Losing Control Read online

  Losing Control

  Sybil Smith

  All Rights Reserved 2017

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 1

  Work sucks today. Solving cases is the one thing I’m decent at, but I hate having ten open files stacked up on my desk. It means a shit-ton of late nights, over-nights, and earlier mornings until they’re solved. My partner, Schrock, is stupid-smart, but it’s not even enough to get us out of the hole in any less than a month. Sometimes I really hate that I chose to go into homicide in a state with one of the highest murder rates in the country. Other times I thrive off the rush, the thrill, but not today. Today I just want my bed and some fucking coffee.

  “We have any coffee?” I look across the table to Schrock. “Or did the shitbags drink it already?”

  He laughs. “The shitbags got to it an hour ago. Sorry.”

  By shitbags, we mean nearly every other person in our squad. It’s supposed to be an endearing term and that’s how Schrock uses it. I mean it.

  I push back the half-broken chair and head downstairs. I’ve been back from medical leave for nearly four years, but I swear people still look at me like that when I pass their desks. It could be because I’m the only girl on the whole damn floor, but I feel like they’re looking down at me. I really fucking hate that. What happened wasn’t my fault. Well, it was but it wasn’t. I can’t think about it anymore today.

  The coffee in the lobby tastes like cold shit-piss if you can imagine that. It’s better than nothing, but barely. Maybe I can chummy up with Schmidt, the lead detective on our floor, and use his microwave for a minute. Or maybe I’ll just suffer through the rest of the day, wallowing in how much I want to go home.

  When I get to the elevator to go upstairs, I stop dead in my tracks. There’s a woman standing in front of it, muttering to herself. I've never seen her around here, but I can already tell she's something else just by the back view. My eyes skim down the length of her body. She has long, curly blonde hair and the palest skin. Skin that I already know is perfect underneath the tight blue dress she's wearing and skin that would look fucking great if I could make it turn an exerted shade of pink. I shake my head to rid the thought and trail down to her legs. She's wearing heels taller than I've ever seen anyone wear, let alone walk in. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen. She has to be mine.

  "Ya new around here?"

  She turns from the elevator quickly at my question, and I finally get a glimpse at her. She's fucking beautiful. Her eyes are the most intense color I have ever seen. I don't even know what to call them. Her mouth is small and shaped like a heart. I want to bite the hell out of those pink lips. I look lower and see the most perfect pair of tits on the fucking planet. Dear God, this woman has to know how sexy she is and she most definitely has to be lost. No one who looks like that belongs here.

  "Ah, uh… yes. Yes I am. It's my first day. How did you know?"

  I swear, I think she's nervous. Anyone who looks like this should not be nervous. Maybe it's just a game she likes to play so people actually think they have a shot in hell with her. Shit, I'd play that game if I looked like that.

  "Just a lucky guess. I'm Detective Raine, but you can call me Roma. Or Raine. Whichever." I would stick out my hand for her to shake it, but after my accident I don’t let anyone touch them.

  "Okay, Roma, it's wonderful to meet you," she says as she extends her arm for a handshake. Like I said, no one touches my hands. It's been five years, and it's not about to change now. So I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder. I give her a smile so she knows it's nothing personal. She probably thinks it's weird. Hell, I know it's weird.

  "And you are…"

  "Oh! Where are my manners? I'm Lieutenant Harper Rose. I'm over the SVU unit now."

  I let out a laugh. After that dickhead I had to put up with every time I needed clearance before, this is a real treat. Plus, I'll hopefully get to see her strut her stuff in those heels every day. My department is right across the hallway, after all.

  "Well, whaddaya know. Do you want me to show you around?" I mentally cross my fingers, hoping she'll say yes. She nods her head and I almost giggle. Almost. Like I said, there's something about this woman.

  We ride up the elevator in awkward silence. I’m not much of a sharer, and she’s too busy tapping her heel on the ground. I turn the corner and enter the homicide department with Harper close behind. She hasn't said a word since she told me her name. I think she's nervous, but it sure as hell can't be because of me. I'm just a tall, lanky woman with too many issues. Being in a new place has to be why she's shakin' in her boots. Heels. Whatever. I make it my mission to make sure she's more at ease. I walk over to my partner and the other miscreants gathered around my desk.

  "Hey, you deadbeats, this is our new SVU Lieutenant, Harper Rose."

  I roll my eyes as Schrock and Smidt look up and immediately stare at her chest. A pang of jealousy—anger?—courses through me. I shake my head. She isn't mine, I have no reason to feel like this. I plaster on a smile and remember it's my mission to make her feel comfortable.

  "Her eyes are up here, assholes." I let out a laugh to let them think I'm just kidding. They don't really know how fucked up I am, and I plan on keeping it that way. They both shake their heads to regain focus.

  Harper walks over to the desk where the men were sitting and extends her hand, first to Schrock and then to Smidt. All I can do is stare at her 'too-perfect-to-be-real' ass. Schrock catches me and I quickly look down at my phone. Busted.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you both since we will be working closely together," she says as she tries to mask her nervousness. Another pang of jealousy. I know we are all gonna have to work together, but I'm hoping to be the only one getting really close to her.

  "Ah, I see. Well I'm Davis Schrock and this is Eric Smidt," says Schrock with a smile. "I bet Roma's glad to finally have another lady around here…I'd hardly call her a lady, though," he teased. Or at least better be teasing. I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

  "Ha, ha. Very funny." I tilt my head towards the door. "You wanna go to the dungeon now?"

  She narrows her eyes and tilts her head. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen and I swear if I wasn't so fucked up, I'd melt right now. “The dungeon?”

  “Yeah, it’s what we call SVU around here.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “Once case files go in, they never come out. The solve-rate sucks over there.”

  “Oh,” she answers. Her face falls. “I can’t say I knew that.”

  “Maybe you can flip that around,” I say in a moment of softness. “Nothing is permanent, right?”

  She smiles, meekly, and follows me across the hallway to her new workpost.

  …

  I don’t know if I’m supposed to be talking and hanging out with this woman as much as I am. She’s a lieutenant, technically above me, but in a different department. That makes it okay…right?


  Even if it isn’t, I don’t really give a single fuck. Lieutenant Harper Rose is sexy as hell. Funny, too. I like to sit in her office for lunch because she gives me her extras. Also because she always dresses up, despite our long hours. Nothing like a quick break to check out her ass in the “dress of the day” to brighten up my shift.

  I’ve been told I’m attractive through the years, but I don’t always see it. My body is tall and lanky, hardly holding on to the muscle I should have from as much as I work out. I have long, curly hair that looks like a perpetual blow-out. My fingers are too long, my scars too numerous. But still, women fucking love me. Or fucking love to get fucked by me. Either way, I’m flattered.

  Harper, on the other hand, is a true sex goddess. Her hair looks like spun gold and her face looks like a damn Grecian statue—not a single flaw in sight. It’s fucking ridiculous. Not to mention how her petite frame still shows her defined leg muscles from the Pilates/yoga/weird stuff she does. She’s a real beauty. And around here—that doesn’t happen often.

  I flop on the hard couch in her office. “How’s it going?”

  She looks up from the mounds of papers on her desk. It’s only her third day, but she’s already on top of shit. And she still looks good too. Her dress fits tight, like I like it, and she has her badge peeping out of the edge of her short blazer. It’s authoritative—and surprisingly, I fucking love it.

  “You were right,” she starts. “The closing rates in this department are abysmal. Almost like the last lieutenant didn’t even care about sexual assault or domestic abuse.”

  “Sounds about right,” I answer. “He was a real dick.”

  She grins. “I’ll choose to hold my tongue on that one.”

  “Understandable.” She can’t just run around slurring her predecessors. “You taking a lunch break today?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she says. “But I have lunch in the fridge if you would like it.”

  “I’m not taking your food,” I say. “You need to eat.”

  “I’ll have a protein bar or something,” she answers. “Promise.”

  Well… “Okay. Only if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  I go to the mini-fridge in the corner of her office and pull out some containers that look more expensive than my whole damn dining set. I got it at a thrift store, but that’s neither here nor there. I peek inside: pasta with shrimp and some type of fancy butter. Damn. I’m definitely here for this.

  I get to use her microwave too (even for the shitty cold coffee days) so I pop it in there for a few minutes and then take it back to the couch to eat. I’d rather be in here than out there with the rest of those fuckwads. Hopefully she’ll tell me if I ever start to bother her. Maybe I should go before she tells me to leave though…I really would not fucking like that.

  I finish a bite of the pasta. It’s delicious. If she made this…how has no one wifed her up yet? Damn. I wish I could get in on that. I’ll really fucking hate the day I’ll hear about her bragging about someone else.

  “Do you like it?” Her eyes are wide and bright, like her very self-perception hangs on what I say about it.

  I nod. “Hell yeah. You made it?”

  “Yes,” she answers, beaming with that gorgeous smile that I can’t stop looking at. “I love to cook.”

  “I’m terrible,” I answer. It’s true. “Can’t even make popcorn without obliterating it.”

  “I doubt you can be that bad—“

  My phone buzzes. It can only mean one thing. Of fucking course. Right during the few minutes I have with Harper all to myself. Life’s a bitch and a half. I open the messages on my phone. The only one is from Schrock, telling where to go for our crime scene.

  “Work calls?”

  “Another body,” I say, sighing and standing from the couch. A kid—the fucking worst kind of cases. I hope this is a quick solve. I hate it when some bastard puts a family through pain and then my department takes for-fucking-ever to figure it out. “This city never sleeps.”

  “That is the saying, I believe.” I look at her to see if she’s joking, but she’s dead serious.

  Of course that’s the damn saying. Why else would I say it? But it’s cute that she thinks she’s teaching me something. I’m still pissed I have to leave, but at least I can take the fancy ass pasta with me. I’ll even get to bring back the container later as an excuse to see her again. Win-fucking-win.

  “See you soon,” she calls as I step out of her office. I wave bye over my shoulder so it doesn’t look like I care so much. Too bad I do already.

  …

  Harper barely worked at NYPD for two weeks before she conned me into going to yoga this morning before work. Something about getting to know her coworkers one-on-one or some shit like that. I don't like it. I like to be in control. Since it was taken from me, I like to take it from other people. It's just how my sick mind works.

  I know I could get out of going if I really wanted to, but I'm not. Ever since I realized I am the reason she gets nervous, I've tried to be around her as much as I can. I know it's sick and twisted. I do. But the way she can't even act normal and goes all dictionary-flip-out on me, turns me on. I like the fact that she can't even control herself because she's so nervous. I know I should back down, back away. It's only been a week, but I can tell she's into me. And I can already tell she deserves more than I can give her. But like I said, I'm a little fucked up and there's no way I can back down now.

  I hear the doorbell ring and I get up from the couch and go to the door. I open it and find Harper—impeccable, as always—dressed in the tightest yoga pants I have ever seen and a sports bra. I feel a little silly in my sweatpants and tshirt, but He left marks on me that not a whole lot of people know about, and I'd rather keep it that way. I give her a smile and step aside so she can walk in.

  "Just let me grab my bag and we can go." I walk over to my blue, ratty-ass bag and pick it up. I know she'd die if she ever had to fold her work clothes and shove 'em into something like this. She's a freak about looking presentable, so I know what’s coming.

  "Roma, are your work clothes in that bag? They're going to be…wrinkled." I look over and she's all wide-eyed. I'm afraid she's about to flip the hell out so I give her my grade-A Raine smile and shrug. I like control in my life, so if I want to wear wrinkled clothes today…so be it. I'll be damned if I bring an iron because someone wants me to. No, no. It doesn't work that way. Not for me, anyway.

  "Yeah, Harper. They're in there, and no. You can't make me change it."

  She lets out an exasperated puff and heads to the door.

  "Fine, Roma. Have it your way." Damn straight, I'll have it my way. 'Cause that's the way I like it and not even Harper Rose can change it.

  …

  I forgot about having to take a shower after yoga. I'm standing here trying to wait on Harper to undress in the locker room and head over to the shower first like I told her to, but it's not gonna happen. I can tell. She's standing there in her sports bra and a pair of lacy-ass underwear that I just wanna rip off, looking at me. Waiting on me. It's like she's fucking scared to go alone. Or scared that she'll have to walk into work with an unshowered Roma Raine.

  "Roma?"

  Damnit. She's gonna wait on me. She knows about the scars on my wrists. She hasn't tried to touch them, but I catch her looking sometimes. I can't tell if she's too polite or too scared to ask me about them, but I'm glad she doesn't. So maybe I can get by without her saying anything about my other ones. Maybe. I shrug off my loose sweat pants, and I can already tell she's looking at the raised-up scars across the back of my thighs. I try my best not to look at her and turn beet red. Dear God, I don't even know what she's gonna say about my back. At least she's had the decency to pretend she's pulling out our towels. I pull off my shirt in one swift-as-hell move and I hear her gasp. It's barely audible, but since I was expecting it, I hear it. Seventeen whip-scars Criss-cross my back. Like fucking lattice. They're raised and still a little red agai
nst my tan skin. I don't like this. I don't like it one bit. If only she had listened and walked over to the shower before me, she wouldn't have seen it. It's gotten me a little more than pissed off. Like I said, I love to be in control. This is definitely not me being in control.

  I reach over and grab the towel from her arms and slink off to the showers. I refuse to look at her face. I know what I'll see. Pity. And I don't need anyone's pity. Fuck this. I'm in the shower before she's even had a chance to move.

  …

  It's four o'clock and I still haven't spoken to her. We drove all the way to work in silence and split off at the elevators without so much as a goodbye, thanks, see ya later. I can't tell if she's disgusted or just too scared to talk. I don't even give a fuck. I'll talk to her when I decide to talk to her. I know it's awful, but I don't care. Okay, yes I do. Maybe a little. Which is…weird. I normally have no problem shutting people out when they piss me off. But, Harper's different. I knew there was something about her. I thought she'd be nice and compliant, but no. Under that polite exterior, she's as bossy as they come. Almost as bossy as me. I've always hated things I can't control. But with her… I'm a little turned on that she doesn't come running to my every beck and call—even if it pisses me off. For once, it doesn't make me feel like I'm stuck in that room giving all my control over to Him. Do I want her to defy me all the time? No. I still want my control. I need it, even. But, sometimes it's okay. Only with her, though. And that scares the hell out of me.

  Chapter 2

  It's been two days since that damn yoga incident and I still haven't talked to her. It's not like she hasn't tried. I'll be damned if she hasn't called me at least five times. And it's not that I don't wanna talk to her, it's that I do. I wanna hang out with her, even. But, I want to be the one that decides when. And how. I'm also kinda scared that she'll tell me no. And I don't like being told no. I said it to that bastard hundreds of times and he didn't listen. So why should I have to listen to anyone saying it to me? So if she says no, I'll just have to convince her to say yes. And that'll be that. I'll get my way, I'm sure of it.