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  • Home > Chelle Bliss > Men of Inked > Resist Me (Page 13)     
    Resist Me(Men of Inked #5) by Chelle Bliss
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    “Fucker,” I muttered as his door slammed.

    “Out you go, doll,” he said when he opened my door, the hot, humid air hitting my skin. He reached in and grabbed my arm, trying to help me up, and I fought the urge to pull away.

    “I hate that term,” I said, climbing out with his hands still on me.

    “Doll?” He smirked, giving my arm a light squeeze.

    “Yes. It’s patronizing,” I hissed as I turned my back to him.

    “As long as you call me Jimmy, I’ll call you doll. And what the f**k are you doing?” he asked, grabbing my shoulder.

    “The cuffs. I want them off.” I glared at him. Why did he have to make everything so f**king difficult?

    “I can’t take them off yet. You never know who has eyes on the station,” he said, and laughed.

    “You’re a prick.”

    “You’re hitting every word I like to hear—come, prick, f**k. What else do you have to say?” He smiled as he grabbed my upper arm and pulled me toward the station doors.

    “Let’s just get this over with.” I sneered at him as I tried to keep up with his large steps.

    “I’m going to enjoy this,” he whispered in my ear as he opened the door and waited for me to pass by. “So f**king much.”

    My body shuddered. This gravelly tone of his voice shorted the wiring in my brain. I’d spent too many years trying to block guys like him out, and I’d been successful. James was an entirely different beast. I didn’t know how to deal with him. He always had a reply. It was f**king infuriating.

    I closed my eyes, taking the final step into the station and hopefully to freedom—or at least an escape from him.

    Chapter 4 - Isabella

    We only spent a few minutes at the police station returning the uniform and equipment they let me borrow to rescue Izzy from the clutches of the MC. She sat on the chair, her eyes never leaving me as I talked with a few of the officers. If looks could kill, I’d be dead and buried.

    After we finished at the police station, Izzy and I headed to find a low-key hotel just outside of the county. I wanted to be far enough away that no one would find us, but close enough that, if shit went down, I could get backup. She climbed on the back of my bike after protesting and arguing for a few minutes. She knew it was futile. I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.

    Feeling her body wrapped around mine—her thighs squeezing me tight, her arms holding on, and her tits against my back—was f**king perfection.

    When Thomas had called and asked if I’d help rescue his sister, I’d jumped at the chance to see her again. It wasn’t that I loved her—fuck no. I’d only spent a night with her, but there was something about her.

    No one had ever sneaked out of my bed the next morning without saying a word. Izzy was the exception to that rule, and for that, I gave her props. She was her own person. I knew she didn’t play by anyone’s rules but her own. Thomas spoke of her often, and I could feel the love he felt for her with his words.

    Thomas and I had met back during training. We’d both joined the DEA right after college. I knew it was where I wanted to be, and had dedicated my life to ridding the world of drugs. I knew it wasn’t possible, but I’d do my best to not make it easy for the sleazeball criminals who preyed on the innocent.

    I’d joined because I’d lost my little sister to an overdose. She was only seventeen and I was in my sophomore year at Florida State. Getting the news that your one and only sibling has died is indescribable. It crushes your soul and had made me question everything in my life. I’d felt like I’d lost direction in my life, and the only thing I’d wanted was retribution. The only way I knew how to do it legally was to join the one group that had the ability to stop the flow of illicit drugs. The DEA became my home and my new family.

    Yes, I still had my parents, but they’d fallen apart after the death of my sister. They weren’t the same people anymore. They walked through life as shells of their former selves, the sorrow too much for them to bear.

    When we met, we were excited and looking to kick some major ass in the drug world. We spent a lot of time talking about our families—his happy and mine not so much.

    We each had sisters, his alive and mine dead. Even though I could never touch my sister again and I couldn’t protect her, I still loved her more than anyone else on Earth. We spent our nights drinking too much beer and talking about life. Our conversations always veered off course and would turn to our sisters as the main reasons for us being there.

    Thomas said that Izzy wasn’t into drugs but he always felt a need to protect her, and others like her who didn’t come from such a loving family. I’d wanted to join because the same drugs had reached in and plucked my sister from my life.

    I was out for payback. After we graduated training, Thomas and I were partnered with veterans and taught the ropes. Years later, we were paired up, and it felt like coming home. He was the brother I’d never had. I was his go-to person when he was placed undercover. I was his link to the DEA and his call of last resort. I kept tabs on him and picked up information when he found a way to get it out.

    His case was solid, but at times, I worried about Thomas. I’d never admit it to him—he’d call me a pansy—but he was in deep. Deeper than I’d ever thought possible. He’d been able to move up the ranks and solidified his position with the club. I made sure to do my best to keep his cover intact and my ears to the ground in case shit went down.

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