(Sexual situations and nudity)

Detective Bella Vega POV:

The San Myshuno Drug Enforcement Task Force arrived early morning at the upscale Midtown Pointe Towers. It wasn’t your typical scene for a morning search; ten thousand dollar mortgage, a doorman, complimentary housekeeping, and all the fixings of high society life. The warrant was signed less than 24 hours ago. This wasn’t a Hollywood element of surprise raid.

I stood there, breathing through my nose, silently waiting. My hands were wrapped around my Glock, in the defensive position, as were the other officers on my team. Lt Lawrence Loomis, who headed the task force knocked loudly out the door. “This is the San Myshuno Police Department. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

I stood in silence with the other officers anticipating the next moment. The target isn’t some low-level dope boy on the corner with his pants hanging halfway down his ass. We weren’t hunting rabbit; it was bear season.

After what seemed like several long moments, the front door swung open. I looked up and saw Big Meech, also known as B-Money, but better known under his government name, Marquez Flex.

Meech was putting on a shirt, while he glared at the smug detectives on the task force and the two uniforms standing outside his door. He knew our announcement was a fake courtesy and we were here because he had no choice. The “law” required us to get a warrant to search the property, but guys like Flex believe they are above the law. He seemed annoyed, but not surprised to see us.

Loomis asked Flex a series of questions before informing him of his rights before he snatched the warrant out of his hands. He briefly studied the document before shoving it back in Lieu’s direction.

Flex turned away from the group of officers that had assembled in his living room, making his way over to the window, giving me a sidelong glance. His swagger was one of confidence, not a man that was worried about the SMPD finding any incriminating evidence this day.

Matter of fact, during the whole five-hour search, Flex didn’t utter a single word, didn’t make one phone call, nor did he leave to use the bathroom.

He stood there as officers went through every inch of the living room, followed us upstairs into his office, and silently watched as we confiscated his hard drives, files, and other electronic devices. When one of the detectives had to ask a question, Flex only nodded or shook his head.

I went upstairs to look through a few drawers in the office and sensed Flex staring at me. I looked around the room. Flex briefly held my gaze, then looked away.

I watched his eyes for a moment, trying to see if he was focusing on anything in particular; maybe there was an area he didn’t want detectives searching or something he didn’t want us to find.

“Vega, will you come over here?” called my partner, Detective Erik Moynihan. I shoved the papers back in the drawer that had been in my hand and walked over to him. “I found these cell phones, probably burners and wiped. There’s no way of telling what’s on them right now.”

“Bag and tag them; we’ll take it to the forensics,” I replied.

I helped Erik take pictures of the phones and record the model in a log. “The serial numbers had been erased on the SIM card; hopefully forensics can find it inside the phone,” said Erik. I placed the cell phones in the evidence bag and looked around to see what other areas in the apartment hasn’t been searched.

I decided to head to the bathroom. “Is it alright if I use your bathroom?” I asked while raising my voice. The look in his eyes could’ve pierced through steel. His mouth didn’t say a word, but the glare in his eyes spoke for him.

I smirked as I headed toward the bathroom and went inside. Flex could glare all he wanted to, but he knew he had no power in this situation.

I turned around to face him again and slammed the door shut, signaling a resounding “fuck you.”

***********************************

It was too early to tell if our search would turn up any evidence to help build our case against the growing cartel that has been taking over the Metro San Myshuno. Marquez was important enough to have an impact on the increase of traffic, but there were bigger fish in the sea we wanted to catch.



After a stressful long day, I needed a good fuck to ease my nerves. Hartley Fullerton is one of the men I’m sleeping with. He was at the search with me this morning, and he was my immediate supervisor, not to mention very married.

My legs were spread as far as they could go as I received Hartley’s impressively large manhood deep inside of me. “Fuck me harder! Harder!” I screamed. I liked it rough and sometimes Hartley wanted to act like this was some lovemaking session. He knew I didn’t care about the easiness or tenderness. He knew when I summoned him, that I needed to get my back blown out, as rough and as hard as possible. I didn’t want foreplay; I didn’t want to kiss and cuddle, just murder the shit and be done with it. Otherwise, what are you here for?

I didn’t know what time it was whether it was still nighttime or morning. I grabbed my cell phone off the bedside table; the time was 4:45. The battery was down to 11%.

“Shit. I forgot to charge this dumb ass phone,” I said aloud. I rubbed my eyes, trying to adjust them to the darkness; trying to spot my charger.

I heard a soft moan next to me. I looked over and saw Hartley laying naked in my bed. I’d forgotten he came over late last night. I felt a twinge of annoyance at him still being here. He knew I didn’t like it when he spent the night. I thought he showered and went home once I fell asleep last night.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked, groggily. “Nothing. Why are you still here?” I asked, irritated. “Didn’t know it was so late, Bella. I fell asleep last night.”

“And what do you plan on telling Nicole why you didn’t come home last night?” I asked. “That I had a case that went late, which is not technically a lie,” answered Hartley. I scoffed. “She can’t be that stupid to keep believing that same story,” I said, Hartley’s expression turned to one of hurt as if he was so offended I would insult his wife.



“There’s no need for you to be so condescending, Bella,” said Hartley, his voice tight. I looked up at him.”I’m not married to you, and you’re not my father; don’t begin to reprimand me. Go home to your fucking wife.”

Hartley grew silent for a moment, shaking his head. “Why do you always have to do stuff like this, Bella?”

“What am I doing Hartley? You know I don’t like it when you “accidentally” slip up and stay over. You need to leave,” I scolded him. “Fine. I’ll take a shower. I’ll see you later,” said Hartley, as he got up from the bed and headed to my bathroom.

I closed my eyes again, but the smell of Hartley’s cologne permeated my pillows. I quickly flipped them over to get the scent out of my nose. There was nothing I hated more than a man trying to leave his mark in my home.

As a supervisor, Hartley had “authority” over me at work, but it also made him think he had it in other areas of my life. Shit, he barely had any power over me on the job, I don’t know why he felt like he could come over and attempt to call any shots after laying up in my bed.

I’ve told Hartley time and time again that I was not interested in anything emotional and if I felt like I wanted to fuck him, I’d be the one to call, but under my terms.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard the shower cut off and the sound of the front door closing as Hartley left my apartment.

I rolled back over in my bed determined to salvage some sleep before my alarm went off at six.

*************************

I slowly rolled out of bed once my cell alarm went off at six and grabbed a cigarette off my nightstand. I took a long drag and held it, letting the nicotine ease my nerves. Fuck, if I wasn’t a cop, I could easily roll a joint.

I didn’t bother to put on any clothes before leaving the room and heading into the kitchen. I turned on the coffeepot and stood there, taking another drag of my cigarette.

After yesterday’s search, I had a late night at the station, and I didn’t feel rested. There was so much evidence that needed to be poured over and a lot of paperwork to file. It was the most shitty part of police work in my opinion. As a detective, I preferred to be out with my partner, gathering evidence and working on investigations. But sitting at a desk doing paperwork was a big part of the job.

After the coffee finished brewing, I took my cup and a newly lit cigarette over to my dining room table and flipped on the TV to check the news. There was no mention of the search in the upscale midtown neighborhood, as there wouldn’t be. It’s not like we ran in there with a battering ram disturbing the peace of all those lovely rich people in their gilded cages; if only the majority of Flex’s neighbors knew what his real business was. I won’t act like some of them weren’t aware, as he undoubtedly had clients as neighbors who were his customers.

“and news from Miami. DEA agents discovered a large amount of cocaine, Xanax, and hydrocodone in a home in South Beach. We’re told that the area has seen a rise in drug activity, mostly from importers outside of the US mainland, with most shipments coming in from the Caribbean.”

My ears perked up, and I listened intently to the anchorwoman. Any news of drug activities of the growing Caribbean cartels always sparks my interest. Any information I hear, I take note of it for my private investigation.

My older brother, Miguel also worked in the Narcotics Unit undercover before he was brutally beaten and killed in a sting gone wrong before I was on the force. His partner, Burl Griggs had also been gunned down during the time. Their killers were still at large.

Twelve years have passed, and the department is no closer to finding their killers now than they were all those years ago. It infuriated me to know the criminals responsible for killing my brother were still out there.

Narcotics turned over the case to the Cold Case department, probably the most inept and lazy unit in the entire San Myshuno Police Department. Those fat fuckers don’t do shit all day except sit on their asses and pretend to do real police work, searching dead girls who’ve been missing for thirty years. Their priorities were all fucked up; a cop killer case should come before anything else.

I have taken it upon myself to find out who killed Miguel and those most responsible. If you want something done, you must do it yourself. I am not interested in dragging them back to have their day in court. I want to do the same thing they did to my brother; beating him beyond recognition damn near and holding my Glock close enough for them to look down the barrel and know that death was imminent, but not before I made them suffer. That would be justice.

Check out the biography of Bella and other main characters here.

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