Chapter 7: Daniels’ Betrayal.

Home was a war zone of a different fuckin’ kind after the sting that nabbed Kevin, the mayor’s son, for fencin’ stolen goods tied to the casino heist. Caleb’s back, lookin’ hot, ready to hunt Leon’s crew again. His confession in the interrogation room—that Armando Leon, a Dallas kingpin, ran the show, with Rico as his attack dog behind Laura Simmons’ brutal assault—lit a fire under my ass as Lubbock’s sheriff. Every lead I chased now pointed to a sprawlin’ network of corruption, one that could reach my ranch, my son Martin, and the twisted family we’d built in secret. I needed release after the bust, the kind only Martin and Zoe could give, a sick fuckin’ escape from the dread of Leon’s retaliation or Rico sniffin’ too close to home. My pussy was already throbbin’ from the adrenaline, wet and achin’ under my uniform skirt, no panties to slow me down, cum from earlier flings still stickin’ to my thighs as I drove, clit beggin’ for a rough touch. But beneath the hunger for flesh, guilt clawed at me—Laura still had no full justice, and every day I fucked around, literally, risked exposin’ Martin to this war. Could I take down Leon and Rico before they came for us, or was I just diggin’ a deeper fuckin’ grave for everyone I cared about?

Chief Daniels’ betrayal cut deeper than any fuckin’ blade Rico or his scum could swing. Kevin’s confession in the clink—that Daniels, my goddamn mentor, was in Armando Leon’s pocket, tied to the casino heist and maybe even Laura Simmons’ assault—turned every memory of his guidance into pure fuckin’ venom. As Lubbock’s sheriff, I’d trusted him to cover my ass, but now the truth burned: he’d sold out the badge, sold out the town, likely pointed Rico toward Laura Simmons and Nancy Wigan to keep the mayor’s cronies in check. I’d already cuffed Kevin for fencin’ stolen goods and Rico for rapin’ Laura and Nancy, but Daniels was the fuckin’ linchpin—if Leon owned him, he could own half the station, and every case I’d worked, every secret I hid at the ranch with Martin, was at goddamn risk. I’d rip him outta this town myself, even if it meant exposin’ my own filth in the process. But late at night, starin’ at Martin’s sleepin’ face, my pussy still throbbin’ from our last raw fuck, cum crusted on my thighs, I wondered—could I shield him from this fallout, from Leon’s reach, or was I just draggin’ him deeper into my hell with every fight?

Zoe and I mapped out the raid on Daniels’ home with icy precision at the station, pourin’ over evidence logs in the dim briefin’ room after hours, the air thick with tension and the faint musk of my own arousal, pussy still wet under my skirt from thoughts of Martin, no panties to catch the slickness drippin’ down my thighs. “We hit tonight, under cover of dark,” I hissed, voice low, badge heavy on my belt as I traced his address on a map, leanin’ close to Zoe, lettin’ my tit graze her arm, nipple stiff through my shirt, skirt ridin’ up to flash bare skin, darin’ her to stare as I spoke, “Gonna cuff his sorry ass and make him spill everythin’. Kevin named him, Rico hinted at brass involvement, and if we catch him with proof—files, cash, Leon’s payoffs—we’ve got the bastard. But Zoe, if he knows about the ranch, about Martin and Peter...” My words faltered, fear slicin’ through, a rare crack in my steel as I pictured my son caught in this crossfire, my cunt clenchin’ empty at the thought of losin’ him, even as it ached for Zoe’s touch right there on the table.

Zoe’s gaze locked with mine, fierce with shared grit but shadowed by dread, her fingers tappin’ the table before slidin’ to my thigh under it, grazin’ the edge of my bare pussy, sendin’ a jolt through me as she teased, “We’ll bury him, Teresa. For them. But ... what if we’re outta time? I keep thinkin’—should I grab Peter and bolt? Before Leon digs too deep into us?” Her confession hit hard, echoin’ my own terror, her hand slippin’ higher, fingers brushin’ my soaked slit, rubbin’ slow over my clit, makin’ me stifle a moan as I parted my legs slight, lettin’ her feel the heat, the wetness, my breath hot on her neck as I leaned closer, whisperin’ with a nasty edge, “We ain’t boltin’ yet, bitch. Gonna fuck you quick before we roll out, grind my cunt on yours till we’re both screamin’ while we plan to fuck Daniels over.” We were in too deep, both of us, balancin’ badge and depravity, the cost risin’ every damn second.

We raided Daniels’ home at midnight, catchin’ him off guard in his fancy-ass suburb, the quiet street a lie for his corruption. “You’re under arrest for corruption, Chief,” I snarled, cuffin’ him in his own livin’ room, his silk robe no shield as Zoe swept the house for evidence—ledgers, burner phones, a stash of cash marked with Leon’s signature style. His glare burned, “You’re in over your head, Teresa. Leon will gut you for this,” but I slammed him against the wall, my knee in his back, grindin’ my bare pussy against my thigh as I moved, the friction spikin’ a jolt through me, a twisted thrill of power as I growled, “Shut your fuckin’ mouth, traitor, or I’ll make this hurt worse than your pride.” My cunt pulsed even now, wet with the rush of dominatin’ him, cum from earlier still stickin’ to my skin under the skirt.

At the station, I broke him in the interrogation room, badge on the scratched metal table, body a weapon as I leaned close, shirt unbuttoned far to show deep cleavage, nipples hard and dark through thin fabric, skirt hiked just enough to flash thigh, sittin’ with legs parted slight so he could glimpse my bare, glistenin’ pussy under it, wet and ready, still sticky with cum, the scent of sex clingin’ to me as fluorescent light buzzed overhead. “Who else, Daniels? How deep does Leon’s pocket go? Give me names, or I’ll make sure every cop in Texas knows you sold us out—maybe show you how a real sheriff fucks with traitors,” I growled, voice drippin’ with venom and seduction, leanin’ in so my tits were inches from his face, lettin’ him see the sweat tricklin’ down my cleavage, shiftin’ my hips to flash more of my cunt, lips parted, darin’ him to crack as my hand rested near my badge, a threat and a tease. Daniels spilled under pressure, voice low, defeated—Leon owned judges, councilmen, a network of filth I’d need a fuckin’ army to torch. “He’s got dirt on everyone, Teresa. Even you, if he digs hard enough. Back off, for your kid’s sake,” he warned, the threat hittin’ like a fist. Then, with a bitter smirk, he dropped a bomb, “Check the edge of town, Sheriff. There’s a whorehouse off Route 87, hidden behind the old mill. Leon’s got the town’s powerful—mayor’s men, council pricks—runnin’ young girls through there. Managed by his sister, Maggie Leon, a real piece of work. Break that, and you might break him ... or get yourself killed. And those tapes you’ve been sittin’ on? They’re from there—filth they use to blackmail half the county.” My blood ran ice-cold—did he know about Martin, about the taboo I hid? And now this, a den of exploitation right under my fuckin’ nose, tied to the bastards I was huntin’, linked to that goddamn VHS tape I’d locked away since findin’ it in evidence. I hid the tremor in my hand, but the fear clawed deeper, my pussy clenchin’ at the risk even as dread froze my spine. Laura and Nancy had a piece of justice with Rico down, but Daniels’ words echoed: Leon could shatter everythin’ I’d built, everythin’ I’d tainted, and this whorehouse was a new layer of hell I’d have to face.