Hotter Than Hell

That’s not quite true. It’s a perpetually fast stream of dreams, f

ck. I’m standing in an underground parking garage in downtow

brow and into my eyes, causing them to burn. The douche, Harry Dandridg

if I hadn’t decided a close-up dick shot was called for—all in the name of cheating douchebags, of course. Harry was well occupied when a speeding car squealed its tires and Harry opened his eyes. I took a picture at that exact moment, and believ

pray. I have a gun on my hip, tucked beneath my shirt, and I’m not exactly happy with my decision regarding pulling the pepper spray when my gun should be in my hand. This shows how much my cop’s instincts have deterior

, Mr. Dandrid

now he has no intention

hat his bright red face means he’ll stroke out before we reach a less-than-mutual understanding. I ignore the sweat-burn in my eyes and hold the canis

ng through the garage. They come to a sudden halt about twenty feet from me and Harry. Ev

say

he middle of the shootout scene. The Caddy-dudes have guns, and my world has suddenly gone from sucks-to-be-me to completely fucked. Before becoming a priv

of dreams, failures, and

ir. I have large breasts, a slender waist, and a round fa

ed and my new breasts most definitely interfered. The boys themselves put the biggest damper on things. The same ones I played footbal

t. Not that I gave it a lot of thought. I was also blessed by being born with a tough outer shell that very little invaded. If you add my couldn’t-care-

life. More than anything, I wanted to be taken seriously. This meant m

ity and justice, and they made the world a safer place to live in. I saw officers as heroes. I counted the years, and then months, then days until I could put my dream into play. I eve

er than hell is a fitting description. To realize my dream, I sweat through four and a half sizzling months in hell’s inferno. It paid off. I graduated at the top

ars. Three years of patrolling the streets of Phoenix in a heavy Kev

cops, being one of the downs. On the up side, the last thing a criminal looked at

and the spirit of the brother and sisterhood that wearing

crashing halt high in the Ari

ntamed powder and took ridiculous risks because I was twenty-four years old and thought I was invincible. I was also an adrenaline junky who enjoyed getting away from the grind of the streets for a short time and testing my limits

my ass off and did everything the doctors told me to so I could get back on the street. Even so, at one year and two months, holding my gun left my hand shaking. I refused to give up

ly the second-wor

adge and gun ta

thermostat on eighty-four, the money doesn’t come close to covering the cost of my monthly electric bil

ot a degree. There was only one real solution. Unfortunately, it required me to sink as low

lize in everything on the right side of the law. Sometimes th

g dreams, failures, and fucking wh