’d felt pinning that pervert to the cruiser, staring at him as he choked. Everything around her had seemed like a fog, including time itself. When Dave tore her off the guy, she was shaken and startled to realize where she was, shocked that she wasn’t alone and in the dark place of her past.

  Dumping the rest of her coffee out the window, she placed the cup back in its holder and readied the radar for use. Maybe she had been a little hotheaded lately, she thought as she switched on the speed detector. While she could excuse each encounter and convince herself that she was in control, she knew it must look bad to others, especially Dave, who cared for her so much. And she knew she couldn’t afford to have that kind of behavior reported to the FBI. Her chances would be blown to hell.

  She eased down her window and positioned the black, bulky radar toward the oncoming traffic. She would make it up to Dave. She owed him. Maybe it was a good thing, her making that appointment. Exhaling, she tried to relax. Yes, she thought to herself, things would be just fine.

  Chapter Seven

  “I really do,” Chan’s client Bob Rogers said with conviction. “I really think she married me for my penis.”

  Chan followed his pointed stare to his wife of two years, a heavily made-up brunette in her late thirties who sat on the opposite end of the couch. Sherri Rogers seemed amazingly unmoved by the accusation, or perhaps she was concealing hurt and anger beneath her air of quiet reserve. Chan couldn’t tell, an unusual situation for her; normally she could read her clients well. But she was in an exceptionally cranky mood for a Tuesday, and she knew it had everything to do with her unforgettable night with Officer Monroe. Listening to one discontented couple after another didn’t help. Mainly because, despite their issues, they had something she didn’t. Each other.

  Chan fought back the sting of loneliness and focused on her clients. “Bob, come on now. Sherri didn’t marry you for your penis.” Chan glanced Sherri’s way and met eyes filled with a surprising nonchalance. “Right, Sherri?” Come on, help me out here.

  “Right,” her client said, all smiles.

  Bob was obviously unconvinced. “But that’s all she wants all the time.” His eyes grew wide as he spoke. “To fuck.”

  Chan thought for a moment. So many of her clients came in with the opposite problem. The men wanting sex, their wives uninterested. “Do you enjoy having sex with her?”

  Bob squirmed a little and started to speak, but then closed his mouth and folded his arms across his chest, the gesture revealing his defensiveness. “I…Well, yes, at the time.”

  Chan gave him a few seconds to cool down, then, in a softer tone, said, “But that’s not your point, is it? You see her wanting it all the time as a negative. Like it’s no longer about intimacy and lovemaking.” Maybe Bob was just as sensitive as her female clients. Maybe there came a time in everyone’s life, male and female, when sex just wasn’t enough.

  Her thoughts strayed to the mysterious Officer Monroe. Chan was surprised at how empty she’d felt when she had awakened the next morning all alone. Had that time finally come for her? Was she now destined to overanalyze every sexual encounter, hoping, searching, needing something more? Something that had seemed to elude her for years and quite possibly always would? The discouraging thought hung heavy in her mind.

  Bob’s voice quivered as he continued to try to put words to his feelings. “I’m saying that I feel a little used here.”

  A hot spark ignited in Chan’s belly. It burned quickly and spread up to her throat. Used. The word played out, fanning the fire. Was that how she felt about her one-sided night with the beautiful cop?

  Officer Monroe hadn’t allowed Chan to reciprocate. She had pleased Chan, then disappeared into the night, leaving Chan only half satiated. The pleasure had been so great, the seduction and domination soul altering. Chan had wanted, more than anything, to touch her conqueror, to feel her tremble, to hear her cries of pleasure. But it had been a one-night stand. One night, one chance, and it had ended as many did. Regrettably. Only this time the regret was simply that Chan had fallen asleep. This encounter left her bothered as few others ever had. She wondered why. Was it because she was the one who usually did the pleasing, the disappearing?

  Oblivious to her lapse in concentration, Bob continued to speak, the hurt evident in his voice. “I mean, it’s all the time. And it’s not like we’re having normal sex.”

  Chan raised her eyebrows, curious as
to what he meant.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “She insists that I take Viagra.”

  Chan glanced Sherri’s way. Bob didn’t have erectile dysfunction. “Why is that, Sherri?” Chan was sure she knew the reason but she wanted to hear it from her.

  Sherri hesitated a little before she spoke. “Because he goes longer.”

  Clever girl. It was nice to hear from a woman with a healthy sex drive who wasn’t ashamed to take what she wanted. Even so, she studied the couple for a moment. She had to reverse the roles and view them as she did every other couple. Just because Bob was a man and Sherri was the one who took what she wanted, it didn’t make Bob’s feelings any less valuable. Their relationship was taking an unhealthy turn, and a selfish, uncaring partner was just that regardless of their gender.

  Chan’s desk alarm beeped, graciously allowing her a little more time to think on this one. “That’s it for today, guys.”

  “But what about me?” Bob whined.

  Chan sighed and tried to think of a temporary solution. What would she tell her female clients?

  “Don’t have sex with her. Tell her no.” But as she studied him, she knew he wouldn’t take her advice. Bob was a healthy man, after all, and Sherri a healthy, attractive woman. She cleared her throat and did her best to explain. “Bob, I think you could work on taking back some of the control you allow Sherri to have. It’s important for you to respect your own feelings and voice them. Don’t ever do anything you’re not comfortable in doing. And, Sherri, as Bob’s lover, you need to respect his feelings.”

  Control. Again she thought of the night with Officer Monroe, and suddenly she understood Bob better. As in most relationships, one person gives more than the other, dysfunctional or not. She made her livelihood on this certainty, and when couples couldn’t seem to communicate or work through their problems, she stepped in to guide them. But she now knew firsthand just how easy it was to give in to a demanding partner. She had done exactly that with the cop, willingly, caught up in the moment. She’d also spent the next day feeling lonely and frustrated. It was the first time she had ever felt so completely empty after lovemaking.