Chapter 24: Crossing Every Damn Line

February 5, 1994

The sheriff’s office was a goddamn pressure cooker that day, the air thick with tension that clawed at my nerves and made my pussy throb with a restless, achin’ heat, even as my mind churned over the latest dead ends in the Leon case. Armando Leon, that fuckin’ Dallas kingpin, loomed like a specter over every bust I’d made—Kevin, Rico, even Chief Daniels—all pawns in his filthy empire tied to the casino heist and Laura Simmons’ brutal assault, her broken face a scar burned into my soul. Each arrest clawed me deeper into his network of corrupt judges and councilmen, a web of slime that stretched from Dallas to this dusty shithole of a town, but every lead risked blowback that could slam into the ranch, into Martin, into the twisted family we’d forged in secret. My baby girl Libra, and the other little ones—Gemini, Aries, Taurus, Pisces, Aquarius—slept innocent in their hidden nursery back home, their tiny breaths a fragile thread I’d kill to protect. I’d spent the mornin’ chasin’ a tip on Councilman Burke, a name Daniels had coughed up before I broke him, only to hit a brick fuckin’ wall when an informant clammed up, tremblin’ at Leon’s name like it was a death sentence. Frustration gnawed at my gut like a rabid dog—Laura still waited for full justice, her tear-streaked eyes hauntin’ me in every quiet moment, and every delay risked Leon sniffin’ closer to my double life. Could I take him down before he came for us, before he dug up the truth about Libra and the others, or was I just pilin’ sins on sins until this whole fucked-up house of cards collapsed around me?

Lunch break rolled around, the office clearin’ out like a ghost town, leavin’ the bullpen a hollow shell of buzzin’ fluorescents and stale coffee stench—perfect for the nasty shit Zoe and I had brewin’, a sick escape from the case’s weight that had my cunt already drippin’ under my uniform skirt, the damp heat soakin’ my bare thighs. Zoe leaned over my desk, her tits damn near spillin’ out of her tight uniform shirt, dark nipples strainin’ through the thin fabric like fuckin’ beacons, her scent—a mix of cheap perfume and raw need—hittin’ me hard as she whispered, “Got plans for lunch, stud?” Her voice was pure fuckin’ sex, drippin’ with the promise of gettin’ fucked up in all the right ways, a distraction I craved even as Laura’s shattered face flashed in my mind, her silent plea warrin’ with the ache in my clit. I smirked, knowin’ this bitch was about to turn this borin’-ass day into a goddamn orgy, but beneath the lust, guilt stabbed sharp—every minute not huntin’ Leon was a minute riskin’ Martin, Libra, and all our babies, their innocence a noose tightenin’ around my blackened heart. “Let’s make it count, Zoe,” I growled low, my mind flickin’ to the darker plan we’d hatched—if anythin’ came of this, a seed planted in our wombs, we’d have our scapegoats ready. “Harrison’s mine to ruin. If I’m carryin’ after today, his perfect little life’s the one I’ll shatter with it. You got Matthews lined up for the same game?” Zoe grinned, wicked and sharp, noddin’ as she murmured, “Fuck yeah, if Gemini gets a sibling, Greg’s takin’ the fall. We pin it right here, right now, this time and place, so they can’t squirm out later.” Our twisted scheme fueled the heat, a safety net for our sins, even as the dread of Leon’s shadow loomed.

She didn’t waste a fuckin’ second, slinkin’ over to Deputy Greg Matthews like a predator on the prowl, her hips swayin’ with deadly intent as she pressed up against him by the file cabinets in the back, pretendin’ to talk some bullshit case file, her voice a low purr I couldn’t hear but could feel in my bones. Greg Matthews, a married prick with a photo of his smilin’ wife and kids mockin’ him from his desk, didn’t stand a chance; his eyes glazed over with raw lust as she dragged him closer, her hand slidin’ bold over his crotch, fingers teasin’ through his pants, makin’ his breath hitch loud enough to echo in the empty room. I watched, heat poolin’ in my cunt, clit pulsin’ hard as fuck as she undid his belt right there, the clink of metal sharp in the quiet office, his weddin’ ring catchin’ the harsh light as he gripped the cabinet, steadyin’ himself, his knuckles white with shame and need. “I’m gonna fuck ya so hard ya forget your own fuckin’ name, pig,” Zoe whispered, voice low and filthy, her smirk wicked as she yanked his pants down, his hard cock springin’ free, already drippin’ precum like a goddamn faucet, veins bulgin’ as she gripped it tight, strokin’ slow to draw out his humiliation, her thumb smearing the slick tip while he groaned like a trapped animal. “If I’m knocked up from this, Matthews, you’re the sorry bastard I’ll name,” she hissed, loud enough for me to catch, her eyes glintin’ with dark intent, plantin’ the seed of her plan as she pushed him further into ruin, her control absolute.

Meanwhile, I had my own prey to hunt. Deputy Tom Harrison, that tight-ass rule-follower with a stick so far up his butt he could taste it, sat at his desk lookin’ all serious, oblivious to the storm brewin’ my way, his pen scratchin’ at paperwork under the hum of the old AC unit. I walked over, boots clickin’ sharp on the chipped linoleum, voice rough as gravel as I barked, “Harrison, get your ass in my office. I need your ‘expertise’ on somethin’.” He looked up, confused as fuck behind his nerdy glasses, a flicker of nervousness in his brown eyes, but followed me in like a good little bitch, his family photo—wife and two brats—starin’ from his desk like a silent accusation as the door slammed shut behind us, the click of the lock soundin’ like a fuckin’ starter pistol for the depravity about to go down.

Inside my office, the air was stale with old coffee and paperwork dust, the blinds half-drawn castin’ slatted shadows across the desk, and I didn’t bother with any bullshit pretense. I shoved him against the desk, rippin’ at his uniform buttons like a starved fuckin’ animal, papers scatterin’ to the floor in a messy heap, the clatter of a stapler hittin’ the ground mixin’ with his shocked gasp. “Ya ready to get fucked, Harrison?” I growled, hands yanking his shirt open, exposin’ his lean chest, sparse hair damp with sudden sweat, his weddin’ ring cold against my skin as I grabbed his hand, pressin’ it to my tit through my shirt, forcin’ him to feel the hard nipple beneath, already leakin’ faint beads of milk from mornin’ with Libra. “Ya think your wife would approve of this, ya cheatin’ fuck? ‘Cause if I’m carryin’ after today, you’re the bastard I’m namin’ as daddy,” I taunted, enjoyin’ the look of horror mixed with arousal twistin’ his face, plantin’ the seed of my scheme right then and there, lettin’ him know this moment—right here, February 5 in my office—would be the one I’d point to if a baby came of it, his breath hitchin’ as I pushed him back onto the desk, climbin’ on top, my skirt ridin’ up, bare pussy grindin’ against his bulge, no panties to slow me down, my wetness soakin’ through his pants as I rocked hard, the friction burnin’ sweet against my clit. I unzipped him quick, pullin’ out his cock, hard and throbbin’, the head flushed red, his ring glintin’ mockin’ly as I took him in my mouth, suckin’ him off like a cheap fuckin’ whore, tongue swirlin’ around the tip, tastin’ his salty precum while he moaned like a little bitch, eyes flickin’ to the door, fear and pleasure battlin’ in his tense frame. “Fuck my mouth, asshole, give me that load right down my throat! Mark this day, ‘cause it’s your ass on the line if I’m pregnant!” I rasped, throat workin’ as I deep-throated him, gaggin’ slight for effect, spit drippin’ down my chin onto the desk, the power rush drownin’ the guilt over Laura—for now, at least, though her ghost lingered in every shadow of my mind.

Things got messier fast, the room a stiflin’ cage of sweat and sin. Tom Harrison was a whimperin’ mess under me as I stroked his cock rough, strippin’ the rest of my uniform off, blazer and shirt hittin’ the floor, tits bouncin’ free, milk leakin’ faint creamy beads from my nipples, pussy drippin’ onto his thigh in a sticky mess, the scent of my arousal sharp in the cramped space. “Fuck me like ya mean it, asshole,” I barked, spreadin’ my legs wide on the desk, guidin’ his dick into my soaked cunt, the stretch burnin’ so fuckin’ good as he thrust in, desk shakin’ with every pump, pens and files rattlin’ off the edge with dull thuds. “Harder, ya pussy, ram that cock in my filthy hole till I’m screamin’! If ya knock me up right now, this is the moment I’ll remember, right here!” I roared, nails rakin’ down his back, drawin’ blood through his torn shirt, sweat drippin’ off us as the room stank of raw sex and desperation, my moans loud enough to risk someone hearin’ outside the thin walls. I flipped over, ass up, beggin’ him to take me from behind, “Fuck my slutty pussy raw, ya cheatin’ bastard, wreck me till I’m a fuckin’ mess! Plant that seed deep, ‘cause I’ll pin it on ya if it takes!” as he pounded harder, the slap of his balls against my clit drivin’ me wild, my cunt clenchin’ tight with every brutal thrust, juices slickin’ down my thighs in a messy flood, the wood creakin’ under us like it might snap. In the midst of this chaos, the door suddenly swung open without a knock, and Deputy Karla Lewis stepped in, her eyes widenin’ for a split second at the sight of us—me bent over, ass in the air, Harrison’s cock buried deep in my drippin’ pussy, desk rockin’ with each savage pump. Her uniform hugged her curves tight, dark skin glistenin’ with a faint sheen of sweat in the heat, her breath hitchin’ as a flush crept up her neck, arousal glintin’ in her dark eyes despite the shock, her lips partin’ slight as she took in the raw, forbidden scene, a tremble in her stance betrayin’ her hunger.