by Ivy Jordan
MR SHERIFF
By Ivy Jordan
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Ivy Jordan
Click here to get my book The Sexy Billionaire for FREE
MR SERIES
Click here to read Mr. Doctor, Book #1
Click here to read Mr. SEAL, Book #2
Click here to read Mr. Billionaire, Book #3
Click here to read Mr. Cowboy, Book #4
Click here to read Mr. Lieutenant, Book #5 – Coming April 30th
Click here to read Mr. Firefighter, Book #6 – Coming May 6th
Click here to read Mr. Sheriff, Book #7 – Coming May 13th
Click here to read Mr. President, Book #8 – Coming May 20th
Click here to read Mr. Roommate, Book #9 – Coming May 27th
Click here to read Mr. Neighbor, Book #10 – Coming June 3rd
Click here to read Mr. Mechanic, Book #11 – Coming June 10th
Click here to read Mr. Daddy, Book #12 – Coming June 17th
Click here to read Mr. Lumberjack, Book #13 – Coming June 24th
Click here to read Mr. Prince, Book #14 – Coming July 1st
Chapter One
What started off as a beautiful Sunday ended as a nightmare.
“I made you!” A slurry of saliva spewed from Greg’s mouth and into my face.
He was mad, madder than I’d ever seen. “You need to leave,” I said calmly to deaf ears.
“You would be nothing without me, Naomi, nothing!” Greg screamed in my face.
His face was contorting as he shouted, and his once-beautiful blue eyes turned dark. I’d never been afraid of him before, not once in the first year we dated. The last few months things had escalated quickly, and after I’d told him we were done, the new Greg emerged. The Greg I didn’t know, the one that scared the hell outta me.
“Greg, you need to leave, now!” My voice raised to match his.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” he chuckled, leaning against the desk in my front room. “This place, yeah, I got you this place. All those clients you’re cooking for, training, I got those for you, too. You don’t think I can’t take everything away from you whenever I want?” he snarled, his mouth twisted in a half-smile.
Some of that may have been true, a year ago. I worked hard to get where I was, and I did owe some of my success to Greg, but certainly not all. “You only got me this place so your friends could keep an eye on me,” I sassed, wishing I hadn’t as soon as my words filled the room.
My body jolted backward as Greg’s strong arms pushed into my chest. The doorjamb ground into my back, sinking into my flesh like a knife. I let out a scream of agony as Greg’s dark, angry eyes pierced into mine with a smile sliding upward on his face. This was not the Greg I once knew.
His hands gripped around my waist, slinging me across the room. My back hit the arm of the couch, sending me from my feet and onto the cushions.
“You need to remember who’s in charge,” Greg whispered as he leaned over me.
I pushed myself up, angry and ready to take back control of my life.
Greg was walking out my front door, his stride filled with pride. My anger grew quickly, causing me to lunge after him, pushing him out onto my front stoop. “Don’t ever come back here!” I screamed.
“I have no reason to,” he said calmly, suddenly acting civilized instead of like the monster he’d been inside.
He reached his hand to his neck, where my nails must’ve dug into his flesh as I pushed. A smile smeared across his face as he pulled back a drop of blood with his fingers. “You’re a fuckin’ pyscho,” he growled.
His eyes grew dark once again, and he came at me, pushing me onto my ass. He hovered over me, screaming obscenities, calling me a whore and accusing me of attacking him.
My blood boiled as his slobber slung onto my cheeks. “You’re actin’ like you have ‘roid rage,” I hissed, standing from my pushed position, only to have Greg grip me to shove me back down.
My hand reached for something to catch my fall, only for it to be Greg’s face, and then shoulder. Another set of claw marks were now in place to prove his rantings.
His muscles flexed, his nostrils flared, and I watched carefully as his fists clenched. I knew he was ready to hit me. I knew he would’ve if two cop cars hadn’t pulled up right that second.
“Step away from her,” ordered a strong voice. The voice belonged to an officer with short dark hair and deep, dreamy eyes.
Greg lifted his hands in the air, smirked, and took a couple steps away from where he stood over me. “I’m so glad you’re here, officers,” he said calmly, turning around.
Marlene, my neighbor, stood in her front yard with her hand on her hip. It was obvious she was the one who called the police there in the first place, and just couldn’t wait to jump in the middle of it.
She’d been rude ever since I broke it off with Greg, not that she had been much friendlier before. She was living with Hank, one of Greg’s best buddies at the gym where he worked—and where I used to work.
Another officer, one a little larger in the belly than the first one, got out of his car and walked over to Marlene.
I sat there on my front stoop, the place where I’d been pushed, and just waited for my turn to speak. Greg was six-foot-two and at least two hundred twenty pounds made up of mostly muscle; there was no way he had them believing I attacked him… was there?
Finally, the handsome officer walked toward me. “On your feet,” he ordered.
I obliged, standing quickly as the officer reached behind his back. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he ordered.
Tears welled in my eyes. This wasn’t happening. There’s no way this could be happening.
“Officer, why am I being arrested?” I asked.
“You ae under arrest for domestic violence,” he stated in a calm voice, as I felt the hard, metal cuffs being slapped onto my wrists.
The sound of them clicking, locking me into this man’s custody, made me cringe. “This is absurd. He attacked me,” I pleaded.
“We have his statement, and the neighbor’s. You are welcome to make a statement at the station,” he said, walking me toward his patrol car.
His hand pushed onto the top of my head as he instructed me to turn and slowly bend to sit in the cold backseat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. He had visible marks and a witness. I’m only doing my job,” he said softly before closing the door, locking me in the car that smelled of sweat and something bitter, possibly blood.
Greg’s face was filled with pride and sarcasm as he glared at me once the officer finished with his statement. I wished I could flip him off, scream at him, or better yet, hit him in his smug mouth, but I was cuffed and locked down. How could he do this?
The officer returned to his car, sliding into the driver’s seat without saying a word. He scribbled in his notepad, called the station on his radio to let them know he was bringing one in, and then put it in gear. “Am I going to jail?” I asked.
“You can call someone to bail you out once you’ve been booked,” he said, like it was no big deal. It was a huge fuckin’ deal. Booked? I was being booked?
Tears streamed down my cheeks, burning my flesh with each streak. “This isn’t fair,” I sobbed.
“You can’t put your hands on someone,” the officer stated
sternly.
“He came into my house and attacked me. He threw me into the doorjamb, across the room, and slammed me down onto my ass on the front porch. He was ready to hit me when you pulled up,” I explained in a calm, even voice.
“He had a witness that saw you attack him,” he said, turning the patrol car down the main highway.
“Yeah, his best friend’s girlfriend. Besides, she didn’t see anything in the house. And I only scratched him trying to catch myself from falling,” I said, my tears drying up and anger starting to grow.
I pushed back into the seat, arching my back to relieve the pressure the cuffs were creating on my shoulders, and heaved a sigh. This was obviously useless.
I stared at the cars flying by, wondering if anyone I knew saw me in the backseat of this cruiser. This was going to ruin my reputation, my career, and probably my life.
The officer’s eyes drifted into the rearview mirror several times. I couldn’t tell if he was checking to make sure I wasn’t trying to make my escape from his speeding car on the busy highway, or if he was showing some type of empathy towards me. All I knew was that his dark eyes were beautiful.
He was back on his radio, stating numbers that meant nothing to me, and then the gates opened in the back of the police station. He pulled his patrol car through, stopping at a large black door marked ‘Prisoner.’ What the fuck? Was that for me?
Tears flooded my eyes as the backdoor opened. The officer leaned in, gripping my arm gently to lift me to my feet. Once I had my balance, and my eyes cleared from the tears, I noticed his name tag: C. Reynolds.
“You have to believe me. I didn’t do anything wrong. He attacked me,” I pleaded once more, hoping to find a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
He moved forward, walking me to the door without speaking. A loud buzzer sounded and the doors opened. Officer Reynolds led me through them and into a cold, unfriendly room with white floors that smelled of bleach.
“Have a seat,” he ordered, moving towards a wood desk.
The handcuffs were chafing against my wrists, and all I wanted was to wake up from this nightmare.
Officer Reynolds sat down at the desk and proceeded to turn on his computer. His fingers pecked away at the keys like a pro while I sat there, awaiting my fate.
“Okay. Before I actually book you, do you have any marks that can support your claims?” he asked, his eyes offering very little kindness.
It was obvious he still didn’t believe me. “I don’t know. My back hit pretty hard into the doorjamb. I’ll probably have a bruise on my ass in a couple days, but that doesn’t do me much good now,” I noted.
He sighed, scooting out from his desk. I watched as he stood, towering over me as he moved to the back of my chair. “Lean up for me, please,” he said softly.
I leaned up and soon the warmth of Officer Reynolds hands was on my back. “Is it okay if I lift your shirt?” he asked.
“Yes,” I agreed, leaning up further so he could check for my marks.
The cool air of the room brushed against my back as my tank top lifted away from my skin. Soon, it was back down again, and my handcuffs were being removed. I stretched my fingers, pulled my arms in front of me, and let out a long sigh. “Are there any marks?” I asked.
Officer Reynolds moved back to his seat. His eyes were warm and filled with empathy. “Yes. You have marks to substantiate your story,” he said. “Has this ever happened before?” he asked with concern.
“No. He’s always been controlling, and he’s grabbed me a little too hard before, but nothing like this,” I explained.
“I’m not going to arrest you, Naomi. But, I do need you to fill out a statement,” he said.
“Of course,” I agreed, relief filling my soul.
“Where do you plan to go?” he asked.
“Home.”
“That was your place of residence?”
“Yes.”
“And he does not live there anymore?” he asked.
“He never lived there,” I explained.
“I’d feel better about sending you home with a restraining order against him. Are you willing to agree to a temporary one being put into place?” he asked in a gentle voice.
“Yes,” I agreed. I would’ve agreed to anything to get out of that station.
“Here. Write down everything that happened in your own words,” he said, pushing a paper and pen towards me.
He was young, not much older than me, maybe in his late twenties. Even so, there was something so powerful about him, so strong. I finished my statement and then called Carrie, my best friend, to pick me up. I waited for her while Officer Reynolds gave me the instructions on how the restraining order worked.
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem again,” I said strongly.
“Believing that is your biggest mistake,” he warned.
A female voice came over the intercom on Office Reynolds’ desk alerting us that my ride had arrived. He smiled, scooted his chair back, and stood.
His eyes were different now, now that he didn’t think I was a criminal, a man-beater. They were soft, kind, and filled with compassion as he placed his hand on my lower back and led me through the double set of doors down a long hallway.
I looked down each hall as we passed, wondering if each one led to a cell where I could’ve very well been tucked away.
“I hope things get better,” he said kindly as he pushed open the last set of doors that led to the station lobby.
“Thank you, Officer Reynolds,” I said with a smile I couldn’t hide.
“Carter,” he said.
I must’ve looked confused, but I was merely shocked. “My name’s Carter,” he said with a smile.
Carrie stood at the front counter, her long, whiskey-colored hair flowing down her back, her big green eyes wide and filled with fear as she turned to me. “Naomi, are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes, just please get me outta here,” I sighed.
“Holy shit! I wouldn’t mind being cuffed and stuffed by him,” Carrie whispered as we walked out the front doors.
I giggled, knowing she was referring to the hot cop that had detained me, Carter. Carter Reynolds.
Chapter Two
I pulled up in front of my house, ignoring the fact that Marlene was working in her yard. She hadn’t spoken to me since that night over a week ago, and honestly, I was grateful. I knew if she had come over, for anything at all, I’d have ended up back in jail for smacking her smug face, this time for real.
The box I pulled out of my backseat was almost too large to get my arms around, but I managed. I’d just catered my first large party, a birthday party for a regular client. He wanted to not only show off his personal chef—me—but he wanted his friends to start eating healthier.
I’d handed my new business cards out to the guests, hoping to gain more business, and from the reaction of most, I figured I’d get at least a few calls. I didn’t need Greg, or his gym. I was doing just fine on my own.
I slapped my hip against the back door, slamming it shut as a cop car turned the corner.
My heart raced as I narrowed my eyes, hoping to see Carter inside. He’d been making rounds, pretty regularly since that night. Even though it had been over a week without another incident, he was diligently doing his duty to keep me safe.
I lifted my arm and waved once I noticed it was indeed Carter. The police cruiser pulled up beside my car, and he rolled down his window.
“You don’t have to spend so much time checking on me,” I said, secretly excited that I got to see him almost every night after work.
“It’s my job. And I feel bad that I almost tossed you in jail,” he smiled.
“You should!” I teased.
“What’s all that?” he asked, motioning to the large box in my hands.
“I had a large party to cater tonight. It’s just my equipment,” I explained, hoisting it higher on my hip so it wouldn’t slip from my fingers.
“Here, let me,” he sai
d, opening his car door and shutting off the engine.
He took the large box, his dark, dreamy eyes lingering on mine, and then followed me to my front door.
I fumbled with my key, nervous that he was so close behind me. My body was tingling with excitement, something that seemed to happen every time he was near.
“So, has he bothered you anymore?” Carter asked as I opened the front door.
I held open the storm door, letting him inside. “You can set that anywhere. No. He’s called a few times, but he hasn’t been back over,” I replied.
“He’s not supposed to have any contact with you whatsoever. Has he threatened you in any way?” he asked, his voice growing stern.
“No. He called to yell about the restraining order, and a couple other times to ask about something work-related,” I sighed.
“If you have the phone calls still logged on your phone, I can pick him up,” Carter suggested.
“No. He’s stopped. I think he’ll leave me alone from here on out,” I assured him.
“I hope so. But better safe than sorry,” he said, setting the box on the kitchen table.
His eyes were always so flirty when they looked into mine, and his actions clearly showed some level of interest. I wasn’t sure if it was simply job-related, if he was just that kind, or if he had a romantic interest in me.
“I blocked his number,” I added with a smile.
His lips curled into a wide smile. “That’s smart. So, you work for a catering company?” he asked, obviously looking for a reason to delay his departure.
“No. I’m a personal chef and trainer. I create healthy meals, teach clients how to prepare simple meals for themselves, and offer workout routines that are customized to their lifestyle,” I said proudly.
“Wow. That’s impressive,” he said, looking around my house as he continued to linger.
“Why don’t you let me cook you dinner?” I asked.
“I couldn’t ask you to go to that kind of trouble,” he said.
“You didn’t ask. I offered,” I insisted.
He stared at me, his eyes smiling, and his demeanor somewhat nervous for a moment. “I could take you out to dinner, or even order take-out,” he offered.