“Is this your idea of congrats?”
“For you it is.”
“That leaves two weeks for you to get your shit together. So, what’s the plan? What’s the plan without me?”
“Balloons and streamers for starters.” Her heated eyes flew back to his.
“And when it’s time to feed, love, and nurture your child? What then?” He gave her a moment of silence to answer. “I’ll wait.” He gave her a few more seconds. “Nothing, huh?”
“You’re one to talk. In two weeks you’ll probably never see her again, and you still pawned her off on DJ like a piece of—”
“At least I can look her in the eye.”
Her body stilled. She stopped breathing. Soon, her nostrils showed the only signs of life as they flared wildly in time with her soft gasps. “God… why don’t you just go already…?” Her bosom began to heave in the deep V of her blouse, making the buttons strain against the fabric. “Just go to Quantico, Rocco.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” He chuckled as she stomped away.
“You miserable…” She didn’t finish her rant as she made her way back to the door, not even looking the rookie in the eye when he raced across the room just to open the door for her once more.
Rocco glared at him as Stella stomped out. “You’re goddamn pathetic, you know that?”
The rookie slammed the door closed, smirking as he continued watching Stella leave through the bulletproof glass, waiting until she was out of sight to point after her.
“You tapping that?” the rookie asked.
Rocco cringed like he’d taken a swig of spoiled milk straight from the carton.
“Watch it,” Justin warned, still working on his cake. “That’s Troy’s wife you’re talking about.”
“You mean Troy’s widow,” the rookie corrected.
“Widow or not, that’s fucked up. That was my brother’s wife, and Rocco would never go there with her. He’s loyal,” Justin said. “He grew up with us like a brother, and he’s family. Tell ‘em, Rocco.”
Rocco pushed away from the desk. “Trust me. You all want no part of that woman. She’s a… a…” His mouth flattened into a pale line as he found himself unable to wrestle with the sheer amount of expletives that had dominated his brain. “There are no words.”
“But those hips…”
“Those tits—”
“That ass.”
Rocco’s eyes darted all over the room as it proceeded to fall apart all around him, one officer at a time, some cringing in agony at the thought of Stella’s beauty, some biting their knuckles, and others looking on the verge of complete collapse at the memory of her coke bottle body in that tiny beige skirt.
“You know what they say,” Rocco said. “Show me a beautiful woman, and I’ll show you a man who’s tired of fucking her. I guarantee you that Troy was sick and tired. Pretty face, rotten heart. Fat ass, loud mouth. Barely even qualified as a wife when he was alive. More like an entitled teenager who lived to jack up all his credit cards with yet another shopping spree. Did you notice how you didn’t even get a thank you for opening that door for her? Yeah, that’s the type of entitled monster you’d be dealing with every day. No different than the asshole criminals who don’t wanna take any responsibility for their own nonsense out here in these streets. Same bullshit, different package.”
“You know you gotta take one for the team on this one, right?” A voice rang out from the back, clearly unmoved by Rocco’s rant.
“Come on, man,” another co-worker jumped in. “We’re all married, throw us a bone. Shit, you’re leaving, anyway. I know if I were single, bro…the things I would do to her…”
A chorus of pained groans rose all around the room again as they all apparently took a moment to think about all the things they’d love to do to Stella if they were single as well.
“That’s enough.” Rocco nodded.
“You are leaving in two weeks…” Another voice rang out. “You’d never have to see her again. And the way you’re always at each other’s necks—”
“That’s tension.” Another co-worker spoke up.
“Going hard for no reason. Like you’re on the front lines at war. Maybe it’s about time you two… worked it out…”
“It’s never gonna happen,” Justin said, voice pinched.
“He’s right,” Rocco said. “And not because I’m leaving, not because she’s my best friend’s wife, not even because she still has a good twenty pounds of weight to lose…”
“Then why, bro? Help us. Help us understand.”
Rocco cut his eyes toward the voice. “Because she’s fucking unbearable. Intolerable. She’s actually a terrible human being, and I mean that literally. A terrible, spoiled monster. I’ll be praying for my goddaughter every single day after I’m gone until she finally turns eighteen and can make her desperate escape.”
“You seem mad, my man.”
“I ain’t mad.”
“Like angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Little frustrated.”
“I’m not frustra—you know what…?” Rocco flipped them the bird, which only elicited their amused chuckles and dramatic hoots and hollers, driving him deeper into his annoyance. “And ease up on talking about her like an object. She might be an evil, spoiled demon but that’s still the mother of my goddaughter.”
Silence fell as they considered his words.
A moment later the rookie drew in a sharp breath through his teeth, making claws in the air. “But, that ass…”
Laughter rang out all around and persisted until Lieutenant Grimes reentered the room and gave a sharp whistle that reverberated against the walls.
“Conference room B, now,” Lieutenant Grimes called.
And, just like that, the entire room sobered. Silence dominated. Smiles transformed to stone faces and slackened shoulders squared. Fantasies about Stella’s hips, legs, and ass were forgotten just as quickly as they’d come to fruition as the officers began filing into conference room B where they’d be briefed on what would possibly be the biggest bust of all their careers.
5
Rocco swayed in the back of the SWAT truck, breath haggard. He gnawed on mint-flavored gum, shoulder-to-shoulder with his comrades. The fog on the glass cover of his mask grew heavier every second, always dissipating before it had a chance to travel far enough to distort his vision. His wasn’t breathing heavily because he was nervous—this felt like the millionth raid he’d embarked on since he’d joined the force—but because his tactical gear felt like it was suffocating him.
“Is a hundred pounds of bulletproof tactical gear really necessary to do a bust on a bunch of Asian ladies?” he asked. “Half of whom probably weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet?”
“There’re dozens of them in there, bro, and you know they’re gonna scatter like roaches,” Justin answered from where he was seated across the truck, also shoulder-to-shoulder with other officers, most of whom remained silent with determined eyes, too busy re-running the plan in their heads to entertain Rocco’s complaints. Justin went on, his breath creating fog in his mask as well. “Might need to take out more than one at once. Need all the weight we can get.”
“And the gas mask?” Rocco asked.
“You ready to walk in on a happy ending in one of those rooms and catch a shot to the eye of whatever infected fluids might be flying around? ‘Cause I’m not. If you don’t mind a few blasts of cum in your eye, be my guest, but I can promise you—this mask…?” Justin pointed to his mask with his black leather assault gloves. “Ain’t coming off.”
“Always so fucking dramatic,” Rocco hissed.
“Just make sure to get tested tomorrow after you get hit with that septic spunk, alright?”
The rare sound of laughter filled the truck, usually dominated by determined, focused silence. Rocco shook his head, also fighting a smile as his jaw flexed and relaxed around his gum. In the blink of an eye, however, silence fell once more. Even if it was ju
st a bunch of ninety-pound Asian ladies, it was still a tactical operation. Still a bust. Still millions of dollars on the line. A desperate woman was just as capable of causing incredible damage as a desperate man. The team wasn’t strapped to the gills with AR-15s that had greater power, range, and accuracy than a submachine gun for the fun of it, and the stark quiet illustrated just how much that fact resonated with every man in that truck.
Just as the silence re-commenced, it seemed, the truck came to a stop. The driver knocked on the wall that separated the back from the front. Without a word every officer in the back hopped to their feet, rifles cocked and ready at their sides. The officer closest to the door kicked it open and—as Justin had accused their targets of doing—they all jumped down to the asphalt below and scattered like roaches. There wasn’t a man on the team who didn’t weigh over two hundred pounds, but still they managed to be as quiet as mice as they began toward the building that awaited them several feet away from the curb.
The massage parlor sat in the middle of a seedy small shopping mall located on a deserted dirt road. Well past midnight, the check cashing company and small corner store that flanked the parlor had long since closed up shop—complete with bars on every window—leaving the red neon sight that simply read ‘massage’ to blink, front and center, under the night sky. The scent of dew in the air promised rain, not a star in sight, the grey clouds billowing overhead serving as the only company for the muggy black sky. The parlor was the largest establishment, taking up more than half of the strip mall.
This time Rocco’s heart was no longer racing because his gear was making him faint, but because he’d taken his position alongside to the door, his pointer finger primed on the trigger of his rifle. His team piled in all around him—three behind him and three on the opposite side of the door, with Justin at the front. Another six men had circled around the back, and a few more were primed and ready around the building’s perimeter. It really did feel like a little much for a bunch of tiny women, but hell, he wasn’t the boss. He was there to do ask his commander had ordered. Rocco met Justin’s eyes on the opposite side of the door, and Justin—also honing his rifle—gave Rocco a sharp nod and a thumbs up with his free hand.
As team leader, Rocco held up five fingers, mouthing along with each finger that disappeared. “Five… four… thr—”
“Three-two-one.” Justin lifted his boot and kicked in the door before Rocco had a chance to finish his countdown.
“Fucking asshole,” Rocco mumbled, throwing in a smoke bomb and making sure to jam his shoulder into Justin’s good and hard as they moved inside the building. White smoke exploded throughout the building after the bomb hit the floor, but thanks to weeks of careful planning, they could all navigate that place with their eyes closed if they had too. So they moved across the dark cherry wood floors blind, guns drawn, their team members in close pursuit behind them.
The soft, sultry piano music playing served as the perfect compliment to the parlor’s decor, which became more and more visible as the smoke slowly dissipated. Beyond the smoke were dark burgundy walls lined with black molding and streamlined burgundy furniture in the waiting area. The team continued filing into the room before dispersing and moving in opposite directions.
The recessed lighting was no match for the flashlights blaring from the ends of their rifles as they danced across the smoky room from every angle, lighting it up like a Christmas tree and immediately illuminating the slim Asian receptionist that was on the phone behind the sleek black reception desk. She was half sitting, half standing on her black swivel chair, frozen in shock as her eyes danced all over the cloudy room.
“Police department!” Rocco roared, directing his flashlight at the young girl. “Search warrant!”
Rocco couldn’t tell if her face was naturally pale under the blinding glare of his flashlight or if all the color had simply drained from her face as her wide eyes shifted to him, then Justin, then the dozens of officers moving in behind them like a line of hungry ants. The phone tumbled from her trembling hand as she drew in a sharp gasp.
Standing tall, she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Michelle!”
Just as she shrieked the name Michelle—who they already knew as Michelle Ling, the owner of the parlor—Justin circled the desk and grabbed her arm, eliciting another scream from her lips. This time of a scream of horror as he dragged her out from behind the desk.
“Don’t fucking touch me! Let go of me right now! I didn’t do anything!”
Fighting to snatch her arm back from under Justin’s blistering hold, she screamed once more, but this time the sound of her cries not only went ignored but actually seemed to multiply. Rocco’s eyes shot all over the room as one feminine screech after the other rose into the air from every angle, billowing out of the two hallways situated on either side of the reception desk. Confirmation that the SWAT members who’d moved out back had already made their way inside. The sound of heels clicking against the wood floors joined in with the screams moments later, and dozens of svelte women dressed in lingerie of varying colors—not all Asian as Rocco had suspected—came swarming out of the hallways, most with officers in close pursuit. Upon seeing more officers at the door, blocking the exit, some of the women froze in mid-run and reversed, trying to race back into the hallway, only to be accosted by the officers behind them. Others tripped over their own feet and tumbled to the floor in tears.
Justin, still holding the handcuffed wrists of the weeping receptionist, leaned down and seized the arm of another falling woman as well, expertly clapping another set of cuffs around her wrist using just one hand. “Stop crying. Get up.”
The woman on the ground, half-cuffed, didn’t heed Justin’s demand, head fallen, chin in her chest, black hair shadowing her face and shoulders trembling as her entire body went limp under Justin’s hold.
“Get. Up!” Justin screamed.
As the woman slowly climbed up on wobbling legs, Rocco snapped out of the haze he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into. It hit him that Justin had already captured two of these degenerates and he’d yet to nail one. He’d be damned if he’d walk out of that parlor empty-handed. Justin would never let him hear the end of it. As he began toward the hall, where screams still emanated like a bloodbath was taking place, Rocco took note of the many half-naked men who were fleeing the back rooms as well, most of whom had their clothes bunched up in front of their junk, leaving their jiggling asses in full view as their bare feet pattered past him. The fear in those men’s eyes was the purest he’d ever seen. Every time he locked eyes with one he could feel the terror in their hearts as if it was blasting through his own chest. Fear that he’d slap their wrists with cuffs. Put them under arrest. Ruin their lives forever. Fear that, by morning, their wives would know. Their friends. Their colleagues.
But Rocco bypassed all the men.
His colleagues would handle them.
Even as the howls, begs, and weeps of women permeated all across building, as far as Rocco was concerned, the men were the only victims here.
He wanted the real criminals.
He wanted the working girls.
He knew some of them were smarter than the others. Too smart to flee their rooms and race into the lobby—right into the arms of the officers that surely awaited them. Some of them were certainly curled up under the very massage beds were they made thousands a night. Some probably curled up into even tighter spaces than that.
It was his job to find them.
Bypassing every man and fellow officer in the hallway—most of them yelling ‘clear’ as they searched the dozens of rooms—Rocco made his way to the very last door in the hall. The only door that hadn’t been thrown open by a working girl in a desperate quest for escape or a cop in a desperate search for a bust. It was a closed door that promised a woman on the other side.
When he turned the door handle and threw open the door, it was a promise fulfilled.
A promise that caused the mint-flavored gum that had been
keeping him cool all evening to tumble from his mouth as it fell wide open. A promise that made his arms go limp at his sides and nearly caused the rifle to slip from his trembling fingers. It was a promise that stopped his heart in mid-beat. Making it feel like it had gone ice cold and exploded into flames all at once. He threw the glass cover of his helmet up, hoping his clarified vision would help erase the ugly truth standing before him.
But it only made that ugly truth sharper.
“Oh my god,” Stella croaked, leaning over a naked man on the massage table, hand frozen mere inches above his hardness, almost as stiff as the ice-cold chill that raced through every bone in Rocco’s body.
6
Stella’s naturally big brown eyes seemed even larger as they locked with Rocco’s across the dim massage room. Her ample breasts rose and fell rapidly, barely supported by the tiny white crop top tied loosely between them, the fabric thin enough to expose both of her hardened nipples.
Rocco’s bulging eyes ran her body, drinking in the red plaid mini skirt—short enough to pass for panties—that was one false move from exposing the lips of her pussy, the sheer white knee-high stockings, and the black patent leather Mary Jane’s.
She’d slapped on enough foundation to erase her freckles completely. Her lips were just as red as they had been at the precinct earlier that day, but the black eyeshadow, thick lashes, and crimson red blush she’d added had taken the look to an entirely new level that made the hairs on his neck stand tall.
His eyes slowly climbed back up her body—his breathing short and quick. In any other situation, he would’ve laughed as his gaze arrived at the red plaid bows tied around the two curly pigtails hanging from on either side of her head. But at that moment, he was sure the blood gushing through his pulsing veins couldn’t possibly get any hotter.
Forbidden (War Book 1) Page 5