Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 788: Teasing Officer Sarah

Sarah’s grip on my arm was iron as she marched me toward a sleek black police cruiser, its lights casting eerie blue reflections on the pavement. She wrenched the back door open with more force than necessary and shoved me inside, the metal frame digging into my shoulder blades as I slumped onto the seat.

Through the window, I caught sight of her colleague climbing into another cruiser parked just behind us, and beyond that, a convoy of police vehicles—lights flashing, engines idling. I raised an eyebrow. "Damn, Officer Sarah. You brought the entire cavalry just for little ol’ me? Flattered, but a little overkill, don’t you think?"

She slammed the door shut with a resounding thud that rattled the windows. A second later, she yanked open the driver’s side and slid in, her movements sharp with barely contained rage. The car smelled like leather, gun oil, and her—something dark and intoxicating, like revenge wrapped in perfume.

I leaned forward, pressing my cuffed hands against the metal grate separating us. "Seriously, though. All this for me? I’m touched."

Sarah jammed the key into the ignition, her knuckles white. "You’re a murderer," she snapped, her voice vibrating with fury. "Of course, we take precautions. You think I’d let you anywhere near a station without backup? After what you’ve done?"

I smirked. "Oh, come on. You’re not that scared of me, are you?"

Her jaw clenched as she peeled out of the parking lot, tires screeching. The city lights blurred past the windows, the hum of the engine the only sound between us for a long, charged moment.

Then, because I lived to poke the bear, I tilted my head and asked, "Hey, Officer Sarah... this isn’t just professional, is it? This isn’t about justice." I let the words hang in the air, deliberate, taunting. "This is personal. This is about your brother. What was his name again... Peter?"

The car swerved violently, nearly clipping a streetlamp. Sarah’s hands tightened on the wheel, her voice a guttural snarl. "Shut. Up."

I chuckled, low and dark. "Ooooh, did I hit a nerve?"

She didn’t answer, but her grip on the wheel was so fierce I half-expected it to snap.

I pressed on, twisting the knife. "I mean, it’s not my fault Peter couldn’t keep it in his pants. Or that he betrayed Carolina like that. Hell, if you ask me, he got what he deserved. You of all people should understand that, Officer Sarah. Family loyalty and all that." I shrugged, the handcuffs clinking.

Sarah’s breath came fast, her chest rising and falling like she was fighting to keep from exploding. "This has nothing to do with my brother," she spat, her voice trembling with barely leashed fury.

"You’re under arrest because you’re a murderer. Because you think you’re above the law. Because people like you always get away with it." She shot me a glare in the rearview mirror, her eyes burning. "Not this time."

I met her gaze, unflinching. "Oh, really?" I drawled. "We both know there’s no evidence. We both know this is just you, clutching at straws because you want me to pay for something—anything. But here’s the thing, Officer Sarah..." I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You’ll fail."

Her foot slammed on the brake with such force that my forehead nearly collided with the metal grate separating us. The car jerked to a halt, and in an instant, Sarah whipped around in her seat, her face so close to mine I could feel the heat of her rage. Her finger stabbed toward me like a blade, her voice a venomous hiss. "I will not fail. I will bury you."

I tilted my head, my smirk never wavering. "Officer Sarah," I began, my tone dripping with false sincerity, "you’re taking this awfully personally for someone who’s just doing her job."

"SHUT UP!" she exploded, her voice echoing through the car. The veins in her neck pulsed, her chest heaving with fury.

I leaned back, miming zipping my lips shut with my cuffed hands—an exaggerated, mocking gesture. The silence that followed was thick, charged with the kind of tension that could snap at any moment.

The police station loomed ahead, a squat, concrete monstrosity bathed in the sickly yellow glow of flickering streetlights. Sarah yanked me out of the car with enough force to make my shoulders protest, her fingers digging into my bicep like claws.

The night air was thick with the scent of exhaust and something metallic—probably the adrenaline coursing through both of us.

She marched me through the station’s heavy double doors, the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of voices dying down as we passed. Every cop in the place seemed to pause mid-sentence, their eyes locking onto us with a mix of shock and curiosity. "Is that—?" "No way." "What’s Jack Reynolds doing here?" The whispers followed us like shadows, but Sarah didn’t flinch. If anything, her grip tightened, her stride more determined.

We turned down a narrow hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry insects. The walls were lined with framed commendations and wanted posters, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation.

Sarah stopped in front of a door marked INTERROGATION ROOM 3 and shoved it open with her shoulder. The hinges groaned in protest as she propelled me inside.

Sarah ignored them all, her focus laser-sharp as she shoved me into a windowless interrogation room. The door clanged shut behind us, the sound final, ominous. The room was small, suffocating—just a table, two chairs, and a two-way mirror that I knew had eyes on the other side.

She yanked out her keys, unlocking the cuffs with a sharp click. The moment they fell away, I rolled my wrists, stretching the stiffness out of my muscles. Freedom, even in a room like this, felt good.

Sarah stepped back, her arms crossed, her glare never leaving me. "Don’t get comfortable," she snapped. "This isn’t a social call."

I rubbed my wrists, my eyes locking onto hers. "Oh, I know," I murmured.

Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she jerked her chin toward the chair. "Sit. Down."

I obeyed—slowly, deliberately—pulling out the chair and sinking into it with the ease of a man who knew he held all the cards. "So," I drawled, "what’s next, Officer? The good cop routine? The threats?" I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Or are we skipping straight to the part where you realize you’ve got nothing?"