TAKE ME SLOW
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Copyright 2019 © Shani Greene-Dowdell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Published by Imperial Publishing House, a subsidiary of Nayberry Publications, Opelika, AL.
For copyright issues, including permissions for use or to report improper use, contact Shani Dowdell, 334-787-0733.
Chapter One
Blaze
There’s a light mist in the air as I make my way across the street towards the alley. I had gotten a call from our tip line stating that a prostitute would be waiting, looking for customers. We’re working this area heavy looking for girls we can bust, bring into the station, and then find out who has them out here. The sex trafficking problem is so massive in our city that every time I see a young woman walking the streets after dark, I want to rescue her. Taking this assignment merely is my duty to help fix this massive problem.
Before long, I see a girl standing with her back pressed against the old stone wall in front of a timeworn apartment building. She has one foot propped up on an old stump for support. Her stance shows off the six-inch red heels she’s wearing. Besides her being in the location mentioned on the call, I know it’s her just by the nasty way she’s standing there watching me approach her. Suddenly, wearing a suit that costs more than my truck, and a watch that’s even more expensive, doesn’t seem like the right move. She’ll probably recognize me as a police officer just by looking at me. I start to second guess all of my fancy clothes that are on loan from my homeboy, Terry, who is an investment banker downtown. His clothes are the exact things a police officer would wear when they’re trying to fit in. What was I thinking?
“You can borrow this outfit under one condition,” Terry had warned me.
“What’s that?” I had asked warily. I already didn’t want to do this assignment, and he knew it, which is why his response was to further taunt me about it.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare get any cum on it. I swear to God, Blaze, I will kill you if I see some on my jacket.” He had the nerve to look dead serious.
“What the fuck? I’m not actually going to have sex with these women; you know that, right? I just need to look the part so that I can make a deal with the prostitutes. Then, we’re picking them up. So, chill man. It’s nothing like what you’re thinking.”
“Alright, I’m just saying. I don’t want cum on my shit, Magic Mike.”
“Whatever man,” I said and gave Terry a handshake before I made a break for it with the clothes. I didn’t want to hear anymore Magic Mike jokes. I should never have agreed to watch that movie with him. I definitely wouldn’t have if I knew this assignment was coming up. Magic Mike’s not even about prostitutes, either. It’s a good thing we didn’t watch Pretty Woman—
My only comfort is the fact the girl I’m about to approach looks even fancier than I do. She has ridiculously big hair with a head of ringed curls, and a thick black sweater dress that hugs onto every curve on her body. Her red heels have to be at least six inches. She’s trying too hard like she’s using her hair and clothes to cover up the fact that she’s just a nervous little girl.
Instead of enraging me, as I would expect it to, seeing her makes me feel protective. I want to wrap the girl up in my coat to cover her up so no one else can see her, take advantage of her, or belittle her. Then, I want to take her home and feed her something warm. I’m getting soft.
Despite the overcompensation with her clothing and hair, the vivaciousness in the girl’s body is unmistakable. My eyes catch onto her thick-looking thighs and flat stomach, peeking out from the cut of the dress, and my mouth goes dry. It literally feels as if I’ve been eating cotton. None of what I’m feeling is appropriate for an undercover cop. I’m perving on someone who looks barely old enough to buy liquor.
I should be preparing to turn the girl around and cuff her to send her off to jail, but what I’m thinking about are all the other reasons I could roll her over. Number one, she has a really nice ass.
The closer I get, the more my nerves spike. What the hell was I thinking signing up for this assignment to pick up prostitutes? I guess I wasn’t expecting any of them to catch my attention like this girl.
The only thing that helps me relax is the way her eyes keep darting over to a screen in a nearby bar as if she is checking the score of the game to pass the time. It’s such a reasonable thing to do that it makes me feel comfortable as I approach her.
“Hey there,” I say, once I’m close enough to be heard. My voice comes out thick and husky, surprising me. I sound like I’m trying to be sexy. Magic Mike… Terry’s jokes come back to haunt me, almost causing me to chuckle.
She jumps at the sound of my voice, then seems to catch herself. Licking her lips, she looks up at me through her long lashes. And wow, now that I’m closer, I can see she is far from being a kid. Oh no, this isn’t some teenager playing dress-up. She is all woman. She looks to be about my age, and she’s built like a brick house, which doesn’t help my simmering attraction to her one bit. My guilt of lusting over a young girl dissipates quickly and opens the door for me to admire her even more.
“Hey yourself,” she says, the sound of her sultry voice causing a stirring of warmth in my gut that I immediately cool down.
I concentrate on my training. Warm the perp up. Get her comfortable.
“You lookin’ for a good time tonight?” I ask, and instantly I want to cringe. I sound like a sexual predator. Way to go, Blaze.
The corner of the prostitute’s mouth turns up into a half smile like she’s trying not to laugh at me.
“Depends on what’s a good time for you,” she replies. “And… what’s in it for me?”
I can’t arrest her until there’s concrete proof she’ll have sex for money. Therefore, I need a clear statement of intent—a ‘you’ll have to pay me this much for that.’
“A better view of that game for one,” I say, because my next line is supposed to be something about my cock, and I might die of embarrassment if I have to come out and say it. “I’ve got a big screen in my bedroom,” I add, hoping that bit of innuendo is enough to get the conversation headed in the right direction.
She snorts, giving me a grin that seems genuine, considering how deep her dimples go and how bright her eyes get. She gives me a once-over, and the trail of her doe-looking, hazel eyes burns through my fucking clothes. It’s at this very moment I know I’m not made for this. When I talk about sex with a woman, it’s about to happen. This cat and mouse game with the intent to catch the mouse in a trap doesn’t feel right.
“Tempting. What else ya’ got?” she asks, seeming intent on forcing me to ask her for a transaction straight out.
“My bedroom is much cozier than watching the game from out here,” I say. Meanwhile, I’m struck by the realization that I want to have sex with this woman. If we were in the bar together, and she was anyone else in the entire city, I would be putting it all on the line, trying to take her home by drawing on my real lines, or just manning up and asking her to dinner.
Despite the super provocative clothes she’s wearing, I’m attracted to her in other ways. Those doe eyes and that full smile are really doing it for me. But fuck, I’m going to have to arrest her, instead of doing all of the things I’m imagining. What a waste?
“What do you need?” I drawl out, while I fight off a stab of discomfort about setting up the trap like this, so neatly.
My gaze lingers on her plump, golden-glossed lips for
a few seconds, still wet from the earlier swipe of her tongue. Staring so intently, I can watch every move as she opens her mouth to form the reply that will allow me to lock her up behind bars. Somehow, without noticing it, I’ve moved closer to her, so close we’re breathing the same air. My breath comes short, and the waistband of my pants feels tight.
“Hey!” someone shouts from an open window behind us, sounding furious. “This is private property! You can’t be standing around here doing God knows what! Don’t make me call the cops! And, young lady, I’m tired of telling you to leave from in front of my apartment. Have a different man out here every night! Go away, now!”
My mood deflates instantly. Someone like this nosey neighbor called me out here in the first place, and the interruption is a swift reminder that I’m here to do a job—to clean up the neighborhood of prostitution and potential human trafficking activity.
“Fuck!” I say, stepping back from the woman who I’m drawn to like a magnet. It’s too early to have my cover blown.
“Shit!” the prostitute says. “She’s not going to leave that window until we leave.”
We stare at each other for one frozen second before there’s another, “Take your business elsewhere!” hurled at us from the old woman.
“That woman is always hollering at me. She’s batshit crazy, and I don’t feel like dealing with her tonight. I’m out of here,” the prostitute says quickly.
I fight the disappointment over the tone of her voice changing from sultry and relaxed to anxious and raspy. I’m about to lose the chance to talk to her any longer. With the way she’s running away, I may never see her again.
I glance back at the old lady whose long gray hair blows in the wind as she hangs her head out of her apartment window. Her eyes are about to pop out of her head as she watches to make sure we’re leaving. Then, my eyes dart to the prostitute who is walking away quickly. The only relief in seeing her go is the thought that I could wait and arrest someone else who’s less tempting.
“Hey! Where are you going?” I can’t help but ask, hoping for a fleeting chance she’ll invite me to come with her.
“It’s too hot out here tonight,” she says, meaning the old lady is calling the cops. “Let’s meet back up tomorrow night when the chance of us getting arrested is much lower.”
“Tomorrow?” But I want you tonight.
“Yeah, tomorrow!” she yells back to me. “Same time, but this time at the park around the corner, if you’re still interested.” She takes off in the opposite direction than I need to go back to my car.
Sadly, even after she hits a corner and disappears, I’m still extremely interested in being with her tonight.
Chapter Two
Ari
Saved by the old hag screaming from her apartment window. Thank God, she always has her panties in a bunch when I come out here to work. That lady’s obsession with seeing a black face on her block just saved me from forgetting my purpose of being out on these streets in the first place. It sure isn’t to find a lover boy to take home. Yet, a few moments ago, I was ready to risk it all for a handsome face, gorgeous smile, and honey-whiskey voice.
I sigh as I make it to the park and sit down on the bench. I pull off my pumps and wiggle my toes, trying to get some blood to flow back through them. This dress is about to hug the breath out of me, and these shoes are the devil’s son. Dressing up like some cheap hooker is not only demeaning, but it’s just plain stressful on my body and feet.
I look around to make sure I evaded the last potential John. Something about this guy screams ‘I’m a good guy who’s just hard up for a roll in the hay.’ I hate to take guys like him down. It’s the pervy ones who have a wife and kids at home that I live to dismantle. The ones who abuse women, I like to take them down even harder.
I never met a criminal that didn’t look like filth in my eyes, but the soft look in this guy’s eyes tells me he wants to protect girls out on this corner. Or, is it just me he wants to protect? My instincts are usually good, but everyone gets rusty at some point, so maybe this train of thought means I’m losing my edge. Why else is he out here to buy prostitutes when there should be an avalanche of panties coming his way? There has to be some reason for it, I surmise.
The park is empty when I arrive, so no one has followed me. I sit back on the bench and rub my temples. Then, the beautiful smile of my best friend, Tracyee, invades my thoughts. In times of doubt, thoughts of her always set me on the right track. She is the reason I do what I do.
Tracyee ran away from home at sixteen and went to New York. No one in her family ever saw her alive after she left town. We told each other everything, but I didn’t even know she was leaving. Her parents were broken, her brother contemplated suicide, and I was lost without my friend. Then, one night, Tracyee’s father called my father to give him an update.
When I saw my father’s light-brown face blanche, drained of any sign of life and spirit, I knew he was receiving some horrific news on the other end of that call. At that moment, my gut told me he was about to tell me something had happened to Tracyee. The news still haunts me to this day.
“Baby girl, sit down, I have to tell you something,” he said once he hung up the phone. His voice was low and devoid of the energy he’d had before taking the call.
I braced myself for the worst. The look on his face alone was terrifying enough to make me feel the Earth was falling out of orbit.
“What is it, Dad? Why are you looking at me like that? Who were you just talking to?” I asked him a barrage of questions, only because his lips weren’t moving fast enough.
He grabbed my hands and held them in his and stared at me.
“Dad, talk to me? What’s going on?” I urged.
“It’s your friend, Tracyee.”
My heart sank, my worst fear being realized.
“What about her?” I asked slowly.
“They found her body,” he said, his voice cracking.
“Body? What do you mean…body?” I asked though I knew full well what he was saying to me. My mind just wasn’t ready to process that my friend, whom I’d prayed to God above for her safe return, would never make it back to North Carolina alive.
“She’s gone, baby girl. Dead...” my father’s voice trailed off. “She was killed in New York sometime earlier this year, and her body was found today.”
“No! No! Daddy, no! Please don’t say that. Don’t say that she’s dead. It’s just not right… please…no!” I lost it after hearing the very thing I had been praying I would never hear. My friend was never coming back. I just kept repeating, “No!” over and over again.
In my heart, I knew my friend was gone the moment her parents came over to talk to my parents and me, asking about her whereabouts. I just felt an emptiness I couldn’t explain. Tracyee didn’t tell me she was leaving. Maybe because she thought I would rat her out. Still, I figured she would have at least called me once she got settled, even if it was a few weeks later. But it had been months, and the months were turning into a year when we got the news of her murder.
“Her father just gave me the news. She got lured to New York with the hopes of becoming a model. She wanted to make it big and then let everybody know what she’d done. But when she got off the plane, she was met by some guys who were sex traffickers.” My father, once again, stared at me with an intense look in his eyes, his mouth hanging open with words left unsaid. Then, I recognized what I saw in his eyes. Fear. He feared he would lose me the same way. He went on to tell me that Tracyee was strong and she fought for her life, but it was a battle she didn’t win.
From that moment forward, I decided to fight too. That was the night I chose what I would major in when I went to college. I always wanted to go into criminal justice, but whether I would be a lawyer or an officer was up in question. Tracyee’s death let me know I wanted to be on the line, stopping sex traffickers in their tracks.
No matter how innocent these guys look, like Mr. Sexy from earlier, my purpose in life i
s to hold them accountable for what happens to young, unsuspecting girls who are just looking to follow their dreams, or worse, looking for love. My primary purpose in life is to stop men like him. That’s why I will meet him tomorrow. No matter how green he looks, he’s out here taking advantage of somebody’s daughter, somebody’s friend, and I will bring him to justice.
I walk around the corner and get inside my red sports car. It’s a gift from my father when I graduated from college. My father didn’t want me to come to New York, so I think the car was meant to be a bribe. But he has gotten used to me being so far away from home, and he’s here practically every month to check on me.
Speaking of the overbearing men in my life, my cell rings just as I crank up to leave. It’s my partner.
“Hello Sloane,” I answer dryly. Somehow, I already know he’s calling to grill me about not calling him earlier today.
“Hello to you. Don’t sound so happy to hear from me, or I might begin to think you consider me as a friend,” he says sarcastically.
“What do you want, Sloane? I’m taking the night off.”
“You see, that’s what I thought until I rode over here and saw your car in the parking lot at the park. So, feed me another line about why you’re out here working without your partner again,” Sloane hisses.
“I came to talk to the girls from last night, to see what I could find out about their pimp, but they weren’t here. Since I didn’t plan to deal with any Johns, I didn’t think I needed any backup,” I reason.
“But you did deal with a guy tonight,” he says.
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy that was in your face before the old lady said something to break you two up. I thought I was going to have to rescue you from him. What was up with that?” he asks protectively.
“Damn, what? Have you been following me all night? Are you watching me right now?” I ask, looking around the parking lot and over my shoulder in my car.
Take Me Slow Page 1