“Fetch, officer.”
1164 Words
Alex:
Sun was high and hot enough to bake the metal right off the bikes.
The cracked pavement outside the clubhouse shimmered like oil on fire, and Kandi’s bike was halfway stripped, chain dangling like a broken leash. She’d stripped it too hard. Again. No finesse, all fury, same s**t that got her in trouble everywhere else.
I crouched beside her, fingers black with grease and grit.
“You treat the bike like a dog, it’ll bite back,” I muttered, tightening a bolt. “Slow hands. Talk to it.”
Kandi rolled her eyes and wiped sweat off her neck with the hem of her shirt. “You talk to machines like they’re people.”
I glanced up. “They listen better that way.”
She smirked, but her attention was already drifting toward the sound of an engine rumbling from the highway. Not the club. Not us.
Something else.
A patrol car.
Unmarked, but obvious.
Black Ford. Tinted windows. Could’ve been anyone if I didn’t already know better.
I didn’t turn my head. Didn’t flinch. I kept threading the chain through the sprocket with my middle finger. Pretended I didn’t notice.
But I watched him.
In the chrome of Kandi’s rearview.
One car. Slow crawl. Headlights off even though the sky was starting to burn orange at the edges.
Officer Golden Boy.
Fucking cop with soft green eyes and that nervous energy that clung to him like static. Like he was always looking for someone to save.
He didn’t stop.
Just rolled past like a coward with questions.
Good.
Let him chew on them.
I waited until he was out of sight before I stood up and wiped my hands on my jeans. My fingers left smears across my thighs like war paint. Kandi looked up at me like she felt the shift.
“You good?”
I nodded, but my jaw was already locking tight.
“He’ll be back.”
Fifteen minutes. That’s all it took.
Long enough for the air to thicken, for the sweat to stick to my skin like blood.
He came back slower this time. Crawling. Tires whispering over asphalt like he didn’t want to wake the devil.
Too late.
I was already walking into the middle of the road before his headlights cut across the dirt lot.
No smirk this time. No pretend.
Just arms crossed over my chest and a look that could slit throats.
He hit the brakes.
Good boy.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Just two shadows burning in the last of the sunlight. Me in the street, him behind the wheel, windows up like that glass was gonna save him from me.
I stepped closer. One boot in front of the other. Deliberate.
Measured.
Predator slow.
He rolled the window down. His forearm rested on the edge, fingers flexing like he wasn’t sure whether to wave or draw his weapon.
His eyes found mine, flickering in the streetlight with curiosity.
“Evening,” he said, like we were old friends meeting on a porch swing.
I tilted my head. “Lose something?”
His mouth twitched, but not into a smile. “Just checking the perimeter.”
“Didn’t know we were under threat.”
“You’re not.”
He waited a moment.
“Unless you want to be.”
There it was.
The edge under the badge.
The part of him that wanted to see what would happen if I took one more step forward. The part that itched to pull me in, question me, maybe f**k me up just enough to feel like a hero.
But he didn’t know me.
I wasn’t something you saved. I was what you survived.
“You got a reason to be here, officer?” I asked, voice like smoke and razors.
“Just following up on a plate I ran earlier.”
My lips parted, slow and sharp. “Didn’t realize curiosity was probable cause.”
“Didn’t realize protecting citizens was a felony.”
We stared at each other. Street between us. History waiting to happen.
He had his fingers on the edge of the door now. Like he was thinking about getting out.
I stepped to his driver’s side. Leaned down, elbows on the frame, eyes level.
“You don’t want to play with me, officer pretty boy.”
His brows lifted, surprised I had to nerve.
“I’m just being friendly,” he said quietly.
I smiled. But it wasn’t kind.
“I’m not.”
His breath caught. A flicker. Just a second. But I caught it.
“I saw you earlier,” he said.
“I know.”
“You looked like you couldn't stand anyone with a badge.”
“I can't.”
He leaned a little closer. Brave, or just stupid.
“You always that honest?”
“Only when I’m bored.”
Another flicker. This one behind his eyes. Something ugly and sweet blooming in the shadows. A hunger he didn’t want to name.
“I can’t figure you out,” he said. “You’re not what I expected.”
“And what was that?”
He exhaled slowly. “More show. Less teeth.”
I pushed off the car and stood straight.
Then I leaned in again, lower this time. Whispered through the open window.
“Maybe I’m both.”
He didn’t get out.
Didn’t ask for ID.
Didn’t flash a badge or a warning.
He just watched me as I walked back to the lot.
Back to the garage where the women didn’t need rescuing and things happened on command.
I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to.
I could feel his eyes burning between my shoulder blades.
He wanted in.
And I wanted him to keep trying.
Because the more he watched, the deeper he’d fall.
And eventually, he’d forget that it was me who held the leash.
Inside, the air was cooler. Oil and cigarettes and perfume soaked into the walls like memories that refused to leave. The other girls were at the bar, laughing loud, music pumping. But I went straight to the back.
To the locker with my name scratched into the steel.
ALEX.
Not Alexandra. Not sweetheart. Not baby.
Just Alex.
I peeled off the tank top and tossed it aside. Sweat streaked down my spine, sticky and mean. I pulled my hair into a high knot and stared into the mirror.
Not at my face.
At the bite mark on my neck.
Old. Faded. Still mine.
That cop wanted to know who I was?
I was war in denim.
I was the girl who learned early that silence didn’t keep you safe.
That nice got you hurt and good got you dead.
He could come back tomorrow. And the day after that.
He could run plates and play nice and try to charm the devil.
But I’d see him coming every damn time.
Let’s see how far he’s willing to go.
“Fetch, officer.”
- Writer
