Resisting (Dirty Cops #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Rowan

N o! No! No! No! No!

The drawer goes slamming shut before I can catch it and the sound of clattering utensils fills the small space. My body locks in place, the air locking in my lungs as I listen for signs of stirring. God, please tell me I haven’t woken her. The last thing I need this morning is one of the witch’s lectures on how I’m the world’s worst daughter and “do nothin’ but cause problems around here .”

It’s bad enough I’ll have to face my physics test with a splitting headache, courtesy of being kept awake all night by all the wild moaning and grunting, along with the constant background noise of skin slapping together hard and fast. I’m pretty sure I heard enough dirty words to fill an entire dictionary on sex. But that’s not exactly going to help me explain centripetal acceleration on my test today. I just hope I don’t start explaining a different type of acceleration instead.

Thankfully, not a peep comes from behind my mother’s closed door, but I definitely need to get out of here before luck is no longer on my side. I turn, checking if my lifeline is almost finished brewing, but it’s still not done. For some reason the coffee seems to be dripping in slow motion this morning. Probably because my desperation for caffeine is at an all-time high. Every drop filling the pot is going to get me through one more minute of my school day. Then when I get to work later, I can refuel to get me through all the studying I need to do when I get home tonight.

“You mind if I get a cup of that?” The gruff voice has me nearly jumping out of my skin.

Dammit, I did wake them.

I brace myself against the counter, waiting for the verbal attack to hit, wishing I’d just settled for the tar they serve in the school cafeteria. But as the seconds tick by, my mother’s shrill voice never comes lashing out. Which only means one thing: she’s still passed out cold from the booze because there’s no way she’d miss a chance to cut me down, especially not when she has an audience to witness my humiliation.

“Sorry,” I say, keeping my eyes glued to the coffee pot, willing it to brew faster. “You’ll have to make your own. I only made enough to get me through my physics test today. Didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep last night.” Hint. Hint . It’s not like this place is a mansion or a two-story house with a floor separating our bedrooms. It’s a double-wide trailer. Not only was I merely eight feet away from them, but the walls are paper thin. We don’t even have drywall to buffer the noise.

“Damn,” he sighs. “I’m sorry about that. Didn’t know anyone else was here.”

Wow, it actually sounds like he means it. That’s a first for my mom—bringing home a guy with manners. Usually, she brings home jackholes who only know how to scratch their balls and burp the alphabet. “Excuse me” isn’t usually a part of their vocabulary, let alone “I’m sorry.”

“Rhonda didn’t tell me she had a daughter. ”

He seems surprised by the fact, but I’m not. She doesn’t tend to brag about the girl who’s made her life shit. According to her, if she hadn’t had me, she would’ve been able to lock down a husband, have her big house with her white picket fence and two point five kids, and would have a decent job right now. But because I somehow chose to implant myself in her stomach and was too expensive to abort, she’s now stuck living in a trailer, working at the local dive bar, and has never found a man willing to put a ring on her finger. “No decent man wants to be tied down with a step-brat.”

Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s cheated on every guy she’s ever been in a relationship with. Or the fact that she doesn’t have a decent job because she’s hot tempered and has no work ethic. And maybe if she didn’t spend every dime she makes on cigarettes and alcohol, she could afford somewhere nicer to live other than this trailer. In fact, if it weren’t for me, she’d be living on the streets right now because I’m the one who’s been paying the bills for the last six months.

“What’s your name?” The guy’s gruff, baritone voice has my shoulders tensing. If he doesn’t keep it down, the wicked witch will wake.

I turn, ready to ask him kindly to keep it down, but when my eyes land on a thickly rippled chest covered in tattoos, my mouth gets frozen shut. My eyes are too busy trailing over every sexy painted line for me to form a sentence. Running down one carved ab after another, leading me to a narrowed v and heading straight to a happy little dark trail of hair that disappears beneath a set of blue jeans which are hung teasingly low on his hips. The button not even fastened.

A low rumble sounding close to a frustrated growl has me snapping out of my trance. Shit. Thank goodness for the lack of light in the room; otherwise, he’d see just how red my cheeks are. I finally move my eyes up to where they belong, but as soon as I see his face, I’m struck even harder.

Holy crap! How the hell did my mom get this guy to sleep with her? He’s gorgeous. Like drop-dead, thong-meltingly HOT. And he’s a freaking mountain of a man. Usually the guys Mom sleeps with are short with beer guts that take up half the space of our kitchen. But this guy is built like a soldier and has a face even more incredible than the body it’s attached to.

His eyes are dark. His hair buzzed close in a military cut. Perfect cheekbones. Perfect mouth. Perfectly chiseled chin. Man, he is so out of her league. He’s out of everyone’s freaking league, except maybe a super model’s.

“How old are you?”

Again, I’m yanked from some seriously inappropriate thoughts and dunked back into an icy bucket of embarrassment. I need to get it together. This guy is my mom’s age. Not only that, but he slept with her. Went at it for hours. I heard all the wild, crazy things they did together and have the mental soundtrack to go with it. The last thing I should be doing is drooling over him.

“You gonna answer my questions, baby doll, or lick those lips all day long?”

Oh my God. Does that mean he can see my drool too? I need to get out of here. If I don’t, I’m not only going to be fighting a headache, I’m going to be fighting a giant case of humiliation with a side of “what the fuck is wrong with me.” Clearly, my sleep-deprived brain isn’t functioning properly this morning.

“I’m eighteen,” I answer, rushing over to the table to grab my school bag, keeping my eyes trained to the ground so I don’t stumble over my feet. “Sorry, I have to run or I’m going to be late for school.” I throw my backpack over my shoulder and rush out the front door. But as soon as I step outside, I see I’m not going anywhere. His motorcycle has blocked me in .

I turn to go back inside, but run smack dab into the middle of a hard wall of painted muscle.

“Sorry for blocking you in.” That grizzly voice runs down my spine and twists my stomach up into anxious flutters. “Why don’t you go on inside and grab that coffee you left on the counter while I move my ride.”

I stare straight at the black snake etched into the center of his chest, curling its way over his left pec as if it will strike anyone who tries to get near his heart. I’m too afraid to meet his eyes. Pretty sure my brain will malfunction again if I do.

“Okay, thanks.” The breathless rasp in my voice makes me want to cringe. How much more of a fool can I make of myself?

I go to step around him, but his hand reaches out, then my chin is locked inside his grip and being tipped up, giving me no choice but to meet his eyes. And, once again, I’m struck by his gorgeous face, which is even sexier in the low light of the rising sun. Now I can see the shadow of a beard outlining his locked jawline. The salted stubble tempting me to run my lips across it and feel it abrade my skin.

“You never told me your name, baby doll.” His words come out through gritted teeth, jerking me right back to my senses. He’s mad. Probably thinks I’m a bratty teenager who’s pissed about there being a man in my house. I’m definitely not happy about it. But that’s only because he’s dating my mom, which means his looks are where his good qualities end. Because anyone willing to sleep with my mom is either an idiot or an asshole. Usually both.

“My name is Rowan.” Finally, the lust clears and my words come out smooth. “I really do need to get to school, so would you mind moving your bike?”

Next time, I’ll be sure to park on the side of the trailer so I won’t be in this predicament again. God, just the thought of him coming back again and carrying on a relationship with my mother pisses me off. Thankfully, though, between school and work, I’m hardly ever here. I’ll just need to make sure I sleep with earplugs in and my pillow over my head. Maybe even some music playing in the background. And a sound machine set to max with a thunderstorm cracking loud and hard. Harder than the headboard.

That being said, I don’t think anything will ever erase the memory of my mom begging for his huge dick. Moaning about how good it made her feel and how she’d never been with anyone so big before. So incredible. And him grunting how she needed to open up and take more. To clench her walls together and give his dick a squeeze. Then both of them groaning and grunting like animals as they came. Oh God. Maybe I should sleep in my car from now on.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rowan. I’m Ryker, by the way.”

“I know,” I state, biting back the urge to tell him that I also know how big his dick is and how thick his fingers are. And that his tongue is magical. All the little details I wish were not burned inside my memory right now.

“So what school do you attend, Rowan?”

What? Why is he asking? He can’t seriously be trying to do the whole “get to know the daughter” thing right now, can he? Not only am I not interested in getting involved with my mother’s love life, but I don’t think I can form coherent answers at the moment. Besides, if he’s trying to impress her, then playing the interested family man is not going to work in his favor. And it definitely won’t work in mine. If she comes outside and catches him being nice to me, she’ll make my life even more of a living hell than she already does.

“Look, mister. I’m really not interested in playing twenty questions right now. I have a test today and need to get to school in time to ask the teacher a few things, so could you please just go move your motorcycle?”

His jaw clenches together. Those granite eyes narrowing along with his mouth. He looks even more pissed. I take a step back, worried I’ve now poked the bear, but he steps forward, eliminating my safety zone.

“You always this much of a peach in the morning? Asked you a simple question, little girl, didn’t need the attitude. Now, you want to try that again?”

My teeth lock together, a wave of irritation prickling down my spine. I’m not sure who the hell this guy thinks he is but I’m not a child and I won’t stand for being treated like one.

“You have exactly one minute to move your bike or I’m moving it for you.” I turn in my boots and march over to my car. Once inside, I lock the door—just in case. I start the engine, meeting his eyes and feeling his glare penetrating right through the windshield. He crosses his arms, remaining rooted in his spot, and it’s like I’m suddenly in a game of chicken. Both of us staring the other one down. Both of us waiting to see who breaks first. All I can say is he may want to move his bike because there is one trait I did get from my mom: my stubbornness.