Chapter 1: Don't We All Love Bad Boys?

JAX

I’ve always hated cops. They are weak, stupid, and easily bribed. Just flash a bunch of cash in their faces and they’ll let any crime go.

Even murder.

Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not a murderer... yet.

I'm only here to explain my thoughts about cops.

"Why don't you ask Jaxon? He should know about him..."

I snapped out of my thoughts, taking a long drag from the half-burnt cigarette between my fingers. I dropped my gaze to the guy curled up beneath my boot, his back pressed against the dirty brick wall.

We were hidden in a dark alley where I had dragged a dumb guy to teach them a little lesson.

No, no. It's not called bullying. It's called discipline.

He was actually the bully. He dared to touch a single strand of hair on my dear Eugene's head, so it was my job to break him a little.

The dog kept squirming under my shoe. Blood dripped from his split lip onto his shirt, and his whole body was shaking like a leaf.

"I'm sorry, Jax. I... I won't do it again," the guy sobbed, barely able to breathe through his swollen nose.

Poor thing.

"Jax, don't you think we should let him go?" one of my guys asked, shifting nervously on his feet. "What if the cops come?"

"We'll do what we do best," Jeremy jumped in, running a hand through his black hair with a lazy smirk. When it came to doing bad things, Jeremy was always first in line. "We'll just flash Jax's money across their faces."

The guys laughed. Everyone except me.

Because in reality, I was actually waiting for the cops to show up. Not just any cop—Officer Marcus Grant. He arrived in the city only two weeks ago, and fuuuccckkk... my skin burned just thinking about him. I couldn't wait to get slammed onto the hood of his cruiser, his heavy body pressed tight against my back while he locked his cuffs around my wrists.

Just picturing his rough hands on me was making my jeans feel way too tight.

As much as I hated every other cop lurking around this city, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Even after he had arrested me a bunch of times.

"Ugh, this is boring." I stepped off the bully's chest and walked to the corner to pick up the bastard's school bag. I pulled his phone out and tossed it right into his lap.

"Here," I said coldly. "Call the cops."

"What?" Jeremy's smile vanished. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? You want to get arrested again?"

"It'll just be me. After all, I was the one who beat him up this bad," I said, walking back over to the bastard and squatting right in front of his bloody face.

His hands shook so badly he dropped the phone twice, terrified to even touch the screen. Poor thing. Did I scare him that much?

"Don't make me count to five," I warned, tilting my head. "One..."

"Dude, I'm out of here," Jeremy said, dropping his cigarette butt and crushing it under his heel. "I can't get arrested. My father will kill me."

"Me too."

"Me too. Sorry, dude."

Their footsteps faded fast as they ran out of the alley, leaving me alone with the bastard, who finally pressed the call button with trembling fingers.

"911, what's your emergency?" a voice came through the speaker.

I grinned, nodding at him to talk.

"H-hello, I need help," he choked out, tears rolling down his bruised cheeks.

"Go on. Tell them how badly I hit you," I whispered right in his ear. A shiver ran through him.

"I was beaten up by this guy from school and he... just come help me! I'm going to die!"

"Okay, calm down. Are you at this location?"

"Y-yes," he stammered.

"Does he have a weapon?" the operator asked.

"No..." he started to say, then froze when my smile dropped into an icy glare. His breath hitched and he nodded wildly. "Yes! Yes, he has a gun!"

"Okay, stay on the line. I'm sending the nearest unit your way. Try your best to stay safe."

I snatched the phone from his bloody hand and ended the call. My heart gave a hard, excited thump against my ribs. Come on, Officer Marcus. Be close. If any other cop showed up, they wouldn't even dare lay a finger on me.

Seconds later, a siren wailed in the distance, getting louder and louder.

Tires screeched at the mouth of the alley. Red and blue lights flashed across the dark walls, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a tight dark uniform stepped out of the cruiser.

Fuck. It was him.

A hot rush went straight down to my stomach. He looked left and right, his hand resting on his belt, before his heavy boots echoed into the alley.

"Run," I whispered to the bastard on the ground.

He didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled up, grabbed his bag, and bolted for his life. He dashed right past Officer Grant, leaving the poor, handsome man frowning in confusion.

Marcus turned his head, his gaze locking onto me. I pushed off the wall and stood to my full height, letting a slow smirk curve my lips.

"Hello, Officer Grant," I murmured.

A low groan tore from his throat. He snatched off his cap, running a large hand over his hair as his jaw clenched tight.

"I should have known it was you, Jaxon Whitfield," he bit out, his voice deep and rough. His hand went straight to the silver cuffs on his belt. "Dispatch said you had a weapon and were half-killing some kid."

"Oh, I was. I've been a really bad boy, Officer Grant," I purred, holding both of my wrists out in front of me, offering them to him. "Why don't you cuff me and take me somewhere private so you can punish me?"

He froze. His chest rose and fell hard beneath his uniform shirt. For a second, he glanced back toward the street to make sure no one was watching, then closed the distance between us in two long strides.

He crowded right into my space, towering over me, smelling like rain and sharp cologne.

"Jaxon, cut the crap," he growled, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I already told you... whatever happened between us that night was a damn mistake! I don't remember any of it."

I tilted my chin up, looking straight into those cold grey eyes that drove me crazy. We were so close I could feel the heat pouring off his skin.

"Really? Because I do," I whispered, leaning in just enough to brush my lips near his jaw. His whole body tensed. "And guess what? I have a recording."

His eyes widened, a flash of panic breaking through his cold mask.

"And I touch myself to it every single night," I breathed against his neck, letting my eyes flutter shut as I let out a soft, shameless moan right in his ear. "Ohhh... ahhh..."

Something snapped behind his eyes.

Marcus gritted his teeth, grabbed my wrists in a strong grip, and spun me around. My chest slammed hard against the brick wall, knocking the breath out of me. He pressed his heavy, muscular body flush against my back, trapping me completely as the cold metal of his handcuffs clicked tight around my wrists.

His hot breath hit the shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine.

"You want to get punished so bad?" he rasped, his large hand gripping the back of my neck, holding me pinned to the wall. "I'll teach you a damn lesson."

A wicked grin spread across my face against the rough bricks.

And that is how you make a man lose control for a bad boy.

The funny thing? Officer Grant and I hadn't even gone all the way at all. It was just one messy, drunken night.

Before we get into what he's about to do to me in the back of his cruiser, let's rewind to the very beginning—the day I first laid eyes on my dear Officer.

It all started with his sweet, nerdy son, Eugene Grant.