Police Officer Drawing Novels & Stories

I’m a Straight Police Officer, but I’m falling for a 19-year-old JOCK! Officer Langdon Never in a million years did I imagine that stopping a speeding car one morning would thrust me into a wild encounter that would change the trajectory of my entire life. When I pulled over Tristan, a 6'9 African American college basketball player who also happened to be a rich bad boy who had no regard for the law, I didn’t anticipate that his muscular frame that oozed sex appeal and deep voice would have me weak in the knees and questioning my sexuality. His flirtation and bribe to perform a naughty and forbidden favor for me if I ripped up the ticket, threw me into a world of unexpected passion, shaking up my mediocre, repetitive and mundane life. This steamy escapade pushed me to explore my desires in ways I never thought possible and awakened feelings I didn't know existed . There are just a few problems: 1. I’m still in love with my live in ex-girlfriend. 2. This Jock’s dad is a future politician and homophobe and extremely controlling. 3. My ex-girlfriend’s brother is my boss, The Police Chief. And now I have to decide, between by my ex-girlfriend, my children, my job, or Tristan.

Once a wolfless outcast, Alexandra Rossi has clawed her way to the top, painting her own fate with fire and ambition. Betrayed by her fated mate, Leo, she left the Riverland Pack heartbroken—but she’s stronger now, her art in demand, her name rising. Just as she starts to breathe, the Lycan Prince enters her world—arrogant, magnetic, surrounded by schemes and dangerous enemies. What begins as a clever ruse—a fake relationship—ignites into something dangerously real, a mix of desire, passion, and power that neither can resist. As secrets about her true nature unravel, Alexandra finds herself at the center of a storm of politics, lies, and treacherous alliances. Old flames, new desires, and ruthless rivals circle her, testing her heart and her ambition. Will she claim the power—and passion—she’s earned, or let others decide her fate?

I was about to kill my mother's murderer…until he almost killed me first. As the daughter of a respected policeman, justice burned in my blood. I watched my mother die at the hands of a Mafia Lord. And I swore to make him pay. But when I confronted Don Theron, I didn't expect to be wrapped up in his arms, his grip choking life out of me. “Say your last prayers, princess,” he growls, tightening his grip like the devil he was. I struggled, I gasped for air, my heart raced but there was no saving from this doom. I thought I was done for. But then he let me go. But my freedom wasn't a gift, it came with a heavy price–a gruesome curse. In a twisted deal with my father, the man who murdered my mother became my husband. Now, every morning I wake up beside a monster who's cloaked in charm, secrets and control. My soul still burns for vengeance, his soul thrives on possession. And with every day that passes by, I wonder… Will I ever make it out of here alive?

[It's an unedited book. Typos and grammatical errors are common] What happens when a mafia and police get in a contracted relationship? They say if two people end up badly in one life, they get another chance in their new life. Shawn and Bella were meant to be together, but what holds them back was the past and secrets. They got to shield their hearts but instead, these two people from opposite sides of the law collide and build fiery attraction among themselves with explosive chemistry and an instant connection. There are no laws for love.

I had a fever, so I boiled myself an egg. I didn’t expect my son to come home and call the police. “There’s a thief in our house,” he told them, dead serious. “She stole one of my eggs.” The officers thought it was a joke. Evan didn’t. “Ms. Blake gave me those eggs. They’re imported. She stole from me, so she should be arrested.” Then he looked at me like I was a stranger. “Mom’s just lazy. She’s pretending to be sick. No wonder Dad likes spending time with Ms. Blake.” I bit down hard to keep from crying. It didn’t help. To him, my silence was proof I was guilty. “Ms. Blake said people who do bad things always act pitiful,” he added coldly. When my husband got home, he didn’t even ask how I was. “You sit around all day and still say you’re sick? Sounds like you just have too much time to be dramatic. If you were half as thoughtful as Sophie, I wouldn’t be this exhausted.” I almost laughed. When I had a 102-degree fever, he said the clinic was too expensive. But when his secretary mentioned her villa felt a little cold, he signed a thirty-million-dollar contract without hesitation. He was never stingy. Just never with me. That was the moment I stopped caring. That night, I stared at the message my father had sent me. And made a decision. Tomorrow, I was going home, not as his wife, not as anyone’s mother, but as the heiress I had always been.

I was sitting at the police station. My landlord scolded me harshly and pointed at my nose. Out of nowhere, my mother called and berated me mercilessly. “Chloe went to your place and disappeared! Did you lose her?!” “I know you’ve had grudges against me and your brother all these years, but how could you take it out on your niece?” In my previous cycle, when my mother told me Chloe was missing, I panicked and searched for her everywhere. Instead of helping, my mom and brother’s entire family dragged me to court without hesitation. I could not understand it. Chloe disappeared on her way to my place. How was that my fault? I begged the police to clear my name and review all the surveillance footage in the city. But the footage showed Chloe arriving at my door that day, and I opened the door for her. After that, she was gone, as if she had vanished into thin air. I stared blankly at the footage of her hopping cheerfully into my apartment. I had no way to explain myself. My sister-in-law lost it. She was convinced I had killed Chloe and threw boiling oil at my face in a fit of rage. I ended up in the hospital. I was disfigured and completely crushed, both physically and emotionally. No matter how hard I tried, I could not recall ever opening the door for Chloe. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day Chloe disappeared.

Ethan Carter is an international captain for Delta Air Lines. I'd been engaged to him for five years. In those five years,the only time I ever asked him to indulge me was when I sent him a photo of my mother's flight journal. That journal recorded the route she'd flown on her last trip: Boston to Paris. Her health was already failing by then. I wanted Ethan to mark that route for me, and paste it on the last page of the memorial album. He just replied, "I've got a transatlantic flight tomorrow. Flight safety isn't for humoring people." Last week Ethan came home on leave, and while I was sorting his luggage, I found a waterproof document pouch tucked in a lining. Inside was a full set of simulator debrief materials. A name was written on the cover: Claire Bennett. A young first officer at Delta, the rookie Ethan had personally mentored these past two years as she pushed for her international route certification. I opened to the first page. From takeoff roll to stall recovery to approach deviation, every page carried Ethan's handwritten notes. Red circles, blue underlines, black annotations, the handwriting crisp, just like the man himself. A private recommendation letter was tucked into the pouch. He wrote that Claire had "steady judgment, an exceptional capacity to learn, and the potential to join a transatlantic flight crew." Every word was restrained, and every word was precise. The most recent file had been modified last Valentine's Day. That day I'd booked a restaurant. Ethan said he was prepping for a flight and couldn't have dinner with me. I didn't cry. I didn't ask. I picked up my phone and booked a one-way ticket to Seattle. Seattle's air medical transport program was hiring a lead physician. I used to think the future between Ethan and me was something I had to wait for: wait for him to fly less, wait for him to be less busy, wait for him to finally have a spare moment to glance at my journal. I didn't want to wait anymore.

My husband, who was a drug enforcement police officer, personally got me into rehab. My son was cheering on the side, saying that he no longer had to see me under the influence for a long time. After I was discharged, I discovered my husband moved in with his lover and our son. I begged him to come back and told him that someone would kill me. He did not believe me. Instead, he said coldly, “If you die, you better end up in a trash can. Otherwise, I’d have to deal with your body.” My son cheered at the side. “Mommy is finally gone!” After a week, I was dismembered. My body parts were found in multiple trash cans. He was the police in charge of the case.

Eight months into my pregnancy, my husband finally makes time from his police duties to go to a prenatal checkup with me for the first time. The moment we step into the hospital, his satellite-encrypted phone buzzes urgently. The caller ID flashes briefly, and just like that, the man who's always calm and collected panics. "Honey, it's a red alert. Another international fugitive just crossed the border. I… I'm sorry…" He's clearly anxious, yet his tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. After apologizing, he rushes off. As I watch his SUV speed out of sight, my fist clenches tightly, crumpling the prenatal checkup sheet. I flag down a cab, slide into the car, and swiftly instruct the driver, "Follow that car. Don't lose it." A Red Notice for a fugitive? What a joke. My father, who works at the National Security Agency, barely catches wind of a notice like that. Yet, somehow, a mere police chief who only assists with cases is suddenly tasked with catching a high-priority criminal. Fine, then. I can't wait to meet the superior who's given him such an urgent assignment.

I start a livestream in the middle of the road before torching down my luxurious mansion that's worth ten million dollars in front of the entire Internet. Everyone claims that I've gone nuts. "I can't believe she actually burned a mansion that's worth ten million dollars! She must have gone cuckoo in the head!" I watch the inferno from my spot on the street, feeling extremely pleased. When the firefighters and the police arrive at the scene, I honestly admit to having burned down the mansion. Then, I request the police to arrest me on the spot. "I'm an arsonist, you see. I have mental health issues, so please arrest me as soon as possible. Otherwise, I'll burn down more houses." In my previous life, I had bought this mansion as an engagement gift for me and my fiance, Nigel Taylor. But this was also the very same mansion that ruined my life permanently. Nigel and my best friend, Olivia Williams, had gotten together behind my back. Those bastards betrayed me. After they spent the first half of the night drinking, they sped down the road in a car. But after hitting a few pedestrians, they fled from the scene. Then, they hid the offending vehicle in the garage of the mansion before spending the rest of the night together in bed. The next day, Nigel and Olivia cleared the scene of all traces and made me the perfect scapegoat for their crimes. I couldn't even defend myself when I was faced with all solid evidence that pinned the crimes on me. In the end, I was thrown behind bars. My reputation was instantly ruined. Not only did my company go into bankruptcy, but my parents also fell ill. In the end, they were beaten to death by the debtors who showed up on their doorstep. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the night Nigel and Olivia are about to commit the crimes. This time, I won't give them a chance to falsify any clues.