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Not once has she expressed any interest in going back to Providence, and I reward her each night by making her come until her voice is hoarse from calling out my name. She told me that the bakery she works at—which is apparently some fucking prestigious bullshit run by a French guy—is closed for the holidays, but the way she words it makes me think she's considering going back after New Year’s.
And there's no way in hell that's happening.
We've done all the shit I'd never cared about before, and somehow, sharing those moments with Delia makes them something enjoyable. I let her pick out an enormous Christmas tree and a cart full of glass ornaments, and she makes us gingerbread cookies while I haul the huge thing into the house. We build a fire in the backyard and drink hot cocoa around it. Then, I take her inside to warm her up first in the shower and second in my bed.
Our bed. Everything that’s mine is Delia's. Including my last name...it's just a matter of time.
I even have the proposal planned out. Three days before New Year, I'll be taking her on a getaway for the weekend to a local winery and asking her to marry me while we drink overpriced champagne.
It's all so easy. She fits into my life so well, my good little princess, and I plan to have her next to me forever.
Yesterday morning was the first wrench in my plan. I haven't heard from Brody since he stormed out on Thanksgiving, but a detective I trust more than anyone else at the department pulled me aside to tell me that Brody gave an officer some fucked-up information about me and Delia and that it was spreading through the force like wildfire.
The rumor makes me so mad I'm afraid I might break my teeth clenching my jaw. What everyone is saying is I stole my son's barely legal girlfriend and blackmailed her to get her to sleep with me, throwing my son out of his childhood home in the process. That Brody loved Delia and they were so happy until I coerced Delia into my bed and abandoned my only child.
Fucking Brody...the only person I could possibly be more pissed at is my own officer spreading these bullshit fucking rumors about me. And today, I plan to get to the bottom of them.
I stalk into the police station, head held high and shoulders back. I'll be damned if all of these fuckers—my subordinates—make me feel uncomfortable in my own kingdom. I'm the chief, and they will fucking respect me.
The officers and detectives look up at me from their various desks and tasks they're performing, most of them looking like deer in the headlights. No doubt I was the topic of gossip before I got here, and I'm highly fucking unamused about having to come in early to address this.
"Listen up," I announce, and they all give me their full attention. Good. "I know some talk has been spreading about something that’s none of your damn business—the woman I'm choosing to spend my time with. Listen to that word again—woman. Delia Watson is a grown woman, and any connection she had to my son is ancient fucking history at this point. If I hear a single word about her spoken around here, you will be demoted so fast for insubordination that your heads will spin. Got it?"
All of the shocked faces nod their heads, some of them looking absolutely terrified. Good. They should be.
"And if I hear of any disrespect towards Delia Watson or any of her loved ones, there will be severe punishment. If I find out who has been talking shit, I'm coming for you. Understood?"
All of the men and women nod, some of them gulping. I nod curtly. "Now, who started this bullshit? Tell me now and I'll let all of you off without consequence."
A young female detective in the back of the room raises her hand slowly, looking unsure. "It was Trevor. He's the one who said he had the dirt on you and it was bad."
I nod, trying not to smile. "Thank you, detective. Do you know where Trevor is right now?"
"He's in the training gym."
"Thank you. All of you are dismissed. Get back to work."
I turn and leave, heading to the gym.
I enter, hearing the clang of weights and machinery, my eyes scanning over the equipment, mats, and punching bags before landing on the two men sparring on the mats. One is the hand-to-hand combat trainer and the other is Trevor. Perfect.
"Trevor!" I call out, and the two men stop their grappling, rising to their feet.
His eyes are wide, and at this moment, I know he's aware of exactly what I'm here for. "Yes, Chief?"
"You're against me next."
"What? No, sir. I really shouldn't." He's already trying to exit the sparring mat as he speaks, panicked.
"Get on the mat," I say calmly, rolling my sleeves up. "This is a command, not a request."
He reluctantly nods, returning to his place as the trainer exits. His fear is palpable, but little does he know how much more scared I plan to make him.
"Ready?" the trainer asks as I'm getting into position.
Trevor sighs. "Ready, Chief."
"Go," the trainer calls.
