Page 17 of Hard Game

“Do they look vulnerable to you?” Tassa tilts her head and swallows hard. “They look happy, right?”

I nod.

They do.

“She would be more their thing,” Tassa says, nodding to a woman on the same level as us. She’s a cleaner, and she looks positively exhausted. Her hair is scraped back, and there are bags under her eyes. She has chapped lips and pushes the cleaning cart like it takes all her effort.

“Her?”

Tassa nods. “She’s not as old as she looks.”

I peer at the woman, and as she gets closer, I see that Tassa is right. She’s probably in her twenties. Her overalls hang from her thin frame, and I wonder why she isn’t in school or a better job.

“Opportunity,” Tassa says, interrupting my thoughts. “She probably hasn’t had much.”

I feel a fierce protectiveness for the girl, and Tassa places a hand on my arm.

“I’m not saying she’s a victim; I’m saying she could be.”

I nod, watching the girl sadly. “Can we help her?”

Tassa whips her head around to me, her eyes wide. “As in?”

“Money. Someplace safe to live.”

“You’re assuming she has none of those things.” Tassa frowns as she watches the girl. “You could be wrong.”

“She doesn’t look like she’s eaten a good meal in weeks. Look at her clothes; they’re hanging off her,” I argue as Tassa scrutinizes the woman.

“But in order to have a job, she needs a fixed address, right?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Not if she’s got a state ID card.”

We watch the woman, but then I notice something else: a woman and a man follow her. My hackles rise, and Tassa notices them too, but instead of looking worried, she looks at me with wide, excited eyes.

“That’s the detective from the TV!”

I look back to see the woman is indeed the Detective from the TV, but damn, she’s better in real life. I can’t help but stare at her as she marches forward, her eyes scanning everyone around her like they’re criminals waiting to jump on her. I also want to jump on her, but for entirely different reasons. As she approaches me, her eyes meet mine, and she falters ever so slightly. The man beside her notices and follows her gaze to me.

I stare back.

“You’re staring, Mad,” Tassa mumbles, turning away from the couple. “Don’t stare at them!”

But I can’t help it. The way her hips move as she walks, the confident swagger that shows no fear, the determined look in those emerald eyes as she studies me. Fucking wow.

“Can I help you?” She stops, waving to her partner to follow the cleaning woman. I can smell her vanilla scent from here, even the coconut-scented shampoo she must use. My eyes deceive me and brush over her, taking in her pert breasts behind her tight white shirt and the thick belt around her waist where a gun sits cozily in its holster. Her thighs?—

“I asked you a question, Sir.”

Her voice…Wait, Sir?

Oh, fuck. I can imagine her on her knees, looking up at me as she fists my cock?—

“It depends,” I say with a grin. “What services do you offer?”

Tassa gapes at me before muttering, “Seriously?!” under her breath.

The Detective doesn’t look fazed in the slightest. She rests her hand on her gun and gazes at me. “I could handcuff you right now if you’re into that?”

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