Page 2 of Conflicted Lies

I’m suddenly lifted up, and before I can ask what he means, my hands are cuffed behind my back. I try to fight it, break them apart, but my shoulders scream. To say I’m not fit is an understatement, but this is sobering. If only I ran a little longer. Then again, looking at the heights and builds of the two men, and me only coming in at five foot three, they have the advantage.

“You don’t know me. I don’t associate with police,” I spit. He seems to find that hilarious, laughing as he half drags me through Central Park because my legs keep crossing over one another.

I try a few times to fall backward to avoid the inevitable. He grabs the cuffs and lifts me again. It hurts. “I can throw you over my shoulder and carry you instead if your legs are suddenly broken,” Mr. Authority taunts. His partner is walking slightly ahead of us now.

“Be my guest. But don’t bitch when I bite at your throat,” I growl as I stand on my feet again.

“I might like it, Shortcake, so be careful what threats you’re making.”

My mouth drops open. “You can’t say that to me. Aren’t you supposed to uphold the law?”

He shoves me forward, encouraging me to walk again. “I thought you said my badge is fake.”

I try to eye him, to really get a good look at him, but through the dark and with the hat shadowing half his face, I can’t see very clearly. That and my glasses are slightly wet from the rain.

“Better be careful with these handcuffs; I might be into them,” I tease, trying to make him uncomfortable so he lets go. Aren’t they under some sort of fucked-up code?

“And I’m into gags. Should we try the two together, Shortcake?” he offers.

Heat rushes through me because, although I can’t see his face clearly, I like the tight muscles beneath his damp shirt that’s stuck to his upper body. He looks as tall as my cousins, around six foot two, and I know he could throw me around like a fucking rag doll.

Jesus, has it been that long for you that you’re actually fantasizing about a cop because he cuffed you?

“Got no response to that one, huh?” he asks as we approach the street, where I see a sleek black car. They might not be in uniform or drive a police car, but Charlotte knew they were cops when they were flashing around those ego-ass badges when we were stumbling out of the nightclub trying to ask people questions.

I go to speak, but our attention is taken by the police officer walking ahead of us. He’s talking into a radio, describing how I look.

“Hope Ivanov is her name.” My head swings around to look at Mr. Authority at the mention of my name.How the fuck does this guy know who I am?

But I still can’t see him clearly.

I tug on my restraints again, but it’s useless with his tight grip as he leads me to the car.

My father is going to be pissed.

He hates the police.

I may be twenty-two, but make no mistake, I’m still scared of my father when he gets angry. He may never hurt me, but that man is terrifying when someone hurts his family or even looks at him wrong.

He’s tried all his life to shelter me from his murderous tendencies; however, there have been a few times he’s accidentally lost control. Not to mention how many times my auntie, Anya Ivanov, has unapologetically killed people in front of me and then argued with my mother, telling her it’s a good lesson for every woman to learn.

Ahhh. This isn’t going to end well. They might actually ransack the entire police station just to get me out.

“Okay, I can pay you. Just remove the cuffs.”

This is going to get messy. If this guy knows who I am, he should know better than to bring me in.

“Are you trying to bribe a police officer?” the one holding me asks.

“No,” I say while nodding my head yes.

“No?” he repeats.

“No,” I reply flatly. What the fuck? How did that not work?

“Didn’t think so, Shortcake.” He grins, then says to the other officer, “Let’s take her into holding.” Officer number one opens the back door so Mr. Authority can not-so-gently shove me into the back seat. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t create an immediate fire in my gut because I fuckinglikeit.

Before the door is closed, I look up, furiously scowling at the man who shoved me in. He’s dressed in all black. He rests his hand on the roof of the car as he leans in, and his sleeve tugs up, exposing a few tattoos. Then I see his face as he pulls his hat off.

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