Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T. #1)

by River Savage

  “I told you I had you figured out.”

  My mind tracks back to the night in question, replaying the encounter over in my head.

  “Yeah, what do you know?” She folds her arms over her chest and waits for me to elaborate.

  “I know what sounds you make when you're lying in your bed at night playing with yourself.”

  “You said something to me. Do you remember?” I pull myself out of my recap.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you say to me, B?” I’m on the edge of my bed now. Hand to wall, I try to make any connection with her I can while I wait for her answer.

  “I don’t know.” She’s hesitant in her reply. I know she’s lying; the shake in her voice a dead giveaway.

  “Yes, you do. Like me, I know you remember every word. So humor me, sweetheart.”

  “I said you know nothing.” She caves and the statement is becoming appropriate now. I have no idea about anything anymore, but I refuse to let it stop me from getting back what is mine.

  “Right. And then I said, I might not know everything yet, but I know the important stuff.” The wall stays silent as I figure out where I’m going with this. “Ask me what I know now, Liberty.” A plan starts forming, one I hope works.

  “What do you know, Hetch?” Irritation laces her question rather than arousal like it did all those weeks ago. Disappointment treks its sorry ass back to me.

  You fucking dumb shit.

  “I know I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you.” I let my confession hang in the air. Let the truth give us something to work with. “But I fucked up. I hurt you. You’re the last person I ever want to hurt. I know I’m haunted by my past, but when I’m with you, you take it all away. And most of all, Liberty, I know time is what you think you want, but it’s not what you need.” It’s Fox’s cocky statement, but it doesn’t mean it’s not the truth.

  She doesn’t respond, her silence speaking louder than denial.

  “I’m giving you a week,” I state plainly, deciding what’s best for us. I’m not smashing the egg; I’m adding extra warmth to move things along.

  “That’s not how this is meant to work.” She fights it, of course, but I can hear the quake in her voice and my excitement spikes.

  “A week, Liberty.”

  Then I am coming for her.

  “One week and then you’re mine.”

  Thirty

  Liberty

  Hetch: I know you’re hurting, and I know I caused you this hurt. If I could take it all away, I’d do it in a second.

  I read the text over, memorizing every single word he says, and stressing over every single word he doesn’t.

  If I could take it all away, I’d do it in a second.

  It’s not the first text I’ve received in the last few days. They started the night after he told me I had one week.

  At first, I thought they were a little cheesy; I mean we’ve been there, done that, the night at the pub. But I played along regardless. Gave him his play, and ever since, I haven’t been able to stop reading them. Every day this week, I’ve received an “I know” message. And every day, he picks at my resistance and cracks my determination.

  Hetch: I know you want to talk to me, but you’re too stubborn to cave. I love that about you.

  Another text comes through. Another crack in my resolve.

  Jesus, he’s right. I am too stubborn. I was stubborn when I asked for time. I didn’t want to put this distance between us.

  So why did I ask for it?

  Because you didn’t think he would give it to you.

  Hetch: I also know I love the way you’re scared of tiny spiders, but you’re the strongest woman I’ve met.

  He hits me again. My reluctance wavers, and in its place, a new kind of want forms.

  I’m ready for more.

  I’m ready to take him back.

  Closing my eyes, I hold my breath and prepare myself to respond, but before I can be sucked back into his vortex, I’m abruptly interrupted.

  “I’m worried about Mitch.”

  The four words are as effective as being doused in ice-cold water.

  “Why, what’s wrong?” I look up from my phone to find Sue in the kitchen, standing at the opposite end of the breakfast bar.

  I had come in here to get something to eat, but Hetch’s texts disrupted me. Now I’m so flustered, I’ve lost my appetite.

  “We found this in his room today. Had it hidden in a tear in his mattress.” She steps around the breakfast bar, stopping an arm’s length away from me and hands me a small pocketknife.

  Jesus.

  “You confronted him?” I turn the knife over in my hand, taking a closer look.

  “Yeah, and that’s what I’m worried about. When we asked him why he had it, he wouldn’t tell me. Just said he needed it for protection.”

  “From his brother?”

  “He didn’t say, but who else would have him scared?” The implication that Dominic is a part of this seems fitting. I’m just not sure we see it right.

  “Hetch said Dominic and his crew moved underground when they raided one of his places. It could be someone else, someone his brother is mixed up with.” Jesus, I don’t know what’s worse: Dominic still threatening Mitch or someone else who’s out to get revenge.

  “Well, either way, we need to keep a close eye on him. When I took it off him, he lost it. Said he can’t leave the house without it. I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a word with him today.” I place the knife in my pocket, making a mental note to lock it away in my office so no one else can find it, and make a call to his caseworker before my shift ends. “Maybe I can get him to open up to me about what’s going on.”

  “Or maybe you could have a word with Hetch. I know he’s been coming around a lot more. Maybe he might have something else to offer. He may be able to reach Mitch in a way neither one of us can.”

  My body locks at the sound of his name.

  “Ahh, yeah,” I ease out, hoping she didn’t notice the change in me at his name. “It can’t hurt to involve him, give him a more active role as a mentor around here. I’ll have a word with him, see what he thinks.” I step away from her, effectively ending the conversation of Hetch. My earlier need resurfacing right now is not what I need.

  “Okay, I’m leading rec time today. I better get out there.”

  She walks out without a backward glance, leaving me alone with too many thoughts and too many concerns.

  Later in my shift, another text comes through. I contemplate ignoring it, but curiosity gets the better of me.

  Hetch: I know you don’t want to hear this, but my cock is hard for you right now, thinking about the last time I had you.

  Seriously, I’m screwed.

  Thirty-One

  Hetch

  “Hetch?” The knock comes through the wall unexpectedly, causing a spike in my heart rate. I just got home after a long twelve-hour shift where my SWAT team were smashed with high-risk arrest warrants most of the day. After receiving an elbow to the jaw from some cracked-up meth head, my head still pounds, and my body aches from tackling said meth head down a flight of stairs. But as much as I want to sleep for the next two days straight, the sound of my name coming through the wall takes every one of my issues away.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?” I sit up in my bed and move closer to the wall. Normally. I'm the one who instigates these talks, but something tells me after my risqué text today, she’s finally coming around. Perhaps knowing I still get a hard-on for her was all she needed to hear?

  “Do you ever have days where you think you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?” Her voice is quiet, unsure, and a little unsteady.

  “Ha, you do know who you’re talking to, right?”

  She lets out a shaky laugh before clearing her throat. “I’m serious, Hetch.”

  “What’s going on, Liberty?” There’s a pause on her end before she replies.

  “I’m worr
ied about Mitch. He’s pulling away, and I don’t know what to do.”

  “What’s been happening?”

  “Sue found a pocketknife in his room today. When she took it off him, he freaked out, said it was for protection.”

  “You think his brother is pressing him?” I don’t doubt he might try, but with an arrest warrant out for him, the dickhead would be stupid to try anything.

  “He said he isn’t, but I don’t know if I believe him. I think he’s hiding something.”

  “Sometimes you just have to trust they will come to you when they need you, Lib. He’s not a kid, you know? He’s a young man, and if he’s going to make something of himself, you need to realize he has to make mistakes, and he has to learn from them.”

  “He had a pocketknife, Hetch.” I understand her concern, but I only spoke to Mitch two days ago. We had our normal one-on-one time; and like all our other sessions, he was polite and talked about school with ease. He assured me his brother hadn’t been hassling him.

  “So did I at that age. And I lived at home with my parents. He lives in a group home setting. You have to realize these boys are never going to be normal teenagers. They're bound to slip up, most kids do.”

  “I know. It’s just, I–I don’t know. I’m probably over thinking it. I worry about him.”

  “I know you do. It’s one of your strengths, but also one of your weaknesses.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I can’t see her face, but I can just imagine it pinched, eyebrows raised in a “how dare you say that” way.

  “You know what it means, B. It’s great you care. I love that about you. But sometimes I worry you’re too close. My dad was the same with his kids when he was a youth counselor. He’d become so invested, they were almost as important to him as Kota and I were.” I pause, amazed I didn’t freeze up. “It didn’t upset us, but sometimes I wondered why he cared so much when he had his own family.”

  “You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you talk freely about your dad,” she states cautiously, and I can hear she’s unsure if she should even bring it up.

  “Yeah, well, the quack I’ve been seeing seems to be helping.” My laugh is forced, uneasiness weighing my body down.

  “You’re seeing someone?” Her tone is hopeful, and I can’t help feel it along with her.

  “Yeah, it’s helping. A lot.”

  “I’m glad, Hetch. That’s really good.”

  “I’m trying hard here, sweetheart,” I offer all I can.

  “Will you tell me about him? Your dad, I mean.” I don’t answer right away, too busy focusing on my raised heartbeat and trying to ease it.

  “Ahh, what do you want to know?” I answer when I’ve managed to clear my throat, and push down my anxiety.

  “What was his name?”

  It’s a simple question. Easy enough to answer, but still, it takes a few beats before I can.

  “Samuel. Sam for short.” The same ache that’s rooted deep within me whenever I think about him starts to throb. Only this time, I’m not going to bury it. Instead, I’m going to let myself feel it, allow myself to mourn. If I’ve learned anything in my sessions with Dr. Anderson, it’s that death is something you never heal from. Unlike how a scab heals, or a scar fades, the absence of someone you love never disappears. His death will be a part of my life forever, a part of me. And if I want to prove to Liberty I’m the man she deserves, then I need to let it be a part of us too.

  “Dad wanted to name me Sam Junior, but Mom wanted Liam. Clearly, Mom won. Samuel is my middle name, though. I guess they both kind of won.”

  “Yet, both of you went by Hetch?”

  “Yeah. He just wanted his kid to have the same name. Mom never understood it. I thought it was cool.”

  “I wish I could have met him,” she whispers, and all of a sudden, I do too. Wish he could have met the woman who changed my life, who pulled me out of my own darkness and forced me to see the light.

  “Me too, sweetheart. He would have liked you. Not because of your job, just you as a person.”

  “Thank you for calming me down.” She doesn’t ask anything else about my dad, and I’m neither relieved nor disappointed. I'm content.

  “No problem, I charge by the hour.”

  She laughs at my response, and my gut tightens at the sound. My joke, though lame, makes her laugh that carefree laugh of hers I haven’t heard in what seems like forever, so I can’t be too embarrassed with myself.

  “I should get to sleep. I have an early day tomorrow.” Disappointment floats over me, but I don’t let it show.

  “Miss you, B.” She doesn’t reply right away, so I press on. “You don’t have to tell me you miss me too. I know you do.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’m right. Admit it.”

  “Goodnight, Hetch.” She ignores my bait, but I don’t let her get away too easily.

  “Only one more day, Liberty,” I warn, wishing it would hurry the fuck up.

  One more day and she is mine.

  “The boys and I are heading to The Elephant after this. You in or has your woman taken you back finally?” Sterling asks the following afternoon. We’re sitting in the staff room at SWAT headquarters. After a full shift of training today, we were getting ready to call it a day when we were called in by the lieutenant for an impromptu meeting.

  No reasons were given.

  “I’ll come for one drink. Then I’m out.” It’s the last thing I want to do tonight, but after my first full week back with the team, I should try and make an effort to hang with them outside of work.

  “So, she hasn’t taken ya back then?” Tate sticks his jab in. “You’re losing your touch, boss.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growl. Yes, growl, because sitting around waiting for some bullshit meeting is pissing me off.

  “Jesus, I think she’s broken you,” Sterling comments just as the lieutenant steps into the room.

  “Hetcherson, we’re ready for you.” His eyes only come to me and even as he keeps his stare on me, it’s unreadable.

  “Coming.” I stand and nod for the boys to follow me.

  “You know what this is about?” Hart asks as we make our way down to the briefing room.

  “Nope. I’m as clueless as you,” I tell him before stepping into the room we use for briefings before call outs.

  “Sergeant, you remember Detective Katie Marsh from organized crime division.” The lieutenant motions to the redhead at the head of the briefing table.

  “Good to see you again, Katie.” I keep my annoyance out of my voice. Her presence here tonight means she has a job for us, and as much as I love the thrill of taking down whichever crime boss she has her sights set on, irritation bubbles just below the surface. It looks like my grand plans of knocking on Liberty’s wall one last time are going to have to wait.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure you’ll be happy to see me after this.” She clicks a button on the small remote in her hand and brings up the case file on the large monitor.

  “Nah, we’re always happy to see you.” Hart enters the conversation, taking the seat closest to her, and I catch Katie’s slight blush.

  Hmm, interesting.

  “Right. Okay, well, we don’t have much time, so let’s get started.” She shakes her head as if she’s clearing something from her mind and moves her eyes back to mine. “We’ve been gathering intel on Miguel Morales for a couple of months now.” She hands me his file and continues. “Morales started out a low-level drug dealer, cooking in the basement of his mom’s house. Over the last six months, he’s risen up and got ahead in the game by producing an identical, recognizable, and reliable product to match his competitors at a fraction of the cost.”

  “Making him a major player in the drug underworld,” I murmur, checking over his rap sheet. Other than a few misdemeanors, they have nothing on him.

  “A major player with no ties to any organization. He’s a one-man show and making a killing.”


  “Okay, so why the sudden move now?” I press on, wondering what they have on him to warrant a risky bust with no planning.

  “He’s stepping up to the next level. Joining forces with Anton Gibson.” She pushes another file across the table to me. “You might know him. The leader of The Disciples.” The man Dominic answers to. Fuck.

  “Yeah, we know him.”

  “Anton has caught on to Miguel’s way of business and wants in. With ties to international crime syndicates, Anton is a major player in heroin and gun trafficking in this area, making him one hell of an asset to someone like Miguel.”

  “That happens?” I can’t imagine two heads of crime joining together.

  “We’ve seen it happen a lot. Groups with diverging interests, goals, and philosophies are working together to capitalize on each other’s specific skills or assets.”

  “So who’s our target here? Miguel or Anton?”

  “Both. A meet like this is a one-time deal.”

  “When does it go down?” I ask, placing Anton’s file back down.

  “Tonight in a nightclub over in Morningston.” She clicks on her remote, pulling up the blueprints of the nightclub on the screen.

  “How much are we talking?”

  “Street value is in the millions.”

  Jesus, this is huge.

  “The meet will go down in this room.” She points to a back room on the bottom level. “Two entrances, here and here.” She moves her finger to the entry door from inside the club and to the exit that leads out to the street. “You guys will come in through here.”

  “It’s Saturday night. The club will be packed. How do we keep it contained?” Sterling enters the conversation when he sees how close the entry door is to what looks like a dance floor.

  “Inside will be covered with my undercover agents keeping watch. My informant will be manning the internal door. We give him the signal to lock it from the outside, automatically eliminating the entry as a possible exit.”