Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(17)

Jumping over Chewie, I race up the stairs. Just as I reach the top step, a man growls and a bat swings my way. I quickly duck and grab the end of the bat, slamming the end into his chest. He falls on his back and I tackle him, fishing out his wrists.

He tries to pull from me, so I dig my knee into his back.

“Stop resisting!” I order.

“Ouch, I have a bad back!” he cries. Finally getting one of his wrists, I pull my cuffs out of my belt and cuff him.

“Oh, good, you got him,” Chewie huffs, finally making it up the last few steps.

“How in the hell did you pass the academy?” I question, out of breath.

“Really? The man had a bat!” he hollers, gesturing toward the weapon.

Shaking my head, I reach for my radio. “5paul69, situation stable.”

Seconds later, sirens blare up the driveway as I haul the man down the stairs and out the door.

Slamming the guy against the hood of my car, I start patting him down.

“Fuck your car is hot!” he cries, trying to move off the hood.

“You got any more weapons?” I question, finding his wallet.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Harold Whitney. Age thirty-four, six feet, one inch,” I read off his driver’s license.

Chewie takes the ID and grabs Harold, reading him his rights.

Adrenaline is racing through me and I feel like I’m flying, like I can do anything. I just took down a criminal. Me!





FOUR





JILLIAN


“Oh, my God, I look stupid,” I whisper, pulling on my jeans. Alessandra looks great in a small black dress and red heels. Hell, she looks good in anything. I, on the other hand, can’t wear anything. Sure, it looks great on the mannequin, but as soon I get it home, it never looks right.

“That? You’re wearing that?” Alessandra scrunches her nose at my jeans and dress top.

“What’s wrong with it?” Looking down at my attire, I feel like it’s fine.

Alessandra places her finger on her chin and raises a brow.

“I’ve got an idea.” She rushes out of my bedroom, and I take my top off. I don’t know what to wear, and it’s aggravating me.

“Maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t even want to go anymore,” I complain. “Can’t we just stay in, order some pizza?”

Alessandra steps back into my room, scissors in hand.

Dropping to a crouch, she starts shredding my jeans at the knees and up the thighs.

“What the hell, Alessandra!”

“There, that looks sexier.” She stands up and smiles. “Oh, and wear this.” She grabs a black shirt out of her purse and tosses it at me.

“Why do you have random shirts in your purse?” I eye her awkwardly.

“I figured your wardrobe consisted of uniforms, lounge clothes, and nothing risqué. So I came with a backup, just in case.”

Glancing over my shoulder at my closest, I sigh, because she’s almost right. “I don’t have to dress like a slut to get a guy. Besides, if you dress like that, what kind of guy are you attracting anyway?”

“Just… Just put the damn thing on,” Alessandra huffs.

Pulling it over my head, I turn and look in the mirror. It falls off my right shoulder, leaving it exposed, and hugs my left shoulder loosely. The bottom is snug on my waist, and the back of the top dips down, showing off most of my back.

“Oh, wow,” I whisper, not sure of the top or my jeans. “I don’t know, it doesn’t look like me.”

“You look sexy. Just grab some heels and maybe not look like you’re about to pepper spray someone.” She grabs the ribbon holding my hair into a tight bun and pulls it out, my hair falling down my back instantly.

“I’m about to pepper spray you,” I huff, trying to pry her grabby hands off me.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down.” She plays with my hair, the ends of it curling just above my breast.

“I hate you,” I mutter, looking in the mirror. Hell, I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve dressed up before, but this is a whole other level.

“You’ll thank me later.” She smiles.

“Do you have heels?”

Rolling my eyes, I head to my closest. “Yes, I have heels, I’m not that bad.”

Laughing, she leans over to the mirror, running her fingers under her eyes to pick up the extra eyeliner. “Let’s go before all the booze is gone.” She smacks her lips together and leaves the room.

I step in front of the mirror once more and turn, looking at my exposed back. I can see the dimples there. Yeah, I can’t do this. I grab the bottom of the shirt and yank it over my head. Quickly, I dart in my closet and pull out the cute little flannel button-up shirt I bought just last week. I pull it over my head and slide some red heels on my feet as I stumble out of the room.

I grab the small satchel that holds my ID and reach for my gun. Shit, there’s no way it will fit.

“Come on!” Alessandra yells.

“Is your purse big enough to fit my gun!?”

“Seriously, Jillian!” Her voice is irritated, dripping with the suggestive notion that I’m being ridiculous. Conflicted, I put my gun to the side and hurry out of my room.